#Freedom To Write Index

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Robert Tait at The Guardian:

Writers in the US are at growing risk amid a worldwide crackdown on free speech that has begun to spread to countries previously renowned for unfettered expression and openness, according to a leading writers’ advocacy group. PEN America said it was concerned about an emerging threat from the Trump administration as it published its annual Freedom to Write index report, which showed that the number of writers jailed worldwide had jumped for the sixth year running to 375 in 2024, compared with 339 the year before. Covering a period ending before Donald Trump took office on 20 January, the 35-page report records China as once again the biggest jailer of writers, with 118 behind bars, up from 107. Iran is the second highest incarcerator, with 43, down from 49 a year earlier, although those released had been freed with conditions that forced them into silence. Israel is in fifth place, with 21 writers behind bars, including eight in administrative detention – statistics at odds with the country’s self-proclaimed status as a democracy that tolerates dissent. Other prominent incarcerators are Russia, Saudi Arabia, Egypt and Turkey, a Nato ally and ostensibly still a democracy under the leadership of its strongman president, Recep Tayyip Erdoğan. The index has been published for the past six years and has hitherto generally highlighted the dangers faced by writers living under repressive regimes, although Israel also appeared in the previous year’s report. While making no explicit mention of threats to free speech under the US president following a spate of arrests of foreign students who have campaigned for Palestinian rights and accusations of trying to curtail academic freedom, its text clearly hints at the potential for a future clampdown. “As geopolitics continue to shift and authoritarian tendencies spread to countries that were once considered safely anchored in openness, we are seeing that free expression, and therefore writers, are increasingly in the crosshairs of repression in a much wider range of countries,” says the index. “[Governments] recognize the power of words to affirm historical truths, give voice to those whose narratives have been excised from the historical ledger, develop or maintain culture, and hold institutions to account … Democracies have been slow to understand that attacks on writers are both the precursor to and a consequence of broader attacks on human rights, democracy, and free expression.”

PEN America’s Freedom To Write index issues a dire warning for the US under the Trump regime.

[slowtumbling]

Index Cogitationum Prohibitorum

A Reflective Journey on Resisting Conformity and the Power of Imagination I grew up under the shadow of the Index Cogitationum Prohibitorum, the Index of Forbidden Thoughts. This formidable list, compiled by the Ecclesia, dictated not only what we were permitted to read but also how we were allowed to think. . . . Subscriber Content Index Cogitationum Prohibitorum A Reflective Journey on…

[keferon]

Part 2 of Golem!Prowl AU!

_____________________

“I hate it,” Orion sighs.

“It's understandable. But you can't change the system from the inside without becoming part of it first.”

“I was hoping I could become part of it without becoming a murderer.”

“It's okay” says Prowl ”You don't have to. That's what you have me for.”

Orion twitches.

Part 1. Next->

The fic under the cut⤵️

Orion looks...sick. Worried. Scared.

“Prowl, do you know what the Great Hunt is?”

Prowl tilts his head keeping up with the lists he received from the Council.

“Traditional raids on monsters made to consolidate control over the land holdings of regular Mechs.”

Orion rubs the bridge of his nose

“It's a massacre.”

Prowl twitches his wing.

“It is a measure of intimidation against creatures that cannot be negotiated with. Brutal, I don't deny that, but experience shows it works. The destructive activity of monsters lessens considerably if they know their actions can be followed by punishment.”

Orion stares at him. For a long time. Silently.

Tensely studying him, as if seeing him for the first time.

“You think killing them instead of finding a compromise is...right?”

Prowl thinks he must be treading on unstable ground.

“I think it works. That is all. Monsters do a lot of damage with their existence. They kill, destroy and pillage. If periodically reducing their numbers reduces their damage, it confirms the effectiveness of the strategy.”

“They just want to live. Primus' sake, they want to eat.”

Prowl sighs. More for appearances than for any real effect.

“I suppose I can't judge them for wanting to survive. It makes sense.”

Orion nods.

He looks oddly pensive.

“Ratchet keeps picking up wounded...” he stammers, apparently trying to find a suitable alternative to the word monster “...wounded beastformers. I've been to his house. It's generous, but I'm afraid of what will happen if he gets caught doing it.”

Prowl frowns

“He should have stopped.”

“You wouldn't understand.” sighs Orion ”Him. Shockwave. We want to help. To make things better. I don't need you to chide me for disobeying the rules, I need you to figure out how to change them. Ghosts and insecticons deserve freedom as much as we do.”

“But...”

Orion looks at him angrily.

“No. Whatever you're going to say in response to that. No. I know you're driven primarily by logic, but I need you to remember it well. All sentient beings deserve to live free. Do you understand? All of them. Period.”

Prowl rolls up the lists and interlocks his fingers in front of him. There are small scuffs on his thumbs and index fingers from constant writing. He occupies himself with running his fingers over them, feeling the difference in texture.

“Mech's freedom in such a case ends where someone else's hungry jaws begin. You can't expect monsters and Mechs to just coexist in peace if you give them freedom.”

“No” sighed Orion ”That's why I support Shockwave's idea with creating an academy for magically gifted Mechs. He's helping to show the world that so-called 'dark creatures' can be as civilized citizens as any Mech. He teaches them to find that compromise. We can't just expect centuries of hate and fear to be forgotten once the laws change. We must direct this process. To help the Mechs understand and accept each other. Guide them, you might say.”

Prowl feels a headache coming on, as it always does when Orion requires him to logically solve a problem the answer to which lies in the feelings rather than the intellect. He's not built for this. It irritates him.

Orion stops right in front of him and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Tell me what you think of this. If...let's pretend for a second that my morality fiddles don't matter anymore. That the problem of Mechs and monsters coexisting is something you alone need to solve. And solve it in such a way that the outcome is optimal for us as a society. To maximize the number of happy citizens. What would you do?”

Prowl is silent for a moment.

Orion squeezes his shoulder lightly before continuing.

“'Free from my judgmental conclusions, Prowl. From the standpoint of pure logic. What should we do?”

What to do...Prowl's thought process finally finds a direct and understandable train of thought. Monsters make up a paltry few percent of the population of all living Mechs. The numbers fluctuate depending on which region is being considered of course.

In some cities, some types of monsters are considered just fancy Mechs. Some monsters have risen from the status of savages to being respectable Mechs over the course of history. Even Orion's best friend, Shockwave, could be regarded as a mystical creature in some regions due to his gift of flight.

Nevertheless. The percentage is still minuscule.

But even that tiny percentage takes a significant toll on the economy and quality of life, because just one uncontrollable creature can terrorize an entire city.

He notes the weight of Orion's hand on his shoulder. Not judgmental. Orion promised he wouldn't judge.

“I'd get rid of the monsters.”

“Oh” Orion blinks ”Locked them in cages? Chased them away? Killed them?”

Prowl twitches his wings

“Banishment will only move the problem in terms of space, and imprisonment isn't secure enough. It would make sense to get rid of the monsters. Once and for all. It wouldn't be pretty or merciful, but it would greatly improve life for everyone, at the cost of a tiny percentage of living beings who were already of no use.”

“And you believe that would be a good outcome?”

“I believe it would.”

“But you're not a Mech yourself.” Orion reminds “Would you be willing to be exterminated along with the rest of the creatures if your plan were put into action?”

Prowl tilts his head slightly. Just to make it easier to look at Orion.

“You created me to, as you put it, help you make the world a better place. Sometimes in order to improve something you have to cut out the factors that get in the way. It's simple logic.”

“You didn't answer my question” Orion points out ”How would you feel if I decided to take your advice and destroy all mystical creatures, including you?”

“I am not made to feel” straightens Prowl ”My job is to find solutions to problems. I gave you a solution.”

“You don't include yourself in the reckoning.” snorts Orion “Again. You talk as if you will never be affected by anything.”

As it should be, Prowl thinks. He's a conscientious worker and a ..seemingly law-abiding citizen. He does what he can to make Mech's lives better. Even though he may not be a Mech, he's doing the right thing. Why would something happen to him?

Orion removes his hand from his shoulder and shakes his head.

“'Alright. I've heard you. But I want to make it as clear as possible - what you suggested is immoral, cruel, and should never be implemented. Do you understand me? Never. If you want to build a better world, you cannot and will not build it on other people's deaths. Have I made myself clear enough?”

“Perfectly clear.”

“Good.”

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

Ratchet looks...many words could be used to describe him.

He's standing in the center of the trial room with a lot of emotions written all over his face. But if Prowl had to describe - he'd say Ratchet practically radiates rage. Not violent. More of a powerless one.

The rage of a Mech who knows he's cornered, but refuses to even consider giving up and admitting defeat.

Prowl sits in a far dark corner, silently documenting the whole process.

The council is furious. They apparently discovered that Ratchet has been dragging wounded monsters to his house and healing them all this time.

Which is ... very much as expected from Ratchet.

Prowl wants Orion here, but both Orion and Shockwave are now on a diplomatic mission a few days away, so the only support Ratchet has is...Prowl. Who can't help in any way, so he just sits there and meticulously documents the whole process so that Orion can then be informed of every single detail.

The council doesn't look happy. They say that Ratchet is sabotaging the hunters' efforts to contain the monsters by his actions.They are angered by Ratchet's absolute determination to insist that he was doing the right thing.

Prowl would be impressed, if only Ratchet's stubbornness made sense.

It's simple math. Ratchet saves lives. Monsters take them.

Thus Ratchet's life has much, much more weight and is more valuable.

If Ratchet would just accept the Council's decision now and promise to stop curing monsters, the whole problem would be solved as efficiently as possible.

But Ratchet, of course, persists. Probably just because that's his nature.

Ratchet can also afford to be so stubborn because his skill level makes him incredibly valuable to the Council. Prowl knows for a fact that if any other medic were in Ratchet's shoes right now - they would have been sentenced to banishment or execution by now.

When Ratchet realizes exactly how the Council caught him, his rage is instantly replaced by shock.

This revelation is enough to startle him and make him back down. To nod and numbly swear that he will end his "blasphemous hobby."

Prowl carefully folds the scribbled scrolls into the case as the Council doors close behind both his and Ratchet's backs.

“Orion will be happy to know that you were prudent enough to avoid death.”

Ratchet shifts his gaze to him

“You knew? Knew they could see through our optics? Did you know they could find out anything about any Mech at any time?”

Prowl tucks his hands behind his back and nods politely

“Knowing things is my job.”

Ratchet sighs. Heavy. Exhausted. Doomed maybe.

“How does Orion deal with it...”

“Orion has a reputation with the Council. They consider him a decent, law-abiding Mech, so they see no point in keeping tabs on him.”

“Are you kidding?” Raetchet raises his eyebrows “Orion can't do everything he does and remain ‘decent’ in their eyes. He and Shockwave practically cuddle with every possible creature every day and all they get is a little reprimand????”

Prowl tilts his head

“Orion learned to look away in time. And he has me for everything else.”

Ratchet doesn't answer him. He rubs the bridge of his nose tiredly and starts to walk away.

His shoulders look oddly tense. He looks defeated, but not in the way a Mech would describe a slain turbofox. No. There is a deep-seated, angry determination.

A willingness to act dictated by desperation.

The news of the surveillance has thrown Ratchet off balance but not knocked him off his feet as the Council had hoped.

Prowl looks at his back and walks off in the opposite direction. The problems of living, feeling Mechs have always been and will always be mysterious to him.

Ratchet does what no one expects him to do.

He doesn't stage protests. He doesn't accept the verdict.

He leaves silently, taking with him only medical supplies and an old lantern.

The council is furious, turning over every stone in an attempt to find him, but all in vain.

Prowl's daily duties now include “keeping track of any possible news related to Ratchet.“

And then, no matter what he finds, report to Orion that he's found nothing.

Put on a little regular show for all concerned. Show the Mechs in the Council that Orion remains loyal and does his best to find and bring to justice any blasphemer whether it's a friend of his or not.

He is his purpose. But the more time passes, the harder it becomes for him to trace the path to the fulfillment of that purpose. He envies the golems whose only function is to scrub floors. Their lives are understandable. A clean floor is a temporary but easily attainable goal. They are happy to fulfill the goal for which they were created. And then they're happy knowing their job is done well, until the floor gets dirty again.

Prowl is walking towards his goal, but it's not getting any closer. He knows what he needs to do to get there, but the variables are constantly changing and he has to adjust his course of action each time according to new information, conditions, and Orion's opinion on them.

Politics is infinitely more complicated than mopping floors after all.

————————————

Orion doesn't turn around on him as they walk down the hall. But Prowl can physically feel the attention focused on him.

“Prowl. Did you know I was awarded today for my ''outstanding service'' by the entire Council?”

“I did not.

“They've gone through all the reports and discovered that according to the logs me and my mechs are performing excellently when it comes to eliminating mystical threats.”

“Congratulations.”

“It's funny that you feel the need to congratulate me too” Orion continues ”Because I certainly didn't give orders to eliminate anyone.”

Their pacing doesn't falter. They continue to walk calmly down the hallway as if nothing is happening. But Prowl can practically taste the increased tension.

“Prowl” says Orion “Why is the Council rewarding me for murder? And where are the Mechs they think I killed now?”

Prowl checks the scrolls. Not because he doesn't remember. Just to buy some time to formulate an answer.

“They were the inevitable casualties. I took charge of their destruction. On your behalf.”

“You know how I feel about killing.”

“I know.” nods Prowl for some reason. Why? Not that Orion can see it “I also know how the Council feels about Mechs showing suspicious activity. They would have started watching you as soon as they noticed you were letting monsters slip away from you suspiciously often.”

Orion...sounds... conflicted. He sounds struggling.

“You killed them.”

“I gave the order. As any other hunter would have done in my place.”

Orion stops so abruptly that Prowl doesn't catch the moment and bumps into his back.

“We're supposed to be better than other hunters Prowl! How can you still not grasp that concept!!!”

Orion looks furious. Prowl discreetly looks around.

Around them is a relatively empty hall. Windows covered by heavy curtains. The cleaning golems scurrying back and forth.

“I understand” he says “But let me remind you that you cannot test their trust infinitely. Your 'being better' rests on your reputation. And it's my job to make sure your reputation lives up to it.”

Orion looks at him...Prowl isn't even sure how to describe it. Usually he has to argue with Orion's logic, proving his point but this time...Orion is the one arguing with him.

It feels strange. Uncomfortable.

He's doing everything Orion wanted him to do, but for the sake of it he has to do something Orion can't stand.

Orion clenches and unclenches his fists helplessly. Rubbing the fabric of his cloak.

“Shockwave can save lives without killing anyone.”

“Shockwave is one unfortunate act away from serious consequences” shakes his head Prowl “His academy is looking more and more like his own small army every day. His students are not loyal to the Council, they are loyal to Shockwave. And the Council knows that. And will use it. And it won't be pretty when it happens.”

“No...” shakes his head Orion, not addressing anyone in particular ”No no no no no...”

Prowl can understand why Orion is upset. But he also knows he's right this time. Shockwave may look like a fine example of mercy, but he walks on the very edge of the law and any wrong move will instantly turn him from “out of the box thinker” to renegade.

The Council will come for his head and the Council will get his head because Shockwave will have nothing to prove his loyalty with.

Orion will. Prowl made sure of that.

Orion can bend the rules, can borrow the Council's trust, can do all sorts of reprehensible things. He can stumble and fall and then fall a couple more times and find that it doesn't hurt him because Prowl caught him even before he stumbled.

He did it at the cost of lives. Yes.

But Orion's life is far more valuable than the lives of monsters.

Society doesn't need monsters to become better, but society needs Orion. Monsters need Orion. Because if Orion is gone, no one else will care about his idealistic goal.

“Sometimes I forget how creepy you can be...” mutters Orion ”You're going to betray me sooner or later.”

“I could never betray you.” Prowl twitches his wing.

“You've successfully betrayed what I believe in.”

“It's fine with me if you hate me for it. As long as you are alive, safe, and can continue your quest.”

Orion falls silent.

He turns away to stare at a strip of light from a nearby window. There are beautiful, wrought iron grates that cast an intricate, curved shadow on the floor and walls.

A golem janitor hurries past them.

“I hate it,” Orion sighs.

“It's understandable. But you can't change the system from the inside without becoming part of it first.”

“I was hoping I could become part of it without becoming a murderer.”

“It's okay” says Prowl ”You don't have to. That's what you have me for.”

Orion twitches.

Shockwave falls.

Prowl isn't there to see for himself, but a lot of rumors reach him. Lots. Lots of rumors.

The Mechs say the time of the Great Hunt has come.

They say that when the hunters arrived on the Academy's doorstep, Shockwave didn't let them in.

They say. He stood in front of the gates.

With sword in one hand and the Primus Covenant in the other, and declared that his school was a sanctuary for all living beings in need of protection.

Claimed that anyone who dared set foot inside with a weapon would have to go through him.

“And they retreated!” gestures Orion frantically ”They didn't dare test him! They backed away from the walls of the Academy. I don't know how many monsters were left alive in the forests that night, but none of Shockwave's students were harmed...”

Prowl listens with a healthy dose of wariness

“The Council wouldn't just let him do that.”

Orion begins nervously winding circles around the room.

“You're right, you're right. You're right now and you were right back then. They're going to bring him before the Court by tomorrow, and...”

“There's no chance of that ending well,...is there?" Prowl finishes his thought.

Orion looks pained

“They'll be going through everything he's been up to. Every forged document, every enrolled Mech who by all criteria should be considered a monster. Every time he sheltered them from the Council instead of destroying them. They'll realize what he's been doing and they won't like it at all.”

Prowl...trying to sound reassuring.

“Shockwave has tremendous support from his Academy. There's a chance the Council will be afraid of invoking their wrath and won't judge Shockwave too harshly.”

Orion continues to walk in circles

“You think so?”

“There is a good chance.”

Prowl finds Orion in Sickbay. Which is very disturbing and wrong, because Orion was supposed to be at the Trial. Supporting Shockwave and begging the Council to relent.

But Orion is in Sick Bay. When he shouldn't be.

And he's covered in ugly dark burns. From something Prowl can't recognize.

This is all wrong. It's all--

“What happened at the trial?”

Orion sounds. Startled.

“There was no Trial.”

“What?”

Orion sounds as if something inside him has cracked. In every sense of the phrase.

“The Trial hasn't even had time to begin. He...” Orion clutches his trembling fingers, hoping to still them, but it has no tangible effect. His shoulders are trembling.

He looks like his whole body could be torn apart with one careless touch. “They asked him if he would plead guilty to aiding and abetting dark creatures. All they had time to ask was if he realized he was wrong.”

An uncomfortable, prickly feeling settles in Prowl's mind.

"And?”

Orion squeezes his fingers so hard the creaking of hinges becomes audible.

“It...I...Prowl, his very spark began to ooze dark magic. It was horrible, it was like.. it was eating him from the inside. The entire courtroom became darker than night, many Mechs got burned. I've never seen anything like this before! He..It.. started attacking Mechs and destroying everything...it was like it went crazy...it attacked me and I had to...Prowl I had to fight it! I didn't...I'd heard about it happening but I believed until the last minute that I wouldn't have to face it...”

Gears of chaotic detail fall into place in Prowl's mind.

“Shockwave...turned into a demon...?”

Orion nods shakily

“The Council didn't even have a chance to sentence him or spare him or even sort out what happened.....

He stated that he did not consider himself guilty for what he had done and...Primus was the one who made the judgment before anyone else could...”

That's... terrifying really. For a number of reasons. Losing a close friend is awful, being subjected to such merciless punishment is awful, but also...

What sends a chill down Prowl's back is the moral implication that such punishment carries.

Orion, as if reading his thoughts, raises his gaze to him

“Is what we are doing...wrong? I don't...does Primus think helping monsters is worthy of punishment?”

Now that's a really reasonable question.

Shockwave would say that Primus is merciful and would never condemn a Mech for an act of kindness. But Shockwave ended up being condemned.

Ratchet would say that he doesn't care about Primus' opinion because Primus isn't real. But Ratchet isn't here.

Prowl wants to say that it doesn't matter whether or not Primus thinks they're wrong, what matters is that he can at any moment force his justice on any living spark, so his concept of right has to become Orion's too, or else he's doomed. But Orion is definitely in no state to have a philosophical argument. He looks shattered and Prowl almost instinctively is about to go and find Shockwave, but remembers that option is no longer available.

He's not made for this. Shockwave has always been the one to cheer Orion up on a bad day. Not Prowl, no. Prowl isn't sure what to do so he just sits down next to him and gently places a hand on Orion's shoulder. The one where he can't see the burns, so it shouldn't hurt.

“I don't. I'm used to always relying on your point of view as a reference for what's right and what's wrong.”

“I know” runs a shaky hand over his face Orion “But it's not like I'm perfect. I try, god, I try but just like with the logical part - my vision isn't flawless. Have I been...wrong all this time? Trying to disrupt Primus' intended vision? Maybe what I've been trying to fix never needed fixing. Maybe it's just me being so stupid and not understanding things maybe...???”

Orion cuts himself off mid sentence, realizing that he's started raising his voice and waving his arms around again. He sits back down on the medical bed and curls back up into a miserable ball.

“What should I do....”

“I don't know,” Prowl repeats awkwardly.

He is his goal. But his goal ..doesn't exist anymore?

He doesn't know where to put himself.

Golems are made to fulfill requests. But Orion's request system has been evolving and complicating for so long that Prowl can't tell where its boundaries are anymore.

He feels lost.

——————————

Orion stops cold.

“What...”

Prowl, standing at his right hand looks equally puzzled.

They are in a spacious courtyard bordering directly on the Council building. It's a very beautiful, open and spacious place because it was originally built with large crowds of Mechs in mind. There's wide walkways, a massive circular plaza with fountains and statues.

And right now, it's filled to the brim with Mechs, most of whom Prowl is seeing for the first time. They're all wearing knight armor and carrying weapons, however still kept in their scabbards.

They look like a small army. A very, very diverse army, Prowl realizes. Because there are almost no regular Mechs among them.

Orion looks... distraught.

Mechs? Monsters? A few knights separate and come closer, bowing their heads respectfully.

“Orion Pax.”

There is so much grief and disbelief in Orion's eyes that it physically hurts to look at him.

When he begins to speak his voice sounds hoarse, like someone has poured sand down his throat.

“What...what are you doing here...?”

The knight standing in front of everyone ceremoniously places his palm on his spark.

“We are here to fulfill the last will of our mentor and your friend. Shockwave has decreed in his last will that in the event of his death his legacy must pass to you and those of us who wish to carry on his work must publicly pledge our allegiance to your will.”

Orion clutches his hands together to keep them from starting to shake again.

“But...I was there. I...your mentor was slain by my hands...how can you..."

"It doesn't matter. Everything that was his is now yours." smiles the knight sadly "We will make sure his legacy lives on. And even if the Academy falls - you can always count on us."

At the same time as he finishes speaking, the knight in blue armor drops to one knee, pulling Shockwave's sword from its sheath and holding it out respectfully to Orion... who looks like he's about to start crying.

He dazedly accepts the sword, twitching in surprise when it turns out to be heavier than expected and probably tries to say something, but all that comes out is a short sorrowful sigh.

He just.

Clutches the sword to his chest, watching in disbelief as all the arriving mechs get down on one knee following the blue knight. There aren't that many mechs, but at this point - they seem to rival the sea.

Prowl knows some of them. Many of them made their way to Shockwave after Orion found them. There's the harpy over there who nearly ripped Orion's head off the first time they met. A few ghosts he can remember the faces of but doesn't know the names. He'd had a long argument with Orion that day, trying to convince him that he shouldn't take their word for it when they promised to make it up to him.

And now they're all here. In beautiful new armor. Executing their mentor's last will and testament.

Just like regular Mechs, only a little eccentric looking.

The crowd of hunters that has come to find out what's going on looks as speechless and dumbfounded as Orion.

" What" Orion also gets down on one knee to be on the same level as the knight "what's your name?"

Prowl squints warily from behind Orion's shoulder. The blue mech looks normal, but to be honest, there's no way someone coming out of the Shockwave Academy is going to be an normal plain mech. There has to be a catch somewhere.

"My name is Skids," smiles the knight shyly. "I am...was...Shockwave's best student."

"You are very brave Skids" smiles Orion sorrowfully "I promise to do my best to take care of Shockwave's legacy. And you."

Orion drops his head on the table tiredly.

"This is crazy..."

Prowl pulls an important document from under Orion's head

"It's also quite devious. Shockwave told them specifically to swear to you where all comers can see it. So there's no way for the Council to accuse you of purposely swaying an army of monsters to your side. Everyone saw that this gift was given by force. Now you have many allies with unique skills who are loyal to you and the Council won't try to take them away because they are firmly convinced that you are loyal to the Council."

Prowl examines the document for damage before setting it aside.

"It is..."

"Shockwave gave you an opportunity."

"And I don't know what to do with it!" raises his head Orion "Shockwave was smarter than me and made a lot of plans in case of...I don't know...anything?? I didn't...Prowl. We've been down this path for so long and I was always sure there would be something good at the end of it. Or at least better than it is now..."

Orion rubs his chin and shakes his head awkwardly

"...But if there's only the wrath of Primus and endless darkness at the end...I can't ask anyone to follow me there. I'm not sure if I can keep going myself..."

He sighs helplessly

"I'm not even sure if that even matters."

"The chance that Shockwave would try to use you in some way was about twenty-eight percent."

Orion twitches

"What?"

"I understand that you're hurt by his...fate." Says Prowl "But have you considered the possibility that Shockwave was being punished for betraying you rather than the Council?"

Orion doesn't even answer at first. Just looks at him dazed and bitter.

"Prowl...no. He couldn't have."

"I'm just speculating" shrugs Prowl "Shockwave was punished but as far as I know God didn't bother to name the exact charge. We don't know one hundred percent what exactly caused his...sentence. He may have betrayed the Council's ideas, or he may have betrayed yours."

They both just exist in silence for a while. Processing the information.

"If...and I mean if!!! If Shockwave was convicted of harboring monsters, then everything we've been doing all this time can be considered useless blasphemy..." says Orion slowly "...but if he was punished for something else..."

"...then that would mean there's nothing wrong with your idea." finishes Prowl.

Orion frowns

"It would also mean that Shockwave lied to me..."

Prowl nods. The situation is ugly no matter which way you look at it.

Shockwave, as Prowl knows him, would hardly have framed Orion, but Mechs tend to go to great lengths to avoid execution.

If Shockwave had shifted some of the blame to Orion then, it would have partially saved him. Was that what he was going to do? Was this what Primus had stopped him from doing?

Orion's finials twitch slowly

"I don't know Prowl. I don't know what to do. I don't want anyone else to get hurt because of my fantasies."

Orion is hard to read, but right now he's an open book.

Prowl tilts his head

"You're scared."

Orion looks. Defeated. Crumpled.

Discolored.

" I am."

Prowl can't work with that. He's used to solving logical problems and making lists and strategies.

He doesn't know how to get someone to stop being scared.

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I don't know." mutters Orion "I don't know, I have no idea. It's too much...All these new knights, this whole council situation and now you're also saying that the mech I treasured the most could actually be a liar and...just leave me alone."

"But..."

"Just go away!" shakes his head Orion "Go find something else to do, find a hobby, I don't know! Get out of my head and out of my personal life!"

Prowl nods silently.

Places a couple papers in their places and silently walks out the door.

Gestures a greeting to some mech passing by.

And is completely unsure of what to do with himself.

Orion's too stunned by everything that's happened to give him a clear purpose. And without a purpose, he...he's gone.

He continues to stand by the closed door.

A thought runs obsessively through his mind.

If Shockwave was sentenced for something no one knew about, then punishing him the moment of that trial was a truly terrible decision and even worse timing.

But if Shockwave was sentenced for helping monsters...Prowl isn't sure why his mind resists the idea.

Maybe he's not being objective because he shares Orion's views and aspirations.

Maybe because he has looked at the entire square filled with dangerous monsters and has seen nothing but sorrow and respect in them.

The idea comes naturally.

Then God must be wrong.

He looks at the cleaning golems again. He envies them.

They are peace and contentment.

They are a clear and simple goal.

Probably the biggest stress that happens to them is random mechs passing by and interfering with their cleaning.

And then there's Prowl, standing by with no meaning or purpose and wishing he could throw something heavy because the one who gets in his way is an indefinable force of nature and a complex system of values and beliefs created by millions of years of cultural development....

But Primus can't stop him, can he?

Prowl is not alive. He has no emotion so that his intentions can be categorized as evil, but more importantly he has no spark so that its magic can turn him into a demon.

He is his purpose. His purpose is his god. And Primus stands in his way.

He turns around and walks away.

[jungkoode]

5 SECONDS TO FREEDOM | prologue

˗ˏˋ debts unpaid ˎˊ˗

"In Tokyo's underground, there are only two currencies that matter—respect and reputation. When someone threatens to take both, you don't just race them. You destroy them."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 3.5k

content: street racing culture, debt collection, first meetings, midnight races, dangerous driving, Spanish endearments as provocation, the dynamics of Tokyo's underground scene, and your first defeat in nineteen months.

✧ author's note ✧

Soooo here we fucking go.

I've been obsessing over this story for months—I think we all know that lmaooo I think I posted the teaser like a couple months ago and I was devastated because it barely got 50 notes. But you know what, this was still in my head so I did write some drabbles—and I kind of shaped the prologue, which is what you’re gonna read below hahaha.

“But Kiki we just sent you 45 asks telling you to rest” AND I SAID SIKE??? No actually, I’m okay I promise! Usually writing different stories is what prevents me from burning out, because I get frustrated with the same storyline so it’s like… I write something else and my brain goes ‘yay thanks’. You know, ADHD—shiny new toy, mind dances to the music.

Anyways, so. I love this. I love this because as always I get to experiment with different personalities and psychological backgrounds and what I fucking love about these two is the masks they wear and how opposite they are. He’s cocky and arrogant, but in a different way FMU!jungkook is. She’s determined and ambitious, always pushing for more, but still very distinct from all my other Y/N’s because she’s handling different situations (you’ll see in later chapters).

And Hachiroku and Jaque aren't just racing personas—they're escapes. And what makes this delicious is that they're running from opposite lives. One from privilege, one from struggle. Both finding freedom in the same five seconds at the starting line.

And yes, the cars matter. They're not just vehicles; they're extensions of identity. The AE86 is legendary for a reason—not the most powerful, but perfectly balanced in the hands of someone who knows exactly what they're doing (sound familiar?). Meanwhile, the R34 Skyline is raw, unapologetic power held in check by someone who understands precisely when to unleash it.

AS ALWAYS—READ THE AUTHOR INTRO AND TW listed in the index post. This is a must before reading this story.

Fair warning: this isn't going to be a clean race. These characters are messy. They make decisions that will make you want to scream at them. They'll crash into each other's lives and leave debris everywhere, and the kind of attraction that feels like a guardrail giving way on a mountain pass.

But that's the point, isn't it? The most interesting stories happen in the dangerous curves.

So buckle up. We've got a long road ahead.

Ready? Light’s about to turn green.

Also. Notes for this one are pretty high, that’s intentional. Like I just wanted to post the prologue to have it out for a bit but I still need to work on the arcs and major plot points. So I don’t have the story fully shaped out for now, which is why I want this to rest and check for engagement and reactions. Seriously—don’t crash out, I know this one will take time and that’s absolutely my intention!

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

Respect isn't given in Tokyo's underground—it's paid in cash or blood.

You roll the cherry lollipop against your teeth, counting seconds in your head like engine timing.

Two weeks. Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty-six hours since you left Kalo and his overpriced Supra in your rearview on the Hakone downhill, his taillights disappearing around the corner while you took the perfect line through the hairpin that everyone else brakes too hard for.

It's nighttime at Daikoku.

You cross one leg over the other, letting your heeled boot dangle casually off the edge of your AE86's hood. The mini skirt wasn't a random choice. Neither was showing up without your racing gear.

Because tonight isn't about driving—it's about collecting.

"Kalo's nowhere to be seen," Maya says, leaning against your car's hood, arms crossed. "Dipped hard."

You don't bother looking at her, just shift the lollipop to the other side of your mouth with your tongue. The neon from nearby signs reflects off the polished black and white paint of your 86.

"What?" Maya catches your expression. "I'm just saying. Word is he's been avoiding this spot since you embarrassed him."

"While still flashing cash at that club in Roppongi," you add, voice flat. "Buying drinks for anyone who'll listen to his bullshit version of what happened on the mountain."

You tug at one of the layered chains around your neck, watching the crowd that's gathered tonight.

The usual suspects are here—wannabes with more money than skill taking photos of each other's cars, veterans huddled around hoods talking suspension setups, scouts looking for the next race.

Everyone except the one person who should be here with your money.

"So what's the plan?" Maya nudges your shoulder. "Just gonna sit here looking pretty until he magically appears?"

You roll your eyes. "Since when do I just sit and wait for anything?"

"Fair point." She grins that wolfish grin of hers. "So?"

"So I track his ass down." You twist the lollipop stick between your fingers. "He owes me fifty thousand yen. But more than that, he owes me the respect of paying up and admitting I smoked him fair and square."

Maya snorts, exactly as you expected. "Called it. Knew you wouldn't let this slide."

"It's not about the money." You straighten up, adjusting your cropped leather jacket. "It's about the principle. You lose a race, you pay your debts. That's how this works. You don't just disappear like some amateur who can't handle defeat."

"Especially not when he talked all that shit beforehand," Maya adds, picking at her black nail polish. "What was it he said again? Something about how no girl could ever handle his—"

"'No girl could handle my power on the downhill,'" you quote dryly. "Right before I passed him on the outside of that corner everyone brakes for."

The memory brings a slight smile to your face.

The shock in his eyes when you appeared in his side mirror where no car should have been able to fit.

The desperate overcorrection that sent him nearly scraping the guardrail while you smoothly accelerated away.

"Exactly." Maya pushes off your hood. "So what's the first move? Hit his usual spots?"

You pull the lollipop from your mouth with a pop. "Already did. Club Seventh in Roppongi. The garage where his uncle works in Setagaya. That ramen shop he's always at in Shibuya."

"Stalker much?" Maya raises an eyebrow.

"Thorough," you correct her. "There's a difference."

A brief silence falls between you as you both watch a metallic blue GT-R roll into the lot, bass thumping hard enough to vibrate the pavement.

Not Kalo's crowd—these guys run with the Yokohama crew.

"Kenji might know," you say finally, referring to your mutual friend who somehow knows everyone's business in Tokyo's racing scene. "He mentioned Kalo's been hanging around some new spot in Meguro the past week."

Maya pulls out her phone. "Want me to text him now?"

"Already did." You tap your boot against the bumper of your car. "He's supposed to meet us here in—" you check the time on your wrist "—fifteen minutes ago."

"Typical." Maya rolls her eyes. "That guy couldn't be on time if his life depended on it."

You're about to respond when you spot a familiar face weaving through the crowd. Kenji, with his signature sunglasses despite it being well past midnight, making his way toward you.

You straighten up slightly, not wanting to appear too eager for information.

"Ladies," he greets with that irritating smirk of his, adjusting his sunglasses even though there's absolutely no need. "Looking dangerous tonight, Y/N. Someone's not here to race."

"Just tell me what you know about Kalo," you say, cutting through his bullshit.

Kenji leans against your car without asking—a liberty you allow only because he's useful.

"Direct as always. That's what I like about you."

"Kenji," you warn, patience already wearing thin.

"Fine, fine." He holds up his hands in surrender. "Your boy's been hanging at this new garage in Meguro. Place called Midnight Rush. Trying to get in with that crew that runs the Wangan on weekends."

You raise an eyebrow. "The twins' territory? That's desperate even for him."

"After what you did to his reputation?" Kenji shrugs. "Man's gotta find somewhere to start over."

Maya laughs. "Not how this works. You don't just reset when you lose."

"Exactly." You shift your weight, boot heels clicking against the pavement. "So he's there tonight?"

"Should be. They're prepping for some big run tomorrow. Word is there's serious money changing hands. He's trying to buy his way in."

The conversation halts as the distinctive growl of an approaching engine cuts through the night.

Not just any engine—something with a tune you've never heard before.

Sharp. Aggressive. Perfectly balanced.

Heads turn as a midnight purple Skyline R34 GT-R glides into the parking area, before coming to a stop under the harsh parking lot lights.

"Who the hell is that?" Maya straightens up, suddenly alert.

Kenji's expression shifts from boredom to interest in an instant—a rare change for him. "New player. Goes by Jaque."

You study the car, assessing rather than admiring.

Aftermarket body kit, but tasteful. Custom wheels. The stance is aggressive but functional.

Whoever built this wasn't just throwing money at it—they knew exactly what they were doing.

"Jaque?" you repeat, keeping your voice neutral despite your curiosity. "What kind of name is that?"

"Latino guy. Showed up about a month ago." Kenji lowers his voice, shifting into the gossip mode he lives for. "Been cleaning up. Undefeated so far."

Your eyebrow rises slightly at that.

Undefeated is a bold claim in this scene.

"Never heard of him," Maya says, voicing what you're thinking.

"That's because he's been running mostly on the Wangan line. Outrunning cops, taking stupid risks. The kind of shit that gets you noticed fast." Kenji's eyes remain fixed on the car. "Word is he beat Hayato's record on the C1 loop last week."

That gets your attention, though you're careful not to show it.

Hayato's record has stood for three years.

This guy has broken it in a month.

Who the fuck is this?

Your question is answered when the driver's door opens, and the crowd's murmur intensifies. A figure emerges, oozing the confidence of someone who knows they belong anywhere they choose to be.

Not tall, but with a presence that fills the space around him. Dark hair, sharp jawline, and a smirk that suggests he's already three steps ahead of everyone else.

"He drives like he's got nothing to lose," Kenji adds, a note of genuine respect in his voice that you rarely hear. "Like he doesn't care if he crashes or dies. It's... I don’t know man. Something else."

You watch as the driver—Jaque, apparently—leans back against his Skyline, surveying the crowd like he's taking inventory.

His gaze sweeps across the parking lot, until it lands on your group.

Or more specifically, on you.

He gives you a small nod, as if acknowledging territory.

"Looks like you've got an admirer," Maya mutters, nudging your ribs.

You shrug, unimpressed. "Looks like another ego with a nice car."

But you don't look away, and neither does he. It's a standoff of sorts, neither willing to be the first to break eye contact.

You've played this game before with countless racers who thought they were hot shit.

You've never been the first to look away.

"Don't dismiss him so quickly," Kenji warns, surprising you. "I've seen him drive. I’m dead serious, it’s not normal."

"Nobody's unbeatable," you say, finally breaking the staring contest to look back at Kenji.

Just because you had to look back at Kenji.

"Maybe." Kenji shifts uncomfortably. "But this guy... he doesn't race like a normal person. It's like he's got some kind of death wish, but with the skill to back it up."

You scoff, though something about Kenji's tone—the genuine concern beneath his usual bullshit—gives you pause.

"Death wish or not, a car's a car, and physics is physics. There are rules to this game that nobody breaks."

Maya's watching you with that knowing look she gets when she can tell someone's gotten under your skin, even just a little.

"You want to find out, don't you?"

"I want to find Kalo and get my money," you correct her, though your eyes drift back to the Skyline against your will. "That's why we're here."

You scoff at Maya's knowing smirk, about to tell her to shut it when fragments of conversation float over from where the newcomer stands. One word cuts through the ambient noise of engines and chatter.

Kalo.

Your head snaps toward the source.

The Skyline guy—Jaque—leans against his car, talking to a small circle of racers. His hands move expressively as he speaks, gold bracelet catching the neon light.

"Kenji." You cut him off mid-sentence. "Who exactly is this guy talking to?"

Kenji follows your gaze. "Nobody important. Some Yokohama kids trying to get noticed." He adjusts those stupid sunglasses. "Why?"

"He just mentioned Kalo."

Maya straightens beside you. "You sure?"

No mistaking it. Not when you've been hunting that name for two weeks.

"Excuse me," you say, already moving.

Maya sighs behind you. "Here she goes again."

You don't look back. Your boots click purposefully across the pavement, moving slowly. Not rushing—you never rush. But determined.

Three guys surrounding Jaque glance up as you approach, their expressions shifting from interest to wariness. They know who you are.

He doesn't turn immediately. Keeps talking, voice carrying a rhythm unlike anything you've heard in Tokyo. An accent that doesn't belong here.

Only when you're close enough to count the stitches on his leather jacket does he acknowledge your presence.

And even then, it's just a partial turn. Forty-five degrees. Neck cradling slightly to look at you sideways.

Performative, if anything. Like he knew you were coming before you did.

You cross your arms, weight shifting to one hip. His mouth twitches upward at the corner, eyes traveling from your face down to your boots and back up again.

Not subtle about it at all.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this sight?" Velvet slides from his lips.

One eyebrow quirks upward, the slightest movement. His Japanese is fluent but different—consonants softened, vowels stretched in places they shouldn't be.

You narrow your eyes. "You mentioned Kalo. What do you know about him? What's your relationship?"

He studies you for two full seconds. Not answering. Just looking. Like he's trying to read something written in small print.

Then he chuckles, using two fingers to move a thin strand of dark hair that's fallen across his view. The movement is unnecessary. Theatrical. Done for effect.

"Why so serious, princesa?"

It’s Spanish, the last word. You know that much, know from the way the word rolls off his tongue, deliberate, inserted where it doesn't belong. Like he’s testing boundaries, hoping for a reaction.

"I asked you a question." You keep your voice unimpressed.

"And I asked you one too."

He turns to face you fully now, leaning back against his car with the casualness of someone who's never been afraid of anything.

"But since you came all this way... Kalo. The Supra guy, right? The one who races like he learned driving from a video game?"

The description is so accurate you almost smile.

Almost.

"I hear he owes someone money," he continues, watching your reaction carefully. "Someone who smoked him on the mountain course two weeks back. Embarrassed him so badly he's been hiding like a scared rabbit."

His three companions take subtle steps backward, no longer interested in being part of this conversation.

Smart.

Maya appears beside you, silent backup. Though her presence changes nothing in his demeanor.

"And how would you know about that?" you ask.

He shrugs one shoulder.

"People talk. I listen." His accent thickens when he adds, "Es lo que hago." (It’s what I do)

"Is that right?" You don't react to the Spanish. "Interesting that someone who just showed up knows so much about other people's business."

"I'm observant."

His eyes lock with yours.

"For example, I observe that you're not here to race tonight. That outfit? Those heels?" He clicks his tongue. "You're here to collect. To make a point."

Something cold slides down your spine. Not fear—you don't do fear. Something else.

Being read so easily isn't a sensation you're familiar with.

"What's your name again?" You ask it like you've already forgotten, though you haven't.

"Jaque." He says it with a slight emphasis on the second syllable. "And you're Y/N. The 86 driver who hasn't lost a mountain race in what, two years?"

"Nineteen months," Maya corrects automatically.

You shoot her a look.

Jaque's smile widens. "Nineteen months. Impressive."

"If you're done wasting my time," you say, turning slightly, "I have a debt to collect."

"From a guy who isn't here."

He pushes off his car, closing the distance between you by half a step. Not enough to be threatening. Just enough to make his presence unavoidable.

"And won't be. Not tonight," he adds.

"And you know that how?"

"Because I passed him on the expressway heading in the opposite direction. About twenty minutes ago." He taps his wrist where a watch would be. "Running scared, looked like."

You clench your jaw. If he's telling the truth, you've wasted your night. Another dead end in your hunt for the coward who owes you.

"So you just happened to recognize a stranger's car?" Maya asks, skepticism heavy in her voice.

"A white Supra with that terrible aftermarket body kit and the Rising Sun decal on the hood?" He makes a dismissive gesture. "Hard to miss. Hard to forget, unfortunately."

That description matches Kalo's car exactly; and the sick feeling in your stomach tells you he's not lying, as much as you'd like him to be.

"Well," you say, voice cooling by several degrees, "thanks for the information."

You turn to leave, disgusted at having your time wasted. First by Kalo's absence, now by this newcomer who clearly just wanted to get your attention. Another night, another waste.

"I'll pay you double what he owes you."

The words stop you mid-step.

You turn back slowly, measuring every movement.

"Excuse me?"

Jaque's expression hasn't changed, but something in his eyes has.

They’re gleaning.

"Fifty thousand yen, right? I'll make it a hundred." He says casually, like offering to buy a coffee. "If you beat me."

Maya makes a small sound beside you, something between a scoff and a laugh.

"And why would I race someone I don't know for money I don't need?"

You almost laugh. As if this is about the money. You were born into more yen than he’s ever seen—this is about respect. About principle. About owning your loss when someone beats you clean. No excuses. No saving face. Just bow your head and pay what you owe.

But he’s not done.

"Because you're curious." He says it like it's obvious. "Because you've been the best for nineteen months and you're bored. Because you want to know if I'm as good as they say."

"As good as who says?" You roll your eyes. "I've never heard of you before tonight."

"Then I must be doing something right." His smile shifts, becomes syrupy. "But if money doesn't motivate you, how about this—I win, I get to run with your crew. Race in your territory."

You can't help it—you laugh. Short and dismissive.

"That's not how this works. You don't just buy your way in." Your eyes flick to his car. "No matter how pretty your GT-R is."

"I'm not buying," he corrects, that accent slipping into his Japanese again. "I'm earning. Difference."

You narrow your eyes.

Maya leans close to your ear. "You're not seriously considering this?"

You should walk away. This guy is nobody. A newcomer with a nice car and too much confidence. The racing scene sees them every month. They come, they crash, they disappear.

But.

Something about the way he stands there, utterly certain of himself, gets under your skin.

Like he already knows your answer before you do.

And maybe it's the wasted night. Maybe it's two weeks of hunting Kalo with nothing to show for it. Maybe it's just the need to put someone in their place.

"One race," you hear yourself say.

Maya's head whips toward you in surprise.

"One race," you continue, "and when I win, you pay double what Kalo owes me, and you don't bother me again."

"And when I win," he counters, not missing a beat, "I race with your crew. Simple."

"If," you correct.

"When." He doesn't back down.

One calculated step closer brings his scent into focus. Leather, naturally, but beneath it something that doesn't compute. A scent that belongs to ryokan inns and meditation halls, not this arrogant foreigner.

Hinoki.

"You're awfully confident for someone who knows nothing about me or how I drive."

"And you're awfully defensive for someone who's supposedly unbeatable." His voice drops lower, meant for your ears only. "What are you afraid of, princesa?"

The Spanish word again. A barb. Challenging.

"Afraid?" You match his tone. "I'm trying to save you the embarrassment. And the money."

He laughs, so genuine that it catches you off guard. "So it's settled then. You and me. Tonight."

From the corner of your eye, you see Kenji approaching, drawn by the developing scene. Others are watching too.

Word travels fast in this world.

"Fine." You extend your hand, a formality in this world of verbal contracts. "My terms. My course."

He takes your hand. His grip is firm but not aggressive. Just right. His palm warm against yours.

"Your course," he agrees. "But I pick when."

You raise an eyebrow. "When, then?"

His smile widens, showing teeth. "Now."

Death has a rhythm.

Tonight, it sounds like Daddy Yankee.

The mountain is yours—every curve, every shadow, every inch of guardrail. You've memorized each crack in the asphalt like the lines on your palm.

Yet as you sit at the starting line, engine purring, the midnight purple Skyline beside you blasts "Gasolina" loud enough to vibrate your windows.

He's not even looking at the road.

Jaque's got hand on the wheel, the other tapping the window frame in rhythm.

Kenji stands between the cars, arms raised.

You grip your steering wheel tighter.

Focus. Calculate. This is your mountain. Your rules.

"Ready!" Kenji shouts.

You check your gauges, settle into position, drop your breath rate. Your 86 is an extension of your body.

"Set!"

Jaque turns to you—actually turns his head away from the road—and winks.

Winks.

What the fuck is his problem?

Your jaw clenches so hard you hear teeth grinding.

"GO!"

You snap into the first gear immediately, launching forward as your tires bite into asphalt. Perfect traction. Perfect release. Your 86 shoots ahead exactly as calculated, exactly as it always does.

The Skyline stays even.

First corner approaches—tight right-hander with a nasty camber that catches amateurs by surprise. You brake at the perfect moment, downshift, feel the weight transfer as you clip the apex.

Textbook. Flawless. The corner you've taken hundreds of times.

The Skyline mirrors you exactly, staying in your blind spot. The bass from his music is still thumping through the night air.

Second corner. Third. Fourth. Each attack perfect, each line immaculate. And still, he's there. Not gaining, not falling behind. Just... present. Like a shadow you can't shake.

"What the hell is this guy playing at?" You mutter, taking the next hairpin with a controlled aggression that should give you an advantage.

Should.

Doesn't.

The Skyline follows, its midnight paint swallowing the moonlight instead of reflecting it. Through the next three corners, it continues—you lead, he follows, neither gaining ground.

Until the straightaway.

The road opens up, and you floor it. The 86 responds instantly, pushing you back into your seat. This is where your lighter weight should shine.

But the Skyline surges forward, twin-turbo engine unleashing a growl that slices the night.

He passes you.

Not aggressively. Not dangerously.

Just... efficiently.

Like it's the most natural thing in the world.

For the first time in nineteen months, you're staring at someone else's taillights.

"No fucking way."

You push harder, finding speed you rarely tap into. The gap closes slightly on the approach to the next corner—a sharp left with a cliff drop on the outside.

No guardrail. No room for error.

Normal people brake early here.

Jaque, as it turns out, is not normal people.

You don't brake until the last possible microsecond, throwing the 86 into the corner. The tires scream, traction at its absolute limit. You can feel them searching for grip, dancing on the edge of adhesion.

You exit the corner a car length behind him.

"Come on!" You slam the gearshift, pushing for more.

The next section is technical—five corners in quick succession. Your territory.

It's where precision matters more than power.

You close the gap. Corner by corner, inch by inch. Three more and you're on his bumper. Close enough to see his fingers still tapping against the frame slightly to the rhythm.

The next hairpin is your chance. The inside line is risky—there's barely enough room—but it's your mountain.

You know exactly how much space you need.

You dive for the gap.

For one beautiful moment, you're alongside him. Equal. Your front bumper inches past his door.

Then he does something impossible.

Instead of defending the line—instead of doing what any rational driver would do—Jaque throws his car into a drift so aggressive it sends the back end swinging wide, nearly touching the guardrail.

The move creates an arc that cuts you off, forces you to brake or crash.

You brake.

The maneuver costs him speed, should give you another chance to pass on exit.

But before you can capitalize, he's already accelerating out of the drift, the Skyline's all-wheel drive finding traction where none should exist.

"What the actual—"

The move was insane. Suicidal. The kind of thing that ends with twisted metal and sirens.

And he pulled it off like he was parallel parking.

For the final stretch—three corners and the last straightaway—you throw caution aside. Push beyond limits you usually respect. The 86 responds, giving everything it has.

It's not enough.

The Skyline crosses the finish line two car lengths ahead. You slam your palm against the steering wheel.

The taste of defeat is metallic in your mouth, foreign and despised.

You bring the 86 to a hard stop, tires protesting at the sudden deceleration.

The music still pounds from his car. That same goddamn song.

You throw open your door, adrenaline and anger propelling you forward. The cool mountain air hits your flushed face as you storm toward his car.

Because that last move? It wasn't just reckless—it was deadly. The kind of stunt that gets people killed on these mountains.

Words build in your throat. Sharp words. Words about respect for the mountain and death wishes and arrogance.

His door swings open as you approach. The music blasts louder without the barrier of glass and metal. He slides out with that same casual grace you saw when he called you princesa, when he winked before accelerating.

And something stops the words in your throat.

He shakes his head slightly, dark hair falling across his eyes before he pushes it back with one smooth motion. His other hand remains on the Skyline's roof, some golden ring catching the moonlight.

When he turns to face you, there's no triumph in his expression. No arrogance.

Just... satisfaction.

Like he's found something he's been looking for.

His eyes meet yours across the short distance. That smile appears again—not the cocky smirk from earlier, but something more genuine. Lips curved just slightly at the corners.

"Thanks for the adrenaline rush, mami," he says, voice carrying over the pounding beat of Daddy Yankee.

You've never hated Spanish music more in your life.

goal: 500 notes

taglist: @cannotalwaysbenight @taevescence @itstoastsworld @somehowukook @stutixmaru @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @annyeongbitch7 @mar-lo-pap @mikrokookiex @minniejim @curse-of-art @cristy-101 @mellyyyyyyx @rpwprpwprpwprw @jkrailme @graydolan12

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© jungkoode 2025 | banner/div credit: @dailynnt no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[mistreatedangel]

the stars between, theodore nott.

SUMMARY — you were his world, and he was your galaxy.

WARNINGS — nothing but fluff, short and sweet.

AUTHOR NOTE — i did write this off half an hour of sleep. so don’t kill me! written while listening to this song here.

WORD COUNT — 582.

it was more chillier then you thought it would be tonight. shivering in your loose ill—fitting sweater, that was more then two folds bigger then you. the fabric swallowing up your frame casting a blanket over your shoulders.

take a deep inhale, sucking in the air around you. drinking in the sweet scent of woody, a musk like scent with a hint of cigarette smoke.

he was here.

he always was. this was like his second home, a safe space he inclined himself to share, no graced, your presence with. his own little paradise. a heaven in the hell you and half of the students were doomed to live.

with the threat of death and destruction.

you wouldn't pass up a chance to live a little on the edge, even if you had to share it with an snake. you didn't need that it was him out of all of them.

he was once of the nicer ones, on the eyes and in personality. theodore nott, was a man with a heart of gold. doomed to follow his family foot steps.

"i see your darling friends let you go." he voiced dragging out word darling in a mocking tone, rolling his eyes. flicking the ash from his cigarette on to the railing before him, inhaling the smoke filled air around him. as it burned his lungs in a familiar sensation.

a gentle, almost comforting taste of freedom.

ignoring his word of distain for your friend. closing up on the older male (only by a few months, which he had no problem rubbing in your face ever chance he got.) snatching the cigarette from his frail, skinny hands. taking a few puffs before flicking it to the ground, trapping it beneath your heel, twisting your foot on it. snuffing out the flames.

"rude." he mumbled with half lipped eyes, turning his body towards you. pushing his back against the railing, looking you up and down.

"whatever teddy," you giggled rolling your eyes. pushing his shoulder back. pushing his further into the railing of the astronomy tower.

raising up his eyebrow, in curiosity. "oh so i'm teddy now. what happened to theodore amore mio’? i thought i was in time out." he teased tapping his lips with his index finger, admiring your facial expression.

". . . you know what. yeah— theodore!"

snickering his teeth, waving his index finger back and forth in a taunting gesture. "no it's teddy tesoro'."

pulling your body closer to him, soaking up all your body warmth. he could be like this for days. just laid up in your arms. pushing away the inevitable doom, that seems to be knocking on the doorsteps of the castle.

moving your body around, snaking your arms around the older males torso. digging your nails deep into the Theo's side. which for sure would leave crescent moon marks on his back. a reminder, a claim, a mark that his was yours. and only yours.

"ow— i know you like it rough. but hell woman." Theo hissed slapping at your hands playful. grinning like a mad man. oh how much he loved, no loves you. you were the stars in his bleak skies. the light the shined bright even when the most damn tried to dim your light. there you stood, headstrong. his very own star, a gift from the gods above.

his very own star, you were his world. and he was your solar system.

two pieces made for each—other, destined to fall.

[borathae]

↳ Index [Day 27 - Spanking]

Pairing: Hard Dom!Taehyung x f. Brat!Reader

Genre: established relationship!AU, rich!Taehyung

Kinks: insinuations that he spoils her rotten <3, lingerie kink, making him jealous on purpose and he knows it, sexting, getting him riled up only to deny him, buff!Taehyung working out to build off steam, he is taller than her, he pretends to be angry with her cause she’s into it, choking (f.receiving), hair pulling (f.receiving), spanking, praise, he calls her ‘brat’ like twice, strength kink, pussy rubbing over clothes, there are yoga pants involved and he just- fuck read for yourselves, he might be rough with her but this is so so consensual, just so you know you will all feel edged after this story :)

Wordcount: 2.3k

a/n: i’m not one to kink shame but the fact that you didn’t choose penetrative sex or oral ruined me omfg oh lord i feel like you were trying to edge me with this :’) i wanted to make him eat her out from behind and then fuck her into a creampied mess and yet i had to stop before that could happen </3 heartbreak would be easier to bear JFJADSFJ no but seriously, obviously i’m not actually mad hehe you choose what you feel comfortable with and i’ll work with it <3 love you baby <3 also, i need Tae to be rough with me tbfh ps: i saw that you wanted the bedroom but I thought of tae in the gym and had to write it there, forgive me my creative freedom JFJADSFJ

You have been pushing his buttons today. At first he thought that it was his fault, that perhaps he woke up on the wrong side of the bed today and you weren’t actually trying to annoy him. But then he saw the way you eyed him when he supposedly wasn’t looking and he knew that he wasn’t imagining it. He began enjoying it then, increasing his act of annoyance for your pleasure.

You have been surprisingly quiet for a while now however and Taehyung starts to wonder if he imagined it after all. Maybe he was grumpy and you were entirely innocent. Oh goodness, what if you are quiet right now because his acts of annoyance made you insecure? Shit, did he misunderstand the situation?

His music turns off. Taehyung lifts his head, lowering the dumbbells for now. You entered the home gym, dressed in tight yoga pants and a sports bra. The bra just so happens to open in the front with a zipper. The music turns back on, except that it is your music playing.

Taehyung stands up from the bench, smiling lopsidedly with his tongue in his cheek. He definitely didn’t misunderstand the situation, you are still very much trying to push his buttons.

“What are you playing at now?” he asks.

“Nothing. Just didn’t like the music.”

“Yeah?” His eyes follow you as you strut to the warm up section. “Well, it just so happens that I liked it.”

You get on all fours to do some yoga stretches. Taehyung gawks at your ass, because you clearly are not on this mat for stretches. This is just another part of your plan to make him lose his mind.

“Really? But it was so bad.”

Taehyung tenses his jaw, lowering his eyes at you. Fuck, it’s driving him insane.

It all started when you strutted around the bedroom this morning, dressed in nothing but his favourite set of lingerie. Which you never do. You did your hair and make-up in it, sitting on the vanity chair at an angle which really showed off your ass. Which you never do. All while you told him about the “weird” co-worker who stared at you yesterday. Which you never do because you know it makes him jealous. It was an act. It made him crazy for you and you proceeded to haunt his mind during work. He imagined how it would have been if he gave in and bent you over that vanity. How it would have been if he slid those panties to the side and drilled your pussy until you were dripping with him. How it would have been if he fucked the brat out if you until you were cock obedient again.

But alas, he didn’t act on his urges and you made him pay the price by torturing him from afar all day. You sent him selfies, talked about how you regret wearing the panties because they rub your pussy when you walk, proceeded to send him more selfies and an update that you couldn’t take it anymore and you went commando. Taehyung swears that he wanted to quit work just so he could get to your work place and fuck you in the broom cabinet.

But alas, he couldn’t and he had to wait until he came home. Which made him realise that you were still scheming. He came home to dinner and you in your work clothes chatting to some of your colleagues. Taehyung’s desires to take you against the kitchen counter or on the dining table had to wait and he had to enjoy a faux friendly dinner with you and your stupid colleagues.

You left him to clean the kitchen, excusing yourself on a walk around the block. You were gone before Taehyung could retaliate. And he decided to built off steam by working out.

Which takes this story to the current moment. You arching your back in a downdog position while you hold eye contact in the mirror.

“Seriously, what are you fucking playing at today?” he hisses.

You finish your stretch, sitting up sensually.

“What do you mean?”

“First, you walk around in my favourite set, then you make me jealous with your stupid co-worker story, then you send me selfies and talk about going commando. I come home, wanting to fuck you senseless only to realise that you invited said co-worker and some for dinner. And now this. What is your fucking plan?”

You turn on the mat, giving him innocent puppy eyes.

“You wanted to fuck me?” you ask, fluttering your lashes.

“Oh, shut up. I know exactly what you’re playing at.”

“Shut up?” you ask, making sad eyes at him.

Taehyung closes the distance and falls to his knees. He grabs your cheeks with three fingers, forcing you to look into his dark eyes.

“I’m sorry mon amour, but the time to be kind to you is over. I told you to shut up and I meant it.”

You moan softly, pressing your legs together. You touch his strong chest.

“I don’t wanna shut up.”

“Yes.” Taehyung slides his hand to your neck. “Yes, you do. You fucking need it.”

Pressure on your veins. Dizziness, bliss, warmth. Your head blurs, you feel like floating. He scans his darkened eyes over your face and tits.

“I don’t get you. I treat you so well, I buy you everything could ever wish for, I fuck you until you’re unable to walk and yet you treat me like this.”

The pressure on your veins grows, your pleasure grows with it. He licks his lips, tongues his cheek lazily.

“Huh? What am I doing not enough of, mon amour?”

He tilts your head closer, letting you taste a kiss which he never truly feeds you. You have to be happy with the flavour of his words and the ghost of his breath. You feel high because of it, soaking up every word.

“Do I need to take you out more? Buy out more stores for you? Or have I simply not fucked you hard enough lately?”

Closer. His lips brush yours. You moan and slide your hands to the back of his neck, twisting his hair. If he keeps holding your neck hostage like this, you will never be the same again. It feels so good.

“What’s it, mon amour? Time, money or sex?”

“You”, you croak out.

He cocks his brow up, “me?”

“You. I need more of you.”

“And you gotta act like that all day? All you had to fucking do was ask.”

“Could I? I haven’t been a priority to you in ages.”

He scoffs and moves away. You and he both know that this was a lie. He fucking spoils you rotten. There is nothing that is missing. Both physically, emotionally and materialistically. You are spoiled beyond comparison and he knows that you are aware of it. This is, yet again, another part of your bratty plan to get a punishment.

“Hah”, he lets out and scoffs again. He lets go of your throat, sitting back on the weight bench next to the mat. He spreads his legs for it, giving you total view of his crotch in those tight grey sweats of his’. “Now you are just being a fucking brat.”

You bite down on your lower lip, looking proud of yourself. It almost makes him break his character. You are so adorable when you’re being proud of yourself. But he has to be stronger than his fluttering heart.

“But you’re aware of that, aren’t you?”

You nod your head, scooting closer to him in anticipation.

Taehyung scans you from head to toe. You have your thighs pressed together and your hands folded on your lap. You are so pretty. He falls in love with you over and over again each day.

He leans back, nodding his head at his own lap.

“Get on here before I run out of patience.”

You stand up and sit down. He stops you before that could happen however, holding your wrist tightly.

“You and I both know that this isn’t what I meant. Get on my lap like the brat you are.”

You mewl, following his order embarrassingly well. Listen, all you wanted all day was to be spanked. Can one blame you for your sudden obedience when it meant you are getting what you wanted? Of course not. You are just a woman after all. A woman with the hottest boyfriend on earth.

You lay down on his lap, stomach first and ass in the air. Taehyung purrs in contentment, running his big hands over your hips and ass.

“There we go. You did something right”, he praises and slides his hand between your legs to rub your pussy over your pants. He does it mindlessly, as if he wasn’t actually doing it, but you are so riled up at this point that it makes your knees buckle.

You gasp and moan, chasing his touch which doesn’t seem to end.

“You’re so pretty on my lap, mon amour”, he rasps, dancing his other hand to your hair. He grabs a bundle of it and tilts your  head back.

The tug burns, dragging a moan from your lips. Your eyes meet your own reflection, forcing another moan out of you. You look so owned. It's perfect. He smirks at you in the mirror.

“Don’t you agree?”

You try to nod your head as best as his tight grip allows you. It increases the burn of your scalp and the warmth between your legs. Taehyung makes it even hotter with his long fingers on your pussy. He keeps contact, sliding his thumb to your rim. He presses down, forcing you to gasp and flinch. He doesn’t let you flee, pulling you back by your hair.

“A-ah”, you let out, mouth falling open and hips rutting back into his hand.

“So pretty”, he purrs, licking his lips sensually, “and so wet. Fuck, if there weren’t these stupid pants between my hand and you…” he trails off, running is eyes along your body. He purrs to himself and lets go of your hair because he clearly is planning to do something.

You keep your head lifted, watching him with a racing pulse.

Taehyung grabs bundles of the fabric, twists and rips it by the middle seam. His arms and chest bulge and flex as he does it. Your legs shake. Within a few seconds, you are bare and your pants are ruined. Your ass and pussy are on completely display, your thoughts are a mess.

“No panties. Of course. I didn’t expect anything else from you”, he spits and connects his hand with your freshly exposed ass.

You yelp up in surprise, knees buckling and stomach knocking into his lap. He really made sure that the spank would hurt, giving you no time to recover by landing another spank on your tender flesh.

It burns and hurts, dragging his name from your tongue in a needy mewl. A third spank forces your head to drop.

“Hey! Look at yourself”, he barks, dragging your head up by your hair. He keeps a tight grip on it afterwards, staring deep into your hazy eyes as his other hand spanks your tender ass.

You moan and sob at the same time, dripping on the floor because you feel so goddamn fucked. His eye contact, his rough handling, his punishing hands; all of it feels like he is making angry love to you and it’s fucking spiritual.

He practically makes himself into your god with two consecutive spanks on your ass, following it with his fingers dragging themselves through your folds and over your hole. They don’t linger. He simply grabbed you with enough possessiveness that his fingers slipped to your heat naturally and as he pulled back for another spank, they gave you a glimpse of heaven.

“Please”, you beg because of it, lifting your hips in sync with him striking you again. It knocks your knees back into the ground, making you convulse on him because this one really burns so deep. You scrunch your face, sobbing his name.

Taehyung smiles proudly, breaking eye contact to look at your exposed heat instead.

“Mhhhhhm amour”, he purrs, smirk morphing into a dark, taunting smile, “you’re leaking down your thighs.” He drags his fingers through the mess and licks it off.

“Tae please”, you beg, leaking even more.

He moans sensually, ending his tasting with a bop of his lips.

“So sweet. It’s a shame that you don’t deserve my mouth tonight”, he says and spanks you surprisingly.

“Ah!” you scream and tremble, reaching up to grab his strong under arm. The zipper of your sports bra opens just enough to give him view of your squished tits. They sit so prettily in the tiny piece of fabric.

Taehyung feels the need to spank you for it. Once. Twice. Thrice. Four times and a fifth because you whimpered so sweetly with the fourth one. He spreads you afterwards with one hand. His fingers are long – and strong – enough to do so easily. Your pussy and rim are throbbing around nothing, glistening in your juices. It takes everything inside him not to stuff you with his fingers and cock at the same time.

“Breathe for me”, he tells you, watching in delight how breathing makes your empty holes clench and flutter. “Shit. So sexy”, he says and spanks you.

One.

Two.

Three.

You yelp and twitch with each spank.

Four.

You collapse into him, spilling tears. The way your body hangs over his lap, weak and slack, lets him know that he truly broke you. A few more spanks and you would orgasm. One touch to your pussy and you would do it even sooner.

“Perfect. This is perfect”, he says and twists his hand deeper into your hair. He tugs, forcing you to kneel.

You follow him barely, spilling tears from the intense tug. But what truly makes you cry is the emptiness between your legs. You need him so much.

“You’re prettiest when you’re like this”, Taehyung says and steps closer.

You reach for him, opening your mouth like a starving animal. He simply scoffs in amusement and walks past you.

“Huh?”

He walks out the door.

“Tae?”

The door closes.

“Tae. No. Please come back, please.”

[dailynnt]

ONE NIGHT AS THE PRICE OF A REQUEST

⋆˙⟡ Summary: You hate your neighbor Jungkook, but you have to ask him to pretend to be your boyfriend at a party to get rid of your annoying boss. He agrees, but you don't even imagine what you'll have to pay him with. Everything goes according to plan until Jungkook reveals his true price during the dance: one night with him or your life in the neighborhood will be hell.

⋆˙⟡ Couple: Jeon Jungkook/ The Reader, Jungkook/Y/N

⋆˙⟡ Age restrictions: 18+

⋆˙⟡ Index of chapters: ≣

⋆˙⟡ Number of chapter: 5/?

⋆˙⟡ Tags: enemies-to-neighbors-to-lover, fake relationship, hate to desire, dom!Jungkook, heated blackmail, one bed trope (later more than one bed), undeniable chemistry, forced deal, mutual obsession, dangerous game, unexpected feelings, passion on edge, impossible to resist, tension and desire, unprotected sex, sexual tension, slow burning

⋆˙⟡ From author: And that's chapter 5 for you 🫶🏻 Tell me what you think about Jungkook’s proposal, will it be interesting to do it Y/N? I think so! Guys, due to my busy schedule at work, I will be posting chapters on weekends, but if it comes out faster I will post it right away. I love you all and thank you for being there for me, I need your support so much do not fade in this horrible world (by the way, a new song ‘MONA LISA’ of Hoseok, I'm just obsessed with it 😭❤️‍🔥😄)

⋆˙⟡ Dedication: to my biggest love @kelsyx33, @curse-of-art, @kooko009, @smokinghotstargirl, @myjungkookthighs, @mskookie, @minimoninini, @medstudentlifestyle for loving me for nothing. I love you girls twice as much 🥺🤭💜🫶🏻

⋆˙⟡ Tag list: @kelsyx33, @curse-of-art, @kooko009, @smokinghotstargirl, @myjungkookthighs, @mskookie, @minimoninini, @medstudentlifestyle, @bhonbhon, @ottergirl (If you want to be on the tag list, let me know)

⋆˙⟡ Warning: English is not my native language, so please be lenient with mistakes in the text 🥹

Chapter 5. A Game of Love for Freedom

You were sitting in the back of a taxi, staring at the dark screen of your phone. The windows of the car were slightly fogged up, and you could only see blurry jumbles of the city's buildings, changing one after another. 

The taxi driver was driving silently, and the radio was playing some calm instrumental music. But there was no calm music inside you - only the hum of anger and frustration. You barely managed to slip out of the office before someone saw you. The journalists. They were already waiting at the entrance, armed with cameras and questions you didn't want to answer.

It was all inevitable. The news of Jungkook's new "girlfriend" was spreading at an incredible rate. Almost all the tabloids were not too lazy to write about you, and it was better not to read the comments on the articles at all. From now on, you are no longer just an employee of ‘EON Creative’. You are "his lover".

Your life no longer belonged to you.

You bit your lips nervously.

It was because of him that it all started. He was the reason you lost your job. Because of him, you had become a sensation to be savored on the Internet.

Your fingers gripped the phone tighter as you typed a short message

📱 You: "Where are you?" 

And pressed "send". 

The answer came much faster than you expected. The phone vibrated literally a minute later. He answered: 

📲 Jungkook: "Who’s that remembered my phone number?" 

You felt everything shrinking in your middle. You hit the screen with your fingers. 

📱 You: "Where are you?" 

You ignored his words and repeated your message. You looked expectantly at the three animated dots that indicated that he was typing a message. 

📲 Jungkook: "Oh, so you already looking for me now?"

After a second pause, another message came:

📲 Jungkook: "I thought you already deleted my number. What? You missed me? 😏" 

📱 You: "We need to meet! Immediately!"

📲 Jungkook: "Immediately? What a tone... Are you always this demanding or is it just for me?"

You were already angry, but Jungkook seemed to be your curse, making you become absolutely evil. 

📱 You: "Jungkook, I'm not in the mood for your jokes."

📲 Jungkook: "And I'm not in the mood for your orders."

You hit the phone's touchscreen even harder. You started shaking with anger. 

📱 You: "Just fucking tell me where you are!" 

Jungkook was silent. You stared at his last text message, waiting for a response. He's just playing with fire. 

📲 Jungkook: "It depends on what you need me for. If you need to cry, I'm busy. If you want something interesting... maybe I can find a minute 😉"

You roll your eyes, trying not to throw your phone out the window.

📱 You: "Jeon, did you even see what happened? 

📲 Jungkook: "What happened kitten?"

📱 You: "Are you being on the internet? All of Korea knows, and you seem to be the last who’s knows that I'm your lover!" 

Jungkook didn't answer for a minute. He kept you waiting. You could not stand it and wrote your question again. 

📱 You: "We need to talk about it!" 

Jungkook didn't answer. You locked your phone and almost cursed out loud. You sighed heavily, feeling tired of everything that was happening. 

Your phone vibrated and you quickly opened a chat with Jungkook. 

📲 Jungkook: "I can only be free after 6 p.m. So if you want to come over in the evening, let's talk." 

You looked at his text message and were unhappy. Did you really need wait all day?

📱 You: "Hey, are you serious, this is important! I can't wait until the evening!"

📲 Jungkook: "And I can't change my schedule because of your tantrums."

You clutched the phone in your hand, trying not to explode. He really got you.

📱 You: "Tantrums? Are you kidding me? Because of you, I got fired, my phone is blowing up with calls, idiots from the press tracked me down under the company, and you're just going on with your life as if nothing happened?!" 

📲 Jungkook: "I can't write anymore. Let's talk in the evening. I'll write when I'm free." 

Jungkook left the chat and you wanted to tear yourself apart. You were so annoyed and angry. You locked your phone and closed your eyes to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over. You didn't understand why you deserved to be put through such a trial. Where on earth did Jungkook come from? Why did you ask him to pretend to be your boyfriend? But now nothing could be changed, only the problem had to be solved, and you were going to give the culprit of this situation do it. 

You got out of the car, paid the taxi driver, and quickly went up to your apartment. As you exited the elevator, you noticed the package with the dress you had left under Jungkook's door. It stood untouched and you involuntarily felt nausea. Because this dress was a vivid reminder of your mistake. You looked away and walked past, simultaneously thinking that Jungkook was either not home all this time as you had thought or he had simply ignored your return and left this package just standing there.

You entered into your apartment. There was silence outside the door, but even that didn't bring you peace. You took off your jacket, threw your phone on the couch, and went into the bathroom. You washed your hands and looked in the mirror. You looked... depressed. Your eyes were a little red from tension, your lips were pressed into a thin line. You'll have to wait for Jungkook all day. Maybe it's for the best. Your anger will calm down and you'll be able to tell him normally, without yelling, that he's to blame for this whole situation and he personally has to solve it in a matter of days! 

You did not know what to do. You were in such a state that you wanted to cry and drink until you passed out. But you didn't want to drink alone, and Jisu wouldn't be free until 7:00 p.m., so that wasn't an option either. She was working right now and your chest was tight with the thought of work. 

So when you left the bathroom, you sat down on the couch and focused on your phone. You wanted to order some food. Yes, delicious food will help to quench your irritation and raise your mood, which was lower than the level of the Mariana Trench. 

You wanted to open the food delivery app, but instead your fingers clicked the browser icon and you saw a bunch of articles similar to the one you read in the morning. The photo was the same, but the headlines were different: 

"Who is the mysterious girl who enchanted the heir to the ‘Jeon Group’?"

"A romantic night at a corporate party: Jong Jungkook and his new passion?"

"Their looks speak for themselves! A secret romance within the walls of ‘EON Creative?’"

And even worse were the comments that you knew you shouldn't read, but you were curious.

"Of course, another one who wants to make it to the elite."

"Is she even pretty? You can't see her face."

"Ha, she's just using him! Poor Jungkook, I hope he doesn't waste money on her."

"Why do all the girls who get spotted with him think they're special?"

"Well, if Jungkook likes girls like that, I have bad news about his taste."

"Of course, another one who sleeps with the bosses."

The last comment made you throw your phone on the couch and run your hands over your face tiredly.

It was so unfair.

You were made out to be someone you weren't. Everyone around you was just talking about you, as if you were no longer a person, but just an object for gossip.

You got up and went to the bathroom. You turned on the water and listened to the sound of it, and it calmed you down a bit. You undressed and when the bathtub was sufficiently filled with water, you got in and tried to relax. 

The hot water enveloped your body, and for a few seconds you allowed yourself to close your eyes. The heaviness in your chest eased a little, but the words you read still echoed in your head. "Another one who sleeps with the bosses." That was the most offensive thing. The most painful.

You had never looked for easy ways, never sucked up to your bosses to get promoted. You worked your ass off, even doing extra tasks to maintain a good reputation. And now it's all ruined. Because of one man.

Your lips pressed together, and you took a deep breath. 

Giving yourself an hour to calm your nerves, you stepped out of the bathroom, wrapping yourself in a towel. You heard the sound of the message. Your heart skipped a beat - Jungkook? Had he gotten off work early?

You walked over to the couch and picked up the phone. The message was from Jisoo.

📲 Jisu: "How are you? I saw the articles. It's just horrible. Has Jungkook done anything yet?"

You bit your lower lip as you typed your answer:

📱 You: "No. But we have to meet up. What about you? How are things at work?"

📲 Jisu: "Like a tinderbox. Everyone is talking about you and Jungkook. The boss is angry, but it's more because of the press attention. He says it's bad for the company's reputation."

📱 You: "So it's nothing new... 😑"

📲 Jisu: "Yeah... But I'm here for you and if you want to talk, I'm ready."

📱 You: "Thank you dear, we will definitely talk about it..." 

You exhaled and put the phone down on your lap. It was a little easier to know that Jisu was supporting you, but it didn't change the situation. You were still the center of the scandal. 

Throwing the towel on the back of the couch, you went to the closet and dressed in a white short top and black sweatpants. You tied your hair in a careless bun to keep it out of your eyes. Your nerves were on edge, so you ordered some food: spicy fried chicken and beer. 

In the late in evening, it started to rain outside. It was pounding on the window sill, making a lot of noise. You looked at the clock on your phone. It showed 7.28 p.m. It was as if Jungkook was playing on your nerves on purpose. He said he'd be free after 6:00 p.m., but it was already half past eight and you hadn't heard from him. 

You had been lying on the bed for several hours, but you were boring. You got up and stretched your muscles when you heard your phone vibrate. The screen showed an incoming call from Jungkook. For some reason, your heart started beating faster. You grabbed the phone and put on the green button. 

"Hello." Your voice was reserved. 

"I'm under the house, come down to my car.  I only have ten minutes." 

You raised your eyebrows. 

"Really? You kept me waiting all day and now you only have ten minutes?"

"If there's something you don't like, we can talk another time." he said nonchalantly. 

You rolled your eyes and exhaled in frustration. You are a ball of nerves today. 

"Why can't you lift up?" you asked as you walked to the front door to go downstairs to see him. 

"I have to leave immediately after this, and I don’t want to waste time. So if you want to talk, lift your sweet ass and come down to me…" You could feel that he was saying it with a smile.

"Okay." you growled and hung up the phone. You put on your sweatshirt, pulled the hood over your head and left the apartment. 

It was wet outside and the rain was pounding down on Seoul at night. You saw Jungkook's black Maybach GLS. It was parked right in front of your door. You quickly got into the front seat, but the rain still managed to get you a little wet. 

Jungkook gave you a quick glance and then focused on the road ahead. He pulled out of the driveway to go to a place where his car wouldn't be in the way. 

"Did you get wet?" his voice was relaxed, even if you could tell he sounded tired. It was the first time in your life you'd ever seen him sound so preoccupied. 

"Of course!" you pulled off your hood and ran your fingers through your hair, trying to look normal. "Not everyone has a security guard running around with an umbrella whenever they need to." 

"I don't have security either. And you could have brought an umbrella with you." He gave you a quick glance. 

"You made me run up here instead of going upstairs like a normal person!" you protested. 

Jungkook didn't answer, but the corners of his lips twitched. Obviously, he found your indignation amusing. Jungkook stopped the car in an open parking lot on the street and when he finished parking, he turned to you, still smiling slightly. He looked calm, even a little relaxed. His hair was perfectly styled with a parting in the middle. His black shirt, unbuttoned at the top buttons, and dark jacket made him even more... dangerously attractive.

You looked at him that to you could to show him your anger, and you felt your stomach lurch. Did you just feel fucking butterflies in your stomach just because of the way he looked? 

"So, what are we going to talk about?" asked Jungkook, making his smile wider.

"Settle this 'mistress' nonsense and give me my job back!" You immediately blurted out all your demands to him. Jungkook's eyebrows flew up. He chuckled in surprise, clearly impressed by the way you spoke. 

"I don't understand. Are you asking me for help again? As I recall, you said you would 'never' ask for it again." Jungkook leaned back, staring at you greedily. How the fuck can you look so sexy wearing a regular top and sweatpants? Jungkook lowered his gaze to your figure. Your cardigan was unbuttoned, and you were wearing a white top with no bra underneath. He could clearly see your nipples through the fabric. He couldn't help but think back to the night he fucked you so well. His thoughts were already going the wrong way. He looked down at your sweatpants and thought about how easy it would be to get his hands underneath them to touch your pussy. 

"This is not a request for help, a genius. You are to blame for this whole situation and you are the only one who can solve it!" You said angrily, snapping Jungkook out of his thoughts. He raised his eyes to your face. For a few seconds, he looked into your eyes full of anger and then leaned over, leaning on the armrest. You instinctively leaned back, but not too far. 

"You asked me to play the role of your boyfriend. Why are you making me the only one to blame?" Jungkook asked seriously, but not without a hint of playfulness in his voice. Your eyes darted between his. 

"That's what I asked. But I didn't know you were the goddamn heir to the ‘Jeon Group’! Why didn't you tell me in the first place?" you asked. Jungkook pressed his lips together and you looked at them against your will. He noticed this and deliberately ran his tongue over his lips. 

"Did you ask?" asked Jungkook, watching you stare at his lips in awe. You forced yourself to look away when you heard what he was saying. You opened your mouth at his absurd question. And then you gave a hysterical short laugh. 

"So I'm supposed to come to you and ask you to play the role of my boyfriend and then give you a questionnaire so you can fill in your entire biography?" your voice trembled with anger. 

Jungkook smiled slyly, tilting his head slightly to the side.

"That's right, kitten. It would be interesting," he replied, looking you over calmly. "Although it would hardly change anything, would it?" he stared at you again, as if enjoying his every word. 

You took a deep breath, trying to control the wave of irritation.

"It would have changed everything! I would never have asked you to be my boyfriend!" 

"Then you would have missed out on a great opportunity to spend the night with me." Jungkook said, remembering how you paid for his service. His voice sounded mocking, but his eyes flashed with something deeper.

"Speaking of the night... are you okay with cheating on your fiancée?" you asked with curiosity in your voice. The fact that you were sleeping with them while he had a fiancée triggered you just as much. Jungkook tensed up. His smile remained in place, but his eyes darkened. He leaned back slowly, watching you as if assessing you. 

"Me?" he raised his eyebrows in surprise, jabbing a finger at his chest, "Cheating?" he tilted his head, and his voice was still lightly playful, mixed with challenge.

"Well, your fiancée is Kang Sukhi, who everyone knows about, except me of course, because I didn't know you at all. Is that okay?" 

"I didn't cheat on anyone, kitten. You're confused..." Jungkook was still smiling and you could tell he was having fun with the whole situation, but you weren't in the mood for amusement. 

"You're officially engaged, but you're still fucking me!" you almost shouted as you leaned forward. Jungkook was amazed at your angry reaction to Suhy, didn't it look like jealousy? In his eyes, it was more than that. He straightened up, looking you straight in the eye. 

"No. We're not officially engaged. If it's so important for you to know, I haven't promised her anything. For me, she is nothing more than a convenient formality for the family business. And if you think that I ever belonged to her..." his fingers lightly touched a strand of your hair, making your skin tingle. "...you'd be very wrong."

You pressed your lips together, trying not to show how something stirred inside you. You batted his hand away and turned away, crossing your arms over your chest. 

"It doesn't change the fact that I slept with you without knowing the truth." 

"And do you regret it?"

The question hovered between you, making you hold your breath.

"Yes." You lied, answering too quickly. 

Jungkook leaned forward a little, watching you.

"You're lying."

His confidence pissed you off.

"Enough! I don't want to continue this topic..." 

"You started talking about it ," Jungkook said, laughing. You looked at him angrily and he just shook his head. 

"You're nothing but trouble for me! And it's been like that since we first met. I don't want anything to tie us together! So do everything the way it was before you! Say that I'm not your mistress and that you have a beautiful fiancée whom you love very much. And make my boss take me back to work!" you demanded. Jungkook just smiled. He could barely stop himself from throwing kisses at you. Your anger turned him on and lit a dangerous fire inside him. 

"What are you going to give me in return?" He asked as soon as you finished speaking. You stared at him, not understanding what he was asking. 

"What?" you asked nervously. 

"Well, you don't think I'm just going to decide this, do you?" he lazily ran his fingers over the steering wheel.

You felt like you were on the verge of exploding. 

"Are you really that pathetic that you want to make me pay for your own mistake?" you asked sarcastically. 

"Mistake?" Jungkook smiled, but his eyes instantly darkened. "I wonder what exactly I did wrong? I went along with your adventure and saved you from the boss." 

"You should have told me who you were..." 

Jungkook exhaled, you kept saying the same thing and he was getting a little tired of fighting with you. 

"Okay, how do you see the solution to this problem?" Jungkook suddenly asked.

"I told you. Just make an official statement that there is nothing between us. And... and tell Mr. Kang to put me back to work!" Jungkook chuckled.

"See, you're who’s making a mistake. If I tell them there's nothing between us now, it'll be even worse for you. They'll think I used you and then dumped you. It'll only make your reputation worse." 

You pressed your fingers to your temples.

"Then what?" 

He slowly leaned toward you, his face too close, his perfume too seductive.

"I have another proposal. It will be beneficial for both of us." 

You stared at him questioningly, listening to your own heartbeat. 

"I don't want to marry Sukhi. But my parents want to make me. But if you pretend to be my girlfriend, the I can be free from the engagement." 

You were stunned by his words. Again pretend to be his girlfriend? That's ridiculous. It's nonsense. You laughed softly, looking at his face. 

"This game again? Where garanty you sure if you show me to your parents you stand free from the engagement? You said yourself that this marriage is good for business." 

"That's exactly the biggest problem. My parents are forcing me, putting pressure on me because of the business. But I don't want to do that. That's why I'm offering you this deal. You have to look as convincing as possible so that it is Sukhi who breaks off this engagement, or her father. And I will make sure that the media stops writing dirt about you, and instead of returning you to the position of the PR manager, I will give you a good job in the main company." 

You hold your breath. His offer sounds so tempting and so simple. But this is Jungkook, and there are always pitfalls in his offers.

"And I'll pay you, for the time you don't work." 

You turned away and stared at the windshield, where water was running down from the heavy rain. You should accept his offer right away because it sounds like you hit the jackpot. You wanted to laugh. This offers sounds like you'll climb the career ladder thanks to him. But do your principles and efforts matter anymore? Everything you've achieved on your own has been destroyed, so what's the point of staying proper? All of Korea already considers you "the one who sleeps with the bosses." But you knew it wouldn't be easy. You looked back at Jungkook, who was waiting for your answer. 

"So, what's it going to look like?" 

Jungkook stretched his lips in a smug smile, as if he was anticipating victory. He leaned even closer, clutching the steering wheel his hand.

"We'll be together," Jungkook said, savoring the words. "Going to events, showing up at restaurants, sometimes letting the paparazzi catch us in the act... Basically, doing everything a couple should do. I need Sukhi to believe that." 

You wrinkled your nose, and he almost laughed.

"That sounds like some kind of soap opera."

"It's business, kitten. It's just business. You get everything you want: reputation, job, money. And I get my freedom." 

"What if your fiancée comes to me to pull out all my hair?" Jungkook smiled even wider, leaning back.

"Sukhi? She's too proud to make a scene. She'd rather pretend to change her mind."

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't hide your skepticism.

"What if she doesn't change her mind?"

Jungkook hummed, his fingers drumming lazily on the steering wheel.

"Then we'll have to work a little harder."

You rolled your eyes.

"Fine. But what else is included in this 'little harder'? I assume you'll want some... public gestures?"

Jungkook nodded slowly, as if confirming your worst guess.

"Hugs, hand-holding, kissing. Nothing supernatural."

"Kissing?" you asked, even though it was the obvious thing you were supposed to do as a "couple". 

"Don't act like we haven't done it before," he smirked, leaning in a little closer. "I'm sure you like kissing me..."

You gritted your teeth, trying not to let his voice make your body react treacherously.

"And how long is this going to last?"

"Until I get out of this engagement. Ideally, a month, maybe two."

"And if your plan doesn't work?"

Jungkook was silent for a moment and then answered with a smile on his lips. 

"Then you'll have to stay my girlfriend longer."

You exhaled, trying to assess all the risks. 

"But there is one condition," he added. 

You rolled your eyes. 

"What condition?" you asked, frightened. Knowing how he could set conditions, you could have expected anything. 

"As long as you play my girlfriend, you must not be with other men." 

You blinked in surprise.

"Really?"

"Yes," his voice grew deeper, "you must be only mine." 

You didn't know what annoyed you more: the self-assurance in his voice or the way your heart responded to those words.

"Gosh, this is so annoying..." you stubbornly crossed your arms over your chest. You sat silently, weighing all the possible risks, and finally decided that this was a chance you couldn't miss. You exhaled heavily, "I agree only because I want my job and my reputation back. Nothing more." You accepting his offer. 

Jungkook pretended to think seriously.

"Very well, then. Well, then, we need to set some rules."

"Rules?"

"Yeah," he shrugged nonchalantly. "For example... no real feelings."

You huffed skeptically.

"No problem." 

You knew you could handle those rules. 

"No jealousy."

"What? Why would I even be jealous?"

"Good." Jungkook smiled with satisfaction. "And..." he paused, making you tense.

"What else?"

He leaned over the armrest closer, his hot breath licking your skin.

"Do all your best, that not to fall in love with me, kitten."

You felt a pang in your midsection, but you didn't let it show.

"Dreamer!" you said ironically, making him laugh.

"I'm just warning you. I can be very charming."

"Don't worry, Jungkook. You are the last person I could fall in love with. It's more about you. I’m think you need more controlling yourself, so you were the one who said something about 'you're mine, I won't let you go' and now you have a ticker on your forehead 'I want to fuck you right here'" you leaned closer to him, his perfume enveloping you again. "But it looks like ten minutes has passed and you're late."

You said, turning away, but Jungkook grabbed your hand, pulling you very close. 

Jungkook didn't say anything, but his grip on your wrist only tightened. His eyes darkened, and a familiar cheeky smile played at the corners of his lips.

"You know, kitten," his voice grew deeper, velvety, "I'm not denying that I want you right now." 

"I'm not surprised." you say confidently, your breathing quickening. 

"Would you be surprised if I tested how much you want me?" he reached for your crotch, but you quickly grabbed his hand and held it back. 

"What are you doing? Get your hands off me!" You said firmly. You were a little shocked to fact that in deep down you wanted him to continue. Jungkook applied a little more force, continuing to move his hand to the waistband of your sweatpants. You tried to resist, but when his fingers touched your bare stomach, you froze. Your faces were separated by a few centimeters. You looked up at him and saw that he was not going to give up on his idea.

"Come on, kitten, let's have a quick fuck in the car, satisfy our physical needs." he suggested ironically, reminding you of your own words.

"Do you really think I want to do this with you?" you asked still holding his hand, Jungkook smiled and slowly slipped his hand under your pants, as if to give you a chance to stop it. But you already can’t do yet. When his hand was on your folds, you gasped, and Jungkook cursed with a slight moan. 

"Your wet pussy answers your question." Jungkook whispered. You didn't let go of his hand, which was hidden in your pants. His fingers gently caressed your clit. You closed your eyes, unable to believe that this was happening for the second time between you. But his fingers felt so good on your pussy. You opened your legs wider to give him easy access to your pussy, and he took advantage of it. Jungkook's fingers skillfully built up the pleasant sensations between your legs. You got wetter and wetter as he smeared the moisture between your legs. 

Suddenly, you let out a moan, and it aroused Jungkook even more. He leaned down and captured your lips. His soft lips were not gentle at all, they were demanding and insistent. His tongue slid into your mouth and you accepted it without hesitation. Your kiss was greedy, as if you two had been waiting for this for years, as if you were forbidden and now you could do whatever you wanted. 

You ran your hand through his soft hair, ruining his perfectly styled hair. He purred against your lips when he felt you pull him closer. 

Jungkook plunged a finger into your passage. Your warm hole was so welcoming, and he knew for sure that his cock would be visiting it today. The thought of fucking that tight pussy again made his cock harden and twitch several times in anticipation.

You knew it was crazy. You knew you'd agreed to a fake relationship, not this. But, damn it, when he touched you like that, when your tongues touched each other, you couldn't think about the rules anymore.

He pulled away from your lips, took a deep breath, as if trying to pull himself together, but it was too late. His eyes darkened, and his breathing became heavy and hot. 

"You were in a hurry." you reminded him, breathing heavily against his lips. Jungkook plunged another finger inside you and you felt the pressure on your walls, and his thumb never left your clit. squeezed his shoulders with your fingers to ease the growing pleasure. 

"I have something more important to do. Let them wait." Jungkook said, smiling. You couldn't react normally to his words, feeling your orgasm approaching. And after a several seconds of holding it all in, you came on his finger. You squeezed his hand with your legs and he felt your clit twitching. 

He pulled his fingers out of your throbbing pussy, making you moan softly at the loss. He raised his hand to his lips and, without taking his eyes off you, licked his fingers as if savoring a forbidden fruit. His movement was so seductive that desire flared up inside you again.

"Sweets," he murmured hoarsely, leaning closer to catch the taste of your lips again.

You were on fire, your breath was ragged, and your heart was pounding. His scent of perfume mingled with your own scent of arousal. Jungkook no longer looked confident-he was hungry, almost obsessed.

His palms slid slowly under your top, caressing your skin. Each touch made your body react to him instantly - you gave in, letting him have you the way he wanted. His fingers, still wet from caressing you, left hot marks on your skin as he ran them up your stomach. His lips barely touched yours, taking his time, stretching the moment between desire and anticipation. And then they found yours again, this time the kiss was deeper, more greedy.

He squeezed your breast with his hand, massaging it, strengthening your desire to have Jungkook inside of you again.

"Fuck..." he muttered between your kisses and you could feel him holding back, how much he wanted more.

You ran your hands down his back, feeling the tension under your fingertips. Jungkook moved lower and slowly ran his tongue along your neck, leaving a wet trail, and then he lifted his head and stared at you.

"Climb on my lap, kitten, I have to fuck your tight pussy." he invited you. 

Jungkook sat down in his seat and pushed the chair back as far as possible. He tilted the back to get a better position. Jungkook flicked his tongue across his lips as if savoring the remnants of your kiss, and he took off his jacket and threw it in the back seat. Then he unbuttoned his pants, pulling them down to his ankles, and finally removed his underwear, revealing his hard length that needed attention. You looked at Jungkook, not knowing what to do. He noticed you weren't moving and looked up at you. His lips stretched in a playful smile making him look damn hot as he was now. 

"What you want to taste the most delicious cock in your life or shall we get right down to business?" 

You felt your face flush red. You tried to hide your eyes, but Jungkook leaned over and took your face by the chin. 

"Come on, baby, take off your pants, or do you want me to do it?" 

"I wouldn't mind if you did it for me." you said, defying him. 

Jungkook stretched his lips into a predatory smile, his dark eyes glistening with excitement. Before you even had time to fully realize what you had said, he leaned closer, sliding his hands down your thighs. His fingers slowly, almost teasingly, ran up your skin, making you languish in anticipation.

"I know how you like it when I take your clothes off..." he murmured, his voice low and husky. "I like it too..." he admitted. 

He slowly hooked his fingers into the waistband of your pants, successfully grabbing your underwear together with pants, and began to slowly pull them down. You lifted your hips so that they could slide down easily. His hands touched your skin, leaving a hot tingling sensation.

The rain outside the window monotonously pounded on the glass, creating an even more intimate atmosphere. The car was filled with your heavy breathing and the muffled light of the street lamps, which were smeared in the raindrops.

When your pants and underwear were completely off your legs, Jungkook took his time. His gaze slowly slid over you, and he licked his lips admiring what he saw in front of him.

"Such a beautiful body..." he murmured, licking his lips as if admitting the thought of what was to come.

He sat up straight and patted his thighs. You couldn't help but smile, but suddenly you felt him grab your hand and pull it. He was impatient. 

You climbed on top of him and sat on his lap. His excited cock rested against your pussy, and you felt how hard it was. His hands squeezed your naked thighs and his fingers lightly touched your back, forcing you to bend to meet him. 

His hands began to move slowly down your body, exploring every curve.

Jungkook kissed you again. It was a deep, desperate kiss, as if he was trying to leave an imprint of his desire on you. His fingers roamed over your skin, making you involuntarily cling to him tighter, squeezing him with your hips.

Jungkook broke the kiss and hurried to lift you up so you could ride him. You rose up just enough so he could press his cock against your entrance. 

"Don't you have a condom?" you asked, feeling the head of his cock already pressing against your passage. Jungkook started to plunge into you, and you bit your lip, feeling his big cock stretching your velvet walls. You were still in pain, even as Jungkook stretched you. 

His hands closed even tighter on your hips. His eyes glittered with a devilish light, and you knew he was going to say something bold.

"Do you need it? Don't you trust me?"

You froze, getting used to the feel of his cock in this position inside you. It felt even better than the first time you did it. Jungkook leaned down to your ear, running his tongue along the shell of it.

"I never trusted you." you breathed out. His tongue movement sent a wave of flies across your skin, even though the car was as hot as it could be. The windows were fogged up, and the world outside seemed to be non-existent. 

Jungkook was amused by your words. You didn't trust him, but for some reason you always did what he wanted. 

His confidence, this predatory and graceful behavior that balanced between passion and abuse, made your body burn even more.

He smiled, and then gave a sharp thrust with his hips, and you yelped in surprise. 

"It's funny," he whispered, his lips almost touching yours, "because right now you're sitting on my cock without a condom and you don't mind at all." His voice was so dangerously seductive that your heart was racing. He bit your lips. 

You began to move on his hips, creating a much-needed friction. You dug your nails into his shoulders, and only the thin fabric of his shirt saved him from scratches. 

His fingers squeezed your hips a little harder, making you feel the full force of his control. You moaned because Jungkook was fucking you so well. 

You moved slowly, letting yourself enjoy every second of this intimacy, but Jungkook didn't have that much patience. His hands squeezed your hips again, forcing you down deeper, faster, harder.

His breath was hot, his lips sought yours. His kisses were greedy, demanding, as passionate as his touch. He bit your lower lip, making you moan right into his mouth.

"Mmm... see that?" his voice was hoarse, predatory. "You're on fire, and you said you didn't trust me."

You wanted to answer, but he gave you a sharp thrust, and all words dissolved into your choked moan. Jungkook laughed a low, defiant laugh, his eyes burning.

"Oh, kitten, I love to hear you moan..." he whispered, running his hot palms along your back, and then slapping your ass sharply.

You arched your back, feeling the fire spreading through your body, pulling you even closer to him.

The rain outside the windows poured down harder, drumming rhythmically on the roof of the car, unable to drown out your sounds. It was so hot inside that the air felt heavy, almost intoxicating.

"Faster, baby," his voice was a low order. "Give me everything you've got."

Your heart exploded with tension and pleasure. And you did give him everything. 

Jungkook lifted you up sharply, making you feel every inch of his cock, and then lowered you down on top of him forcefully, tearing a loud moan from your lips. His fingers will leave marks on your thighs, he presses hard on your skin as if he was trying to make sure you wouldn't run away, that you belonged to him, here and now.

"Fuck Kook..." you moaned. 

You called him by his shortened name again during sex. He noticed it and made a point of it.

"What kitten, is it too much?" he asked. 

"I can't... anymore..." You said. But Jungkook didn't want to come so quickly. He wanted to get the most out of you because he didn't know how soon your next time would be. You like to play hard to get, but practice shows that you can't control yourself when he's around. 

"You can baby, I'm not done with you yet." he said breathing heavily. You felt him twitch inside you. 

Jungkook lowered you down on top of him again, and you cried out as you felt him fill you completely. He caressed your center. 

"Do you like it?" he pushed up again, making you bend over. "Tell me you like it when I fuck you."

You bit your lip, feeling waves of pleasure wash over you. He moved so fast, so deep, you couldn't focus on anything else. Only him. Only his body, colliding with yours in this stuffy, sweaty car.

"Yes... you're so fucking good at fucking me..." you admitted. And it was the piety truth. You'd felt it the first time you had sex. The connection between you two was like a drug. Jungkook was giving you an adrenaline rush that made you addicted. He smiled-self-satisfied, greedy, triumphant. Then he grabbed you even tighter, leaned forward, and dug his lips into your neck, leaving wet, trembling marks. He wanted to mark you so that you wouldn't forget those words when you pretended not to be interested in him again tomorrow.

His pace became even faster, deeper, more unbearable. You were no longer in control, your body trembling in his hands, accepting every thrust. And when he abruptly grabbed you by the waist and pulled you closer to him, you felt a hot wave of pleasure sweep through you.

He groaned as he squeezed you, and then abruptly dropped his head onto your shoulder, breathing hotly on your skin.

Your breathing is heavy. Your pulse is frantic. You're both hot, exhausted, and you haven't yet realized that he came right inside you. 

Jungkook slowly leans back, holding you on top of him, his hands still on your back. He smiles slightly, tired but so hot.

"You're just divine..." he whispers, brushing his hand over your cheek.

Your mind clears a little bit. Your ears were buzzing, but when your breathing became more or less calm, you realized that you were sitting on Jungkook still with his cock inside of you. You rounded your eyes, and he raised his eyebrows in question, wanting to know what you were excited about. 

"Did you just cum inside me?" 

⇠ Previous ⟡ Index ➩ ⟡ Next ⇢

[xoxochb]

pls pls write anything soft with ethan i absolutely adore him

“look at me.”

“can’t.” ethan rolls over so is face is lost within the cotton of the pillow.

you sigh. “why not?”

“too pretty.”

“you’re ridiculous, I need you to know that.” you stifle a giggle and roll him over onto his back. from here, you rest your hands on his chest and your chin on your hands. you feet kick idly behind you.

“I thought I had freedom of speech.”

“you do!” you laugh. “I think you’re sweet.”

“last I recall…” ethan reaches up and brushes a stray hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. “you said that I was ridiculous.”

you roll your eyes playfully. “well, yes, you are! but in a loving kind of way.”

“how am I ‘ridiculous’?”

his fingers trail from your ear, down your neck, and shoulder.

“you wouldn’t look at me because you thought I was too pretty.”

“know.”

your brows furrow. “no what?”

“no— know. I know you’re too pretty.”

your mouth curves into an ‘o’ shape as you murmur a quite ‘ohhhhh.’ a blush arises over your cheeks.

“see? sweet.” you bite down on your bottom lip and absentmindedly trace his chest with your index. “I think— know you’re pretty too.”

ethan’s cheeks match your own. “sweet.”

“shut up.”

you retract your hand and rest your cheek against his chest instead, allowing your eyes to flutter shut. his hand finds your hair again in a soothing manner, understanding your need for sleep.

“you can’t sleep like this, sweetheart, it’ll hurt your neck.”

you whine. “I’ll be fine. I’m comfortable.”

“but you won’t be when you wake up.”

if you didn’t move on your own, you knew ethan would move you while you slept anyways. with a sleepy sigh, you lift yourself up, resting your head against his shoulder instead.

“better?”

ethan nods and presses a kiss to your forehead. “much.”

“anything else, boss?”

he pinches your waist in retaliation to your sarcasm. “just go to sleep.”

°˖➴ yes this is kenji and nazeera inspired I love them sm

[celuere]

How are you Alba? I hope your routine hasn't been too tiring recently and that you're doing well and having time to rest, you deserve it!!

Taking a break from the freak requests, (which I hope you had received, because if you didn't it's going to make this paragraph start weird👎👎👎) I came here to earnestly ask for a fluff and wholesome fic about Arlecchino and reader putting together a nusery for their child... I know it's a bit '????' but listen:

Creating a newborn's nusery is very complicated, it is the place where parents will spend most of their time in the first few months after the baby is born, not to mention that the decoration will probably remain the same for a good three years, only changing the toys that will be scattered on the floor. Between trying to guess a possible taste that your child might have and combining a normally super childish aesthetic with the rest of the house, as well as predict what would be a good investment in the future or not, from the best cribs to toys, not even mentioning the discussions that arise between expecting parents due to the different views that each one has to the room, It's a challenge.

Although I believe that Arlecchino would have a good knowledge about it, after all she is a director of an orphanage, she certainly knows what is useless to put in and what is indispensable. Even if any doubt arises about what itens to brought, she would research madly for an answer or even ask for help from the children in the House of Hearth for a more concrete opinion. If I were to guess, both Reader and Arlecchino would quickly come to a consensus on the theme and decorations (Peruere is completely in love, she would only let her wife choose everything, including a little stuffed bunny that strangely looks like her...), while the heavier work of assembling furniture and painting walls are left to a more specialized workforce or to the Knave itself when she wants to show herself to her beloved wife.

As I don't want to take away too much of your creative freedom, I'll end the request here. Feel free to modify any of the ideas. The choice is entirely yours, after all, I don't want that this request become boring for you.

(Just gonna add if here: they have a cat, because for sure Arle's a cat person; spiders and cats look alike)

Thank you in advance for reading this message, you are a sweetheart Alba,

With care, 🍰 anon.

i swear ANYTHING related to papacchino gives me heavy babyfever i can't do this anymore💔 i hope i caught the right vibe, i‘m really tired writing this so i‘m sorry for any grammar mistakes or misplaced words😞

divider by @/anitalenia

„wouldn't a purple theme be more prettier?"

„....purple? my love, you insisted on an orange theme two weeks ago."

scratching your cheek with your index finger, you recalled the memory of you a bunch of days ago where you stood before the nursery, color palettes in hand.

„my... i almost forgot about that... can we still change it?”

it was moments like these where arlecchino grew a bit older. but with a short glance down to your hand resting on top of your baby belly, wedding ring glistening in the candlelight, where she quickly shook those thoughts off.

„i'll see what i can do since the painters are already scheduled for tomorrow morning...", but whatever her wife wishes, she shall receive.

choosing a color theme for your babies bedroom turned out to be the easier task.

„where should we put the crib...? or the changing table? we also need a little corner for her to play in- and a nursing chair too and-”

„ma amour, ne nous précipitons pas. nous avons encore beaucoup de temps avant qu'elle soit là."

„my love, let's not rush. we still have plenty of time until she is here.", a gentle hand came up to squeeze your shoulder.

deciding on furniture was torture. everything was too adorable to not buy. the both of you wanted her to not miss out on anything but maybe you don't need a dozen plushies for a newborn. if it were not for that one stuffed rabbit that had an uncanny resemblance to a certain someone...

„you are right, i just... i want this to be perfect for her. even if she probably won't remember her nursery, i want her to feel special... wanted...", your eyes were laced with a love that had yet to bloom. you rubbed almost instinctively the downside of your belly. you still had five more months to go but celestia knows how fast these will fly by too.

you were too focused to notice your husband's breath stilling at your words.

special...

wanted...

„yes... special...", the word rung in her ears for longer than expected before she saw it. a clear vision of what the knave may have in mind for the nursery.

„why don't we grab some paints from a nearby workshop during our daily walk later?", you felt her fingertips brushing over your skin as she shoves some loose hair strands behind your ear. she is keeping her usually sharp nails neatly trimmed ever since the news of your pregnancy first came out.

„father... are you sure...? isn't this supposed to be something... unique?"

„that is exactly why i am bestowing you with this task. now go on, let your creativity roam free.”

the knave watched her children exchange almost ecstatic glances before they rushed to the paintbrushes sitting atop a table laid out with old newspapers. with only the most high-quality paints already getting fought over.

it was a beautiful day. the mild sun spending just enough warmth to not start sweating with a gentle breeze ghosting through the trees of the estate.

and arlecchino watched her kids turning the changing table and the crib into a beautiful, joyous canvas.

fingerprints, messy brush strokes and explosions of all kinds of bright color, yet the fatui harbinger never looked more at ease as the laughter of her children filled the estate of the hearth.

you were neatly tucked away in your bedroom, not feeling well enough to leave the comfort of your sheets.

all the more reason for your husband to be looking forward to the results- and your reaction.

a nursery for your baby without the influence of her siblings... unimaginable. not even worth considering.

but the joy was short-lived until they started painting each other. that's when arle started to regret her choices. their pretty clothes.... and yet kids will be kids. she turned a blind eye to their silliness this one time.

arlecchino just hoped the colors would come off of their faces....

[sashi-ya]

かんぱい！「part 2」 soshiro hoshina x f! officer! reader

a/n: I told you I wanted to write a " nsfw continuation" of the cuts of freedom fic. So, here it is! You can read it alone without reading the first part, or read it after the first one! You decide, enjoy! tw: mdni! sex explicit scenes. public. oral. biting and marking. vag. dry humping. creampie. wc: 1k // masterlist

Fast and silent. snatched from your waist, pulled to a very dark corner.

The sharp feeling of two hungry fangs carving marks on the small of your neck. Strong, yet delicate hands, squeezing the sides of your hips. Being lulled, by subtly whispers that invite you to sin, while the rest drink and eat.

“Come here, hehe ~” he laughs, kissing right over the bitten spots. “Here? vice-captain Hoshina, this is too risky” you murmur, unable to stop yourself from grazing your ass against his crotch. The powerful blade user is more than an amazing vice-captain and warrior;  you have become… addicted to the way he makes love to you.

One of his hand, a little cold, slides down your waist until your lower belly and from there right towards your core. He presses you, strongly and firmly, against him to make you feel how already hard he has become.

As you snake your hips side to side, you allow your superior and lover to dry hump you even with your uniforms on. While him, traces circles over your sex, precise and right over the perfect spot.

More and more bites are left on your skin, as the marks your teeth carve on your lips while trying to supress moans and whines. And it is that the little light coming from the dining hall can get you both discovered in such impure acts.

Alcohol and food fills the stomachs of your friends; they are celebrating Hibino becoming an official from the JAKDF and that -for now- everybody seems fine and healthy. A battle that left some bittersweet memories was finally over, yet not definitely, the war against Kaiju.

And there was also alcohol running through Soshiro’s blood. Maybe, it was that, and how beautiful you looked during dinner what made him follow you after you stood up for the bathroom.

“I wanna fuck you right here, pull those pants down…” he whispers, slipping skilful fingers in between your pants and your skin.

A shiver runs through your skin… one thing is playing, another very different is fucking. Wouldn’t this get you in trouble? Both of you? it is even ok to date -fuck- your vice-captain?

But can you stop? Can you tell him no? Would you? of course, not…

The lose pants that cover your skin while the antikaiju suit is off, fall and get stuck around your ankles. The fine lace panties, already dripping wet, also does.

“Mghhjj…” he scoffs, this time sexily in your ear, while sliding his index in between your folds. It gets absolutely dampened, a sensation he enjoys the most.  

Unexpectedly, such finger gets closer to your lips inviting you to taste a hint of yourself. And as you comply to his silent order, his index goes from your tongue to his.

Soshiro gets on his knees, spreading your ass cheeks with his hands for a better access, and right there he attacks your core from behind.

You try your best to cover up the whine you couldn’t stop from coming out; even if thankfully Kafka’s comic relief helped you out into preventing your friends from hearing you. He seemed to be choking with something, while Reno hits his back and everyone else laugh.

“Told you he was going to be a great comic relief~” Soshiro adds, taking his whole face from your pudic anatomy only to go back immediately after.

Sometimes, in between the excellent usage of his tongue skills, your inner thighs receive kisses and bites.

And you, unable now to control your muscles from trembling and your core from tensing, press your forehead against the wall in front of you. Your hands, however, have reached for Soshiro’s purple tinted hair, pulling for him not to stop giving you an oral delight.

Enough with the tongue, what he wants now is to bury himself so very deep inside of you. And so, he does.

Soshiro stands up, gripping your hands tightly against the small of your back to keep you still. Once and many more times, you are not using his body… he is using yours.

His pants also fall down, the muscles on his abs tense showing through the compression shirt he loves to wear. His hardness, so deliciously tempting, menaces your entrances… oh, to destroy your insides in such way…

Eager, he however stops himself from fucking you instantly, and instead he only lets the tip graze your entrance. Raw, warm, dangerously mixing the honeys of your lusts.

“Soshi… Soshiro, please…” you plead, you want him so deep inside it probably hurts.

“Mmm… is that the proper way to talk to your superior, (name)-chan?” he laughs, subtly slapping your entrance with his sex. He probably enjoys the way transparent strings form in between your folds and his throbbing dick.

“Hoshina fuku taichou, please… fuck… me” you beg, lifting your hips enough for his hardness to slide a little bit into you.

“What a wonderful officer you are, (Name)-chan; allow me then to fuck you very hard”

You tremble, throwing your head back as he rams into you, mercilessly. His hand lands opportunely over your mouth to stop you from moaning loudly. “Silence, honey. You don’t really want them to hear you, or do you?”

You deny with your head, watching him from the side, in between a tear pooled in the corner of your eye. He is that good, you even want to cry.

Back arched, hands pinned back, and your mouth covered up. A total slave of his thrusts. But he is a human too, struggling to contain grunts as both of you reach for climax…

While voices asking for where you two are reach your ears, there is no doubt things should conclude fast. And it’s either stop or finish it up. And both, specially him and your spasming walls, chose exactly to fill and to be filled.

“I want you to sit back at the table with my cum still inside you… would you be able to hold it in for me?”

“Ye-yes, Hoshina fuku-taichou…”  

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ「part 3? here 」

[nightbeforethend]

*•.¸¸☆*･ﾟcuddling // xdinary heroes ﾟ･*☆¸¸.•*

a/n: trying little baby blurbs so I can at least post SOMETHING when I’m not in the mood to write longer stuff?? Idk, these were fun to write really quick for giggles

warning(s): swearing, other than that there’s technically nothing that I view as anything crazy but like… obviously cuddling/physical affection… Jooyeon’s is very slightly suggestive if you squint hard enough I guess but I tried to make this as innocent and gender neutral as possible

(`·.¸¸.·´`·.¸¸.-> gunil <-.¸¸.·´`·.¸¸.·´)

“How do you like it?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, clinging to Gunil like a koala while he laid in your arms. It probably looked ridiculous—your legs wrapped around him and arms hugging him tight as you clung onto him with all your might.

“I mean…” he started, voice already teasing, “I feel like I’m wearing a warm backpack.” He tried to turn his head to look at you, but you pushed it gently back onto your arm, which was currently serving as his pillow.

“Stay still,” you murmured, still grinning.

He let out a a soft laugh but didn’t resist, settling back against you. “I do wish I didn’t feel like I was being held captive every time I try to move, though.”

“So you don’t like being the small spoon?” you asked, though the way he shifted, pulling your leg tighter around him, told you all you needed to know.

“I didn’t say that,” he replied, lifting your hand from where it rested on his torso. He kissed each of your knuckles slowly; like it was the most natural thing in the world. “But if you say a word about this to anyone, I’ll never let you do this again.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking as you started to pull away dramatically. “Oh? Never again? Guess I’ll just—”

“Don’t.” His hands moved fast, pulling your arms and legs right back around him before you could even pretend to reclaim the tiniest bit of freedom.

“You addicted little liar,” you teased, laughing softly against his neck. “I knew you were bluffing.”

Gunil let out a quiet, shaky laugh; the sound tinged with just enough embarrassment to make his ears burn. He silently thanked the darkness for hiding the m blush that was creeping up his neck and settling across his cheeks.

(`·.¸¸.·´`·.¸¸.-> jungsu <-.¸¸.·´`·.¸¸.·´)

“You’re aware that I can move you whenever I want to, right?”

Jungsu’s voice was calm, but the faint, mischievous shine in his eyes said he was already plotting his next move. You lifted your head from where it rested on his chest, meeting his gaze with the most innocent smile you could muster.

“Of course I’m aware,” you replied, tapping his nose playfully with your index finger before setting your head back down. Sure, you knew he could flip you over like it was nothing—but where was the fun in letting him think he had the upper hand all the time?

It didn’t take long—maybe a minute or two—before Jungsu made his move, flipping you effortlessly so that he was now draped over you instead. His eyes fluttered shut almost immediately as your hands instinctively found their way to his hair, massaging his scalp with just enough pressure to pull him deeper into relaxation.

“That’s not—god…” he mumbled, his words trailing off as your fingers worked their magic. “That’s not fair.”

If there was one thing you were good at, it was taking control in the subtlest of ways, even when Jungsu tried to assert himself. He’d never admit it to anyone else, but he loved the way you could see right through him—the way you knew exactly how to unravel him in minutes after a long day.

“Life’s not fair, buddy,” you teased, smirking as your fingers gave a light tug on his hair just to test the waters. Sure enough, an almost silent groan escaped his lips—almost being the key word.

“You’re kind of evil. Do you know that?” he muttered, using what little willpower he had left to at least let you know that he wasn’t blind; he knew exactly what you were doing.

“Of course I know that,” you replied, your heart softening as you pressed a kiss to the crown of his head, letting the moment linger for both your sakes. “How do you think I won you over in the first place?”

(`·.¸¸.·´`·.¸¸.-> gaon/jiseok <-.¸¸.·´`·.¸¸.·´)

“So, do you have an upset stomach or are you just hungry?” Jiseok asked, peeking up at you from where he’d made himself very comfortable, laying on your stomach like it was his personal pillow.

“Neither,” you replied, flicking his forehead lightly for breaking the peaceful silence. “Stomachs just make noise, babe. Not my fault you want to lay on mine 24/7.”

“It’s so soft,” he murmured, nuzzling deeper into you like it was a perfectly reasonable thing to say. You half-worried he might smother himself at some point, but he looked too peaceful to disturb.

“Well, that’s not exactly what anyone wants to hear about their stomach,” you teased.

“Don’t care,” Jiseok mumbled, his voice muffled as he wrapped his arms around you to ensure you wouldn’t dare try to move him. “You’re soft and comfortable. My little human teddy bear.”

You couldn’t hold back the laugh that had been bubbling in your chest since the moment he threw himself on top of you, dramatically swearing that he’d never let you move again.

Jiseok, didn’t care in the slightest. The smile he’d been wearing since he found you waiting for him in bed stayed on his face, his happiness so warm and inviting that it was impossible not to feel it too.

(`·.¸¸.·´`·.¸¸.-> o.de/seungmin <-.¸¸.·´`·.¸¸.·´)

“Baby… I’m begging you to get some sleep,” you whispered, nudging Seungmin lightly. He stirred a bit, lifting his head from your shoulder, eyes squinting at you in sleepy confusion.

“I was getting some sleep,” he mumbled, voice soft and scratchy as he tightened his arms around your waist like you were his personal pillow. He buried his face back into the curve of your shoulder, clearly unwilling to move. The thought of leaving his spot to sleep in your bed without you was, apparently, too insane to even entertain.

“I meant—” you started, but he cut you off.

“I know what you meant,” he murmured, pressing a barely-there kiss to your skin. His words slurred slightly as sleep began to drag him back under. “Now finish your paper so we can go to sleep together, yeah?”

And just like that, his breathing evened out again, settling into a steady rhythm as he pulled you closer, his arms wrapped snug around your waist. He was warmer and much more comfortable than your flimsy desk chair could ever hope to be, and you weren’t about to complain about being the comfiest you’ve ever been while you edited the final parts of your paper.

(`·.¸¸.·´`·.¸¸.->junhan/hyeongjun<-.¸¸.·´`·.¸¸.·´)

“Babe… I promise I’m… not going anywhere,” Hyeongjun mumbled against your chest, the words barely coherent with how little space there was between his mouth and you.

“Can’t risk you changing your mind,” you replied sleepily, arms tightening around him as you locked your legs around his waist, pulling him even closer.

Hyeongjun let out a dramatic sigh, though the warmth in his voice gave him away. “I am begging you to let me take a deep breath,” he pleaded, but if he was being honest, he wouldn’t mind suffocating like this. If he had to go, being smothered by you was hardly a bad way to leave this earth.

“Fine,” you muttered, loosening your grip just enough for him to raise his head. He inhaled deeply a couple times before you yanked him back down, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead before nuzzling your face back into your pillow.

Hyeongjun smiled softly, his body melting into yours as your arms found their place around him again, anchoring him in your warmth. While he wasn’t naturally the most physically affectionate person, there was something about the way you clung to him like he was the only thing grounding you that made his heart ache in the best way.

As the quiet settled around you both, one thought lingered in his mind: maybe he didn’t need to breathe that much after all—at least not if it meant losing this. He tightened his hold just around you just a bit, letting the steady rhythm of your breathing lull him to the most content sleep he’d had in ages.

(`·.¸¸.·´`·.¸¸.-> jooyeon <-.¸¸.·´`·.¸¸.·´)

“Yuck.”

You and Jooyeon both looked up to see Jungsu standing in the doorway, arms crossed, his expression teetering somewhere between disgust and exhaustion.

“No offense,” he began, gesturing vaguely at the two of you tangled together, “but we didn’t buy a loveseat just so you two could monopolize it 24/7.”

Jooyeon smirked, completely unbothered, and pulled you even closer into him, like he was daring Jungsu to keep talking. “What’s the problem? Is it the lack of loving on the loveseat? We can fix that if you’re into watch—”

“Enough!” you and Jungsu snapped in unison, cutting him off before he could finish his sentence.

“I’m going to my room,” Jungsu announced, already turning to flee. “Goodnight, Y/N. Jooyeon… choke.”

The slam of his door echoed through the apartment, leaving you and Jooyeon alone in the sudden silence. It lasted all of two seconds before you both burst into laughter, Jooyeon’s shoulders shaking as he pulled you fully onto his lap. His arms wrapped around your waist even tighter, and he rested his chin on your shoulder, grinning against your skin.

“Well,” he said, his voice low and smug, “apparently, he doesn’t like to watch.”

You swatted his arm playfully, laughing even more when he clutched at his chest like you’d just reached inside and took his heart with you.

“You’ve gotta stop rubbing it in that you have someone to cuddle,” you teased softly, absentmindedly threading your fingers through his hair. “You’re going to drive the others insane.”

Jooyeon simply shook his head because at the end of the day, how could he not rub it in?

“If they weren’t so bitchless, they’d have a gorgeous person to cuddle on our loveseat too,” he said casually, shrugging like it wasn’t the most outrageous thing he could’ve responded with. “That’s a them problem though. Me? I’m living the dream.”

[jangillman]

TIM ALLEN - ON TRUMP: Whatever your feelings for Trump, these are some interesting points that Tim Allen makes. Put your hatred aside and think about these observations. Tim Allen is credited with writing this ...

Tim Allen wrote... Here are some interesting points to think about prior to 2020, especially to my friends on the fence, like moderate Democrats, Libertarians and Independents and the never Trump Republicans and those thinking of "walking away" from the Democratic party:

- Women are upset at Trump’s naughty words -- they also bought 80 million copies of 50 Shades of Gray.

- Not one feminist has defended Sarah Sanders. It seems women’s rights only matter if those women are liberal.

- No Border Walls. No voter ID laws. Did you figure it out yet? But wait... there's more...

- Chelsea Clinton got out of college and got a job at NBC that paid $900,000 per year. Her mom flies around the country speaking out about white privilege. And just like that, they went from being against foreign interference in our elections to allowing non-citizens to vote in our elections.

- President Trump’s wall costs less than the Obamacare website. Let that sink in, America!

- We are one election away from open borders, socialism, gun confiscation, and full-term abortion nationally. We are fighting evil.

- They sent more troops and armament to arrest Roger Stone than they sent to defend Benghazi.

- 60 years ago, Venezuela was 4th on the world economic freedom index. Today, they are 179th and their citizens are dying of starvation. In only 10 years, Venezuela was destroyed by democratic socialism.

- Russia donated $0.00 to the Trump campaign. Russia donated $145,600,000 to the Clinton Foundation. But Trump was the one investigated!

- Nancy Pelosi invited illegal aliens to the State of the Union. President Trump Invited victims of illegal aliens to the State of the Union. Let that sink in.

- A socialist is basically a communist who doesn’t have the power to take everything from their citizens at gunpoint ... Yet!

- How do you walk 3000 miles across Mexico without food or support and show up at our border 100 pounds overweight and with a cellphone?

- Alexandria Ocasio Cortez wants to ban cars, ban planes, give out universal income and thinks socialism works. She calls Donald Trump crazy.

- Bill Clinton paid $850,000 to Paula Jones To get her to go away. I don’t remember the FBI raiding his lawyer’s office.

- I wake up every day and I am grateful that Hillary Clinton is not the president of the United States of America. The same media that told me Hillary Clinton had a 95% chance of winning, now tells me Trump’s approval ratings are low.

- “The problem with socialism is that sooner or later you run out of other people’s money.”— Margaret Thatcher

- Maxine Waters opposes voter ID laws; She thinks that they are racist. You need to have a photo ID to attend her town hall meetings.

- President Trump said — "They’re not after me. They’re after you. I’m just in their way."

Now, go Back & Read this Again like your Future Depends upon it, Because it Does!

[deminetly]

୨ A GUIDE TO JOURNALING ୧

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂

⁀➷what kind of journal to buy?

-cheap (so you dont have to worry about messing it up/wasting it)

-as many pages as possible (so you dont worry about which thoughts are worth writing down because all of them are)

-make sure it stays open and its comfortable to write in

-lined ones are better for just writing, plain ones better for just drawing, squared ones for both

⁀➷what to write?

LITERALLY EVERYTHING

-if you struggle with overthinking about what to write about, what not to, then try to make it a goal to fill it up as fast as you can

-theres also prompts to help you get started

MORE: reminders, lyrics, poems, quotes, random thoughts, life updates, notes, reviews

⁀➷how?

-be messy

dont worry about it looking perfect and organized or even spelling everything right (that will take extra time and the thought will slip away)

you obviously can make it perfect and organized if thats what you like but in my opinion it takes away a lot of the freedom

-think of journaling as capturing your mind so future you can look back and remind themselves of how life was back then (i bet you wish you had a journal that 7 year old you wrote in every day, dont you?)

⁀➷when?

WHENEVER.

-you dont need a specific time to journal (for example i see people recommending to just journal in the morning or before goong to sleep) however if thats what feels right, go on

-journal whenever you have something to write down (or journal even when you dont, the thoughts will find their way onto the page eventually)

⁀➷more:

-personalize the cover

-you can even try making your own journal with the japanese binding technique

-make sure you like your pen (get the right colour etc)

-you can keep an index at the end of your journal

⁀➷examples of how a journal page can look like:

[nicoscheer]

Milex quotes (ranging from unhinged to batshit crazy while taking a detour through wtf land)

-

- first impressions: “What is this puny spotty kid with his little brown bag ?” (Miles about Alex) “Who’s that jester who makes me laugh so hard as soon as he opens his mouth ?” (Alex about Miles). Via Les Inrocks arcticle

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- “I tell him I love him all the time,” via NME (Miles)

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- “I love you because you’ve got a very strong pain threshold.” Via NME (Miles)

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- since when are you both that close ? “You want to know if we’re going to get married ? If we have sex like real men, between the buttocks ?” Via Les Inrocks article

-

- “For kids from the North, it's hard to say but we never stop telling each other that we love each other. Alex knows I'll always be there for him. (How do our girlfriends deal with that? Are they jealous? Maybe we should ask them).” (Miles) Via Les Inrocks article

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- “To me, The Last Shadow Puppets is not even a band. It’s more like a way-out of the notion itself of ‘band’. It’s a space of freedom. There is no embarrassment, no taboo, no limits between us. It's a real trade, we reroute each other's ideas. In the end, it's impossible to quantify the contribution of the two of us. Our complementarity sometimes freaks me out.” (Alex) via Les Inrocks article

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- MK: Totally, to me it’s even the best vocal take of his entire career! (He cuddles him.) AT: Thank you, my dear. (Note: here it says “mon lapin”, which can mean “my dear” but literally translates to “my bunny”) via MyRock Magazine

-

- AT: Ah yeah, that’s how it is with my Miles! I start a joke and he’ll finish it! (he pounces on Miles and catches him in an armlock on the settee, before giving his crotch a light slap and shouting “Here comes the nuts!”) You wanna see how close we are as friends, Miles and I? Here, look, a spectacle exclusively for you! (At this point, we move up another notch in this madness: Alex swoops for a bowl of cashew nuts and starts to frenetically toss them at Miles, who tries to catch them with his mouth… after a fashion. Via MyRock Magazine

-

- “Alex is so dedicated to song writing, it’s inspiring to be around. He’s a beautiful soul and I’m honoured to witness him and the band grow. His left ears going to be burning when he hears this…” (Miles) via GQ magazine October 2013

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X

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- “Alex Turner is a genius, isn’t he? He’s a genius fish.” (Miles) via Knack Focus

-

Via Kultura Onet

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- “Sometimes we have Skype-sex, or we wank off on FaceTime!” (Miles) via Index

-

- “We've been through a lot together. It's like, he's one of those friends, those few best friends you have in life. As you grow older, your circle tends to shrink, but he's remained one of my closest pals. It's almost like a bit of yin and yang between us.” (Miles) via Numéro

-

- Alex turns to Miles and propositions him: “Your place or mine, then?” There’s no-one expect us and the road-crew there to see it, but it feels like a special moment nonetheless. Via NME

-

- “I think we can bring the best out in each other, you know? He certainly does that with me.” (Miles) Via Eska Rock

-

-

- “Why, yes, bromances are for sharing your dreams. What a wonderful sentiment.” (Miles) via Interview Magazine

-

- AT: Miles is, without a doubt, Wolverine. Wolverine is a style icon to him. I see similarities. Miles always follows his instinct. And he’s capable of fixing things that are broken, whether it’s material or emotional damage, in no time. MK: Alex often reminds me of Gambit. He can change something insignificant into something explosive. He’s very aware of everything that happens around him, something that balances him out. And he can read my mind. Via OOR Magazine 2016

-

- “We understand each other and keep each other going. We both have strange ideas and we need the presence of the other to make sense of them.” (Miles) Via OOR Magazine 2016

-

- “Sometimes it can be a pressure being the fella in the band who writes the songs. Getting together with Miles I've got someone to bounce ideas off and that is something new for me. Also, it gives me somewhere to hide because he's up there singing with me. In the Arctic Monkeys, there's nowhere for me to hide.” (Alex) via Culture

-

- “My best mate. I love him, man. I like the way he pushes himself and keeps that thing of, whatever's going on around you, you're just a lad who loves playing music and writing tunes. He's a prime example of someone who's big but doesn't take anything for granted.” (Miles)

-

- “I decipher his thoughts and organise them. When Miles bursts, the idea comes flying. Someone who knows him well enough might be able to filter out the good ideas. But usually, he only has good ideas and it’s up to me to catch everything. That’s my job within this duo. That process releases all kinds of stuff within me, causing me to go into certain directions I would never take my own.” (Alex)

-

- “I thought it were going to be like them finding a tape where you’d had an affair,” he grins. “Like your bird had found an affair tape and was watching you having sex with another bird… but it weren’t like… an affair tape… erm, not that I’ve ever made an affair tape.” Alex Turner about the Monkeys’ reaction to The Last Shadow Puppets’ album via NME

-

- “And also working with Miles, it comes very much from my heart. You know, with such a close friendship we have. Wanting to work together, it brings something else. I haven’t done too much with other people… he’s kind of the only one.” (Alex) via Hot Press

-

- MK: And he can read my mind. AT: But you can read mine, too. MK: I knew you were gonna say that. AT: And I knew you were gonna say that. via OOR Magazine 2016

-

- “Even if we aren't writing half a word is enough. We can finish each other's sentences sometimes and if we focus on it, we can take it to a much deeper level. That's pretty unique. My thinking process is pretty abstract and a lot of people don't know what to do with that. Alex understands me like no other.” (Miles) via OOR Magazine 2016

-

- you’re living in Los Angeles too now, miles? “…because Alex lives there…” (Miles) via Humo

-

- “He has written a lot of songs – a lyrical wonder, this boy!” (Miles) via Humo

-

- The pair live, Turner says, “seven minutes away from each other”. Ask them what a typical night out entails, and they look at each other, then proceed to not be very forthcoming, though Turner will eventually concede that “some of what happens in those situations is disclosed, through the veil of song, on the record. There’s references.” Via Shortlist

-

- “Starin’ out the balcony at the moon, wonderin’ where is he, what is he doin’ now, who’s he kissin’” (Alex) via Sidewalk Hustle

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X

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X

-

- “… but this thing we had together… I know that I was the new kid and he was a sort of superstar, but even from day one, it was amazing. To an outsider, it wouldn’t look equal, but it was always so equal. He made me feel like that, just because it was.” (Miles)

-

- “We take it in turns playing the straight man.” (Alex) via Shortlist

-

- “Quite cute ! Quite and quite camp, you mean ?” (Miles about their relationship) via NME

-

- On what it’s like to work with Kane again, Turner said: “It’s like John Lennon meets… Paul [McCartney].” Via NME

-

- Miles says their relationship was established “on laughter and general stupidness” via the Telegraph

-

- Interviewer: Alex, what does Miles bring out in you that…. Alex: A woman can’t bring out in me?

-

- Miles and Alex and their endearments and nicknames for each other :

“We always talk about it, me and the boy, y'know?” (one of the cutest things Miles has called Alex is 'the boy' it's so beautiful bc someone asked him on Twitter what he was up to and he just said he was 'going out with the boy'. which boy? it didn't need saying. everyone knows who The Boy in Miles' life is.)

"He's got the face for it...the little diamond."Miles to Alex

"The Little Prince" Miles to Alex x

“Shavambacu” Miles to Alex at 4:01

“You naughty turtle” Alex to Miles- Tlsp @ Paradiso, Amsterdam 2016 during the element of surprise

“Baby” Miles to Alex multiple times

“You scampi fry” Miles to Alex via the guardian

“The Wirral squirrel/wirral riddler” Alex to Miles via absolute radio 2011 at around 10:50

“All aboard the Kane train” Alex to Miles at Lowlands 2016 at around 21:56

“My Miles” Alex to Miles, MyRock interview

“The next song is called ”My Fantasy”… I’d like to dedicate it to my Alex Turner!��� Miles to Alex, live performance

“If I can speak for both Darling” Alex to Miles via El País

-

X

-

- “He (Alex) turned up one day in red jeans. That surprised me. I like it when he wears red jeans. When they’re tight.”

-

- “There's nothing innocent about Miles Kane,”Turner warns, in case anyone was planning to accuse him of luring his fresh-faced co-conspirator into a decadent world of rock star self-indulgence. “He is the antithesis of innocence.” “Ooh,” Kane retorts, archly, “you scampi fry.” Via the Guardian

-

-

- “We went for a bike ride. Tops off. Fred Perry shorts on.” (Alex about their time recording the age of the understatement in rural France Blackbox studio) via Q Magazine 2008

-

- You look like you're about to snog each other. AT: “It’s rare that we don’t look like that.” Tlsp at the Mercury music Prize 2008

-

- “As far as I’m concerned there are only two superstars: Beyoncé and Miles Kane. You can quote me on that.” (Alex)

[jungkoode]

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 11

˗ˏˋ car literature ˎˊ˗

"Halfway across the country to escape your parents' expectations, only to find their voices still echo in your head. Maybe freedom isn't about how far you run, but what you choose to hear when everything goes quiet."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 7.5k

content: jungkook being late, y/n offering him a ride, coffee mainsplaining, new friendships, jimin being a book nerd, jin reserving tables, professor namjoon kim having dimples and giving you a helping hand on your assignement

✧ author's note ✧

OKAY HI LOSERS!!!! Chapter 11 is here, right on schedule like the little miracle worker I am. I actually have ch11, 12, and 13 all done and ready to go but I'm sticking to my posting schedule because SOMEONE (me) knows she'll burn out at some point so you better savor this while it lasts.

Anyway, about Y/N having a car: yes, she has one because I said so and Jungkook doesn't because he's a whole-ass LOSER LMAO. I did love weaving in the reason behind the car though and connecting it to her messy complicated relationship with her parents. God I love how human she is??? Like, she's so conflicted—grateful for what they've done but suffocated by their expectations. THE COMPLEXITY. I'm obsessed with my own creation, forgive me.

I'll give Jungkook some credit here (GASP) because while he has the self-awareness of a potato, he IS observant and perceptive when he wants to be. Boy's too busy coping with humor and deflecting for his own good though. You'll see what I mean… eventually.

Also can we talk about how much I'm LIVING for Y/N and Jimin's growing friendship?? I love how Y/N makes friends for such different reasons—Yeji is the one who makes her feel like she doesn't have to have her shit figured out, Irya is the emotionally intelligent one, and Jimin?? They bond over their shared love of literature and books and isn't that just chef's kiss beautiful?

And I refuse to apologize for the text messages. REFUSE. The texts are staying because I love writing them too much. Deal with it.

FINALLY THOUGH!!! NAMJOON MAKES HIS ENTRANCE!!! MY KING!!! I've actually had him planned since chapter 3 (don't get it twisted), there are hints if you paid attention. But now he's finally here in all his dimpled glory and we love him. Jin, I understand you completely, babes.

ANYWAY. Chapter below. Enjoy bobs bobes and bobas!!!

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

The sound of Jungkook stubbing his toe for the third time this morning is, objectively speaking, fucking hilarious.

You hide your smirk behind your mug, pretending to be deeply invested in your FYP as another muffled "shit—motherfucking—” echoes from his room. The apartment has been a symphony of chaos for the past fifteen minutes: doors slamming, drawers banging, what sounds suspiciously like a guitar being knocked over (followed by more creative cursing).

And okay, maybe you're a little evil for enjoying this so much. But come on. Mr. "I Pretend To Have My Life Together" finally overslept, and you get to witness the glorious fallout while calmly sipping your morning coffee. The universe gives you so few gifts. You're allowed to savor this one.

His coffee sits next to yours, made exactly the way he likes it—because yes, you've noticed how particular he is about his precious coffee routine. Two shots of espresso, a splash of oat milk (regular milk upsets his stomach, not that he's ever admitted it), and just a hint of vanilla syrup. You absolutely refuse to acknowledge how or why you've memorized this.

Something crashes in the bathroom. Griffin, lounging on the windowsill, barely twitches an ear.

"Has he always been this much of a disaster?" you ask the cat. Griffin's slow blink feels judgmental. Fair enough.

More thundering footsteps. A drawer slams so hard you feel it in your teeth. You scroll past a video of someone's cute dog, not really seeing it, too focused on tracking the hurricane that is your roommate having a morning meltdown.

"Fuck—where is my—" His voice cuts off abruptly. 

You can practically hear him running his hands through his hair, tugging—that thing he does when he's stressed.

Your phone buzzes with a text from Yeji.

𝐘𝐞𝐣𝐢🖤: 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚕𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚑?

You're typing back a quick 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑, 𝚞𝚜𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚝 when Jungkook bursts into the kitchen like he's being chased. His hair is still wet from the shower, shirt only half-buttoned, and—oh. 

Oh no.

He's wearing The Jeans. 

The ones that make his thighs look like they were carved from marble. 

The ones you specifically remember clawing off him that first night, back when he was just Hot Stranger From the Bar. 

You take a very deliberate sip of coffee and absolutely do not think about that.

"Late for something?" you ask innocently, like you haven't been cataloging every crash and curse for the past quarter hour.

He whirls toward you, and for a split second, you catch him completely unguarded—flushed, disheveled, one hand still trying to button his shirt. Then his eyes narrow, landing on the coffee mug next to yours.

"Is that—"

"Just drink it, Rogue." You cut him off, rolling your eyes. "Unless you want to waste more time making your own."

The nickname slips out without permission. You blame it on the early hour, on not having enough caffeine yet. Not on how he looks with his hair still dripping, water darkening the collar of his shirt. Definitely not on how the morning light catches the silver ring on his hand when he reaches for the mug.

He takes a sip. His eyebrows shoot up.

"This is—"

"If you say 'perfect,' I'm dumping the rest down the sink."

The corner of his mouth twitches. "Actually, the extraction time on this is slightly—"

"I swear to god, if you start mansplaining coffee to me at—" you check your phone, "—eight forty-seven in the morning, I will personally ensure you never make it to wherever you're going."

"It's called sharing knowledge, Phoenix." He's already moving again, a blur of motion that somehow manages to look both graceful and completely chaotic. "And the optimal brewing temperature for espresso is—"

"Do you ever just hear yourself talk and think 'wow, I'm really like this'?"

"—between 195 and 205 degrees Fahrenheit, which you'd know if you actually paid attention when I—" He freezes mid-rant. "Wait, what time did you say it was?"

"Eight forty... eight now."

"Fuck. Fuck." He runs both hands through his hair, making it stick up even worse. "I can't be late to this one."

You can't help yourself. "Don't you skip Film Theory like, twice a week?"

"That's—that's different." He's practically vibrating now. "This is the one where we're presenting our—where the fuck is my phone?"

"The thing you set down right here when you grabbed your coffee?" You tap your fingernail against his phone, which has been sitting next to your elbow this whole time. "This phone?"

He lunges for it, and you definitely don't notice how he has to lean into your space to grab it, or how he still smells like his stupidly expensive shower gel. The screen lights up in his hand and—wait.

"Is that Griffin as your lockscreen?"

"What? No." He shoves the phone in his pocket too quickly. "It's—shut up."

"Oh my god, it totally is. Is it the one where he's sleeping in the—"

"I'm gonna be late," he cuts you off, already halfway to the bathroom. You hear him banging around, probably looking for his cologne. The one that makes him smell like rain and...

You glance at the time again. At this rate...

"Want me to take you?"

His head pokes around the bathroom door, hair falling in his eyes. There's a bit of toothpaste at the corner of his mouth that he hasn't noticed. 

"What?"

"My car?" You try to sound casual, like you're not offering to save his ass. "Unless you'd rather take the subway and definitely be late."

He stares at you like you've just started speaking in tongues. 

“You got a—" His brow furrows. "Wait, you got a car?"

"No, I'm offering you a ride on my imaginary unicorn." You roll your eyes. "Yes, I have a car. Had it for like, two weeks now. How have you not noticed?"

"I've been busy!" He disappears back into the bathroom, voice slightly muffled. "And since when do you—why would you even—who has a car in New York?"

"People who don't want to deal with the subway at 2 AM after work?" You raise your voice so he can hear you over what sounds like him knocking over every single bottle in the bathroom. "Also, time check: eight fifty-one."

"Shit." More crashing sounds. "Okay, yes, fine, please drive me, I'll never make fun of your tea collection again."

"That's a lie and we both know it."

You drop your mug gently in the sink, leaving washing for later in the day, next to his. Then grab your bag, your sunglasses too—from where they're perched on top of your head. Walk to the door and wait for Jungkook to finish spraying his perfume before he’s darting out of the tiny room and positioning himself next to you. 

Then you’re out, glasses sliding on as you lock the door. The movement is automatic, practiced—something you picked up during those long drives when the sun would hit just right and—

"Okay, Gossip Girl," he snorts, cutting into your thoughts.

"You haven't even watched Gossip Girl."

"Excuse you, I'm a man of culture." He's half-jogging to keep up with you, which is... something, considering his legs are approximately twice as long as yours. "Blair Waldorf is an icon and Chuck Bass is—wait, no, seriously." He catches up as you reach the elevator. "Why do you have a car? In New York? Who are you?"

The elevator doors slide open with their usual concerning screech. You step in, leaning against the back wall as he follows, hitting -1 with his thumb. The fluorescent lights make the shadows under his eyes more pronounced—definitely up too late gaming again.

"When I signed the lease," you say, watching the numbers tick down, "Miguel mentioned there was an unused garage spot included. It was actually one of my prerequisites."

"Prerequisites," he repeats slowly, like he's tasting the word. When you glance over, he's looking at you with an expression you can't quite read. "You came here on your own?"

You shrug, suddenly very interested in a scuff mark on the elevator floor. 

"Yeah."

"Where from?"

The question hangs in the air between you. It's such a simple thing to ask, really. Basic getting-to-know-you stuff. But something about the way he says it, soft and curious, makes your throat tight.

"Small town," you say finally. "The kind where everyone knows everyone's business and the most exciting thing that happens is when someone paints their fence the wrong shade of beige."

He doesn't laugh like you expect. When you risk another look, he's still watching you, head tilted slightly.

"Must've been quite the change."

"That was kind of the point."

The elevator jolts, making you grab the rail. He doesn't move, somehow keeping his balance like he's got magnets in his shoes or something. Imbecile.

"So what, you just... packed up and drove to New York?" There's something in his voice—not quite disbelief, but close.

"I mean, I applied to NYU first. I'm not completely insane." You're aiming for light, casual, but it comes out a bit defensive. "But yeah, basically. Loaded up the car, picked a playlist, and..." You wave your hand vaguely.

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

He's quiet for a moment, and you can practically hear him piecing things together. The way you never talk about home. How you tense up when anyone mentions family. The fact that your room is filled with things you clearly bought after moving in, nothing old or sentimental except—

"The bear," he says suddenly.

"What?"

"The stuffed bear on your bed. The really old-looking one." He straightens up, like he's solved a puzzle. "That's why you got it. It's from before."

Something uncomfortable squirms in your chest. 

“Okay, Detective Kuko, maybe focus on not being late instead of psychoanalyzing my childhood toys?"

The elevator dings, doors sliding open to reveal the garage. He pushes off the wall, but you catch his reflection in the mirrored doors—that little half-smile that he always pulls when he’s being particularly insufferable.

"You know," he says, following you out into the dimly lit space, "for someone who claims to hate nicknames, you sure throw around a lot of them."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Rogue."

His laugh echoes off the concrete walls. "Whatever you say, Phoenix."

The car beeps when you press the button on the key fob, its sound echoing off the concrete walls of the garage. It’s a rundown 2010 Honda Civic, the kind of car that blends into the background of every suburban parking lot. 

The kind your father refused to buy you when you were eighteen and wanted to transfer to a college campus just a bit further away. 

Funny how that worked out for him. You ended up buying this one yourself, and now you’re in New York City—a hell of a lot further away than that first suggestion.

But your chest tightens at the thought, like it always does when you let your mind wander back there. 

What were you even aiming for? 

Retribution? 

Vengeance? 

For what? Daddy not wanting to get you a car? When they’ve paid for your tuition all this time, made dinner for you when you stayed up late studying, and even sat through all of the Avengers movies with you despite hating superhero flicks. Your mom would always cut up fruit for you during finals season, leaving little notes on the kitchen counter that said things like You’ve got this! or Proud of you! in her neat handwriting. 

A mix of guilt and frustration gnaws at you. Because what kind of ungrateful asshole feels bitter about something so small when their parents have done so much?

And yet, here you are. Feeling it anyway. 

It’s not like they were bad parents—strict, sure, but not bad. They just wanted what was best for you, didn’t they? 

So why does it still sting when you think about how they dismissed your creative writing journal as a “waste of time” or how they steered every conversation toward practicality and success? Why does it feel like every decision they made for you came with strings attached? Like love was something earned through achievements instead of something freely given?

You grip the keys tighter as if that’ll stop the spiral forming in your head. Because it’s not fair to them, is it? They did their best. They didn’t know how suffocating it felt to have every move scrutinized, every choice second-guessed. 

And maybe—just maybe—you’re blowing it all out of proportion. Maybe they weren’t controlling; maybe you were just too sensitive. Maybe this whole mess is on 

you.

But then again... wasn’t it their fear that kept you tethered to that small town for so long? Their insistence on safety and stability that made leaving feel like rebellion instead of growth? 

You shake your head, trying to shove those thoughts aside. It doesn’t matter now. You’re here. You made it out. You’re independent and capable and—

“Wow,” Jungkook’s voice cuts through your inner monologue like a knife, dragging you back to reality with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. “This car sucks.”

Your head snaps toward him as he stands there, one eyebrow raised in judgmental amusement. He’s leaning against the passenger door like he’s too good to even touch it properly.

Without thinking, you slam the driver’s door closed with more force than necessary. “Changed my mind,” you snap, glaring at him over the roof of the car. “Go walk.”

He laughs, already folding his stupidly long legs into the passenger seat. "Aw, come on, Phoenix. I'm sure it has... character."

"Get out of my car."

"The duct tape on the mirror really adds something, you know?"

"I will leave you here."

"Is that a Fast and Furious sticker? Did you actually—"

"One more word about my car and you're taking the subway."

He holds his hands up in surrender, but he's still grinning. 

"Wouldn't dream of insulting your..." His eyes dart to the dashboard where the check engine light has been on since you bought it. "Unique vehicle."

"I hate you so much right now."

"No you don't." He starts fiddling with the radio, because apparently personal boundaries mean nothing to him. "Oh my god, is this a cassette player?"

You swat his hand away. "Touch my radio and die."

"But—"

"My car, my rules."

"What are you gonna do, make me listen to your sad girl hours playlist?"

You turn the key in the ignition, the engine sputtering to life with its usual concerning cough. "Bold of you to assume I'd share my playlists with someone who butchers Mayer's solos every night."

"I do not—" He sits up straighter, actually offended. "That was one time, and the strings were new, and—"

"Slow Dancing in a Burning Room doesn't need your creative reinterpretation, Rogue."

And fuck. Why did you have to bring up that specific song? The one he was playing two nights ago, like it was just for you and him in the quiet of the night. 

"Didn't know you were such a Mayer purist, Phoenix." 

You check your mirrors, definitely not watching how he slouches in the seat, all long limbs and morning-messy hair. 

"Seatbelt, Kuko."

"Is that your favorite Mayer song?" 

God, why is he doing this? Making small talk about music like he didn't just watch you have a whole crisis about your car? 

"I guess." You mutter, exiting the garage once and for all.

You merge into traffic, grateful for the excuse to focus on something other than how he's angled his body toward you in the passenger seat. 

But then, because he can’t leave things alone…

"You know any others?"

You lick your lips. Two beats of silence. 

“Some ring a bell." You finally say. Swallow. Change lanes. Don't think about summer evenings and vinyl records and— "It's just that one... brings memories."

Silence, again.

You can feel him watching you, that way he does sometimes when he thinks you're not paying attention. Like he's trying to solve a puzzle but keeps finding new pieces.

Then he sighs, a soft chuckle that does absolutely nothing to your stomach. Nothing at all. 

“Guess I'll have to play some more for you." His voice drops slightly, just shy of teasing. "You know, expand your musical taste."

And what the fuck are you supposed to do with that? With the way he says it—like a challenge, like a promise? With how the morning sun catches his ring when he drums his fingers against his thigh, keeping time to whatever song is playing in his head?

"Bold of you to assume I want to hear more of your mediocre guitar skills."

It's weak and you both know it. 

But he lets you have it, just huffs out another laugh and turns to look out the window. 

And you absolutely do not notice how the sunlight catches the edge of his jaw, or the way his shirt is still slightly wrinkled from his rush this morning.

No. No, you don’t. 

"Wait, you're telling me you've never read Donna Tartt?"

Jimin's scandalized whisper makes you grin as you both push through the library's heavy doors. There's something endearing about how genuinely offended he is by this gap in your literary education.

"In my defense," you whisper back, following him up the stairs to the second floor, "I was a bit busy reading whatever my parents deemed 'appropriate' until, oh, about six months ago?"

He glances back at you, something knowing in his eyes. It should make you uncomfortable—usually does, when people look at you like they understand. But with Jimin, it feels... okay. Maybe because he was there that night at your apartment, quietly positioning himself next to you like a gentle buffer against the chaos.

"Okay, but now you have to read The Secret History." He leads you to what's clearly his usual spot—a corner table partially hidden behind the Classical Literature stacks. "It's like... Dark Academia meets murder mystery meets Greek tragedy."

"You had me at murder mystery, honestly."

He pulls out a chair, dropping his bag with practiced ease. "I actually have my copy here somewhere. The spine's basically destroyed because I've read it so many times, but—"

"Let me guess—you're one of those people who annotates their books?"

His cheeks flush slightly. "Maybe?"

"Oh my god, you totally are." You slide into the chair across from him, already feeling more relaxed than you have all day. "Do you use different colored pens? Have a whole system?"

"...you're making fun of me."

"I would never." You scoff. "I'm simply appreciating your dedication to the literary arts."

He tries to maintain his pout, but you can see the smile fighting through. 

"You know what? For that, I'm not telling you where the secret coffee spot is."

"The what now?"

"Oh, nothing." He starts unpacking his bag with exaggerated nonchalance. "Just a hidden corner where they don't enforce the 'no drinks' policy. But since you're so judgmental about my annotation habits..."

"Park Jimin." You lean forward, lowering your voice conspiratorially. "Are you telling me there's a way I can read and caffeinate without having to dodge the library police?"

"I don't know..." He draws it out, eyes twinkling. "Can you be trusted with such powerful knowledge?"

"I will literally annotate a book right now. Any book. Pick one."

His laugh is barely more than a breath, but it's warm, genuine. 

“Okay, okay. But first—what's your stance on dog-earing pages?"

You gasp. "What kind of monster do you think I am?"

"Just checking." He grins, finally pulling out his battered copy of The Secret History. "Here. But I want detailed feedback on all my margin notes."

You accept the book carefully, noting the well-worn spine, the sticky notes peeking out from between pages. "Did you... color-code your tabs?"

"That's it." He starts gathering his things. "I'm leaving."

"No, wait!" You grab his arm, laughing as quietly as you can. "I actually love it. Really. Show me your system?"

He settles back down, mock-glaring but clearly pleased. "Fine. But only because you actually seem to care about books, unlike some people."

"Let me guess—Yeji ditched the second you mentioned the library?"

"'Sorry, babe,'" he mimics Yeji's voice with surprising accuracy, "'but I only enter buildings with books if they also serve alcohol.'"

You snort. "That tracks."

"Speaking of tracking..." He pulls out his phone. "Want to see my reading spreadsheet?"

"Your what now?"

"It's color-coded by genre, with separate tabs for—"

"Jimin?"

"Yeah?"

"I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

His smile could power the whole library. "Just wait until I show you my TBR organization system."

And you find yourself smiling back, real and easy, as he launches into an explanation involving multiple apps and something called "reverse timeline sorting." Because yeah, okay—maybe making new friends isn't the worst thing in the world.

Even if they are terrifyingly organized book nerds who probably alphabetize their bookmarks.

Also, the thing about being an English major at NYU is that you end up sharing a lot of classes with the Comparative Literature kids. 

It's not really surprising when you think about it—you're both basically studying books, just from different angles. 

While you're deep diving into English and American literature (thanks to your very traditional parents who would have probably had an aneurysm if you'd picked anything more "experimental"), Jimin's out here analyzing texts from all over the world, looking at how different cultures approach storytelling.

Which is how you end up in at least three classes together this semester. 

Modern Literature with Professor Sullivan on Mondays and Wednesdays (where Jimin always has the most interesting takes on international influences), Contemporary Poetry Analysis (where he somehow manages to connect Emily Dickinson to some obscure Korean poet you can't pronounce), and that one Friday afternoon workshop that everyone dreads but somehow becomes bearable when Jimin starts drawing parallels between Western and Eastern literary traditions.

It's actually kind of perfect. Your English major foundation gives you the deep knowledge of Western canon that his program requires, while his Comparative Literature perspective opens up whole new ways of looking at texts you thought you knew inside out. 

Like right now, as he's explaining how Japanese magical realism evolved differently from its Latin American counterpart, you're seeing 100 Years of Solitude in a completely new light.

Plus, it's nice having someone who actually gives a shit about books. 

Yeji, bless her chaotic heart, thinks anything written before 2010 is "prehistoric," and your other friend from Modern Lit only reads SparkNotes. 

But Jimin? Jimin color-codes his annotations and has strong opinions about Oxford commas. 

Which is probably why, when he suggested studying together, you didn't even hesitate. Because yes, okay, maybe you've been a bit... selective about making friends since moving to New York. 

But someone who understands why you got emotional about Woolf's use of semicolons? That's the kind of friend worth having.

"Okay, but consider this," Jimin whispers, sliding his Contemporary Literature notes across the table. "What if we compared Murakami's use of magical realism with García Márquez? Because I swear there's a connection between Kafka on the Shore and 100 Years of Solitude that no one talks about."

You lean forward, scanning his impossibly neat handwriting. Of course his notes are color-coded. "For the Modern Lit essay?"

"Yeah, Professor Sullivan mentioned wanting unique perspectives, right?" His eyes light up the way they only do when discussing books. "And since you're taking Modern Literature and I've got Comparative Lit Theory this semester..."

"A cross-course analysis?" You tap your pen against your notebook, mind already racing. "That's... actually brilliant?"

"Really?" He perks up, then immediately remembers to lower his voice when someone at the next table glares. "Because I was thinking, with your focus on contemporary Western literature and my background in Eastern literary traditions—"

"We could explore how different cultural interpretations of magical realism intersect!" You're probably too excited about this for a library setting, but whatever. "Jimin, you're literally a genius."

He ducks his head, but you catch his pleased smile. "I mean, you're the one who brought up the cyclical narrative patterns in class last week. I just thought maybe we could..."

"Collaborate?" You're already flipping to a fresh page in your notebook. "Please tell me you're not working with anyone else for the final paper."

"Was kind of waiting for the right partner." He gives you a pointed look. "Someone who wouldn't just make me do all the work."

"Unlike some people we know?"

"I'm not naming names, but..." He glances around conspiratorially. "Let's just say I've already witnessed Yeji's approach to required reading in our shared Literature and Gender class last week."

"Do tell."

"She showed up to discuss Virginia Woolf's A Room of One's Own and asked, completely seriously, if it was about interior design." He shudders dramatically. "Then tried to argue that her TikTok research should count as academic sources."

You have to stuff your fist against your mouth to muffle your laugh. 

"She did not."

"Direct quote: 'But professor, this BookToker made some really good points about, like, the feminist undertones and stuff.'" He pulls out his laptop, already opening a fresh document. "So, partner? I mean, we're only two weeks into the semester, but I can already tell you actually read the material. Plus, I've got access to some really interesting papers on Japanese magical realism through the Comparative Lit database."

"Only if you let me buy you coffee at Jin's after this." You pause. "Wait, is that weird? Am I being weird?"

His smile is soft, understanding. "Not weird at all. But only if you let me show you my favorite translation of The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle. The annotations are chef's kiss."

"God, you really are a book nerd, aren't you?"

"Says the person who got excited about cyclical narrative patterns."

"...touché."

He starts typing, fingers flying over the keys. "So, structure-wise, I was thinking we could start with a brief overview of traditional magical realism in Latin American literature, then transition into..."

You settle in, watching him outline your shared project with the same methodical care he probably uses to organize his bookshelf. 

And maybe it's the quiet of the library, or the way afternoon sun filters through the stacks, but something in your chest feels lighter. 

Because this—this easy back-and-forth about books and ideas—this is what you came to New York for.

"Oh!" Jimin's whisper breaks into your thoughts. "We should definitely include the cat symbolism in both texts. Speaking of..." He glances up from his screen. "How's living with Griffin?"

"The cat or his stupid owner?"

The words slip out before you can stop them. Jimin's eyebrows shoot up, a knowing look crossing his face that makes you want to hide behind your textbook.

"Why? Wanna talk about his owner?”

"I meant—that's not—he is stupid!" You grab your water bottle just to have something to do with your hands. "Whatever. We should focus on the magical realism thing."

"Mhm." He's still giving you that look. "Whatever you say. But you know, if you ever want to talk about... cats..."

"I will literally throw this book at you."

"The annotated one? You wouldn't dare."

"Try me, Park."

His quiet laugh makes a few people look over, but you can't bring yourself to care. Because somehow, in the span of an afternoon, you've gained both a study partner and what feels like a real friend.

Even if said friend is now wiggling his eyebrows at you every time you try to redirect the conversation back to Murakami.

Your phone buzzes against the table, making Jimin glance up from his color-coded notes. 

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚛 𝚞 𝚛𝚗

You roll your eyes, typing back quickly.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚕𝚒𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚓𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚗

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚑𝚢

The three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again. Your screen lights up with his reply.

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚛 𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒𝚍𝚔 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝟷𝟻𝚖𝚒𝚗? 

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝟺𝟶

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝟺𝟶????

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚝𝚏 𝚠𝚑𝚢

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚘 𝚒𝚝 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚘𝚖𝚐

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞,𝚟𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝟺𝟶 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚘? 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚜𝚊𝚍 

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚞𝚖? 🥺

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚞

Your fingers hover over the keyboard because—what the fuck is he saying right now? What does he mean?

But then.

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚌𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝟻 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎

Fucking bitch-ass motherfucker. 

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚏𝚏

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎???

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚗𝚊𝚑

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚘

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚜 🤢

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚍𝚔 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚖𝚢 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚘

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚘 𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚠𝚎 𝚛 𝚍𝚘𝚒𝚗 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚒𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚕

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚍𝚎𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚙𝚜? 

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚞 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚊 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚓𝚘𝚋 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝟻 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚜 𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝙸𝙽𝚂𝙸𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙳

𝐘𝐨𝐮: "𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚒’𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚔, 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡”

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜 🙄

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚞 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚝

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝟺𝟶 𝚖𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚡

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚗 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚎𝚛 💅

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚞𝚝𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚙𝚑𝚎𝚎

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚜𝚝𝚏𝚞 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝟺𝟶

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚝

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚠

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚗’𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚡 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙𝚜 𝚞 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚊𝚝 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚗𝚒𝚡

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚙

𝐊𝐮𝐤𝐨🖕🏻: 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚘𝚌𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚎 😏

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚗 𝙴𝙼𝙾𝙹𝙸???

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎

Read 4:47 PM

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚜

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙾𝙿𝙴𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙰 𝚆𝙸𝙽𝙳𝙾𝚆

Read 4:48 PM

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒 𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚜𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑

Read 4:49 PM

You shove your phone in your bag. Whatever. You've got actual priorities here—like making real friends who appreciate literature and don't judge your drink choices (does he?).

"Actually," you say, straightening up and pulling out your Modern Lit syllabus, "let’s go to Jin’s right now. Because I could use a caramel frappuccino, and I'd love to hear more about your take on Murakami's symbolism."

Jimin's whole face lights up. "Really? Because I have thoughts about the significance of wells as transitional spaces in—"

"Lead the way, book nerd." You start packing up your stuff, already feeling more centered. "But fair warning—I will absolutely judge your coffee order if it's anything boring like plain black."

"You order everything with extra whipped cream, don’t you?”

"It's called having taste, Jimin. And yes, I want the little chocolate sprinkles too."

His laugh echoes through the stacks as you both head out, earning a few glares that you can't bring yourself to care about. Because this? This is exactly what you need. Good conversation, sugary drinks, and someone who gets genuinely excited about literary analysis.

Your phone stays silent in your bag. You don't even think about checking it.

After all, you've got more interesting things to focus on—like whether Jin will let you convince him to add extra caramel to your drink, or finally having someone who understands why you cried over that one Sylvia Plath poem.

Because honestly? There’s just something deliciously satisfying about choosing exactly how you want to spend your afternoon. 

And right now? That means ordering the sweetest drink on the menu and diving deep into a discussion about magical realism with someone who actually gets it.

Sometimes the best kind of freedom is just... doing whatever the fuck you want.

The thing about Jin is that he treats his coffee shop like it's a kingdom and he's the benevolent (but definitely judgy) ruler.

"Well, well." He quirks an eyebrow as you and Jimin push through the door, the familiar smell of coffee and old books wrapping around you like a hug. "Where's the demon child?"

"Yeji's allergic to studying." You lean against the counter, already eyeing the pastry display. "Breaks out in hives if she gets too close to academic pursuit."

Jin snorts, wiping his hands on his apron. "That tracks. Haven't seen you in a few days—were you actually at the library? Or is this some elaborate cover story?"

"Studying, actually." You gesture to Jimin, who's hovering politely beside you. "With actual books and everything. Jin, this is Jimin. Jimin, this is Jin, who makes the best coffee in the East Village but will definitely judge your order."

"I don't judge." Jin's mouth twitches. "I merely... evaluate life choices."

Jimin waves shyly. "Nice to meet you. Yeji's mentioned this place a lot."

"All lies, probably." Jin's already moving to the espresso machine, hands automatic in their movements. "What can I get you both? And Y/N, before you say it— no, I will not make you one of those abominations with eight pumps of syrup."

"Rude." You straighten up, pretending to study the menu like you don't order the same thing every time. "Fine. Latte with cold foam?"

He rolls his eyes, but there's fondness there. "Let me make you something better. Just got a new blend in—Ethiopian, hints of blueberry. You'll love it."

"Bold of you to assume I can taste anything beyond sugar."

"Trust me." He turns to Jimin. "And for you?"

"Just an americano, please."

You whirl around. "That's so sad."

"Shut up." Jimin shoves your shoulder lightly. "Not all of us need a sugar high to function."

"Your loss." You're already heading toward your usual spot—eyeing the different tables and settling for the corner one with the best lighting and a perfect view of both the street and the counter. "Come on, I'll show you where—"

"Ah ah." Jin's voice stops you. "Not that one."

You turn back, eyebrow raised. "What? It's empty."

"Someone sits there."

"I literally see no bag?" You gesture at the conspicuously empty table. "No books, no laptop, no nothing."

"Someone," Jin repeats, voice somehow both firmer and more amused, "sits there."

"But—"

"Y/N." He gives you that look, the one that somehow makes you feel like a kid being gently scolded. "Pick another table."

You glance at the mysterious empty table, then back at Jin, then at the table again. Because what the actual fuck? Since when does Jin reserve tables? And for who? 

But he's already turned back to the espresso machine, humming something under his breath, clearly considering the matter closed. 

"Come on." Jimin tugs your sleeve, pointing to another corner. "That one looks good too."

You let him lead you away, but not without throwing one last suspicious look over your shoulder. Jin pretends not to notice, but you catch the slight smile playing at his lips as he starts grinding coffee beans.

Weird. Very weird.

You sigh loudly, and woah okay you’re starting to sound like Yeji now. Her energy is definitely rubbing off on you. You take your stuff out along with Jimin and start chatting right away.

"All I'm saying is," you whisper-rant to Jimin, still bitter about this morning, "if someone makes you coffee, you say thank you. You don't launch into a TED talk about optimal brewing temperatures like some pretentious—"

The bell above the door chimes, and holy shit.

HOLY. SHIT.

The man who walks in is... 

Well, first of all, he's tall. Like, unfairly tall. 

And he's wearing these round glasses that should look dorky but somehow don't, perched on a face that belongs in one of those aesthetic academic Pinterest boards. His blonde hair is slicked back in a way that screams 'I definitely know about wine pairings', and his light blue dress shirt paired with navy pants is giving very much 'yes, I read Proust for fun.'

But it's the way he carries himself—confident but not cocky, with a laptop bag swinging gently by his thigh—that really catches your attention. 

That, and how Jin's whole demeanor shifts when he sees him.

"Joon!" Jin's voice is different—warmer, maybe? "The usual?"

The man—Joon, apparently—smiles, and oh. Oh. That's just unfair. Because he's got actual dimples. Like, dimples dimples. 

They chat for a moment, their conversation too low to hear from where you're sitting, but you catch Jin gesturing toward... wait. 

Toward the table. 

THE table. 

The one you were just exiled from.

Namjoon nods, that devastating smile still in place, and heads straight for what is apparently his designated spot in Jin's kingdom.

You narrow your eyes. Who exactly is this mysterious dimpled giant with table-reserving privileges? And why does Jin look slightly pink around the ears as he starts making what is presumably 'the usual'?

"Hey?" Jimin waves his hand in front of your face. "You good?"

"Sorry, just..." You tilt your head toward the table-stealer. "Trying to figure out who managed to get permanent dibs on prime real estate in here."

Jimin turns, trying (and absolutely failing) to be subtle about it. Then he makes a small choking sound.

"Oh god," he whispers, whipping back around. "That's Professor Kim."

You blink. "Professor who now?"

"Namjoon Kim? From the English department?" When you continue staring blankly, he adds, "He teaches Literary Criticism in my major? Published in like, every major literary journal? Youngest professor in the department?"

"That's a professor?" You peek over again, watching as he sets up his laptop with methodical precision. "Why does he look like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like..." You gesture vaguely. "You know. Like that.”

"Please stop staring," Jimin hisses. "He's brilliant and terrifying and I have to present in his class next week."

"Terrifying?" You snort. "The man has dimples, Jimin. And his glasses are literally round. He looks like a very tall teddy bear who probably reads Keats for fun."

"He once made someone cry by asking them to explain their interpretation of a Emily Dickinson poem."

"Okay, but was their interpretation wrong?"

"Y/N."

"What? I'm just saying—"

Jin appears with your drinks, setting them down with more force than strictly necessary. "Stop gossiping about my customers."

"We're not gossiping," you protest. "We're... conducting academic observation."

"Mhm." He raises an eyebrow. "How's that new blend?"

You take a sip of whatever fancy coffee he made you, and... oh. Oh.

"This is..."

"Better than your sugar milk?" His smirk is unbearable. "You're welcome."

He walks away before you can argue, heading back to where Professor Dimples is apparently grading papers, judging by the red pen in his hand.

"Don't even think about it," Jimin warns.

"Think about what?"

"Whatever you're plotting. I can see it on your face."

"I'm not plotting anything!" You take another sip of your annoyingly perfect coffee. "I just think it's interesting that Jin never mentioned having a designated professor spot in his shop."

"No."

"What? I'm just being observant."

Jimin looks like he's regretting every life choice that led him to befriend you. "Can we please just focus on Murakami?"

"Fine." You pull out your notes, but you can't help stealing one more glance at the mysterious professor. "But just so you know, anyone who makes students cry over Emily Dickinson is definitely going on my list of people to investigate."

"I'm pretending I didn't hear that."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Jimjim."

20 minutes pass by. 20 minutes of Jimin humming as he searches articles on the web. 20 minutes of you two now doing your individual assignments for your different classes. 20 minutes of you nearly losing your mind over yours. 

"Who," you groan, slumping over your laptop, "decided that writing a comparative analysis of post-modern narrative structures was a good idea for week two? Week two, Jimin. I still haven't figured out where half my classes are."

Jimin chuckles, leaning over to point at something on your screen. "Look, if you connect these two themes here—"

You lift your head just enough to glare at him. "I will literally pay you to write this for me."

"No you won't."

"You're right, I'm broke. But I'll owe you my firstborn."

"Still no."

"My soul?"

"Bold of you to assume you still have one after declaring an English major."

You're about to argue that your soul is perfectly intact, thank you very much, when you feel it—the weight of someone's gaze. You glance up and oh fuck.

Professor Dimples is looking right at you, one eyebrow raised slightly above those round glasses. Because of course he heard your entire breakdown about his colleague's assignment. Of course he did. 

You drop your eyes back to your laptop so fast you probably give yourself whiplash. Maybe if you slouch low enough, you'll just... dissolve into the floor. That's possible, right? 

Jimin swats your arm. "Stop being dramatic."

"I'm not being dramatic," you whisper-hiss. "I'm just saying, who assigns a five-thousand word analysis before we've even figured out the coffee situation on campus?"

"Having trouble with Professor Lee's class?"

You freeze. Because that voice—deep, warm, and definitely coming from right next to your table—belongs to exactly who you think it does.

Slowly, you look up. Professor Kim is standing there, coffee cup in hand, looking far too amused for someone who apparently makes students cry over poetry.

"I, uh—" Words. You know words. You're literally majoring in them. "No? I mean, yes? I mean—"

"She's struggling with the comparative analysis assignment," Jimin supplies helpfully, the traitor. "The one about narrative structures in post-modern literature."

"Ah." Professor Kim's dimples make an appearance. "Mind if I...?" He gestures to the empty chair at your table.

What are you supposed to say? No? To the professor who apparently has permanent dibs on the best table in Jin's? Who probably knows seventeen ways to destroy your GPA with a single red pen mark?

"Sure," you manage, shooting Jimin a panicked look that he completely ignores.

Professor Kim settles into the chair, setting his coffee down carefully. "The thing about post-modern narrative structures," he says, like he's sharing a secret, "is that everyone overthinks them."

You blink. "What?"

"It's actually quite simple." He gestures to your laptop. "May I?"

You turn the screen toward him, watching as he scans your document. His brow furrows slightly, and you resist the urge to slam the laptop shut and run away.

"See, here—" He points to a paragraph. "You're actually onto something interesting. The way you've connected the unreliable narrator to the fragmented timeline... that's good. You're just getting caught up in the academic language instead of trusting your instincts."

"My... instincts?"

"Mhm." He takes a sip of his coffee. "Tell me—without thinking about theory or criticism or any of that—why did this particular narrative choice catch your attention?"

You open your mouth. Close it. Because honestly? "It reminded me of those dreams where you're trying to remember something, but the memory keeps slipping away? Like, you know it's important, but every time you get close, it sort of... dissolves?"

His smile widens. "Write that."

"What, the dream thing?"

"Exactly that. In exactly those words." He leans back, looking pleased. "That's what post-modern literature is about—the messy, fragmented way our minds actually work. Not the polished academic analysis we think we're supposed to write."

From behind the counter, you hear Jin snort. "Are you corrupting my customers with your literary theories again?"

"Always," Professor Kim calls back, and something in the way they smile at each other makes you think of your earlier observations.

"Thank you," you say, already starting to rework your intro paragraph. "That actually helps a lot."

"Any time." He stands, gathering his coffee. "And Y/N?"

You look up, surprised he knows your name.

"Don't worry too much about Professor Lee's assignments. He likes to seem tough in the beginning, but..." He adjusts his glasses with a slight smile. "Let's just say I've heard his Emily Dickinson lectures. Man cries every time."

As he heads back to his table, you turn to Jimin with wide eyes.

"Did that just happen?"

"Yep."

"And did he just..."

"Give you permission to basically write your paper in normal human language? Yep."

"Huh." You look between your laptop and Professor Kim's table, where he's already absorbed back in his grading. "Maybe the dimples aren't so terrifying after all."

"Please stop talking about our professor's dimples."

"I'm just saying—"

"Whatever you're about to say, don't."

Fair enough. You turn back to your laptop, fingers hovering over the keys. 

Maybe this assignment won't be so bad after all.

Even if you do kind of want to investigate why Jin keeps stealing glances at Professor Kim's table and thinking he’s being subtle about it. 

next | index

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© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[valaryswrites]

🪐 where tony baddingham wants you back.

warnings: (requests are open btw) pure fiction, no gender specified, dirty talking and english is not my first language. tony himself is a warning, tho. but again, pure fiction. scroll if you don’t like it. (requests are open btw)

You used to work with him some years ago.

No, not with him. For him.

You were his favorite screenwriter. His golden star. The only person he trusted enough to take some big, important decisions.

Then, you left. Left the country, and left him. There was a different project located on the other side of the world that you wanted to be a part of. And you were.

Tony let you go, knowing that sooner or later you’d be back.

“I’ll make you the highest-paid person in Corinium.” He said, trying to convince you.

“You know it’s not about money, Tony.” You told him firmly, crossing your arms over your chest and hoping he could understand. “You were insatiable. I’m afraid I won’t have enough creative freedom if I work here again.”

But Toby Baddingham hated the word “no”. He liked to think that everything in the world could belong to him.

“Come on, darling.” The man sighed, standing up from his fancy chair and approaching you. Not so close, though. “I can guarantee you all the freedom you want.” He promised. “We used to be a good team, you and I.”

You frowned, but there was a little smirk making its presence in your face. A team… a team? You used to fuck. Work during the day, fuck during the night. It was a routine.

“We weren’t a team, Tony.” You told him. “We were lovers.”

“Well, you used to make me come and I used to make you come.” He shrugged, both his hands in his pockets. “Doesn’t that make us a good team?”

You sighed again, and Tony knew he had to push further.

“Your potencial is wasted without me.” He assured you.

That wasn’t true; and Baddingham knew it as well. Your potencial was not wasted without him.

But hell, he did help. The money, the demands, the defiance. He did make you work better. Write better.

“You have hired plenty of new writers, I see.” You said, pointing to the empty desks outside his office. “Why you insist? Is it because I was the best you ever had?” That chuckling you let out after that last question made his blood boil.

“Of course I have to insist.” He firmly told you. “I know your potencial better than anyone else. I want you here again. To increase the rating and to remember the good old times.”

“To remember what, exactly?” You asked, aware of the answer.

“You know exactly what I mean, dear.” He took a step closer to you. “The late nights in this office, the discussions over your insane ideas, the mind-blowing sex we had…”

Ah, there he was. The Tony Baddingham you knew.

“It wasn’t that good to me.” You lied.

God, it was. It really was.

“You always seemed very satisfied.” He chuckled. Another step.

The way he was closing the distance between you and him was almost magnetic. You wondered if he was doing it on purpose or if it was a reflex. It used to be like that, during the the good old times. Magnets.

“Did you find another affair while I was away?” You asked. No shame.

“I’ve had other women.” He admitted. “None of them as good as you, of course.” Oh, that boosted your ego. “As eager and talented. I would have you writing wonders for me in the morning and riding me like an animal at night. It’s difficult to find an equivalent.”

You rolled your eyes, but that grin on your face was present. So, so present. He missed it.

“I miss your body. That bloody look on your face wanting to wreck me...” Tony exhaled, as if he was remembering the sight. “But I miss that beautiful, clever brain of yours too. And I want it back.”

Ugh, he was convincing you. You wanted the job. You needed it. And deep down you knew your writing was at its highest success when you were there.

“Highest salary.” You demanded, while your index finger pointed directly at his chest, almost touching it. “And you won’t turn down any of my ideas without trying them first.”

“And if I don’t like them?” Baddingham asked.

“You’ll give them a fair try either way.” Another demand. “Or I’m out. When did I ever do something you didn’t like, though?”

Not a good question.

“Well, I didn’t like when you left Corinium, and left the country, for starters.” He chuckled. “And left me, of course.” He said, in case you’ve forgotten. As if you could! “I would get into this office very morning and deal with some imbecile people, and then end up here, all alone, with no one to eat out over my desk.” The man teased. Another step closer. “I would sit on that chair, look at my empty desk and think of you kneeling under it…” He continued.

The bastard was making you picture all those things.

No.

No things; but memories. They were real once, during the good old days.

He was so close to you now that his hand traveled to the nape of your neck, and then back to your jaw, caressing you.

“Your pretty mouth, taking such good care of me…” he whispered, his thumb brushing over your lower lip, and then sliding it barely into your mouth just to touch the tip of your tongue.

So you bit his finger.

Tony hissed, but that smirk on his face betrayed any type of irritation he might be feeling.

“Give me the damn contract.” You said, brows furrowed.

“Ah, that’s my girl!” Baddingham smiled widely for the first time in days. He handed you a stack of paper. “I’ll leave you alone so you can sign it.”

“I’m going to read it first.” You said, threatening him.

“Ah, you’ll be fine with it.” He assured you. “You start next week. 11AM to 6PM.”

“Everyone here leaves at 5PM.” You protested.

“Yes. But not you.” He giggled, about to leave the office. “You’ll work for an extra hour.”

“And you’ll pay me that extra hour.” You said, no question.

“Yes.” He nodded. “But just not with cash.” Tony Baddingham winked and left.

And you signed.