#but the end result looked so yummy

[kaputzz]

I’m making a recipe I saw on tiktok and it looks… questionable so far

[jobean12-blog]

Claimed

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader (Mob/Mafia AU)-Bookshop setting

Word Count: 3,513

Summary: Bucky has had his eyes on you for a long time and when he finally makes a move to claim you he's delighted at how easily you fall into his waiting arms.

Author's Note: Seb's new looks have just been so yummy, especially him in a bow tie. I LOVE! The look in the pic below is the end result of the story🫠It isn't really focused too much on his mob status but it's there and I couldn't resist a little bookshop AU in there too! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: flirting, tension, Bucky is pretty forward/dom and doesn't mince words- he goes for what he wants-light d-irty talk, fing-er-ing, o-ral (f rec), but he's sweet too :)

Your steps are slow and easy as you stroll through the aisle, perusing the titles and letting your fingers delicately slide across the bindings.

When you find one of interest you pull it from the shelf and before you read even one word you press the aged pages to your nose and inhale deeply.

The sound of a light chuckle pulls you from your aromatic reverie and you look up with a start, catching a man watching you with a lopsided smirk.

He nods a hello before disappearing down the next aisle. You stare at the space he just vacated and feel your skin heat.

Was he really that handsome or are you still recovering from the exquisite smell of the pages of the book? Only one way to find out.

With quiet movements you slip past the end of the fiction section and turn the corner, peeking around the next bookshelf. All you see is a young woman searching through the books.

Denying your disappointment you continue down the aisle but slow when you feel the weight of eyes at your back. Instead of turning around and looking too obvious you quickly glance over your shoulder and see the mystery man once again watching you.

He looks even more handsome than he did two minutes ago.

You almost walk into the woman who’s browsing and give her a startled apology before rushing off to hide in the rare book section.

Letting out a rush of breath you clutch a book to your chest and refocus on your surroundings.

“This is my favorite section.”

You spin on a gasp and blink.

“Excuse me?” you say quietly.

“This section,” he says again, “it’s my favorite. I love old books.”

“Oh,” you answer, backing away as he steps closer.

He stops advancing and looks at the shelf, studying the bindings until he finds one that interests him.

“Mine too,” you concede softly. “And they smell amazing.”

“As good as the books in the fiction section?” he asks, eyes dancing with amusement.

You let out a light huff of laughter, feeling warm embarrassment creep over your skin.

“Better,” you finally answer.

“I’d have to agree with you there,” he says before lifting the book he holds to his face and inhaling.

You can’t stop your small intake of air as you watch him savor the smell of the pages.

“So, do you come here often?” he asks, casting his gaze down to the words.

You let his question hang in the air as you take a moment to really look him over. His soft sweater does nothing to hide his broad shoulders and powerful build and his dark hair and beard frame a beautifully sculpted jaw.

Then he lifts his eyes, directing his steady gaze on you, and your breath catches in your throat.

“Um…I do. It’s my favorite book store. I can’t afford any of these books,” you say as you motion to the titles nearby, “but no one seems to mind that I come and spend the afternoon reading them.”

“I don’t see why anyone would,” he replies.

He places the book back on the shelf and slides his hands into his pants pockets, attempting another step closer.

This time you don’t move away and he smiles.

“I have quite the collection myself,” he informs you. “You should come see it.”

“Are you a collector?” you ask.

“Something like that doll.”

You school your features at the sound of the endearment falling from his perfect lips and smile.

He extends his hand.

“James Barnes. But you can call me Bucky.”

“Hi Bucky.”

You give him your name and he takes your hand in his, bringing it to his mouth and lightly brushing his lips across your knuckles before kissing them.

As you stare at him through your lashes his lips linger and he seems unwilling to let go of your hand.

“I mean it you know. You’re welcome to come see my collection…anytime.”

He slowly releases your hand with a wink then turns on his heel toward the doorway.

“But…,” you start, not even sure why you’re calling after him to ask your next question, “how will I find you?”

He turns to face you, his eyes set with determination, and says, “don’t worry doll face. We’ll be seeing each other again very soon.”

With those parting words he vanishes into the maze of books, leaving you caught between feeling frazzled and turned on.

After several days of warm sunshine it finally ends in a wash of chilly rain and wind. But you’re warm and cozy in the back of the bookshop, curled up on one of the old leather chairs by the window, reading by the soft light of an antique tiffany lamp.

You’re so engrossed in your book that it takes you several minutes to recognize the familiar feeling of his stare and when you look up you find Bucky leaning against a nearby bookshelf, his arms crossed, watching you.

He looks just as good as he did the last time you saw him and you realize you’re staring back.

“Hey,” you whisper, clearing your throat.

“You must really be enjoying that book,” he says, a smirk pulling at his lips.

“I am. Have you read it?”

“Not this one,” he says as he steps closer and reads the title.

His nearness draws all of your attention from the book and for the first time you take notice of the small patches of gray hair that line his beard.

“It’s worth a read,” you tell him when your eyes meet his again.

“I’ll definitely check it out doll. I’m currently reading the first edition of ‘The Canterbury Tales’ by Geo…”

“Geoffery Chaucer,” you finish in a rushed breath. “Oh my god. You have a first edition!?”

Your eyes go wide with shock as you silently contemplate how much money that must have cost him.

“But…but…”

“I told you doll face, the old and rare books are my favorite.”

“I haven’t read that one yet but it’s on my list.”

“Well you’re welcome to my copy when I’m done,” he says, smiling widely when your mouth opens in shock. “But I have to warn you that when it comes to such treasures I’m a slow reader. There are some things I like to take my time with.”

As the last sentence leaves his mouth he unabashedly lets his eyes sweep over you. When your head dips to your book under his obvious perusal he presses his fingers under your chin to lift your gaze.

“Can I get you a coffee?”

“A coffee?” you repeat, all rational thought leaving your brain at the feel of his touch.

“They just put a fresh pot on up front.”

“Oh, right. That would be great thank you, let me just get my wallet.”

“No doll. I’ll pay.”

“Well, I don’t mind at all…”

“And I do,” he says definitively. “I offered and I’ll pay.”

“Thanks,” you whisper.

When he returns with two steaming cups of coffee you sigh in contentment.

“Are you always this much of a gentleman to the women you meet in bookshops?”

You ask the question with a playful smile but when his expression doesn’t match yours you instantly regret opening your mouth, your smile wavering.

“Despite my offering, I’m having a very difficult time remembering to be a gentleman around you doll.”

“Well maybe I shouldn’t be accepting this coffee then.”

Even though your voice is little more than a whisper you make no move to give him back the drink and instead you lean in closer.

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” he murmurs.

Your breathing accelerates before you take a slow sip of the coffee.

“And maybe I like the coffee too much to give it back.”

“I just warned you that I’m having a difficult time being a gentleman. Are you provoking me doll?”

Your tongue darts out to trace the outline of your lips, the taste of coffee still lingering. “Is that what I’m doing?”

His eyes track the movement and he rubs the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip, looking pleased when you inhale sharply but don’t pull away.

“Let me be clear here doll, since it seems like you enjoy playing this little game with me. I want you underneath me in my bed. I want to be buried so deep inside you that you’ll feel me for days. And I want to mark you so every other man who walks this Earth knows you’re mine.”

Your eyes widen with every word he utters and you feel goosebumps crawl over your skin when he tilts his head and moves closer until his warm breath fans your cheek.

“I just want to be up-front with you. Enjoy the coffee.”

He forces himself away, removing his hand and stepping back. And once again leaves with nothing more that the sound of his retreating footsteps.

Life keeps you busy for the next two days but Bucky’s words are ever present, practically burned into your skin. So when you step back into the bookshop on Saturday evening you take solace in the familiar smells and sounds.

You wave hello to the barista and cashier, noticing their slight mischievous smiles as you pass by. You’re about to ask them what’s going on but then you see him and you know. Even among the shelves of beautiful books and warm lighting he stands out, his eyes boring into you.

The way he stands exudes a quiet confidence and a slow roll of heat eases it’s way through you when his unwavering stare moves over every inch of you.

Lifting your chin you hold his gaze and take your time getting your own eyeful. His button-down shirt is fitted just right with the top buttons open to reveal a gold chain and his long legs are clad in dark jeans.

He looks dangerous and sexy. And pissed.

You move toward him undeterred until you’re close enough to feel the heat radiating off him.

“Are you here to give me more warnings?” you ask.

He keeps his gaze locked on you and licks his lips.

“No. I think I was perfectly clear the first-time doll.”

“Is something bothering you, Bucky?”

“Where have you been?”

You would laugh at his nonresponse if your irritation weren’t growing hotter by the second.

“I’ve been busy. You know…work, errands…life.”

“I’ve missed you.”

You’re taken aback by his blunt and unexpected answer and can’t find the words to respond.

“I was afraid you didn’t want to see me again after what I said.”

You think back on his words for only the millionth time since he said them. An involuntary shiver runs down your spine at the memory.

“Did you get me a coffee today?”

His eyes light up in victory before he reaches behind him and hands you a cup, the drink prepared just how you like it.

For the next couple of hours the two of you browse the bookshop, spending the majority of your time in the rare section pouring over the titles in excitement and awe. You ask about his work and how he gathered his collection of rare books. He’s vague but polite with his answers, focusing most of his attention on you.

While you do most of the talking Bucky listens contentedly and intently, his constant regard slowly building and burning a hole through your enthused focus.

After a bit, it’s difficult to concentrate on anything else but him and you start to become more aware of how your body shifts closer to his, shoulders pressed together, heads close and your hand reaching out to graze his bicep.

Finally, the bookshop employees begin to let customers know they are going to close. You reluctantly put your current read back on the shelf and turn to Bucky.

“Guess it’s time to go,” you say quietly.

“I’ll drive you home doll.”

“No, no. That’s ok. I can take the train.”

“I insist,” he answers, stepping into your space and crowding you against the shelf.

“Ok,” you breathe out. “Thanks.”

His eyes drop to your lips and his hands hover at your waist, his fingertips just brushing the fabric of your shirt when the barista comes by and ushers you out.

With a release of breath you skirt past Bucky and grab your bag, heading for the exit.

Wordlessly, he holds the door of his car open for you, allowing you minimal space to edge by him into the passenger seat.

He breaks the silence with the same question floating around in your own head.

“Am I taking to you home or are you coming to my place to see my collection of books.”

“It’s late but…”

“But?”

“I would love to see them.”

“But you’re still thinking about what I said the other day, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

When you don’t say anything more or give him your address he drives in the opposite direction of your apartment. You contemplate your sanity the whole ride there but you’re too far gone to even want to tell him to turn around and bring you home.

His brownstone is gorgeous. Everything from the ornate edifice of the building to the classic tile in foyer exudes luxury and when you step inside the actual space you have to cover your mouth to stop any sound from escaping.

“I’m glad you like it doll,” he says from behind you, his chest brushing your back.

His lips meet the shell of your ear in a whisper. “I can give you a tour if you like or I can give you what you really want first.”

You turn to face him, his gravelly tone bringing several other things into focus. His cheeks are lightly flushed and his breathing has roughened. You sway closer and he runs his finger along your arm.

“The books…?” you question weakly.

“They’re not going anywhere,” he assures you as his fingertips trace your jaw.

“You don’t even have my phone number,” you continue. “We haven’t even been on a date yet!”

He starts to walk, pushing you slowly backward until you enter another room. Without taking his eyes off you he flicks a switch on the wall and the space is bathed in a soft glow, illuminating the ceiling high shelves of dark wood that line every wall. Every space is filled with books.

Your eyes wander for mere seconds before he grabs your chin and directs your gaze back to his.

“I think our bookshop encounters can be considered dates, don’t you?” he says softly.

Just before your back hits one of the shelves his large hand cradles your body, gently pressing you into the books. He leans closer, moving his hands to rest on either side of your head.

“Maybe…”

“Do you ever have an answer other than ‘maybe’?” he asks.

Your lips part to speak but he stops you with the brush of his mouth. “Don’t. Say. Maybe.”

Even though your last two meetings were charged with tension, this is the first time he’s really touching you and it sends shock waves through your entire body.

You breathe out a strangled ‘yes’ and arch into him, inviting more of his touch.

His mouth comes down on yours hard and hungry and the initial contact steals your breath. When you slide your hands over his chest and up to his shoulders, digging your nails into his skin, he groans and pushes you against the shelf.

You break contact with his mouth, gasping at the hardness pressing against your stomach.

“I’ve been like this since the moment I saw you,” he growls. “Do you know what that’s been like?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to answer as his mouth moves to your neck and sucks the sensitive spot underneath your ear, causing you to whimper his name.

Your head rolls to the side, begging for more and you let out a sound of frustration when he rocks his hips and keeps his mouth hovering along your skin.

“Is this what you want?” he murmurs with another grind of his hips.

Your fingers slide into his hair, raking through the soft strands as your breath catches on a gasp.

“Answer me, doll,” he demands.

“Yes. Yes Bucky. I want it.”

His hands leave your body and grip the edge of the shelf behind you. He dips his head, trailing kisses upward along your neck until he meets your earlobe, growling low.

“You’re going to spread these pretty legs for me doll and I’m going to bury my face between them.”

His tone warns you not to protest and with a strangled breath you do as you’re told, your head thumping back against the books when he slides his hand down your stomach.

“Eyes on me doll.”

You look down as he slips his hand inside your leggings, slowly peeling them, along with your panties down to your ankles.

He finds your swollen clit and circles it with teasing strokes, giving you one last hard look before his tongue flattens and he tastes you from top to bottom.

You’re already so close and when he pushes a finger inside you your eyes start to glaze over, your hips rocking rhythmically onto his hand and face.

When he pushes a second finger inside you it sends you over the edge, his tongue working you until your legs are shaking and you’re chanting his name.

“Fuck doll. You coming apart for me is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

You start to slump forward, your breathing still ragged and he runs a soft hand along your hip, holding you steady and biting gently into your skin with his fingers.

“I’m going to make you come over and over again,” he whispers as he stands and takes you in his arms, his lips caressing the shell of your ear. “With my fingers, my mouth, my cock.”

“Yes. Please,” you whimper.

He presses closer, his lips teasing along your jaw until your eyes meet. “But first we’re going to have a proper date.”

Your lips part with your objection and you’re ready to beg him for more but he presses a finger to your lips, smiling when you instantly quiet.

“If I get inside you now I’ll never be able to leave and I don’t have enough time tonight to worship you. I have business to deal with.”

 Your eyes drop to his mouth and your fingers climb up his chest.

“Ok,” you say, still breathless.

“You’re going to be my date for an auction event I have to attend tomorrow night…and then afterwards we’ll have the rest of the night. And the next morning…all day. You’ll be all mine.”

You nod, unable to find your voice again but squirm against him in desperation, your body still craving more.

“Sweet fucking hell, doll,” he hisses. “Don’t make me rush this.”

He grabs your waist so you stop moving, his eyes wandering over your face before he captures your lips in a kiss.

When he releases your mouth the set of his jaw is rigid and his fingers dig deeper into your skin.

“Tomorrow,” he murmurs. “Be ready by five.”

You stare at yourself in the mirror, smoothing your hands over your dress for the tenth time. Before leaving Bucky’s apartment you had exchanged numbers and several more kisses then he walked you to your door, wasting no time reminding you of his promises for tonight.

Your pulse quickens as his words threaten to consume you and you wonder how you’ll ever make it through the next few hours without throwing yourself at him. His touch was like nothing else you’d experienced. Not one of his movements were wasted and his objective was clear. He was going to absolutely ruin you. And you were ready.

The light knock on your door startles you but you check the clock and see he’s right on time.

“You’re punctual,” you say as you open the door.

He looks amazing and have to bite your lip to stop your satisfied moan.

“And you’re fucking stunning,” he says as his eyes rake over every inch of you.

He continues staring and steps inside.

“Do you plan on looking at me like that all night?” you ask.

“Like what?” he replies as he reaches out for you.

“Like you need to devour me.”

“It’s all I want,” he growls, sliding his hand along the curve of your back to bring you closer.

“Do we really need to go to this auction?” you purr against his lips.

His fingers splay against your back and he brushes his nose to yours. “I do doll face, but if you need my hand between your legs first, all you have to do is ask me.”

Before you can form the words for a weak protest, his hand dips between your bodies and starts to lift the hem of your dress.

“Say it doll. I want to hear you say the words."

“Please Bucky,” you gasp. “Give me your fingers. I need your fingers.”

 @randomfandompenguin @hiddles-rose @lizette50 @blackwidownat2814 @buckysdollforlife @littleseasiren @goldylions @kmc1989

[alphabetboyluvr]

NIGHT CRAWLERS - JJK

title credit: night crawlers - kids in glass houses

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

synopsis:

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

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

wordcount: 26K

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

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

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

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

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

That, and 'rather be dead than cool.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At least they barely crossed. Past tense. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Again, the rogue look isn't a front.

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

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

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

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

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

"Mhmm?"

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

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

Partners?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A control freak, you note. Nice.

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

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

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

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

"I'm very much capable of editing-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When they were still talking to you, that was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn't reply.

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

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

Well, no. 

That's not quite right. 

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

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

Given your rejection, he was pleased with his choice.

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

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

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

"Like?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he's also determined. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

That's the big dream at least.

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

It's his fault, and he knows it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The lack of a camera proves otherwise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hold on."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus, you think. Who pissed in his cornflakes?

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

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

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

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

"You could have fucking killed me!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Never said I wasn't."

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

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

"Where are we?"

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

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

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

That's a lie.

He doesn't think they're stupid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Look I-"

"So-"

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

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

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

"At two in the morning?"

You nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tomorrow?"

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

"Oh right. Yeah. See you tomorrow."

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

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

"Thanks, again."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perhaps that should be your project piece.

Secrets of Seoul: The Seedy Underbelly of The City.

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

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

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

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

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

Who the fuck are you?

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

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

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

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

"Once in a blue moon. Gotcha."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook wants what he wants.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook wants what he wants.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Curious.

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

"No can do, sugar."

"Oh my god, stop calling me that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he's right. It is worth it.

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

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

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

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

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

"It's good," he promises.

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

"Are you broken?"

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

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

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

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

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

And neither of you really care.

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

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

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

He knows you read them.

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

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

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

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

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

You have been thinking about him.

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

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

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

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

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

You don't ask him to expand.

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

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

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

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

And so you return, every week.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Per hour?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You've gotten good at playing pretend. 

Jungkook only jokes about you being a sugar baby.

He doesn't fathom that you actually are one.

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

The way you hold onto his waist is different tonight.

Physically, it's the same.

But it feels different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod appreciatively. "You sure?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Kook?"

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

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

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

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

"Like what?"

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

"I don't."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As if he fears the consequences of his claim.

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

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

But you don't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

x

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

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

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

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

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

Unlike Jimin, apparently.

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

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

"You're being dramatic."

"You're being boring."

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

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

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

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

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

A few months ago, he was a fucking idiot.

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

And you ignore it.

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

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

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

It's all a bit nauseating.

Maybe a party would actually be a good distraction.

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

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

And you were nowhere to be seen on Tuesday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No good ever comes from being nice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you are annoyed.

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

You barely know him. Not really.

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

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

It seems like you found your answer.

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

And he's right.

He's not the city.

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

He's not the goddamn city.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Really, Kook?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey."

"Uh, hey."

"You good?"

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

Ah. You cringe.

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

"Hmm?"

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

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

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

"Good night?"

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

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

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

You don't know what to say either.

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

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

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

"Oh?"

"Yeah..."

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

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

"So what did you call for?" you change the topic, not wanting to dwell. The aversion doesn't go unnoticed by him, but it does go unquestioned.

"I-" there he goes again, cutting himself off prematurely. Coward. "Are you free? Now?"

Oh.

Not a coward. Just cautious.

"Now? I mean, yeah, I guess."

Jungkook takes a second, and then he bites down on the grenade pin.

"Can you come over?"

THE WAY YOU keep Jungkook hanging on tenterhooks is deliberate.

You're unsure of him, of his motivations, and what he does in the dark. And so, while you want to let your guard down, you can't. It's probably something to do with your parents - the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally - making their love entirely conditional and withdrawing it so suddenly.

It's the kind of shit you would have spoken about with your therapist, but you can't afford her anymore.

Can't afford much of anything, anymore. So much of the money you've earnt recently is tied up in credit card debt or rent.

Foundation was the first luxury that you'd compromised, and you're still yet to buy any more. Cheap stuff always makes you break out, and thankfully your parents did give you decent genetics, at least, so your skin was pretty clear.

It's the lack of make up that suggests to Jungkook you're opening up; not hiding from him anymore.

But it's also what tells him something is incredibly wrong, when you show up at his door half an hour later with a graze beneath your eye. Little flecks of reddened skin creep up your cheekbone, and Jungkook thinks it almost looks like carpet burn.

He hadn't noticed it last night, but it was dark, and he was drunk.

He lets you in, takes your jacket, offers you a drink. Everything that he knows he should do. Asks how you are, keeps a safe distance.

You don't know why you're here. Why you didn't say you were busy.

Except you do. 

It's cause you miss him whenever you're away from him.

"I like these," you smile as you look at the artwork he has up in his room. The studio space is small, cramped, like all semi-basements are, but it's distinctly 'his'. A lot different to yours. Everything you own is still in boxes, not yet unpacked. 

You've refused to come to terms with that being your life now.

"Thanks," he nods, watching you as you explore the box of a room he calls home. "They're from a guy down by the coach station. Has a little stall."

"You'll have to show me," you muse, turning to smile at him. It's saccharine, but the graze on your face is just so bitter. He hates it. Hates that he doesn't know how you got it. "Think I'd like some for my place."

"I have a feeling they'd look a little out of place in a princess tower, sugar."

Your shoulders shake as you laugh quietly, not correcting him. He doesn't need to know that you're a basement dweller, too.

"How's the editing coming along?" You steer the question away from your living situation.

"Nearly there," he grins, brimming with quiet excitement. Something about the way your camerawork looks with his editing technique layered on top just really works. He's always been confident with his final projects, and this one scares him a little bit, but in a good way. It's his best yet. Maybe he did need you after all.

"Can I see?"

"Not yet."

"Kook," you say, and - oh god - you're pouting. Jungkook suddenly begins to feel nervous.

It's that scary feeling again. A fear of the good stuff. Trepidation.

"What?" he grins, walking a little closer to you, letting his hand stroke against your back as he sits down on his bed. His fingers catch yours. It's fleeting, but enough.

You both feel it.

"Such a tease," you say, talking about the project, but there's innuendo in your words, too.

"Some girls like it," he flirts back.

"The girl at the bar last night seemed to like it."

Jungkook rolls his eyes, boyish and charming. It's annoying, you think, how impossible it is to be mad at him. It's not because you're weak, or because you can't resist his charms, but because he has a way of playing things off as if they're no big deal.

The girl at the bar? A nobody, his shrug suggests. She doesn't matter.

And it's so easy to believe, because you're the one in his apartment. You're the one he wanted here, the one that he missed. Or at least, the one that he was thinking of when he decided that he could do with some company.

It might be nothing, just something to pass the time, but it makes you feel wanted. Desired. Needed.

So you accept his hand when he reaches out towards you, pulling you closer, positioning you between his spread legs. You're standing, his eyes level with your chest, unashamed as he looks at your body.

"You look warm," he husks.

Just like he always uses your body temperature as excuse to give you his jacket, he's using it as an excuse now, too. The desired effect is obvious.

His AC switchboard is on the wall behind his bed. You'd clocked it when you were walking around, observing his possessions. Yanmar, the branding reads, the plastic outer frame beige. Once, it would have been crisp white. Age has dulled it. The monochrome monitor has a clock symbol in the corner, an indicator that Jungkook has his AC set on a timer. It suggests a sense of permanence. This is his home.

You haven't set your timer yet. You just flick it on when you get hot. It isn't your home.

He watches you as you move, curious. He's smirking, because he just cant help himself. 

And because he knows that you like it whenever he does. Gets you a little bit flustered.

One of your knees hooks over his lap, and then the other follows suit.

He'd have said you were straddling him. You'd have argued that you were simply reaching over to the AC.

And you do exactly that, flicking the switch, watching as it lights up. "There. Much better."

Touche, he thinks. Smiles. Grips your thighs, as if he's scared you'll stand up again. Scared to lose you.

In all honesty, he had been hoping you'd take your shirt off, but he isn't going to complain with you in his lap, instead.

Doesn't matter if you mix the eggs with the milk first, or the flour. You still bake a cake at the end of it all.

Jungkook looks at you in such a way that you find yourself thinking maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be so horrible to let someone in. His eyes are honest, void of ulterior motives. He's doing this because he wants to. Because he wants you.

Wants that feeling back. The one where his lips are cushioned between yours, his tongue licking into your mouth.

Jungkook wants what he wants. Jungkook gets what he wants.

And, fuck, if it isn't bare minimum - but you know this, and you don't care. Bare minimum tastes pretty fucking good when you're licking it from his lips.

His hands roam, and you let them. He's rough with his movements, but the fleshy pads of his fingertips are soft, like silk against your skin. It's almost like he's afraid, filled with the knowledge that he can bruise, if he really wants to.

But he doesn't want to. He wants to ask about the graze that's sitting pretty where blush should be. Jungkook doesn't wanna hurt. He wants to heal.

"I catch you looking, you know," you tell him before he gets a chance, wanting to see how he responds. "Every now and again..." He hikes you forward in his lap. Places you dead centre over his cock. You can feel it. He can feel you. "...I catch you looking at me." He presses a kiss against the base of your neck, obsessed with the way it vibrates when you speak. "Why are you always looking at me?"

The fact that you're sat in his lap, grinding your hips against a solid bulge, should be indication enough.

Jungkook isn't going to spell it out for you. The eroticism of suggesting he's a fucking voyeur makes him want to laugh - but the way your nipples are tenting the shirt you're wearing distracts him.

His teeth graze your throat, hands creeping round to your tummy. His fingers are long, practically the length of the expanse between your hips and the underneath of your plump tits. Just a little further and he'd be holding them, cupping them, caressing. Just a little further.

"I look at you-" His hands continue their exploration as he leans back, watching the movement beneath your shirt. It somehow feels forbidden - like he can touch, but not look. After all, your question had sounded quite a lot like a telling off. "-because you like me looking at you."

He's fucking with you, trying to get a rise.

"Do I?"

The way that you whimper as he brushes against your nipples has him pulsing his hips. Your eyes close, head tilting back ever so slightly. You like this. The way he does it.

"Uh-huh," he mumbles, lips wet against your neck. His fingers knead into the flesh of your tits, nipples hard in his palm as he relieves his stresses. "Bet you think about it all day, don't you? Think about the way I look at you when no-one else does."

Yes.

"All day?" you smirk between dulcet moans. "You're lucky if I pay you any attention at all."

"I think you're lying," he declares rather boldly, hands all over you. "I think it plays on your mind. I bet you fall asleep thinking about it, don't you?"

Yes.

"Ddaeng."

"I bet you get yourself off thinking about it."

Maybe you do. 

Maybe you've whispered his name in the dead of night, imagining how it would feel to have his body weight on top of yours. Maybe you get intrusive thoughts of that kiss every single time you try to draw close. Maybe Jungkook has made you cum without ever laying a single finger on you.

But even if he has, you won't tell him.

And you don't need to, because his phone buzzing on the bedside table behind you cuts the conversation dry. Jungkook glances towards it automatically, then back up to you. His frustration is evident, jaw tense.

"I gotta get this," he mumbles, encouraging you off of his lap. You don't resist, accepting the last five minutes for what they were: a momentary lapse in judgement. He sighs as he stands, adjusting his trousers, swiping his phone and putting it to his ear. He strolls just far enough away that you won't hear what or who is on the other line. "Hobi. Speak to me."

Hobi, you muse. A friend? A colleague? Another girl?

You swallow back the nauseating feeling in your throat, pretending as if the prospect of Jungkook with someone else doesn't chip away at your self-worth a little bit. It wasn't like you thought you had anything special between the pair of you.

But he was right. You did like him looking at you.

More than you had realised until the prospect of him looking at someone else arose.

From the corner of the room, you could hear Jungkook trying to interrupt the person he was talking to. The first syllable would escape, and then he'd hush again, never quite managing to get the words out in full.

"Ho-" His nostrils look quite cute when they flare, lips pursed, a pair of unique dimples becoming evident. They're different to the usual ones you notice. Full of surprises was Jeon Jungkook. 

"Hobi, can I-" 

He runs his hand through his hair, already dishevelled from your hands. 

"Hobi will you let me fucking talk!"

Attaboy.

The pause that follows Jungkook's outburst would suggest that Hobi had said 'no' - and then a few more choice words. If Jungkook rolled his eyes back any further, they'd surely get stuck.

"Look, I'm a bit tied up right now- no! No, not that. Who? No. I don't know a Taehyung, and even if I did- Huh? Ain't got nothin' to do with Holangi. Don't know a single one of 'em." 

You try to decipher the conversation, but fail. 

"You're a real fuckin' cockblock, yanno?" 

You blush. 

"Fuck it, fine. But you owe me. I'm not saying yes next time."

He glances over to you, catching your raised brow. Next time?

A smile catches on his lips. You thought this would be a one time thing?

He's barely hit second base. If there's one thing you're yet to find out about Jungkook, it's that he loves to win. He won't be satisfied until he's got a home run.

Any other girl, and he'd have probably been running laps for fun by this point, but you... yeah, you didn't bowl him easy hitters, that was for sure.

Jungkook moves with confidence, like he always does, as he strides over to the sofa, the bulge in his pants considerably softened but still present. "Take a picture," he grins. "It'll last longer."

You roll your eyes, but it doesn't stop you from asking if that's an offer. He laughs - that soft, gentle thrum of his vocal chords that sounds so heavenly in your ears - and tells you to behave.

"I just gotta help a friend out," he says as he reaches over you to grab his rucksack. It's heavier now than it ever is at school, the jingle of crushed tin foil rustling as it briefly catches on your knee. He pretends not to notice the curiosity in your eyes. Pretty eyes, though. He quite likes them, especially when he's towering above you and can see the whites just above your lashline. Yeah, he likes them alot. "I'll only be an hour or so. You can stay here, if you like?"

The way he phrases it is so casual that it's almost like you're old friends.

That, or Jungkook's just used to having women he doesn't know very well stay at his place.

You're unaware of the mental gymnastics he's putting himself through. If he could kick himself without looking like a twat, then he definitely would.

Shrugging, you give him a polite smile. "I don't wanna overstay my welcome."

"Nah, you're fine. I can give you a lift back to yours when I'm home? I'll be an hour. Two, tops."

Finally you agree, watching as he leaves like a lovesick puppy, listening out for the familiar rattle of his exhaust pipe. There's a cough and splutter of petrol spitting onto the sidewalk as his motor roars into action, and then he's gone.

You don't hang around for much longer.

You tell yourself that you will. That it would be nice. That you and Jungkook might not be so ill-suited after all.

But as the clock ticks by on the wall, you find yourself getting antsy. You find yourself asking stupid questions. Who exactly is Hobi? What was in Jungkook's bag? Why is he always down in Daerim? Is that where he's gone now?

The thoughts grow, adapt, intrude. Before you know it, you're considering what you'd find if you opened the top drawer of his bedside cabinet. 

Realistically, you know it would probably be a wank sock and a tub of vaseline - it doesn't matter though. Your mind is wondering. You need to scratch the itch.

Just a little peek. He'll never know.

Oh, how you loathe your brain.

What's the worst you could find? A revolver? His ex-girlfriends panties? Love letters? A crack pipe?

Somehow, you'd rather find a pipe than panties. 

It's not that you want Jungkook to be a crack addict. It's just the more that you think about it, the more you come to realise that you really, really don't like the idea of someone else feeling how warm his torso is, or how his upper teeth always nip slightly when he starts kissing you, until the pressure of his pecks plump his lips. You've only experienced it a handful of times, and it's stupid to get carried away, but he just makes it so easy.

He didn't ask you to stay, you tell yourself. He asked you if you wanted to.

Moments of instability like this are exactly why girls like you don't spend time with boys like him. It's stupid. Futile. A game for fools.

You leave his apartment as you found it, with not even a note to say thank you. He's had a squeeze on your tits. You deem that thank you enough. If anything, he should be thanking you.

When he returns, just half an hour after your departure, he can still smell your perfume. He tosses his keys down, calls out your name, and is met with silence. It takes him a moment or so to realise that he's alone.

There's a sinking feeling in his chest that he doesn't recognise. Doesn't like. Hates, in fact.

But fine. Fuck it. He didn't want you there anyway. He'd just been doing a good deed. Being kind because - if your face was any indication - obviously someone else had been particularly unkind to you.

Jungkook thinks he knows who, now.

Daerim nights have always been sketchy, but the days are no better. 

He's just the lowest rung on a long ladder of criminals who turn a profit when the sun goes down in Seoul.

Hobi had asked him to drop the stash in his rucksack off at a club, some gang-run joint that Jungkook doesn't know much about, so that he could get them back to his boss. 

That had been the plan, at least.

He slings his bag down, now empty, and sinks into the sofa, not bothering to get a rag to clean himself up. No point. The dried blood will just wash off in his shower. It's not the first time this has happened. He doubts it will be the last.

Jungkook's nose is currently bleeding, dripping down his chin and hitting the ceramic tiles of his apartment with small slaps. A bruise is forming above his left eye socket, and his knuckles are red.

A punch to the face means very little to Jungkook.

He's young, but he's strong. Fast, too. It could have been a lot worse if he wasn't.

He pushes the back of his hand against his nose, sniffing, before unlocking his phone, and dialing a number he knows now by heart.

The dial tone bleeds out, just like his nose.

And so he hangs up, and calls the only person he knows he can rely on.

"Wassup, kid?"

Jungkook doesn't mean to sob, but he cant help it. He knows Yoongi has finals coming up. He doesn't need his bullshit on his plate, too.

"I got jumped Yoongs."

Fuck.

"You alright? Sound pretty bad? Where?"

"Daerim-"

"The fuck you doing there at this time of day?"

"Hobi wanted me to drop off my stash."

"Kook..." Yoongi speaks slowly, coming to a horrific realisation. A few punches had never bothered Jungkook before. Something bigger was at play. "The stash...?"

Jungkook can hear it in Yoongi's voice: fear.

"Gone."

Yoongi sighs down the line. "Hobi know yet?"

"No."

"Alright, get outta your flat," Yoongi begins, not wasting time. Now is not the time for emotions, and it's clear that Jungkook isn't capable of that just yet. "I need you to go somewhere safe, somewhere you can lie-low for a little bit alright? Let me sort it-"

"Yoong-"

"Let me sort it. I got you into this mess. Don't sweat it."

"Ple-"

"Kook. Seriously. Trust me with this."

Yoongi doesn't let him debate it any further - and it's just as well he doesn't, because as soon as he hangs up the phone, another call comes through. Jungkook wants to answer it. Really, he does.

Jungkook's just very aware of the fact that the guy who jumped him had almost been waiting for him. Right by the entrance of the apartment block which he always picked you up from. 

In between blows, he'd warned Jungkook to 'stay the fuck away from the girl'.

The girl who's now returning his call.

"Hey," you say animatedly, having not expected him to call. You thought the pair of you would resume your usual awkward routine of pretending like nothing ever happened. "Sorry, I was in the shower. You good? Sorry I left, I just did-"

"I need a favour," he doesn't bother with formalities.

You want to banter with him, to flirt, but the tone of his voice warns you not to. So instead you tell him that you'll do whatever he needs.

"Can I come over?"

Fuck. Anything except that.

"Please."

YOU DON'T EXPECT to say yes. You don't expect to care more about him than you do about protecting your own dignity. You don't expect Jungkook to traipse down the stairs that lead to your slovenly open door with a glum look on his bloodsoaked face, as you stand there waiting for him.

But he does.

He makes no comment, no remark about the building. Just wraps his arms around your head, cradling you against his chest as you stand in your doorway. You can hear his heartbeat, thud, thud, thud against his ribs.

Go somewhere safe, Yoongi had told him. It was a no brainer.

"I'm sorry," he says, eventually pulling himself away from you. "I didn't know who else to ask."

You tell him it's fine, and you mean it. Keeping up pretences doesn't really matter so much anymore. Perhaps honesty was overdue from the both of you.

"The fuck happened to you?" You ask, tenderly reaching up to stroke away some of the dried blood from his lip. He winces, hisses, body tense, but he lets you continue. "Sorry."

"Could ask you the same, sugar," he speaks kindly, not wanting you to think he's being critical as he nods to the entryway behind you.

You grit your teeth together and let your hand rest on his shoulder. "King kicked the princess out of the castle."

And, suddenly, it doesn't seem embarrassing anymore. In fact, it seems perfectly apt that Jungkook knows. He doesn't pry, don't push for further clarification. Just nods. Accepts your reality.

"Castles are overrated, anyway," he presses a kiss to your head, and gently guides you through the threshold. The corridor is short, opening up to an open plan studio. The layout varies from Jungkook's, but it's similar in size. Small.

"Ignore the wallpaper," you say of the awkwardly granny-ish floral print. It's beige, so not totally offensive, but dear god, you think it looks like vomit.

"No," he grins. "It's... wow. Your landlord really knows how to make a statement, don't they?"

You perch on your bed and cringe. "A statement... a crime against interior design. Whatever you wanna call it."

Jungkook continues to pace around your room with a curious smile. He's partially deflecting from the fact he knows you're probably dying to ask about his face, and why he was so desperate to be with you, but he's also interested in the life you neglected to share with him.

Brown cardboard boxes are piled high in the corners, your possessions not yet unboxed.

This place is just temporary.

You've got three and a half million won sat on your desk. A couple more weeks, just a few, and you'll have enough for a deposit on a decent flat. Then you can get a regular job, something stable, and you won't have to worry. You could work through the summer and then figure out what to do next. Just as long as you keep on moving upwards, you'll be happy.

"So," you begin gingerly, as you head to the kitchenette beside your bed, wetting a cloth beneath your tap. "You gonna tell me what happened to your face?"

He takes your previous position, inviting himself to sit on the end of your bed, anticipating your return. There's light coming in from the thin windows by your ceiling, hitting directly onto your back. He thinks it's apt. Thinks you're the kind of girl who deserves a spotlight. Thinks that Mother Nature agrees.

Jungkook shrugs, in that lazy, boyish way he so often does, as you walk towards him. He spreads his legs, encouraging you between them, letting his hands graze your thighs. You pretend not to notice as you press the damp cloth to his cheek. Tiny crows legs appear at the edges of his eyes, face wincing from the contact. It's painful.

But being alone would be more painful. He chose to be here. To be with you.

And so he tells you what happened, with as much honesty he can muster. There are some things better left unsaid, his occupation being one of them. You listen attentively, dabbing at his wounds, a frown etched into the lines of your face.

"Stay away from the girl, huh?" you muse, avoiding his eyes as you study his face. His nose is still bleeding, but every time you tell him to tilt his head towards the ceiling, it ends up back in its original position. He can't see you as well with his head tilted back. Doesn't like it. Doesn't wanna do it. "Could be any girl."

Jungkook's dimple forms in his cheek. "No. No, it couldn't."

His fingers that have been grazing at your thighs squeeze tenderly, letting you know he means it. More than he thinks you know. More than he knows he should.

There's a chance that any words spoken between the pair of you could be misconstrued. He doesn't know what his feelings for you are, and you don't really understand yours for him - but you understand your body, and the electric current running beneath your lips, dying for a connection. A little spark.

So you do the only thing that makes sense: you kiss him.

And he kisses you back. Slowly, tenderly, deliberately. His lips melt into yours, hand pulling your legs closer. He encourages you onto his lap, as if he needs to be insufferably close to you. Once you're positioned how he wants, just like you were earlier, he grips your waist, keeping you stationed there.

Jungkook knows he should stop.

He knows he should have paid attention to the pair of fists that warned him off you as his skull hit the pavement earlier that morning, knows he shouldn't let himself get so wrapped up in such a red flag - but he just can't help himself. It's like you're laced in the narcotics he deals, and slowly but surely, you've gotten him addicted.

He's craving. Dying for a hit. Just a little taste of your tongue on his, the scent of your shampoo in his nose.

Red flags, red stop signs, pretty red lips all plump from the kisses he's smothering them in. Red blood, too. His nose is still a little damaged, and the way he's painting your cheek in crimson should repulse you.

Should repulse you.

Like fuck it does, though. You can smell the copper twinge through his plasma, and suddenly it's as if the Cullen's had the right idea all along.

When he pulls back, only for a moment, hands clutching at the side of your face to assess the look in your eyes, he notices it too. Hard not to. You blush all the fucking time, so much so that he knew the shade by heart, and the rouge on your cheek is far too vibrant, too scarlet. It's his fucking blood on you.

It should scare him, he knows. But the way you're looking at him, eyes all wide and glassy, lips swollen and waiting for more, has him unable to think straight. It has him obsessed, the way you don't care. The way he's covered you in blood and you still seem to want more.

But there's a softness to the way in which you're looking at him, mild confusion, as if you've got the same strange warmth running through your veins as he does. It's not a feeling he recognises, pulsing through his bloodstream with every beat of his heart.

Perhaps it's nothing. Jungkook tells himself that it is. Just adrenaline, probably.

You look at his lips, all crimson and blushed, and realise you much prefer the shade of his blood to the plum lipstick that had tainted them the night before. You're delicate as you wipe your thumb along his pouted bottom lip, just like you did in the bar. Except this time, the jealousy that had blossomed in your diaphragm is nowhere to be found. There's still a pinch beneath your ribs, but this time it's in your heart, and it's far more aching. This time, you feel his hurt.

Jungkook reaches down to where you left the damp cloth on your bed. It's wet and heavy in his hand, a little warm, too. He brings it to your face and dabs silently, cleaning you of the mess he's made. Fixing you. Restoring you to your former glory.

Its futile, 'cause his nose is still fucking bleeding, and you don't plan on leaving it more than a moment before you kiss him again. You simply don't care. Want him for all that he is, blood, sweat and tears.

But still, he insists on ridding you of his stain. Doesn't want to tarnish you. He's soft with the way he presses the cloth against you, mirroring how tenderly you were with him earlier. He's learning from you, adapting to you. Wants to be like you. Wants to be 'better'.

You watch as his eyes scan your face, brows twisted like they always do when he's about to say something but stops himself. The vertical groove just above his cupid's bow is red, blood tacky as it dries. If he kisses you now, he'll leave a stamp; a mark that says 'you're mine.'

It's too much. Far too much. You aren't his, and he knows this. He never wanted you to be his, in fact, for the longest time, he had wanted to be anything but yours.

But now he sits beneath you, crestfallen, heart in his throat, blocking him from speaking.

This was never part of the plan. He was never supposed to end up here. He was supposed to escape from the trenches, to get on the path of straight and narrow. Thrive. Succeed.

And it's not your fault, he knows this, but there's a little part of him that wonders what could have happened if he hadn't seen you that night in Daerim, hadn't seen the way your eyes look beneath night market lights, hadn't heard your laugh as he looked at his favourite view of the city.

You whisper his name, your palm resting flat on his chest, and his brows soften.

It doesn't matter what could have happened, anymore.

All that matters is what is happening.

The shortness of his breath, the flutter of his lashes against your cheek, the swelling between his legs. You can feel it, feel him, and he knows it. The way he's pulsing his hips upwards is testament to that.

It's a comfortable position, you sat on his lap on the end of your bed, not one that either of you wishes to break from. Not even as he begins to breathe against your lips, unable to properly control his reactions thanks to the friction beneath his briefs.

"Want you," he mumbles, pressing his lips into yours, the air in his lungs giving itself up to you. "Want you so bad."

You shake your head, brows pinched just a little. "I'm bad news for you."

And maybe that's it. Maybe he just wants you because he knows he shouldn't - but fuck it, if he can't let himself indulge in simple pleasures, then why bother getting himself beaten to a pulp over you?

"I'm bad news for myself, sugar," he husks against your lips, tickling them as he slips his tongue into your mouth. Deeper, deeper. Closer, closer. He wants it.

Wants it all.

Wants you naked.

Wants to know what it feels like to have you gasp in his ear as his hands roam beneath your panties.

Wants to know if you'd still look at him like you're stargazing even when he's railing you.

Wants it. Wants you. Just wants.

And what Jungkook wants, Jungkook gets.

He slips his hand up your shirt and pushes it upwards, before letting it crumple to the floor. You know that you should be more bashful, a little bit ashamed, but it's impossible when he's looking at you like this.

He has a visual now that he didn't have earlier. The glow of your skin beneath his bruised knuckles looks almost sinful, like he's plucking forbidden fruit from its tree. He'll pay the price for this, and he knows it, but he just can't resist.

Jungkook has always been a boob guy, always loved the way he could get girls moaning with just a little pinch, but never had he had a pair quite like yours. So full, so round, he's not sure his hands are big enough, and that doubt makes him throb. Soft and pillowy, he groans as he watches his fingers sink into them, utterly enthralled. His hips adjust, pushing upwards, pressing himself into you. He wants this. Wants it so bad.

You can feel the metal of his rings against your skin, and then you can feel his lips, his tongue, his teeth as they graze against the plush skin of your chest. He licks around your nipple, letting the air cool the wet trail, hardening you for him.

He's utterly obsessed.

His mouth pulls at the sensitive skin, suckles, sucks. His lashes are splayed on the tops of his cheeks, lips pouting around your nipple as he does so, small groans of pleasure vibrating against you. It will be a miracle if he can't already feel you seeping through your panties.

You whimper as his teeth graze your hardened nub, and his eyes flutter open. He doesn't detach himself, but instead, he keeps your gaze as he sucks. The pressure varies, and then it's hard. Really fucking hard. So hard you'll think he'll somehow give your nipple a hickey - but fuck, if you don't love the sensation.

"Christ," you gasp, before biting down into your bottom lip.

"Too hard?" He mumbles against you, peppering you in kisses and soft licks as if to apologise.

"No," you pant. "Was good. Was great. Just - fuck."

You laugh, soft and airy, and Jungkook smiles from the sound.

He likes this. Likes how you react to him.

And while he’s patient and gentle with you in a way that he isn't with other people, Jungkook has only ever known how to have sex in one way. It's ingrained into him, as if he was made to fuck like it; like he doesn't give a shit about the person he's screwing.

Jungkook doesn't do love, and you know this. He trades. Works in transactions. Settles debts. You don't really know this part, but you aren't stupid. You know he's never in Daerim for any good fucking reason.

You don't question it as his hands move south, slipping past your underwear. In fact, you're smug as he curses when he feels how wet you are, fingers slippery in your panties.

He pushes a finger into you, and closely follows it with a second. They curl ever so slightly, and it's at this point that you realise Jungkook is absolutely going to ruin you. Just a few pumps. Just to ease you up.

He's bored of waiting. Wants you now.

The pair of you move fluidly, minimal discussion needed, just occasional checks of 'you good?', or 'this okay?'. The answer is, always, without a doubt, 'yes'.

He gets you on your back, panties pulled off, legs not quite hanging off the edge of your bed, but nearly. He strips himself of his shirt first, and grins as he notices the way you whine.

"What?" he toys.

"Nothing," you flirt. "Just wish you'd hurry up. I'm a busy woman."

"Oh yeah?" The sound of his buckle coming undone is enough to make you fucking leak. "Busy doing what?"

You neglect to tell him. Not because you don't have a witty remark lined up, but because he's fucking naked now.

What a sight to behold he is. Body lean, honey skin flawless, muscles defined. You pretend like you're looking at his body, but your eyes are drawn to his cock. You'd expected length, but not the girth - and he has both in abundance. The tip of his cock is blushed and wet, with Jungkook just as aroused as you are.

Noticing your gaze, he rolls his eyes, and toys with your pussy again, lightly running his fingers up and down your slick entrance. When he pulls back, his fingers are still connected by thick clear fluid. His cock throbs.

"You're gonna get me so dirty," he hums, as he crawls onto the bed above you, before holding his fingers to your mouth. "Clean them."

Part of you wants to say no, but the other part of you can see his darkened gaze and the way his cock is twitching. You can't refuse.

His fingers are on the tip of your tongue, the tip of his cock nudging so close to your entrance that he may as well just do it. You raise your hips, encouraging, but he retracts a little just to tease.

The fingers that were in your mouth come to grip at the soft flesh of your cheeks, his thumb on the other side. "Don't you fucking dare."

There's tepid aggression to his movements, and it makes you feel vulnerable - but you like it. You like the way he's gripping your face, the ways he's looking at you with narrow eyes, just like he used to do across the lecture hall. You like being reminded of when you were nothing to one another, because it makes the satisfaction of feeling his stiff cock jump a little against your pussy as you moan so much more worth it.

He used to hate you, now he can't wait to bury his fat cock in you. Victory is yours, even if he's trying to act like he's the one holding all the cards.

You don't correct him, though. You let him think he has the upper hand. You'll play pillow princess just this once if it means you get to see him a little bit mean again.

"Dare what?" you pout, cheeks still squished between his fingers. He grips a little tighter, your chest rising as you gasp. He pulls your face towards his, sinking down into your lips, until he decided he's done with you.

He stands by the edge of your bed, and yanks your ankles towards him, pulling you close enough to the edge for him to fuck you like this.

The loss of his grip is unwelcome by you, a frown forming. He isn't looking at your face now, eyes down on his cock, which he's rubbing between your soaked pussy lips, but he can almost hear you brace yourself to whine. He smirks, one side of his mouth lifting, head knocking to the side slightly.

"Don't you dare try and set the pace," he finally husks, still not glancing up towards you. He's taking his time, making sure the head of his cock kisses every inch of your exposed mess. "Nearly got my nose fucking broken for this pussy-" he spits, hard and fast, right onto your clit, spreading it with his cock. "- so I'm gonna make sure I get what I'm owed."

He spreads your thighs back, his fingers gripping harshly just how you like it. Perhaps you should pretend to be embarrassed by the fact your cunt is leaking for him, begging for him, but the way he hisses at the sight, chest heaving, prevents it.

Jungkook's thought about this before, about how pretty and pristine you'd be, about the mess he'd hoped you'd make. Thought about it so many times. Fingers wrapped around his shaft in the middle of the night when no one can hear him chant your name as he spills over. Yeah, he's thought about it a lot.

His imagination has never done you justice. One look and he's obsessed. Wants to spend hours touching, caressing, licking you.

"Take it," you whisper. "What you're owed, Jungkook. Take it."

He looks up now, brows threaded together. You don't recognise the contemplation his face is laced in, but he doesn't give you the chance to question it, for you begin to feel that burn. The one your fingers can never give you. It's alien, and yet familiar, inherently natural but intrusive nonetheless.

"Shit," is all you can manage to say, eyes locked on his.

He wants to watch himself sink into you, watch as his fat cock forces your slick wetness out of your pussy, but he can't. Not when you're looking at him like that. Not when your chest is heaving and your eyes are watering beneath tense brows. Not when your mouth is hanging open and just begging to be fucked like your tight little pussy.

And then he starts feeling something a little strange. A little unfamiliar. A little bit like his heart has stalled to beat in time with the contractions of your chest. And though he's not in pain anymore, too busy feeling you, he's aware that it hurts. Aware that he can't fuck you like he wanted to, 'cause his chest needs to be against yours. Needs to feel the beating drum beneath your ribs.

He doesn't even realise that he's paused until you whine a meagre, "please."

"That's more like it," he hums, as he pushes into you, the base of his thick cock plugging the weeping mess that he's made. You know that as soon as he pulls out, you'll be whimpering, begging for the tip of his cock to kiss your walls once more. "See how nice things can be when you just behave yourself, huh?"

His hips push just a little deeper, and he knows that it hurts. Knows that the little gasp isn't entirely from pleasure. He's seen his cock. Doesn't take a genius to work out that it can do damage.

"You can take it," he tells you, and like a pathetic, whimpering mess, you fucking nod. He's still inside of you, still deeper than you thought possible, and then his hand is on your stomach. He grabs your hand and places it beneath his. "You feel that?" He retracts just a little, pushing back in just as deep. Beneath your hands, there's a bulge. External or internal, it doesn’t matter. It's him. He does it again. "You feel me taking what's mine?"

Whatever the fuck you moan is incoherent, but he doesn't give a shit, 'cause he's ploughing now. Bucking his hips into you like pneumatic fucking drill. Shit. He's done this before. Got it mastered to a fine art. Momenta worthy of a museum exhibition.

Your tits are pillowed on your chest, nice and round, wobbling as he takes command of your body. He slaps one of them, just to watch it ripple, before that firm grip of his is on it. "Perfect tits," he growls the compliment, not really meaning for it to come out. "Gonna put my cock between them later," he tells you. "Gonna cum all over them."

He doesn't tell you that he'll also clean them with his hungry tongue, before delivering his cum into your mouth. Figures he'll just let you find out. His brain is working at a mile a minute, trying to reign back thoughts of sharing his cum with you in such a filthy manner. God, he wants to do heinous things to you. With you. For you.

But for now, he needs to focus on his cock. It's rubbing inside of you, nuzzling. He knows he's weeping, and that his precum is getting mixed with your slick juices. Knows he won't last long if you keep whining like that. Mewling. Purring.

He stalls his hips, letting go of your tits as they jiggle back into position. Your cheeks are flushed, imprints of his fingers reddening your skin. Lips pouted and resting ajar, Jungkook thinks they've never looked more fuckable. More kissable. More whisper-sweet-nothings-against-able.

"You ever shut the fuck up?" he teases, but is quick to notice confusion flash in your eyes. He didn't mean it as an insult, but it's easy to read the hurt in your perplexed features, and the way you begin to try and push your legs together. It's futile. His cock is keeping you open.

But you feel embarrassed, as if your natural reactions to him are a turn-off. It's silly, because he's quite literally inside of you, fat and solid, using you to milk himself. Of course, he's not turned off, but you're hyper-aware of how vulnerable you're feeling right now. It had been fun to pretend like you were in control, but as soon as he slipped inside of you, all sense of power had evaporated.

He doesn't realise this though. Doesn't realise that his cock is nudging so deep into you that it's practically knocking against your heart. Knock, knock, knock. Who's there? Your mind taunts, but you daren't answer.

"Hey," he coos, one of his large palms stroking on the inside of your thighs. That uncomfortable, obscure feeling is back again. The one that tells him he needs to be closer to you. This time, he doesn't ignore it. His hips pulse, just the once. A reminder he's still very much into this. Into you.

His hands grip your waist, softly this time, as he manoeuvres himself onto the bed with you, keeping himself snug. Your head is by the pillows, Jungkook's knees on either side of your ass, his chest flat against yours as one of his hands cradles your jaw. He presses a chaste, airy kiss against your lips, and whispers, "I love the way you sound." He kisses you again, hips rocking. You're trying not to, but you whine. "Fuck, sugar. You're my favourite fucking sound."

Your legs hook over his back, and he groans now. The angle change lets him delve deeper, your walls massaging him so well. Jungkook thinks he might have died and gone to heaven. He's slipping in and out of you with minimal force, skin slapping together. He makes sure to let his moans roll off his tongue and into your mouth. You eat them up and give them back. The pair of you aren't kissing anymore, just gasping and humming into one another's mouths. He's stuttering.

There's a pause as he adjusts his grip, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of your thighs. He likes it, the way you seem to melt around him in all capacities. His lips nudge against yours as his steady hips begin to rock into yours again.

You groan as he pushes down on your legs, pushing you as far apart as your bones allow. It's typical of him, seeing how far he can take things. Push them to the limit. Always gets him in trouble. There's a click, as air escapes from the socket where your leg meets your pelvis.

"You good?" He checks and you respond with a kiss. Hands tangled in his hair, you hope it conveys the fact you've never felt better. He laughs a little, soft and serene, into your mouth, the weight of his body keeping you trapped beneath him.

You're morbid in your thoughts, and consider how nice it would be for Jungkook to suffocate you like this; steal you of the air you breathe with his tiny giggles of satisfaction. So, so nice, you think.

And so you tell him. You tell him that you want his hand on your throat. He takes a second to respond - not because he doesn't want to, but more so because he can't believe you actually asked.

He doesn't normally fuck the girls he cares about like this. Then again, he never really cares about the girls he fucks.

"God," you moan as he pushes one of your legs over his shoulder. His body is clammy against yours, skin hot and damp, chest lean but built. He's working hard; not just for his release. For yours too. Rams into you, stuffing your cunt with his cock, dipping his head to lather your clasped throat in wet kisses.

"That's it, sugar," he growls as his teeth graze your neck. "Need to hear how good you feel. Need to hear what my cock does to you. You owe me."

You want to laugh. You're about to laugh. But then his head dips down to your chest, and he latches onto one of your pebbled nipples, sucking so hard that all you can do is tremble. He knows you like this. Knows it makes your pussy all creamy and slippery for him - and like clockwork, he's proven right. The sounds are lewd. He loves it.

"On your back," you husk, punctuating your instruction with a whimper as he suckles even harder. He shakes his head, eyes closed, mouth vibrating and full of your tit. Not a chance, he tries to say, but it just sounds likes he's forgotten how to speak. Too busy. Too close to spilling himself into you. Doesn't wanna get distracted.

So focused, he doesn't realise you're pushing him over until you're on top. He frowns as he detaches from your nipple with a pop, but his hands are running all over your body regardless. Obviously doesn't care that much. Course he doesn't. That ache in his chest has settled.

Until he starts thinking about it, and oh god, it's back and it's fucking unbearable.

"C'mere," he pulls you flush against him, as your hips begin to work against him. His hands cradle your face so he can kiss you as deeply as he likes, tongue slipping into your mouth, as his cock slips up and down your pussy. This, he thinks, is it. This is what fucking should feel like.

"Shit," he whispers. "Shit."

The friction of his surprisingly neat hair that rests at the base of his cock is nice. Real fuckin' nice. You're not even fucking him anymore, just grinding against it. Using it, using him, to get yourself off.

You think you're being slick, like he won't notice - but he does. Of course, he does. He's obsessed with your body.

"God, yeah, baby," his back arches, pressing his chest against yours, eyes closed. "Use me like that. Use me," he bites into your shoulder gently. "Fucking use me."

He means it. Doesn't give a shit about himself anymore. Just wants to feel you tremble as he holds you close. Wants to press kisses against your lips as your moans become undignified. He needs to be the reason you cum; needs to be responsible for your oxytocin rush.

You sit up a little, and Jungkook holds back a pout from the separation - but how can he complain when you're sat like that, his cock buried inside of you, hair a mess and with eyes like his favourite constellation? He's hypnotised as your boobs begin to bounce, pussy working up his shaft like the true Daerim woman of the night you are. He's forgotten about all of that, now. Can't think about anything except for how to not fucking cum.

He can't and he won't. Not until you do. But you're bouncing, and it's wet, and he can hear it, and it feels so fuckin' good. His toes are curling, torso tensing, eyes half-shut, pretty little pout hanging open. He's fucking whining. "Yeah like that," he encourages. "Gonna milk me so well, baby. Gonna... ah. Fuck. Gonna-"

Jungkook can't fucking speak. He wants to. Wants to tell you how fucking beautiful you look, how he wants this endlessly, how he never wants to let you go. Needs to tell you how right this feels, how good you make him feel, how he doesn't understand his feelings but fuck, just that he is feeling. Feeling so much.

You're not sure at which point he started calling you baby, but you're actually convinced that the name alone could tip you over the edge.

The pace of your hips is slowly, savouring. He doesn't quite get it. You were so close. Why stop?

The stillness of your movements makes way for something new. He feels a throb around his fat cock, which is begging for release. Notices the way your chest is shaking like you've got hiccups, tiny whines of pleasure making themselves known. Your pussy was always warm, but it's hot now, contracting around him.

And then he gets it.

"Oh, shit," he mewls, his hips slowly pumping upwards. "Yeah, that's it, baby. Let yourself cum. All over my dick," he encourages, hedonistic and self-serving. "That's it. Cream for me."

His slow movements as he fucks up into you amplify the sensation, the tip of his cock nudging languidly against your tight walls. Your entire body shudders, the feeling rippling from your chest right down to your toes. You rasp out moans, the sensation all too powerful, a creamy mess pooling at the base of his shaft. There's a jerk as your muscles spasm, your orgasm well and truly delivered. He pulls you down and into his chest, his strong arms wrapped around your back.

Your body rests on his, spent and sensitive, and he can tell you can't hold out for much longer. He pushes back the hair that's sticking to your clammy face, and presses kisses into your temple.

"So big," you hum, voice hazy, eyes shut.

"Just a little more, baby," he promises. " You're doing so well. Just a little..."

You've considered how Jungkook would orgasm on more than one occasion - and you're pleasantly surprised to find that your imagination was wrong. There's no grand declaration, nor large grunt. He's not aggressive, either, like you'd half-hoped he would be.

Instead, Jungkook kisses you as his hips begin to stall. His brows are creased, moans muffled against your lips. His torso shudders, abdomen as tight as his balls. "Baby," he drowsily mewls, and then it's happening. His cock pumps into you, unloading thick creamy spurts with every stroke of your pussy. The first one is so desperate that you're almost positive you can feel it paint your insides. You moan along with him, utterly obsessed with this, him, whatever the fuck just happened.

He doesn't withdraw immediately. Just lays there and kisses your skin, absolutely spent.

You don't move a muscle. You don't want it to be over. Don't wanna lose this. Lose him.

When you tilt your head to look at him, he's smiling. Eyes closed, cheeks appled. Serene. In a state of fucked-out bliss.

You tell him that he's pretty, and he lets out an airy laugh, covering his face with one of his hands. You move his hand and watch him fondly, enthralled with the grin that he's struggling to fight.

He turns to look at you, and the smile he's been boasting amplifies. "God, you're gorgeous."

It's not a new observation; just one he's never voiced before. One that he was able to resist saying. But you're naked now, chest pillowed against his, eyes glowing and nose blushed.

You hum, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. "I'm glad you chose to come here."

Just like that, there's a knot in Jungkook's stomach that seems to anchor that feeling he keeps having.

"Yeah," he nods. "Me too."

IT'S THREE IN the afternoon by the time you wake from your post-fuck snooze. Jungkook's never had one of those before. Hated being sticky after sex with anyone else. Always had to shower - but with you, he wants to stick to you like glue.

"Should have filmed that," he hums, the tips of his fingers stroking up your arms. You aren't sure if he's joking or not. "Would have given us a unique take on the project. Probably wouldn't have gotten us very high grades, mind you, but art is subjective."

"Some would argue that the critique of art is objective," you muse back, still blissfully cum-drunk from the events prior to your nap. Jungkook's nose has stopped bleeding, and the pair of you have almost forgotten the reason he showed up in the first place. "Documentary maker by night, porn star by day," you flirt. "Although it's cute that you think you fuck like a porn star."

"I felt you shaking," he says, knowing there's no possible way that you didn't enjoy it. His nose feels a little cold after all the trauma of the morning, so he buries it into your hair. "Can't fake that."

"That's what I'm saying," you simper, pressing a kiss against his bare torso, just below the meeting of his collarbones. And then another, simply for good measure. "Porn stars never actually look like they're making the woman feel any good." You trail down his chest, tongue licking gently at the darker skin around his nipple. "You... yeah you don't fuck like a porn star." And then you suck a little. He hisses, in the best possible way. 

"Don't," he says. "Not ready to go again."

You laugh. 

Jungkook thinks he's reached Nirvana. Almost certain, in fact. Never had a girl do that to him before. He loves to give it, but hasn't ever thought to receive it. Wonders what other things you'll do to him that he's never had done before. He can feel his cock fucking twitching again, achy and sore, definitely not recovered yet from how hard he went earlier - but god, he wants it. Wants to bury himself inside you again. Belong to you.

His hands paw at you, one gripping on your chest, the other on your ass, pulling you closer. Your leg hooks over him, and he can feel how wet you still are on the side of his thigh. His balls fucking tighten. He can feel it happening, blood rushing to his crotch. 

Yet despite it all, he just kisses you. Softly. Tenderly. Merely his lips languid between yours. Withdraws slowly. Keeps his eyes closed. Bliss.

"The fuck have you done to me, sugar?" he whispers, dark eyes opening to look into yours. His speech is husky, like he trying to steal the answers of a pop-quiz from you. You can't help him. You don't have a clue what the answer is. You're just as stuck as he is. "Got me feeling all fuzzy 'n' shit."

"Just a sugar rush," you smile. "It'll pass."

You're both acutely aware that it won't, but that will be a problem for another day.

"Tell you what," Jungkook muses, though his thoughts are shallow. He's not digging deep. Just talking for the sake of it. "I might not fuck like a porn star, but you don't fuck like a hooker." 

He pulls your arm up so that he can study the crease of your elbow. You let him move your body like you're a barbie doll. You'll be his toy, you think, if he wants. No bother. 

His fingers press at the thin skin that covers your veins, inspecting. 

"Not a scratch," he assesses. "So you're not an addict either."

You laugh, slightly amused. "No? Maybe I just don't inject."

Jungkook gives you a stern look. Hopes you're joking. Tells you that you better fucking be joking. The sweetness of your laughter tells him that you are.

"So?" you press. "I'm not a prostitute and I'm not an addict. It's your lucky day. What of it?"

Jungkook tilts his head down so that his nose is nestled into the crown of your head again. Comforting, he thinks. Smells like laundry. You must have washed your sheets recently. 

His next statement takes you off guard. 

"Only ever see three kinds of women down in Daerim." 

And you know.

You know he knows. 

You can feel it in the way he protectively presses his lips into your skull, as if he's Prince Charming trying to rid his Sleeping Beauty of the nightmare she's been living. Wake up.

But Prince Charming rides a white horse, not a petrol-spitting, air-cooled, steel-framed shadow that rips through the city at night. 

There are no nightmares, either. You're already wide awake. There's no saving you. 

He sighs against your head. Pauses. Resists, and then confronts. 

"I know what you do in the dark, sugar."

You don't say anything for a moment, and then you're pulling away from him, reaching for your shirt. He doesn't like this. Misses your warmth, but doesn't stop you. Instead, he follows, sitting on the edge of your bed, the corner of your comforter lazily protecting his modesty. His muscles are relaxed now, a little crease in his stomach from the way that he's slouching, hands in his lap. Those Bambi eyes of his are peaking through his hair, cheeks red and grazed from the morning encounter he'd had in Daerim.

He watches as you pull your shirt over your head, hair just as messy as his, and a graze on your cheek to match. He was pretty certain before that it had been carpet burn, but now that he's seen it up close, softly rubbed his thumb against it during pretty kisses, he's sure of it.

You avert his gaze. Feel shameful. Hate that he knows. You never cared before. It was just a fun little secret, the fact that he didn't know you were no angel. 

But you want him to think that you're one, now. 

For a moment, you were sure that he had. 

Instead, now, it feels like you're falling from grace.

He reaches for your hand, but you pull it back. "Please don't."

And so he doesn't. Just sits for a little while instead. "Do you want me to get dressed?"

You really don't. 

But your tongue is lodged in your mouth and it won't budge. You turn away, internally furious with yourself. It's been a while since you've gotten like this; so dreadfully panicked that you can't talk. It's a once in a blue moon kind of thing, the early onset of a panic attack, but you're hoping it won't reach the stage of no return. Praying.

"Babe?"

He sounds worried now, and it's making it worse. Feels like you've just reached the top of Bukhan Mountain without taking a second to catch your breath. 

Has your chest always been this tight? Or has someone just been wrapping rubber bands around your torso without you noticing? 

It isn't possible, and you know this, but it feels like it and - oh God - you can hear him shuffling, the buckle of his belt clanging. He's leaving, he's leaving, he's leaving, your ribs cackle as they close down on your lungs. 

There's a light hum behind you, like a wasp is coming to send you into a state of anaphylactic shock and then it stops. His jeans are tossed to the floor once more.

"Yoongi?" Jungkook speaks quietly behind you into the receiver of his phone. "Wassu- Yeah, yeah, I'm safe. I'm good."

I'm safe. 

I'm good.

"Where are- Yoongi stop. Stop it. I'm being deadly fucking serious-"

You don't realise it, but your chest begins to mellow as you listen in to his conversation. 

"It's my mess!" He shouts now. "I'll fucking fix it. I don't give a fuck what Hobi says. Where you at? The Zoo? I'll be there- Yes, I will. Don't do anything fucking stupid."

And then he hangs up, chucking his phone into your bed with more aggression than he'd ever wanted to show in your presence. You don't see it, back still turned, but you hear it, the way his phone rebounds against the springs of your mattress.

"Shit," he hisses, and when you turn to face him, you find that his head is in his hands, elbows on his knees.

Crouching by him, your chest expands. You don't give a shit about yourself anymore. Your palms rest just behind his elbows, eyes anchored below his, looking up. 

"He's got his fucking final in an hour," is all Jungkook says. "He's gonna miss his fucking final."

He lifts his head, tender lips pouted, eyes bloodshot from the pressure he's been placing on his palms. Looks right at you. Decides he'll never trust another pair of eyes more.

"I know what you do in the dark, sugar," he relays. "But I do worse. So much fucking worse. And I've just gone and fucked it all up."

And while he blames it all on himself, you know it's your fault. 

He didn't stay away from the girl. He tempted fate, tugged on the red string, and accidentally snapped it.

Forlorn, he slumps, tongue wetting his bottom lip as he bites down on it. It's only to stop it from trembling. Clouds lurk in his eyes, trying to block his vulnerabilities from you, but it doesn't take a genius to work out that he's scared. 

"Take it," you say, lips in a flat line, eyes stern. You nod towards the pile of cash on your desk, and his eyes follow. "Take it. Pay your debts. I can earn it again. I don't have a deadline. You do."

He shakes his head.

"I'm not taking the money you've earned."

"Yes, you are."

"I'm not," he protests and you've got it in your right mind to slap his pretty face silly. "Gonna be totally honest," he adds, "Don't really want your sugar baby money. Kinda resent it a little. Resent the fucker who gave it to you."

Jungkook hates him. 

Doesn't know him.

Loathes him.

"So then give him the middle finger and take it," you plead. "He got you fucked up into this mess, he got you jumped, he got your stash stolen. Take his money and get yourself and Yoongi out of it. You don't have time to be fucking arguing with me."

He wants to fight back. You stop him.

"We can argue later," you promise.

And that ever-present effervescent feeling is back in his chest. 

"Sugar," he speaks quietly. "Don't do this."

"Kook," you respond, voice much firmer than his. "You gotta do this. Yoongi shouldn't be fixing your mistakes and you know it. We can work it out on an I.O.U. basis. It's okay."

"I.O.U. suggests I'm gonna keep seeing you for a while," Jungkook mumbles. He isn't feeling as confident in himself as he had done earlier. 

You stand, offering your hand to him so that you can pull him up with you. Neither of you acknowledge the fact that he's stark bollock naked. It's really not the time. Nothing you haven't seen before, after all.

"Well, yeah," you shrug with a straight face, but there's a glint in your eye. "I'd hope so. Pretty sure you said you were fuck my tits later? Gotta hold up your end of the bargain, sugar."

And despite it all, he laughs, toying with your hands before slipping his finger between yours. "Don't call me that."

"Why not?" You squeeze his hands. "You're technically my sugar baby now."

"That's not how it works."

God, he knows he shouldn't be fucking about, wasting time flirting, but he just can't help himself.

"No?" You question, equally distracted.

"No," he says. "If you're paying me, and I'm fucking you, then that makes me a hooker."

He's not wrong. 

"Oh, that's kinda hot," you smile, pulling gently on his hands to encourage him to lean down. He does as he's told, and kisses you like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"You're so fucked up," he whispers against you, knowing that it's exactly why he enjoys you so much.

You don't let the moment linger, though, tossing him his clothes and going to grab the money while he dresses himself. You stack it together, all nice and neat, using the desk to straighten the edges. The wedge is thick in your hands. Yellow 50's are laughing at you. Stupid girl thought we'd fix her problems, they chatter silently to one another.

"Three and half million won," you hold it out to Jungkook. He hesitates, so you force his grip around it and let go. It's his problem, now. Not yours. You smile so warmly that Jungkook can't help but let that feeling in his chest simmer. Your hair is still messy, mascara still smudged. He wants to kiss your cheeks. 

Jungkook hasn't disclosed what exactly was in his bag.

But in the same way he knows there are only three types of women in Daerim, you know there are equally only three types of men.

There's only one demographic that he belongs to. Yoongi, too. 

You don't say it explicitly, not like he does. 

"Holangi are nasty fuckers," you acknowledge. "I know they raise the stakes just for the fun of it. Whatever got stolen, the street value doesn't matter. Take it all. You'll need it."

Take what I owe you.

When he kisses you goodbye, it's just like the first time; all breathy and needy, lips parted and pouting. Again and again, he presses down into your lips. His brows furrow, hands on your cheeks, chest pressed against yours.

The crimson paint that had stained you from his very first kiss returns. You're painted in red for the second time that morning, but this time only you can see it. Only you can feel it.

That's her. That's the girl who let Jeon Jungkook kiss her like he actually meant it. 

But it's funny now, because you know that he does mean it.

When he finally leaves, his nose is blushed, his cupids bow too. Eyes glassy. Smile forlorn.  

Disappointingly, as you close the door of your apartment when he's no longer in your line of sight, you remember exactly how Jungkook had kissed you for the first time:

Like it was going to be the last.

And it consumes you, because the kiss you just shared felt exactly the same.

Your chest is uncomfortable again, but it's not rubber bands this time. 

It's that stupid red string that Jungkook had tugged too tightly on.

The one that he'd snapped right in half. 

WATTPAD // AO3 // KO-FI // CARRD

[webslingingslasher]

I just did an ab workout and it fucking sucked ass

But as a result… may I raise you, workout out with Peter

It’s a need!

*cleaning out my inbox*

peter’s strength…. so yummy 🤤

you knew exactly what you were doing, but peter didn’t. ‘i bet you couldn’t bench two fifty.’

he’s insulted to say the least. ‘i’m sorry, trouble. you said what?’ because there’s no way you just told him that.

‘i bet you couldn’t bench two fifty. you’re strong, but not that strong.’ peter scoffs, ‘i don’t think you realize how light two fifty is.’

you quirk an eyebrow, ‘oh really? i’d take you up on that bet.’ it’ll be the easiest bet of his entire life. ‘deal. i’ll take you to the gym with me next time, then you can see for yourself.’

that’s how you ended up watching peter grunt under the weighted bar, he’s got three twenty and he’s going so smooth he doesn’t need a spot, but you’re still there just in case. it’s not like you’d be any real help if shit went south.

‘is this your max?’ your words make peter laugh, like your question was adorable. ‘not even close.’ okay, maybe you thought he was stronger than what you originally teased. but him barely sweating at over three hundred pounds has you truly questioning his strength.

‘do you even have a max?’ there’s no way he could bench much more, he doesn’t have the muscle mass to back it up. not that he’s lean, but he’s no body builder either.

‘haven’t found one, no.’ the bar slams down, it bends under the force on each side. ‘there’s no way. i may have been exaggerating at first but you’re not mr. strongman.’

peter’s eyebrow raises like you just challenged him, you didn’t, but he took it as one. ‘wanna bet? give me a number.’

‘four fifty.’ an egregious amount but peter just nods and starts collecting more plates. the second his hands wrap around the bar you stop him, you didn’t want him over performing for your sake. if he hurt himself trying to impress you, you’d never forgive yourself for pushing him to that place.

‘you don’t have to. i believe you.’

peter fingers grip the steel, ‘it’s okay, i can do it.’ you slap his hands away, ‘no, really. don’t do it.’ you don’t care what expression he’s looking up at you with, you refuse to allow him.

‘you’re the one that gave me the number, trouble.’

‘because you were supposed to say no! don’t hurt yourself over this, i’m already impressed.’

peter clicks his tongue, disappointed you’d think of him so shallow. ‘i want to make you impressed at every chance, but i’m not gonna be stupid about it. if i couldn’t do it, id tell you.’

it’s not good enough, it’s a clear expression. peter immediately eats his words, he’s about to show off because you don’t believe him. the second the bar raises off the handle your teeth clench, you peer around the room and familiarize yourself with a very muscled man in the corner of the room. just in case.

no need, peter’s doing it with ease. he’s breathing hard, strained grunts pull from the back of his throat. he can bench it, but it’s not as easy as three hundred.

after four presses you can’t handle it, ‘okay, okay, okay! please stop.’ your hand hovers underneath the bar when it slams into the handle.

peter teases you when he rises from the padding. ‘you could never be the girlfriend of an athlete. what would you do if i broke my leg while drag racing?’

‘kill myself, i dunno.’

peter’s sweating across his hairline, his skin tacky under your touch. he shakes it off, ‘i’m hot.’ you wink, ‘yeah, you are.’

‘next time, just tell me you wanna see me workout. you don’t have to make up numbers, trouble.’

you play offended, ‘i did no such thing.’

‘you didn’t touch a single machine here.’

‘i was emotional support.’

‘i was eye candy, that’s it.’

your arms wrap around his waist, his back damp under your palm. ‘and you are so, so, so yummy. can i take you home and eat you?’

a glare from peter, ‘isn’t that my job?’

[torialefay]

6 with CHANGBIN…… 😩

One Hell of a Workout 💣

boyfriend!changbin x horny!fem!reader smut

✨ synopsis: your & your boyfriend's sleep schedule is fucked up, which in turn means your gym schedule is also fucked up. late night workout sessions may end up not being so bad 👀

✨ wc: ~2k

✨ warnings: smut ahead- minors DNI; cursing; unprotected sex, public sex

• you knew you shouldn't, but you couldn't help it. changbin just looked too fucking good.

• you'd gone to the gym with him superrr late. not because you were particularly dedicated, but because it is currently only 5 PM in the country you just got back from... and seeing his arms and shoulders as he worked out was never a bad sight.

• something about the smell of him and the way his little curls stuck to his head once he started to sweat got you riled up more than anything else in the world.

• as you were finishing your squat reps, you couldn't help but to watch the contour of the muscles in his back out of the corner of your eye. you were the only person bin would workout in front of without a shirt on. and god, the way he looked at the end of his lat pulldowns... let's just say you were starting to get wet, and not from the sweat.

• you weren't quite sure what it was. why you were so horny all of a sudden. you'd usually never be this side tracked about him. BUT with bin having shows every night recently, he didn't always have the time, energy, or opportunity to be intimate with you... and this was the result. too much pent up desire.

• after clearing your weights and getting a drink of water, you watched changbin as he laid down to start his bench press. the way his arms bulged just by angling them up to grab the bar was so yummy that you couldn't stand it.

• "want me to spot, babe?" you asked, trying to sound as non-chalant as possible.

• "i don't know how much you'll be able to help if i get crushed, but sure why not," he said, chuckling to himself.

• you bit your lip as you walked over, about to situate yourself over top of him.

• swinging your leg over his hips, it took everything in you not to sit down and straddle him.

• "good?" he asked.

• "you're good. you got this!" he'd already done his warming up, so he was moving onto something a bit more challenging.

• as he removed the bar and began to pump his arms up, you helped him count. "1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6... 7... 8... 9... 10."

• "aghh," he let out a deep breath, moving the bar back onto the rack.

• "well, this is a pretty sight," he said, moving his head down to look at you over top of him.

• 'this i can work with,' you thought.

• you smirked at him before lowering your pelvis, letting yourself rest right on top of his hips. you were hoping the contact would work in your favor.

• "babyyy, come on now," he said, throwing his head back in a tiny giggle. he definitely thought you were joking.

• "what's the matter?" you asked, big eyed, moving your hands down to rest on the sides of his torso, tight from the extra core exercises he'd been doing lately.

• "you know you can't be doing this. come on, you've gotta stand back up," he said smiling up at you. he was about to shake his head laughing in disbelief.

• "but why?" you teased, letting your hands trail further inwards and run gently up and down his abdomen.

• "why?!" he moved his head to look left and right. "because we are literally in the gym right now! in public!"

• you smiled playfully as you ever so slightly began to move your hips up and down on him. just the tiniest bit to gage his reaction.

• "technically," you started, "this is a *private gym... and who else is gonna be here at 3 in the morning?"

• when you sensed no hesitancy on his side, you let yourself grind a little harder, making full contact with what you could now feel as his bulge. you wanted to go slowly. to make sure that every last centimeter of him felt you.

• "ah fuck," he smiled while exhaling loudly. "you're not gonna make this easy, are you?"

• "if you realllly don't want it," you let your hands wander to his chest, massaging into him, "then say it and i'll stop."

• you couldn't help the smile on your face. knowing that he was putty underneath you. hoping he'd just give in already. hoping you could give each other what you knew you both desperately needed.

• bin didn't say anything. he just shut his eyes, looking like he was concentrating on some imaginary thing in his head.

• when he held that position and didn't go on to say anything, you took it as your cue to stop. you slowly brought your hands back to yourself and halted your hips from rocking on him.

• "i'm sorry binnie, i don't know what got into me," you mumbled, now feeling embarrassed at the ordeal, your own boyfriend not able to look at you. you slowly began to stand back up just over top of him.

• before you could think another thought, changbin's hands gripped hard on your hips, pushing you back down on him.

• "i didn't say to stop," he mumbled lowly, as if the words were coming from deep within his chest. it wasn't anger in his voice. it was more of a... whine? a plea? ... something that made you horny.

• with a victorious smile on your face, you reveled in his actions, taking this opportunity to get what you desperately needed.

• "feels that good, huh?" you toyed with him a bit before starting to pick up speed again, grinding back and forth over his clothed cock.

• "hush," he said, covering his smile with his hands. he felt like there was no way this was really happening to him right now. no way that this was his reality.

• you took your time, slowly and sweetly grinding on him until you felt your clit begin to throb. all of the sensation had built up, leaving it swollen and exposed to your underwear, steadily and deliciously.

• "oh fuck," you moaned, throwing your head back and savoring the way that changbin's hard shaft fit so perfectly between your lips, massaging you without even trying.

• as you heard light moans escaping changbin's mouth, you quickly slid down him slightly so you could palm him through his shorts. his cock was rock solid, and as you stroked up and down, he began to wince. as bad as he wanted to cover it up, you knew he was getting overly worked up.

• "i wanna take these off," you pleaded, pulling on the waistband of his shorts and boxers.

• toying around with them for a bit, you slowly pulled up and shimmied them down until they were around changbin's ankle, leaving him exposed.

• as you stood, you took the opportunity to slide your pants down, taking one leg out and then the other so you could throw the clothing on the floor beside you.

• changbin propped himself up by leaning his elbows on the bench. his eyes now full of light and wonder, he took in the sight of your lower body now unclothed for him in the middle of the gym. his safe haven and safe space... now absolutely stained with lustful thoughts.

• throwing yourself back onto him, you straddled his lap for a bit, letting his tip get covered in your juices. you felt your breath hitch just a bit as you rubbed up and down just the right spot.

• when you were satisfied with your plan, you quickly lifted your hips up and guided him to your entrance. in one swift motion, you removed your hand from his cock and instead left it to rest on his stomach.

• you felt yourself relax around him as you sank down, devouring every last centimeter.

• changbin sucked his teeth in slightly at the feeling of his dick pushing inside you, relaxing once he was fully in and you were finally stretched around him.

• you knew you had plenty of time, and you wanted to enjoy every last, tiny inch of movement between you two.

• as you angled your body forward, you moved both hands up until they were pressing into changbin's chest.

• you let yourself lean into the luscious rhythm you had before, slowly grinding forward and backward around him.

• as you went, you slowly built up your pace. you didn't mean for it to happen already, but with each movement of your hips, your clit began to pulse, begging for more.

• as you rocked back and forth, back and forth, you heard a few disgruntled moans from changbin, encouraging you to keep going.

• you threw your head back in pleasure as you started violently thrusting yourself up on him, the sensation becoming too great for you to bear.

• faster, faster, faster, chasing that sweet realesse until "fuckkkkkkkk" was all you could say.

• you immediately started twitching around changbin as you rode out your high, his hands coming around to stabilize your ass and hold you down on him until you were completely finished.

• trying to catch your breath, you leaned down onto your arms, closer to changbin's chest. your body was so exhausted, you weren't sure what to do next.

• but changbin had his own plans. before you knew what was happening, his arms had wrapped around you completely, pulling your face and stomach flat onto him as he began to violently buck his hips up and thrust inside of you.

• and jesus christ did it feel good.

• deep, guttural moans flew out of his mouth with each sharp thrust, with the sound of skin slapping following right after. the pace was quickly becoming too much to handle.

• cursing under his breath, changbin easily wrapped his hands into your hair and pulled, arching your back for him and letting him get a good look at your face.

• you moaned out as you focused on all of him. the feeling of his tip hitting your cervix repeatedly. the aggression on his face while looking at you. the one hand that was now urgently squeezing your ass, definitely leaving bruises behind.

• he was just too fucking good.

• "this what you wanted baby?!" changbin spat as you quivered over top of him.

• "ahh fuck," he bit down, focusing his eyes on your face and the way your tits bounced every time he pounded into you.

• as his thrusts got harder and sloppier, you knew he was close. with one final yank of your hair, he pulled you all the way back to arch your ass just perfectly for him. he loved the sight of you losing your breath over it.

• one, two, three more thrusts, and "oh fuck. oh fuck. aghhhhh fuckkkkk," he moaned out as he came, letting go of your hair and letting your body fall lifeless on top of him as he continued to fuck into you and ride out his high.

• like his own little rag doll, he used you until he absolutely couldn't stand it anymore. he was completely drained and overstimulated.

• you both laid there for a few seconds, panting heavily to catch your breath. laying on top of him, you heard his heart beat continuing to slow in his chest as he rested and regained his conscience.

• once you'd both calmed down, you finally got the chance to get words out.

• "that was too fucking good, binnie," you smiled, going up to peck him on the lips.

• "that was one hell of a workout," he laughed, beginning to sit up now. you, still seated in his lap, got a perfect view of his face and sweaty curls as he rested now on his tailbone.

• "seeeee," you teased, "we should do it again sometime." you coyly smiled.

• "you might just talk me into it," changbin said, leaning his forehead on yours.

• you both sat in solidarity for a moment, just admiring one another before changbin broke the peace. "i love you and all, but we've gotta put our pants back on." he looked down at the haphazardly strewn clothes around him.

• "and we should probably wipe this thing down about 5 times before we leave," you giggled before standing up.

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

✨ if you enjoyed, please consider liking, commenting, and/or re-blogging <3

✨ check out my masterlist for more

[forbidden-sunlight]

700 Followers Milestone Event - yandere!poseidon with mitsuri!daughter! short story 🍡

warnings: toxic family environment, toxic relationships, ooc, infidelity.

The intention of this story is for entertainment purposes only. The behavior exhibited here is inappropriate and unhealthy, hence it should not be encouraged. There are also triggers, so please take caution. You are responsible for your Internet consumption!

You tried to be a good daughter.

You were the second eldest child of the great god Poseidon and his wife Amphirite. While Triton is the heir apparent, you fawned over him and your younger sister Benthesikyme when the rulers of all the oceans wasn’t around. You tried your best to be there for them, shouting with joy when they achieved something, big or small, comforting them when they needed a big hug or wanted to share a yummy meal in the empty dining hall because they were lonely.

But sometimes…it wasn’t enough. The love of an older sister, that is.

Triton wanted your father’s approval. Bethesikyme wanted your mother to look at her instead of waiting for your father to come to her chambers when she knew he hadn’t been there in years, centuries even. Neither of your parents were concerned about you…especially after your hair had changed from shimmering [Hair Color] locks to light pink with green ends as a result of eating too much sakura mochi.

No one wanted a wife with such a hideous blend of colors or had a large appetite, much less pass these traits down to their children, even from a daughter of Poseidon. At least that was what the last person had said to you during a marriage interview. Their remark…it hurt a lot. Proteus had to walk you out of the seashell garden after standing in a shocked state for almost four hours.

So you tried to change. Dyeing your hair black, cutting back on how much food you consumed, and working super hard in your lessons to become someone your father might be proud of…but it didn’t make you happy. Quite the opposite, actually.

Because no matter what you did, you would never become the perfect child in your father’s eyes. He told you as much with that cold stare of his. You were not perfect, nothing more than a speck of sand that was hardly worth noticing.

When that happened….well, as stupid as it sounds now….you left. You just left the palace without saying good-bye, leaving only a letter for your siblings, Proteus, the cooks, and all of your tutors, thanking them for looking after you and hoping that they’ll find happiness someday.

You found refuge in Valhalla, and for the first time in a long while, you could breathe. You could style your hair in any manner you desired, ate as much as you wanted, and even found a job working for the Demon Slayer Corps! It was a little weird at first, asking your uncle to help adjust into this place without saying a word to your father, but he was someone you could trust.

He knew that the reason you ate so much isn’t because you were a glutton, rather it was due to possessing an abnormal muscle condition that required a lot of calories and daily exercise to maintain. Six months later, you advanced from the Final Selection exam and were currently being mentored by the Flame Hashira Rengoku.

The humans who were part of Uncle Hades’ organization were so sweet and cool, how could you hate them? They accepted you for who you were and never made any harsh judgements towards you. Even their big boss, Lord Ubuyashiki, said that your talent was a gift! A gift, not a burden.

Goodness, it still brought a tear to your eyes when you remembered his words. But now isn't the time to be distracted! Today was your first solo mission, and you had to make Rengoku proud! Being a Demon Slayer means protecting people, and that’s what you’re gonna do!

Anyone who hurts others, even demons…they will receive no love from you. Not even a speck of mercy.

Bonus Content:

Unbeknownst to the Demon Slayer, however, it was getting difficult for Hades to keep lying to his little brother about the whereabouts of his niece. After [First Name] left the ocean, Poseidon had been searching for her, demanding answers with a scowl etched across his face. Hades did not have children himself, yet in a way he can understand that everyone needed space, or needed to leave a toxic environment in order to thrive…but why in Gaia’s name would [First Name] even think that her father hated her?

Poseidon adored his daughter.

He chased away suitors with ill intentions, increased the difficulty of her lessons so as to remove her limitations and thrive under pressure, even hired more palace chefs to cook her meals!

Whenever he was away to do some business that did not involve an illicit affair, he’d always bring a trinket back for her, but Amphirite snatched it up under the belief that the gift was her.

The sea goddess was still desperate for his attention, even when their love for each other had waned over the last couple of centuries.

Now that [First Name] was on the path of becoming a Hashira, the lord of the underworld had an obligation as both the divine overseer of the Demon Slayer Corps and as a brother, to tell Poseidon the truth. And yet…was it even the right thing to do, when all the reports he’s received from Ubuyashiki showed that leaving the ocean allowed his niece to be the happiest she’d been in a long, long time?

There was no doubt Poseidon would drag her back home to be punished, and that smile of hers would disappear as soon as she dove under the waves. The pressure to be perfect is a crushing one, even for the child of godly perfection.

Hades sighed softly, pressing his fingers against the side of his head as he felt a migraine creeping in. What should he do?

Taglist:

@yellow-snark

@the-dumber-scaramouche

@zodiacs-web

@praisethesuuun

@recreationalfanfics

@kiannas-stuff

@thatstrangesheep

@staticradiotv

@myrisan-melodies

@nixes-noxes

@dance-till-the-death

@angel-tsugikuni-kamukura

@themoonisrising

@enryegotrip

@bxobapeach

[the-himawari]

A3! Usui Masumi - Translation [SSR] MANKAI Feature (1/3)

*Please read disclaimer on blog; default name set as Izumi

---

Masumi: …Ah. (It’s a curry bun food truck… I’ll buy some for Director.) (The line isn’t that long. I bet I’ll be able to buy them right away.)

Shopkeeper: Come on up!

Masumi: I’ll take… (…) …7 of these curry buns.

Shopkeeper: I see, 7 curry buns! Then your total is…

Chikage: Here you go.

Masumi: !

Shopkeeper: Oh, is this your friend?

Chikage: Yes… I’m his family member.

Shopkeeper: Is that so? Well, here you go. 7 curry buns.

Masumi: …Thanks.

Shopkeeper: You’re very welcome~!

Masumi: Hey, I was going to pay for them.

Chikage: How about I take the amount for Director’s share then?

Masumi: …How did you know I got more than just Director’s share?

Chikage: I suppose... if I was in the same situation as you, then I would have bought the same thing.

Masumi: Hmm…

Chikage: You’re on your way home too, aren’t you? Come on. Let’s head back quickly before the curry buns get cold.

Masumi: …Right.

-pause-

*door opens*

Masumi: I’m home.

Chikage: I’m home.

Izumi: Welcome back, you two.

Masumi: Here. For you.

Izumi: Huh? Are these… curry buns? Mmm~. They look yummy and smell great! Thanks, Masumi-kun!

Masumi: I’m glad you like them. Your happy-looking face is the absolute cutest…

Izumi: (There’s 7 curry buns in here. I’m sure they’re for me and the rest of Spring troupe.) Well, seeing as they’re fresh, let’s eat them right now. Why don’t you two join me?

Masumi: I’ll eat with you.

Chikage: I suppose I’ll have some too, if I’m not getting in the way.

Masumi: …

Izumi: (Masumi-kun… is really bearing with it!)

Masumi: Today only. I’ll give you a special pass.

Chikage: Thank you.

Izumi: Alright, don’t mind if I dig in right away. …Mhm, it’s delicious!

Masumi: I feel like it’s even more tasty since I’m eating it with you.

Chikage: The spices also work as a nice accent. Although it could be spicier for me.

Izumi: Oh, by the way, Masumi-kun. We got the results back from your survey.

Masumi: Survey?

Chikage: The one for the spin-off project?

Izumi: That’s right.

Masumi: …That project where we’re going to act out and stream spin-off stories of one of our side characters?

Izumi: Right. And so, Nero from your 8th play was chosen!

Masumi: I see…

Chikage: In that case, it seems like Sakuya will inevitably make an appearance as well. If it’s Nero, then him and Blanc are a set, aren’t they?

Izumi: That being said, we really just got the results back so the script isn’t set at all yet. We also told Tsuzuru-kun about it earlier, but I suspect the story will end up being about the twins…

Chikage: I’m sure Tsuzuru will listen to any request you have.

Masumi: …It’s fine. I’ll leave it to him.

Izumi: The script is still only an outline, but I think it would be a good idea to prepare for your role as much as you can right now. A lot of the guys spent time preparing for their roles for the spin-off project, so it would be better to start where you can now, and work on it little by little.

Masumi: I got it. I’ll do that.

Chikage: You should start by talking with your other half about it while giving him his curry bun then.

Masumi: *Sigh*… I guess I have to.

Chikage: “I guess I have to,” he says… even though he was the one who bought them for everyone.

Izumi: Fufu.

---

| next

[babiepupp]

Hi there! Do you take requests? If you do

Could I get a fic for a caregiver Neuvilette and sensitive/timid Agere/Petre reader (Sometimes I pet regress into an otter :) specifically the leisurely otter you see in genshin, I age regress as well). when I regress I’m a lot more sensitive to rejection and other things people say :) For another detail, my age regression range is *usually* 1-5

I hope that’s not too much! ~ Kindly, the @jellyfish-nursery

I absolutely adore this request! This was super fun to make! I hope you enjoy ^-^ ✩ also I apologise if it’s on the slightly shorter side!

⋆୨୧˚ My, aren’t you charming? ˚୨୧⋆

Caregiver Neuvilette x Timid Otter regressor reader!

Neuvilette had always found you.. quite adorable, the way you’d cling to a felt shell whenever you could, protecting it with your life. The way you’d make yourself a den made out of anything you could find, blankets, sticks.. Neuvilette’s belongings even. Neuvilette had always found it amusing, a gentle smile always gracing his features whenever you would slip into that headspace.

Today had felt rather special, you had both had breakfast together, walked around the hustle and bustle of Fontaine for a while, stocking up on baby powder and some yummy snacks. Once he had noticed that you had begun to slip into your pet headspace, he chuckled, ruffling your hair and gently moving you out the way of the busy crowd.

“Come along, petite loutre. I thought we could go swimming today if that’s something you would like? I have brought along your swimming gear should you wish to do so.” He spoke gently, his cane tapping against the floor as he walked with you, his other hand gently holding onto your own- he wouldn’t want to accidentally lose you after all.

His smile grew warmer when he saw you nod, taking a turn to the right as he led you down to where the ocean lapped softly at the gray Fontanian stone. He smiled, swiftly getting into his own swimming attire before helping you get into yours, chuckling when you somehow ended up with your head in one of the arm-holes.

“Such a silly thing, allow me to help you.” He said endearingly, taking a step back once you had both finished. He snapped his fingers, his cane vanishing with a flurry of blue sparkles before he took your hand once again, leading you towards the shallows, wading into the crystalline blue waters. He chuckled softly as you adjusted to the coolness of the water, before hesitantly swimming around, not wanting to stray too far from Neuvilette.

He made sure to keep an eye on you, his arms open to hold you steady should you need it.

“You’re doing well, petite loutre- I’m right here if you need anything.” He encouraged, his voice as gentle as the waters of Fontaine, still.. tranquil. He hummed for a second before diving down, emerging a minute or so later holding a scalloped shell, it was rather beautiful- a gentle lavender, with just a tinge of pink, it was the colour of a beautiful sunset.

The water was lovely, not too cold, but not too warm- it was perfect for a sunny day like this! The hours passed quickly, the sun turning from a pale blue into a stunning mix of orange, purple and pink- quite like the shell Neuvilette had given you. With a gentle touch, Neuvilette lifted the little otter out of the water, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“As much as I would love to swim with you for hours and hours, we need to get some dinner in that tummy of yours.” The Iudex chuckled, watching as you clung to him, your arms wrapping around his shoulders. You let out a squeak of protest but it only resulted in a pat on the head before Neuvilette began drying you off.

“Oh don’t look at me like that dear.. we can always come back tomorrow.” He said, putting the towel back into the carrier bag he had brought with him to carry the goods from earlier on before carrying you back up the riverbank.

“Tell you what, I’ll get you dinner of your choice tonight. Anything you’d like, I’ll get it for you.” He offered, chuckling as you perked up at the offer before nodding enthusiastically.

This otter was certainly adorable.. they made Neuvilette’s heart warm, they made him feel.. happy. And he’d do whatever it took to protect that fuzzy feeling.

[activemelil-blog]

ʚ ˏˋ ꒰ 💌 ꒱ ˎˊ ɞ YUMMY !!

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��� more headcannons for dating sukuna <3 i have a love hate relationship with chiki 😕🫶

⟢ i would like to mention i love ayesha erotica and she made the song yummy aaaand thats why i named it that cause this song reminds me of him 😭

⟢ warnings: slightly toxic relationship, sukuna being overprotective, slight 18+ topics being spoken of, etc…

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you bet this man would toxic. he would probably gaslight you into thinking he didn’t break your phone because he saw you get a message from your brother, and he saw the contact name and panicked because he thought you were cheating on him.

boundaries would probably be where sukuna is loyal. realistically, no he probaaaably wouldn’t care but pretend he would okay!! i feel like if you two were dating, and you push him away, he takes the hint, but then ignores you because hes upset he got his feelings hurt by a mortal.

you two would take edibles together.

his favorite thing to chug would probably be redbull. something about him would make me feel as if he would like redbull, and would beg you to buy it for him, and when you didnt, he would threaten to kill the cashier.

you let him spend the night? hes staying the rest of the week for sure. your bed is probably the most comfortable thing ever for him, and also laying against you, putting all his weight onto you, until you shove him to his own side, which makes him agitated.

he would get mad if you try to move him away, and he would try to make you feel bad by ignoring you the next morning, and when you nag at him, he immediately clings to you like a kitten.

it might be weird to imagine, but he would definitely be clingy, and overprotective. the second this man catches some other guy looking at you, they’d be dead the next day. anytime you guys are together, he would definitely keep his hand on your ass, or near your hip.

he loves you. he doesn’t have to pretend, he doesn’t know how, but he does actually love you. but, when he fucks you, it makes you question if he does, cause.. the way he fucks you; he does it like he hates your guts, and hits all the right spots, which would make a mess on him, in result.

sukunas favorite nicknames for you would be something like: idiot, my love, mine and spoiled. it would be a little weird to imagine him calling you brat, since it would be what he calls yuji. im not too fond of the idea of him calling his s/o a brat, more so he would call you spoiled.

he reminds you that hes strong, and has to tell you stories from centuries ago, and you listen intently, but often end up falling asleep. he also reminds you his actual form has four arms.

it still haunts you.

in a modern au, sukuna and you would definitely freak out about social media, which is why he would refuse to get it, and when he does, he only follows you, and a good ten other people, but man would he have a few good followers. he would also only let you follow him.

more so, you and sukuna wouldn’t be very healthy together, even if your perfect, he isnt by any means. but, if you were dating him, with no reprecussions such as him being in yuji; and or his real form, if he were just his own person, well you two would definitely be quite a pair.

he calls you immature for sure when you two get into an argument and he knows your right. he often picks fights with you, since he believes makeup sex is the best kind. what can you say? seriously.

i dont think he would pressure you into anything, if you were uncomfortable, he’d keep going, until you tell him to actually stop, is when he takes a clue, and stops.

when you two would be in your talking stage in a modern universe, you bet this man would leave you on delivered, and on seen/read for a week at most, with him swinging his feet hoping you’d be a bother; but when you do it back, for two weeks he doesn’t get it, and bothers you with questions.

he would he the type of boyfriend to make a promise and break it, then probably make a new one and try his best, but i think sukuna would lowkey be a good gossip buddy.

he would definitely talk the most shit in a modern au, and has beef with every other popular guy, and he would probably get into twelve fights per school year. he would win, for sure.

oh, how in a highschool universe, oh how you two would be the it couple. your relationship would probably start SO much drama, and especially him, how he’d purposely start up rumors about you two; making you two skip out on school.

^

he would suck at math, and history. he’d definitely be good at english and science. you would be the opposite, which is why you two are perfect, supposedly.

overall, maybe dating sukuna in different universes wouldn’t be all too bad. jjk universe easily the worst though🤓🐥

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interpet these however youd like, but goood how much i hate sukuna, but my god i love him (ntm) at the same time 😕💔

i need a sukuna and reader in highschool now 🐥 (me omw to make it😣🤌) no cause tell me you two would not be the power couple and he’d have beef with gojo and geto AND nanami and their whole group, but he’d probably get annoyed by his own friends. pretend him, choso, mahito and (kenjaku as his own person) would be friends with him ‼️

anyway if ur gonna repost this on anything give credits 🫶🫶

[infinite-hearts-333]

THE BEAST.

Oura Thorn’s powers are based of a character from a movie, but unfortunately that movie is King Kong Skull Island, so expect scary thing. If your not a fan of death, cannibalism, yummy digestive facts and good scary CGI, i wouldn’t recommend reading the part called “THE INSPIRATION” and skip right to “WHAT IS THE BEAST?”.

The space rider au belongs to @onyxonline

THE INSPIRATION.

Alright! Oura Thorn’s power is based of two entities, the SkullCrawler from King Kong, for body, strength and speed, and Jörmungandr, the world serpent for purpose.

SkullCrawlers were my main source of bodily anatomy guide for the Beast. A massive, horrific bulky beast built like a tank and filled with an unstoppable desire to kill. This creature was intelligent, fast and ruthless. Not to mention metal as hell. The stomach acid in this thing was strong enough that the Skullcrawler eats someone, whole, and then regurgitates the bones thirty minutes later! That’s some strong ass acid. It is described by the Gojipedia that :

“Skullcrawlers are subterranean pack-hunting predators with insatiable appetites that are the results of their heightened metabolisms. Because of this, it is suggested that male and female Skullcrawlers will almost always devour each other after mating. They are highly aggressive, as well as incredibly persistent in pursuing their prey.”

And trust me if you haven’t see the movie, you do NOT wanna end up alone with even one of these freaks.

Jörmungandr is a creature of Norse mythology, also known as the Midgard Serpent or World serpent, and is an unfathomably large sea serpent or worm who dwells in the world sea, encircling the Earth (Midgard) and biting his own tail, an example of an ouroboros. In some scripts and stories- Jörmungandr is described as a Lindworm, which is a subspecies of dragon. Jörmungandr was the middle child of Loki, the Norse trickster god and the giant Angrboða. It was foretold that Odin took Loki’s children and removed them from Asgard. For Jörmungandr, they were tossed into the great ocean that encircles Midgard. There, in the ocean, the serpent grew so large that it could surround earth and grasp its own tail. Jörmungandr and Thor, the Norse thunder god, have a on-going feud and see each other as arch foes. During Ragnarök, Jörmungandr and Thor are foretold to fight each other to the death.

As recounted in Snorri's Gylfaginning:

“The sea will flood and the serpent will thrash onto the land. It will advance, spraying poison to fill the air and water, beside Fenrir, whose eyes and nostrils blaze with fire and whose gape touches the earth and the sky. They will join the sons of Muspell to confront the gods on the plain of Vigrid. Here is where the last meeting between the serpent and Thor is predicted to occur. He will eventually kill Jörmungandr but will fall dead after walking nine paces, having been poisoned by the serpent's deadly venom.”

It is said when Jörmungandr releases its tail is one of the signs of the beginning of Ragnarök (the final battle of the world, or the ‘end of the world as we know it’).

WHAT IS THE BEAST?

The Beast is a bipedal Lindworm with only two frontal limbs and a long thick tail for balance. It is covered in thick armoured plates, with jutting spines down the length of its neck, and the back of its head / cheeks, like Thorn does. Equiped with thick horns and a thicker skull, it can about ram down anything in its path with enough momentum. It is thin and nimble, and tanks a lot more than it looks like it can, using the large muscles in its arms and tail to be able to move fast, or catch prey. Its maw is filled with forward facing teeth, like a canine, but its throat and back of its mouth is filled with backwards facing spines, to grip prey and prevent escaping. Its tongue is long and flexible, capable of snagging someone and dragging them straight into their toothy demise.

The Beast only forces it’s presence when it senses an extreme unbalance in the world around it, forcing itself into control to eradicate any ‘pests’ or ‘weeds’ that would corrupt the survival of the world they are on. Although, just like Jörmungandr, eradicating the pest, also means the ‘end of the world’- destroying large amounts of civilisations, and killing many innocents in the process. Luckily, for Thorn, that hasn’t happened, yet. It is an animal- when it is in control there will be no reaching Oura Thorn, they are good as dead until the Beast has calmed- whether that means tearing the entire base apart to find the lack of balance or not.

However, not is all sorrow and death the minute the Beast is free. Like the World Serpent, there are times where the beast can exist and be calm. Though, usually, it will let Oura Thorn continue with their life by then, and fall back into slumber deep within them. Were a rider to disturb the beast before it slept, it would continue to exist, and often take the time to hunt, or look for a new problem for it to fix, ignoring the little critters around it. (Although, there may be a chance that though Oura Thorn, it may recognise you)

CAN IT BE STOPPED??

In terms of wounding the Beast- it’ll be hard, as a creature designed to force balance to any world.

The beast can’t swim very well, the heavily density of its muscles and bones make it sink and therefore, drowning it. Killing it would be hard in terms of combat, with its armoured scales. Its underbelly is less armoured and the skin along it’s neck where it’s spines emerge are a weak point but good luck getting close enough to touch it. And despite its brutal animalistic behaviour, this creature is smart. Tricking it with poison or having it swallow grenades ain’t gonna work here, just like with the Skullcrawlers. The best bet to killing this thing is having its arms and tail pinned, so it can no longer get away, and then hacking at it.

Keep in mind- if you’re not doing anything bad, and stay away from it, it shouldn’t actively seek out space riders to harm. If you get hurt, you’re in the way, lol.

WELL, IF SPACE RIDERS ARE GOOD, WHY DID IT APPEAR IN THE DOCKS?

Excellent question, figurative person!

Now, I’ve covered how the Beast works, if you’d like, go back to the OG post and see if you can figure out why you think Thorn lost control at the docks.

Ready? Alright. So the Beast only takes the reins when it senses ‘unbalance nature’ around it. Obviously it wasn’t the other staff, not the mail, but the cultists that were mailed to the base. But Infinite! They’re just Critters! Why would that upset the beast?

Another excellent question! The Cultist themselves, didn’t upset the Beast- but rather, the red smoke that they were breathing in.

That is the ‘unbalanced nature’ that has caused thorn to struggle to control themselves and keep the beast contained- the red smoke. And well understood with Onyx’s upload on Z’s planet- that stuff destroyed the entire world!! There is a specific reason that the red smoke is such a massive trigger for the Beast, but that would spoil a plot point I’m holding onto that I’ve been subtly hinting at. So you’ll all know laterrrr ~

WILL THORN BE EVER ABLE TO CONTROL THE BEAST?

No, unfortunately that will never be a reality for Ouřa Thorn :<

I love Thorn very much, but I find overly ‘op’ characters to be too unrealistic in my opinion. Thorn will never be able to control the Beast, or gain any other powers than that. The closest thing to ‘control’ Thorn will ever achieve is being so overwhelmed with one, or a mix of emotions, that it influences the Beast’s actions slightly. This can be seen in the dock accident, were instead of being careless and destroying everything, and probably eating the cultists, The Beast was influenced by Ouřa Thorn’s only two thoughts- to protect the other workers, and to ensure no one got hurt.

Thankfully, those two thoughts were just enough in comparison to the tiny amount of red smoke to keep a full rage at bay, keeping everyone safe.

(However! We do get to watch the Rangers + other critters do there damn best to try help Thorn tame it lol)

WHERE DID IT COME FROM??

There are records of other critters that had Oura Thorn’s power, old talismans and rock craving dating back to eons. Little is understood as to how it started, or why. Some are convinced it’s because of the prototype- the damage that he has caused with the red smoke has awoke a primal magic that is more dangerous than anyone knows.

[demonicbaby666]

Staying The Week

Part 2 to Staying Quiet | Criminal Minds Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: JJ x fem!Reader

Genre: Feelings with a smidge of angst and a sprinkle of smut

Words: 3.2k+

Warnings: Fingering (r receiving), denying feelings, cheating (on Will though so it's yummy sexy), swearing and a dreaded cliffhanger…

Summary: Months have passed since you and JJ first started your passionate affair and the two of you had found yourselves navigating quite well through all and any sticky situations thrown your way. But when you take her up on the offer of enjoying her ‘company’ for a whole week, things take a turn in a direction you aren’t quite happy about. 

A/n: Look, I am well aware the vibes are vastly different to part 1 but my brain seems incapable of not incorporating feelings into anything. Also I had to cut out like two whole sections because otherwise this part would be like 8k and I didn’t have the effort for that, so the pace may seem a little fast but it’s done that way so if/when I do part 3 it’ll come to a swift close. If you’re here for smut and no feelings, I’m so sorry, this ain’t that… Anywayssss, hope you enjoy! <3

Ashamed. That’s how you should have felt when things started with JJ, what with her fucking you in the hallway with her husband upstairs and her kid - the kid you look after - sound asleep. That should have been reason enough to end things. But you didn’t. The clear and inappropriate power dynamic between the two of you, being that in technical terms she was your employer, seemed to be having an effect on you that wasn’t devoid of desire, in fact, it was dripping with the stuff. 

It was exciting, invigorating, and addictive.

You both had taken pretty well to the routine of sneaking around, sharing stolen kisses and orgasms whenever it seemed possible, and occasionally when it most certainly did not. As a result, and much to your dismay, lying had become easy, now having to use it as a crutch more than a handful of times. 

There was the time the couple had invited you to stay for dinner. Will had asked whether you were okay, you seemed off. It was to be expected, his wife’s fingers were torturing your clit under the table after all. He, thankfully, didn’t know that though. Throughout the shared meal, you told the fickle tale of a day filled with stressors and agro, rapid breaths and whimpers disguised as responses to the encounters that riled you up. JJ tactically covered up her under-table delegations through false acts of comfort. 

Later that evening, when JJ dropped you home, you divulged that not all of it was a lie. That your day, truthfully, hadn’t been ideal and she humbly took it upon herself to help you forget the days' hardships, fucking you senseless till your mind was rendered useless and only focussed on relearning how to breathe. 

Then there was the time you’d stayed the night in the spare room, JJ had insisted, ‘It’s 2 am, way too late to travel back’. She could have driven you home, she should have driven you home, but there was no fun in that. The impromptu stay indeed led to an abundance of fun. Explaining to Henry why you could barely stand without your legs shaking the next morning, however, was less fun. ‘Your mum fucked the hell out of me kid.’ you decided, was not an appropriate answer. So, yet again, you found yourself having to conjure a fictitious reinvention of the truth. 

No matter how many times you were put in precarious situations - which was often - you didn’t, wouldn’t, stop. Tasting the forbidden fruit time after time, for a young demure soul, was discovering a new world. A world of lust, sin, and shame. Comfortably, you had nested there, enjoying the fervency and rush of endless passionate encounters. 

In the familiar setting of your apartment, you lay beneath JJ, talented fingers pumping in and out of you. Here, you didn’t need to stay quiet. Moans and cries of pleasure had free roam, and as JJ continued to accelerate her pace and your moans grew louder, you thanked the concrete walls for concealing your dirty secret. 

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded, grinding your hips to meet the steady rhythm set. 

JJ lowered her head, lips meeting and sucking your pulse point, leaving behind a red blotch you’d have to deal with later. Your hands flew from the bedsheets, one lacing and gripping blonde tresses, the other to cold metal railings above your head. Her palm came to rest on your clit, applying just enough pressure to intensify the waves of pleasure washing over you, but not enough to tip you over the edge. The tension in your abdomen began to grow, tightening in pulses that matched your unsteady breathing. 

“Stay with me this week,” JJ whispered into your neck, slowing down the pace of her fingers, but never stopping.

“What?” you shakily moaned out. 

“Will has to go away for work,” her fingers picked up their previous pace, covertly coaxing you into agreeing, “Stay with me for the week.”

A week. A whole week of recreating scenes that you’d only had the pleasure of enjoying on a weekly basis. It was risky and needed to be thought out. Nevertheless, it appeared to take hold of your mind. As JJ slipped a third finger inside you, driving in and out of you with more vigour, and more purpose, you decided. The offer was too enticing, dressed in the promise and taste of what the nights, and days, could look like. 

“Say yes,” she brought her lips over yours, brushing them together as she curled her fingers deep inside you. A moan tumbled from your mouth into hers, prompting the tips of her fingers to continue caressing your G-spot. 

Fisting harder to JJ’s hair, you let yourself topple headfirst into your release. Eyes closing, legs shaking, head falling back into the mattress, your back arched, pressing your sweat-clad body harder against the toned stomach above. 

“Okay,” you lowered yourself back down and steadied your breathing. When your eyes fluttered open you saw there was a faint glimmer in JJ’s eyes, the corner of her lips twitched, a smile wanting so desperately to take shape. Vigilant, she held back, knowing you weren’t finished, “On one condition.” 

A finger trailed down your cheek, etching an invisible line of warmth, until it reached your mouth where her thumb took over, brushing the length of the soft swollen skin. You let out a breathy sigh of contentment before JJ dragged her thumb down to part your lips. 

“Name it,” she uttered, releasing the captured lip and allowing it to meet once more with its counterpart. 

“I sleep in the spare room.” she cocked an eyebrow, curious and urging you to continue, “What we’re doing, there’s not exactly ample room for feelings.” 

Her face went slack, hastily returning to its former state when she realised you had a point. It was an affair after all. Not one that was born from feelings of undying love, but from lust and passion. A newfound sureness lurked in her eyes and a business-like smile danced on her lips, “Deal.” 

The next few days flew by, bringing with them a relaxed air. At first, Henry was apprehensive, but as time went on, he too, found comfort in the new setup. JJ would go to work, leaving you to take him to kindergarten, spend the day as you please, and pick him back up. By the time you got back and were done helping him with homework, JJ would walk in through the front door. Dinners together consisted of non-stop chatter between the three of you, sharing details of your day. Laughter the perfect side to whatever dish you or JJ had whipped up. 

When the curtains were drawn and the sun had taken its leave, things veered in a familiar direction. Clothes were shed, and littered around JJ’s room, your bodies meeting and merging together night after night. Having been previously agreed, at whatever late hour of the night things had come to a close, you padded across the landing to the spare room and took your well-deserved rest under different sheets to the ones you’d previously been writhing over. 

By Friday, the fifth day of your stay, the house buzzed with solace and serenity. Henry was allowed to stay up a little later than usual as he didn’t have school the next day. So at his behest, you found yourself sitting on the couch with JJ next to you, watching his choice of movie - Toy Story. He was enjoying the comfort of your lap, laying his back against your chest, eyes glued to the exciting scenes unfolding on the TV. 

If anyone was to peer in on the scene they’d assume they were looking in on a family evening. It wasn’t though. You knew that. You weren’t stupid enough to think the dynamic you shared with JJ would ever amount to anything resembling a family unit. But, as her hand snaked around your waist - pulling you in, not trying to initiate anything, instead to break an unspoken rule, to start the beginning of an innocent embrace, that you hated yourself for giving in to - you struggled to push back fantasies of a life that day-in-day out would look exactly like this. Friday evenings spent in the arms of a beautiful woman, meals shared over easy, fluid chatter, and nights filled with passion. 

A soft pair of lips placed a feather-light kiss on your temple, the last fragment to the puzzle, painted on it the picture of domestic bliss shrouded in melancholy. It was a picket fence dream that would never be yours. It wasn’t a revelation. Still, no matter how much you could’ve prepared yourself for the inevitability of feelings being thrown into the mix, the accompanying heartache stung like a bitch. 

Tuning back to reality, you realised the movie had come to an end. Henry was fast asleep in your arms, head drooping to the side as little snores filled the silence in the room. The added weight on your shoulder indicated you were the only one that sleep had yet to claim. Like mother, like son.

With the feel of JJ’s body leaning on you, hand still clasped around your waist, it was fairly easy to get lost in the moment, welcome it with open arms, treasure it, nurture it, knowing it wouldn’t last for much longer and soon you’d be forced to face the harsh reality of your situation. And that’s what you did. Allowed yourself a few minutes to take in the solemn conversation between two sets of calm breathing, the warmth radiating from both as chests rose and fell almost in sync. 

“Hey,” JJ sleepily sat up, looking down at Henry, “I guess neither of us got to see the end of the movie.” she chuckled. 

You offered her a pathetic excuse of a smile, hoping she’d miss the sorrow in your eyes, “I’ll take him up.” 

“I’ll see you up there?” 

“I’m a little tired,” the moment the words left your lips you watched JJ’s face drop. In the dim light of running credits she looked so sad, her eyes droopy from still waking up, cheek imprinted with sleep lines from your shirt. “It’s been a long day, you should get some rest too,” you added, hoping to remedy some of the disappointment the decision had left on her sullen face. 

Turning Henry around in your lap, he sluggishly wrapped his arms around your neck and rested his head on your shoulder, thankfully, still sound asleep. Under different circumstances, it would have been a treasured memory, the simplicity and beauty in trust demonstrated by letting another carry you up to sleep. It was true, over the passing days the bond you’d developed with Henry had grown stronger, and you found more and more he’d let his guard down around you. The only downside was the immense amount of guilt you harboured intensified anytime his innocent eyes bore into you. 

“Is everything okay?” the concern had made JJ more alert, after all, she was not privy to the inner workings of a naive mind, she had not been brought into the fold and given the explanation as to why exactly the evening, that anyone would have thoroughly enjoyed, had driven you to resentment. It didn’t bode well with her. 

“I’m fine,” you snapped. Standing up stopped JJ from being able to see the pained expression on your face, and as the stale words echoed through the room you were grateful for the fact your slight grimace was concealed.

You hadn’t meant to, truly, but walking out of the room, you took with you the once light, carefree air, leaving behind only a heavy, worrisome atmosphere. It trailed behind you as you made your way through the corridor, up the stairs and finally to spread and fill the first floor of the house. 

Opting not to wake Henry up and skip his nighttime routine, you set him down in bed and dashed to the spare room, all too afraid of being thrown into another uncomfortable encounter. 

The room remained one of the few places in the house unscathed. The bed had not felt the passionate affairs of two women, the walls had yet to hear the sweet melodic symphony of moans, rapid breaths, and praises, and the ceiling did not know what it was to look down on two lovers holding each other when they’d subjugated to the primal need for remaining close, but were too fatigued to continue pleasuring one another. 

After quiet minutes spent pondering in the dark, floorboards from the upstairs landing broke through the silence. The beating in your chest quickened as feet padded closer to the door. Your body tensed, waiting for the knock to come, racking your mind and trying to locate the hidden folder labelled ‘one-hundred ways to say I’m tired’. The silence remained untouched. No knock came. Instead, barely detectable over the thudding pulse of your heart, a soft sigh. 

Footsteps subsided, leaving you in the company of flickering street lights, revving of cars in the far-off distance, and the faint pattering of droplets falling against the glass window of the spare room. The bed sheets became enemy number one, clinging to your body in the worst of ways, if only to remind you they were not made from the same mould as JJ’s soft touch. 

It was compromise after compromise, a few more moments, one more day. All it meant was prolonging the pain, creating more memories you’d look back on and mourn over. When had things changed so quickly? 

It could have been the evening she’d smiled so sweetly at you when you’d both tucked Henry into bed, placing soft kisses on his head. The laugh she let out as she picked you up and carried you to her room, you could still hear. 

Or it may have been the early morning you’d walked in on her in the kitchen before work. She was staring out the window, holding her coffee mug between both hands, hair tied up in a bun with strays falling over her face, framing the soft features that worked in unison to construct a vision of natural perfection and beauty. Her eyes were glued outside, admiring the view only so her thoughts could wander undisturbed. When her head turned to meet your gaze, the smile that fell over her lips contrarily led you to believe she didn’t mind this disturbance at all because, well, it was you. The short distance between the countertop she was leaning against and the doorway you’d entered through was quickly closed, and she demonstrated exactly how much she appreciated the break from her thoughts you had so kindly provided. Coffee lay forgotten on the table, left for the cold to claim.

Maybe it was the afternoon she’d come back from work, looked at you with exhaustion and sadness weighing heavy in her eyes, and without even needing to be asked you walked over to her, wrapped your arms around her, and attempted to provide aid in the fight against whatever demons had haunted her from the day’s hardships. That day you vowed you’d do anything to ensure JJ always knew she had a place in the safety of your comforting embraces. 

How deep you had fallen. Feelings had crept up, only revealing themselves when it was already too late to banish them. Traitorous tears stung the back of your eyes, the floodgates opened a vast array of unrelenting emotions. Sadness, shame, confusion, anger. This was your fault. You’d let it get to this point, too greedy to stop for a moment, assess the changes unfolding, and put an end to the beginnings of what was now heartbreak. 

The walls closed in on you. You wanted out. Now. 

Pushing yourself out of bed, you located your bag and began packing your clothes. Whether you were going to leave tonight or in the morning didn’t matter, your brain just needed to cling to the hope you were in fact leaving. 

The tears in your eyes obscured your vision and when you reached out for the belt on the top shelf of the wardrobe it unravelled, falling to the floor, metal clanking against hardwood. 

Shit.

Hearing no response from either Henry or JJ you let out a deep breath, staring down blankly at the fallen accessory, watching as salted droplets fell and stained the leather. The calm lasted for all of ten seconds before JJ’s door opened and your body went stiff. 

“Are you o-” her eyebrows knit together as she opened the door, eyes darting from you to the opened bag on the bed. She walked further into the room, shutting the door behind her, eyes still glued to the object raising questions in her mind, “What are you doing?”

“I can’t stay here, JJ,” the words came out small and meek in the presence of a curious gaze. 

A flicker of fear washed over JJ’s face, assuming the worst, “Has something happened?” she hurriedly asked. 

It was now or never. Though ‘never’ sounded tempting, it meant you’d have to continue lying. Not the kind of lying you’d grown accustomed to, but instead, the kind of lying people use at night to find comfort in self-made deception. ‘What I did wasn’t that bad, the dude deserved a swift punch to the face’ or ‘They don’t dislike me, insulting me was just a critique on my face that I’m very much incapable of changing’ and in your case ‘Things are perfectly okay as they are, this will pass. Continuing to have sex with the woman I’m helplessly falling for will most definitely rid me of these incessant warm feelings I get whenever she so much as brushes her hand against mine.’

Lying to others was one thing but to yourself. That was something else entirely. Was this to be your new normal? It couldn't be. You wouldn’t let it. 

“We can’t continue with this anymore. I’m starting to,” the words were on the tip of your tongue, the finality of the confession grasping to walls on your throat, wanting to remain unspoken. But it was time, you trusted yourself to deliver the truth, the outcome no longer important,  “I’m starting to develop feelings.” 

Milky white scleras grew larger as JJ’s mouth fell open, “I-I don’t know what to say.” 

Had you expected a declaration of love? You weren’t sure. Whatever you consciously or subconsciously wanted to hear hung heavy on your shoulders as you turned back around to zip up the packed duffle bag, “You don’t have to say anything, but I think I should go.” 

Tears hanging in the balance, you made your way to the door, reaching for the handle before JJ’s hand gripped your wrist, stopping you in your tracks, “Wait.” 

Faces met, eyes gazed into one another and tears fell. A vortex of mixed feelings swarmed both your bodies, pushing you closer and closer together, seeking out the familiar in a sea of the unknown. Piercing blue eyes dropped to your lips, lips that had explored and acquainted themselves with every inch of her body, lips she wasn’t ready to part with and them her.  

“Please,” you pleaded, wanting nothing more than to rid yourself of the heartache that accompanied each falling tear, “I-I can’t.” 

“I don’t want you to go.” She whispered, hot breath reaching your lips.  

“I have to,” you swallowed the lump in your throat, biting back a fresh set of tears, “This is too painful.” 

“It doesn’t have to be.”

Tags: @criminallyobsessedcm @aws-l @babygirlscout @red1culous @7thavenger @sapphicprentiss @five-bi-five-mind | Click here to be added to my tag list

[petermorwood]

Mushrooms in Cream Sauce...

...or Pilze in Sahnesoße.

This is for @killerblackberrypie, who went looking for the version on our "European Cusines" site and found the site gone.

@dduane had taken it down for maintenance, a new theme and to take some new photos, but while the site was down it web-provider went belly-up. These things happen.

"European Cuisines" Will Return - just not quite yet.

Our recipe was, ironically, one of the recipes slated for new pics, so while this text is from the site's offline backup (with a couple of tweaks from me, because why not?) photos are sourced from the web.

There are many, many other recipes online; they're mostly in German, but Google Translate handles Rezeptedeutch well enough. I've linked to a couple, which is only fair since I'm using their pix.

You'll also see the French word "champignons" in German recipes as often as German "Pilze"; I don't know whether this indicates a French origin for the recipe, or refers to a specific mushroom, or makes the dish sound more classy.

Here's one: Champignons in Sahnesauce mit Spätzle.

And here's ours...

*****

Pilze in Sahnesoße from European Cuisines.

Contrary to popular belief, Germany is not a vegetable-free zone.

In fact, unless you find yourself buried in some tiny backwater in the Black Forest or someplace similar, Germany is much kinder to both vegetable-lover and vegetarian than a lot of other places. It will be rare to find a menu that doesn't have at least a few vegetarian or at least mostly-vegetable options on it, often far more creative than you might expect.

But leaving aside for the moment the issue of vegetarianism per se, Germans really do like more vegetables than potatoes and cabbage, especially seasonal ones in their prime. Asparagus season, for instance, has its own name: Spargelzeit - "asparagus time".

And mushrooms (all right, not as true veggies, but at least as fungi) turn up as stars in many entreés, especially in dishes meant to be served in the autumn, "Pilzsaison", mushroom season, when the good little creatures are coming up all over in the woods and the supermarkets.

This recipe calls for the mushrooms to be sautéed with onions in bacon fat (the bacon is added later). The pan is then deglazed with white wine, and various spices are added, one of them being paprika, which instantly suggests that this recipe probably sneaked over the border from Austro-Hungary, possibly via the Czech Republic.

Finally the cream and bacon go in.

The result is substantial, surprisingly elegant, and yummy.

This is definitely a recipe for a high-end Hobbit menu: an entrée for anyone who doesn't want their mushrooms upstaged by overly large amounts of meat.

The bacon-fat and bacon CAN be left out completely, making the dish meat-free. Use more butter along with more mushrooms and a red pepper diced small, and add 1/4 teaspoon smoked paprika.

*****

INGREDIENTS

NB, we work in metric so that's "correct"; Imperial is converted and "approximate", though it won't make much difference. Just don't combine them or your mushrooms might crash into Mars...

1 kg / 2 lb fresh mushrooms, domesticated or a mixture of wild types to taste

125g / 1/4 pound bacon, diced

60gr 1/4 cup butter or margarine

2 large onions, diced

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/4 teaspoon pepper

1/2 teaspoon paprika

60ml / 1/4 cup (or more if needed to deglaze) white wine, preferably a medium or medium-dry one

A pinch of nutmeg

A pinch of mace

250ml / 1 cup heavy cream

The juice of half a medium-sized lemon, strained

2 sprigs of fresh parsley

METHOD

Clean the mushrooms with a soft brush or dry cloth. (Never wash mushrooms.) If they're big, cut them in half.

Fry the bacon in a wok or large pan until lightly browned. Remove the bacon from the pan and set it aside.

Add the butter to the pan drippings. Add the onions; sauté until lightly browned.

Add the mushrooms; cook them until they're tender, stirring often.

When they're tender, raise the heat slightly and stir in the wine, salt, pepper, paprika, nutmeg, and mace. Cover the pan and cook over low heat for 15 minutes.

Remove from the heat. Add the cooked bacon, cream and lemon juice. Reheat until just warm. Do NOT let this mixture boil!!!

Garnish with parsley and serve with noodles, dumplings, mashed potatoes, whole potatoes... And some crusty bread to chase the last of the sauce.

*****

Our original photo used Spätzle, as in the first pic. Ribbon tagliatelle works just fine as well, while here is Saure Pilz-Sahnesoße served alongside Bohemian Dumplings, a long bread dumpling boiled in water or stock then cut into thick slices.

From the same site, here's a simple potato treatment, Pilz-Sahnesoße mit Kartoffeln:

As far as we've been able to make out, the main difference between mushrooms in cream sauce as a main dish, and creamy mushroom sauce for use with something else, is the proportion of mushrooms to everything else, and often the size of pieces into which they're cut. Really small bits are one more ingredient, large generous chunks are much more front and centre.

Ours is definitely a main course, and though we haven't made it for a while, the memory of that last time still makes my Mind Palate go...

Soon. Soon...

[deadmomjokes]

as a teacher, hearing about the way you communicate so clearly and thoroughly with your child is so inspiring. I wish more people had resources on how to communicate with kids like you do.

I'm very bad at taking compliments, so I'll just say "Thank you" and also qualify that she makes it pretty easy. She's very smart and has always, from day one basically, needed to know the reasons behind everything. In other circumstances, she would probably be called "stubborn" or "defiant." But the thing is, I remember my own "stubbornness" growing up, and it was almost always the result of me not understanding why things were the way they were. From a young age, I hated with a burning passion the "Because I said so" thing. So I determined that I didn't want to do that when/if I had kids of my own.

My daughter is very bright and curious and makes that easy for me. Her "why" phase was/is pretty specific, which is helpful in keeping ahead of the frustration-induced rage-meltdowns. (Not all of them, of course, because some concepts are really hard to grasp even as an adult, let alone when you're 4 years old and everything Feels Too Big.)

But I also made a conscious effort to start practicing early, before she could talk or push back on a lot of stuff. It felt so weird and silly at first, but I basically narrated everything I did with/around her, and put a reason for it. So a trip to the store sounded like this:

"We made it to the store to get our groceries, so we have yummy food to eat. Let's go inside and get a buggy--that's where we'll put all the things we get, because we can't carry them all in just our hands. I'm going to put you in the buggy, too, right here in this seat, that way you can see what's going on but I have both my hands to push the buggy and grab the things we need. Here, look, some bananas! Let's get some of those because you love to eat them. Oh, no, sorry baby, we can't eat them right now. This stuff isn't ours until we pay for it at the very end-- that's the part with the beep-beeper and the bags. When we get home we can have some of the bananas, because then they are our bananas." Etc, etc, on and on.

People looked at me like I was nuts. It felt a little nuts at times, especially before she could respond verbally. But it worked. It built a habit for me to give a reason for why I'm doing things, or making her do things. More importantly, I feel like, it made me stop and question when I didn't have a good reason for my answers or behaviors. Like if she comes up and asks to blow bubbles outside, and I go, "No baby, not right now," she can be like "why not?" And I have to look at myself and my reasoning. Is it because I'm actually busy or we're genuinely about to do something else that precludes the 5 minutes it'd take to do bubbles? Or is it because I just don't feel like it? It's not fair for "I don't feel like it" to supersede her desires for connection and entertainment all the time. (Sometimes you're just worn out and don't have the bandwidth for it, and that's valid. Parents are people too! But it can't be all the time, yk?) So if I don't have a good reason why not, I let her know that I thought about it more and changed my mind, and off we go to blow bubbles.

I also heard the advice, idk where or when, that you need to practice on your children what you want from them. So if I want my child to be kind, I have to be kind to her, in ways that she can see and appreciate. If I want her to know it's okay to change your mind, I have to point out when that happens for me, like in the above bubbles example. If I want her to be a decent human being who respects others, is empathetic, appreciates the efforts of others, speaks kindly, thinks about how her actions impact those around her, etc... You get the idea. It starts with me. And I try to consciously remind myself of that fact.

It's not always easy, because kids aren't always rational (but to be fair, neither are adults lol). And what is rational to a 4 year old is not always the same as what is rational to me, the adult with almost 3 decades of experience more than her. So sometimes it's like explaining to the wind why it ought to blow in a different direction. But the longer I get to know her, the more I'm able to pick up on the way she sees things, her personal defaults, the way she talks around concepts she's not sure about, etc. It's part of what's cool about getting to be her parent. I get such a close-up view of this little person becoming a little person, and it makes me stop and think about things I have taken for granted for a long time.

I'm rambling again, but I have developed a lot of Strong Feelings about the way kids are treated and looked at in general, and a lot of determination to do better for the kids I get the privilege of loving.

[thesherrinfordfacility]

right let's go, special s2 magnifying glass is deployed (also let's have a moment of silence for how PRECIOUS this moron is, ✨god bless this Mess✨)

- Strip, strip, hooray! possible reference to the 1932 film of the same name, being performed on stage at the Windmill, "A specialist sunbathing camp is threatened by a campaign by the leader of the 'Wear More Clothes League'."

- this one has thrown me for a loop because I cannot find a stage reference to this ANYWHERE, but it reads "Under A ___ Night Sky", and if my eyes do not deceive me, the missing word begins m and ends in s, so... marvellous? miraculous???

- now this is really interesting, bc on appearance it looks to be a simple inverted anchor (and im 95% certain it probably is just an inverted anchor) but it strikes a resemblance to the Omega Cross, which christian symbology indicated that when coupled with alpha represents jesus' beginning and end... but likely it's not going to be that deep (although, we know there is reference in s2 to a second coming? 👀)

- Bastersby or Bartersby or Battersby, Mayfair(?) no indication of this being a real make from online research, but looks very likely to be a hatbox of some kind. EDIT: @lalie is a godsend and confirmed it is Battersby Hats - Wiki and similar hatbox image

- this has also thrown me because this looks to be The Veldt which is a 1950s short story, "...a mother and father struggle with their technologically advanced home taking over their role as parents, and their children becoming uncooperative as a result of their lack of discipline." but i think im misreading it

- AYO THE CAN CAN??? YES PLEASE

none of these things are accurate and none of them are likely to being integral to the plot but drinking in every detail of s2 set design is like supping on a lovely hot soup yummy

[coulsons-fullmetal-cellist]

A Surefly Way

(Dieter x horror loving female)

Words: 716

Summary: watching an old film of Dieter’s has unexpected results (the fake film part was based on a dream)

Warnings: minor historical inaccuracies, a child cries but it’s all happy adorable fluffy goodness at the end, Dieter being Dieter

Check out masterlist here

“This corn?” Clara asked holding a can out to you.

“Yes, that’s corn.”

“Corn yummy!”

You and Clara had just returned from some errands. She enjoyed helping unpack groceries and you explained the contents as she passed them to you. Having finished with that task, you turned on the TV and left Clara in the living room to play and you set about making dinner.

“Look! Daddy!” Clara pointed excitedly at the TV.

There on the screen was your husband looking rather dapper in a pinstripe suit. You bundled that image away for later use.

“It’s a daddy story,” that was what you ended up calling films featuring your husband.

This particular one was before the two of you met. Surefly Way was set during the Second World War and supposedly about two chocolate factories. The history was dubious at best but at the heart of it was a love story so the inaccuracies could be forgiven.

Clara enjoyed watching any films with her father but never watched many of them as he hated watching himself on screen. This one was age appropriate, so you left her to it. You heard occasional dialogue and made a guess to the plot.

Miss Winslow, daughter of Mr. Winslow, owner of Winslow Chocolates is pretending to be an ordinary factory worker making ration bars for frontline troops. Unknowingly, her American fiancée, Mr. Surefly of Surefly Chocolates, arrives to help in the making of the chocolate. Having no idea what his future intended looks like, he ends up falling in love with her and she in return.

~

“Mr. Surefly is here in England? Shouldn’t he be back home in America?”

“He feels that he’d do better for the troops here. Isn’t this a good chance to meet your fiancé?”

“I’d rather not.”

“Dotty, why?”

“Because I want to fall in love. Not be sold off and shipped off to the highest bidder!”

~

“Americans? What do Americans know about chocolate?”

“Their stuff only tastes slightly better than a boiled potato.”

~

“So Mr. Surefly, is there a sweetheart waiting for you back home?”

“I do have a fiancée, but I’ve yet to meet her.”

“How have you not met the woman you’re going to marry?”

“Let’s say it’s more of a business exchange rather than an act of love.”

~

“You were pretending this whole time? Why?”

“How can I sit here doing nothing while everyone else is off fighting the war? Even the royal family are going their part.”

~

You heard the sounds of the front door as Dieter arrived back home. Clara seemed too intrigued with on-screen father to notice her actual father, so he made his way over to you.

“Clara is watching one of your films.”

“It better not be Cliff Beasts.”

“No, it’s Surefly Way,” confusion crossed his face. “World War Two? Two chocolate factories?”

He vaguely remembered filming something in that time period, so he wandered over to watch it with his daughter.

As he got closer, he saw that Clara was in tears.

“What’s wrong cupcake?”

“Daddy kiss lady,” she pointed at the screen.

It took a minute for Dieter to remember back to who was in the film with him, mainly his on-screen romantic partner. “Yes, I did kiss that lady.”

“Not mummy,” more tears ran down her cheeks and it took less than a minute for Dieter to decipher the toddler code.

“Oh, cupcake,” he pulled her close. “That was mummy I was kissing. She swapped out with that lady.”

You had just walked into the room, so Dieter turned to you.

“That was you I was kissing, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” you nodded. “They always swap me out if there’s kissing.”

Clara wiped her face, “You love mummy?”

“Yes, I love mummy so much and she’s the only lady I kiss. But you get kisses too because you’re my sweet baby girl.”

He kissed her cheek, his beard tickling her turning her sobs into giggles.

Later on, she went to bed happy knowing that her parents still loved each other, sometimes a bit too much.

“Nice save.”

“I learned from the best,” he kissed your cheek.

“So when is she going to learn the truth about it?”

“Oh, when she’s older. Like, fifty.”

“We’ll definitely be dead by then.”

“Well then, she’ll never know.”

Lovingly tagging @boliv-jenta @simpingcowboy @ellenmunn @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @chaithetics @myloveistoolittle @cevans-is-classic @glshmbl @cupcakehp @wannab-urs

[iu-jjang]

[FANCAFE] 23.09.18 IU replies to uaena’s comments on her fancafe (Part 3)

Uaena: Unnie, what is your favorite ice-cream flavour??!! 🍦🍦🍦

IU: Chocolate-coated flavour!!

Uaena: What’s the keyword that occupies your mind the most these days!? 🍀💪

IU: Results…. 🔥😈

Uaena: What fruit(s) do you eat often nowadays?! 🍎🍑🍈🍌🥝🍍🍉🫐🥭

IU: I eat a lot of bananas and blueberries. And the apples taste so delicious these days, please have a lot!! 🍎🍎

Uaena: Unnie, do you prefer a sunny side up vs over hard fried egg on top of your kimchi fried rice?!! 🐥🍳

IU: Come on~ of course it’s sunny side up~~ 😌😌

Uaena: Unnie, do you like your new haircut???🥹🥹🥹 You look totally cool and pretty 🐥🐥🐥

IU: It’s da best when it’s thoroughly dried!!! B E S T B E S T!!! Even without styling, I’m able to naturally achieve that ‘effortlessly cool’ look (for my hair)!!

Uaena: Unnie, but do you always get mosquito bites on your face only and not elsewhere??!! 🦟

IU: Ah I know right!!!!!! 😡😡😡

Uaena: How’s the condition of your ears? Everyone was worried seeing you touch/adjust your in-ear monitor during Woori Momo Concert ㅠㅠ How I wish I could give my eardrums to you, sighs 🥲

IU: Huh during Momo Concert?!? My ears were totally fine!! I removed the in-ear monitors cause there was a serious audio latency when I was on the thrust stage! I really wanted to go on the thrust stage~~ there would be serious latency issues if I go~~ 🥹🥹 but (in the end) I decided to just go up and enjoy myself!! 💃💃🕺🏻

Uaena: Unnie, instead of LMR (lunch menu recommendation), please recommend a hangover menu (good for sobering up),,

IU: Beef Bone Soup!! Clear beef bone soup go go!!

IU: Sliced radish kimchi!! Go go!!

Uaena: How can unnie be such a nice person.. What’s the secret to your kindness?🫧🐥

IU: I’m actually not that kind.. (My kindness / cordiality) is only reserved for people I like.

Uaena: What’s your favorite food these days? (Apart from the tasty Domino’s Pizza) Is it still ramen? Is there a specific menu that comes to your mind when you’re craving for yummy food while busy filming in the countryside?

IU: Ah.. I want to have a whole bowl of hot cup noodles (now)….🥲

Uaena: Unnie, what are you having for lunch?

IU: Kimchi fried rice 😍 (inserts lunch photo)

Uaena: Mom.. I (UAENA) became a donor of 300 million won………

IU: Did you get permission from your mum???! 🫢

*TL note: Op was referring to the ₩300M donation that IU made under the name of IUAENA on her 15th debut anniversary.

Uaena: Thank you for making me a dignified and confident fan for 15 years, my baby 💓

IU: (Inserts) shrugging shoulders (feeling proud of myself) + wiggling butt emoticons 🩵

Uaena: Unnie, how’s the spot on your face that was kissed by the mosquito? Is it less swollen now after waking up from sleep? 🥹

IU: This lil bas.. Are you really a mosquito..? (Inserts reddish swollen cheek side profile pic)

Uaena: This was uploaded on EDAM’s IG, did Unnie really write this??!? Today’s From. IU and now this, I’m getting emotional again because of the amazing person you are 🥹 (inserts caption from Edam’s post:

“‘You can do it’

‘You’re the best’

‘Thank you’

‘You’ll be alright’

‘I miss you’

‘I love you’

and, ‘Yes’.

UAENA’s words that have saved me for the past 15 years.

Thanks to UAENA, I’ve become an adult who believes in miracles.

I believe in UAENA.

That’s why I believe in the power of love that people create ❤️

Let’s meet until we’re sick of each other for another 15 years!

-Y’all’s Jieun”)

IU: Yes, I wrote the message from the bottom of my heart! 🫶

Uaena: Honestly I wish you can give us just one spoiler related to your new album.. 😏

IU: It’s warm yet kew (cold)…🥶

Uaena: Is your filming schedule fully packed today too? Stay healthy always~ Do we need to prepare some tonic for IU~~~?

IU: It’s totally full today! But I’m in a really good mood~~~ I can’t control it💃🏻💃🏻🕺🕺🕺

Uaena: Jingjjang, do you like snacks with roasted nuts in them? Is there a fruit that you don’t like? I’ll take note 🤭 Cheering you on today as well! I love you 😘

IU: I don’t think I go for snacks with nuts in them!! I like all fruits, but my throat gets dry recently when I eat melon, to the extent that my skin breaks out the next day? 🫢🫣

Uaena: Our (relationship) is still mutual for the 15th year right??

IU: It’s mutual. There’s no room for negotiation.

Uaena: How’s your preparation for the fan concert going??

IU: The atmosphere is crazy!!!

Uaena: Unnie unnie, shall we scatter pretty petals between us today too? (inserts cute picture of a rabbit scattering petals, made using symbols)

IU: Ah adorable ㅜㅜ Your words are even cuter than the emoticon ㅠㅠ🩵

Uaena: Unnie, can you feel my love? 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻 (inserts pic of stick man jumping off a ladder out of a helicopter while declaring ‘Unnie I love you!!!!!!💜’)

IU: kekekeke No!!! Why would you jump off like that?!!!!

Uaena: 💜💜 It’s my birthday next week! Can you wish me a happy birthday🥹?

IU: Happy birthday ❤️❤️ Have a joyful birthday ❤️❤️

Uaena: Honestly, I have no idea why tang hu lu is trending. To me, there’s IU who is fresher than fruits, sweeter than sugar coating and also splatters/bounces and is more lovely than fruit juice.

IU: But because you can’t chew and eat IU…🥲

Uaena: Did you see that the box office for Golden Hour crossed the 45000 mark?? The power of uaenas is daebak (amazing) 😆

IU: Oh my gosh?!?!?! Daebak……

Uaena: Unnie, what’s the reason that the Sunday fan concert is one hour earlier??🤭 ((Don’t tell me it’s so you can have more en-encore..?🥺

IU: Because people need to go to work the next day….🤫

Uaena: Jieun unnie, the fan concert is 360 degrees, so during LILAC fanchant, how do we know which is left and which is right? 🪻🩷

IU: So I’m boldly not. going. to. sing. LILAC!

Uaena: I should have cup noodles in place of unnie then

IU: So this is how it is.. Whenever I have cup noodles, my mum and dad would go, ‘Aigoo why are you having cup noodles?’ and I would reply ‘lulu(lala) this tastes the most delicious to me thoughhh~~’ and just eat it anyway. Now uaena are having cup noodles at this hour and I feel like saying, ‘aii why are you having cup noodles?’ keke

Uaena: Unnie, is chestnut bread also a serious bread??? I have it at home.

IU: Chestnut? = That’s cute, isn’t it?

Bread? = That’s cute, isn’t it?

Chestnut + bread? = Definitely cute…

Uaena: Your small face in the (mosquito bite) picture is really pretty 🩷 Ahh so pretty. Have a good lunch!! I’ll be back after I have my school lunch.

IU: School lunch ㅠㅠ so cute..ㅠㅠ

Uaena: How about doing the SWF Smoke challenge during your fan concert??😃😃

IU: kekeke Don’t make fun of me

Uaena: Unnie, the mosquito that landed on your cheek is actually me. I gave you a kiss and left 💜

IU: Caught you. You s…

IU: You s..sweet.. hehe..

Uaena: Whose idea was it to put the heart sticker 💙 on your cheek yesterday~?! It was totally lovely and cute!!!🧚✨

IU: It was Seo-wook, my makeup artist’s idea 😝😝❤️

Uaena: Have you received the 15th anniversary books???????? Did you? How were they? 💗🎂(Inserts photo of books that fans gave IU)

IU: I haven’t received them yet.. because I haven’t gone home yet…ㅠㅠ

Uaena: Did you see the song that China fans wrote in commemoration of your 15th anniversary? We put all our love for unnie into the song! 🥰 Once again! Happy 15th anniversary!🎉🥳

IU: I heard the quality is amazing

I’m so touched wuwu ㅠㅠ (written in Chinese)

Uaena: I heard you changed direction drastically during the preparation process of your album. Have you gone from ‘drifting’ to ‘desire’?? Ah~~~~ I’m so curious

IU: I’m going with both.. at the same time!!! 😈😈😈🔥🔥

Uaena:

🫳🏻🫳🏻🫳🏻🫳🏻🫳🏻

🐥🐥🐰🐥🐥

Pat pat pat IU is doing a good job

Pat pat pat IU is the best

IU: Bob bob wiggle butt IU is the B E S T

Bounce bounce shrug shrug shoulders IU is the B E S T the B E S T

Uaena: Noona, have you seen the books that uaena wrote for your 15th anniversary…? (inserts photo of the books again)

IU: I just checked and my agency has received them and are strictly guarding them so no one can take them away!

Uaena: Noona, I’m working part-time at a tang hu lu shop. It’s really tiring ㅜ This is not easy.. 😣😰😱

IU: Oh my.. It must be really tiring… Be careful not to prick yourself with the sticks.. Eat a couple when you have time for a break and be careful not to cut the roof of your mouth..

Uaena: Noona, 6th gen is dayookie and now that 7th gen is approaching, I’m getting more curious about what it will be. Lee Jidong assistant manager will make an appearance then too, right?😏

IU: What about a chilpan to77 | ? (TL note: Chilpan means blackboard and has ‘chil’ in it which means 7, whereas ‘tokki’ means rabbit and IU used ‘77 |’ for the ‘kki’ part.)

Uaena: Unnie, have you changed the deciding factor between serious bread and playful bread from the taste to the name now…? kekekekeke what about croquette then..? Doesn’t the name ‘croquette’ sound cute?

IU: Croquette is no cute….🙅🏻‍♀️

Uaena: Unnie do you like nighttime?

IU: I’m done filming~~~ I’m done filming~~~~~💃🏻💃🏻🕺

Translated by IUteamstarcandy with love

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4