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kaiso-woo · 5 months

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Just Stay.

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-> Masterlist

PART 1 of my ‘Stay Series’ - a long hypothesised journey of a relationship between Bang Chan and Reader.

WC: 6.8k | Overall ‘Stay Series’ Synopsis: Bang Chan experiences the suic!des of Stays, so when you lot choose to die, he dies right along with you. Reader is the “antidote” to this condition.

Notes: Second Person Narration, Skz Fluent in English, Swearing, CaféOwner!Reader, Fem!Reader, Idol!Chan, Barista!Chan, Suic!de (Strong Descriptions), ANGST (LITERALLY EVERYWHERE, NO NEED TO SQUINT), Fluff (At the End)

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PART 1

!!Casual reminder this is entirely fictitious - Chris/Christopher in my work does not represent the actual Bang Chan - this is purely my imagination and nothing more - this goes for all other SKZ-Members too!!

What should you do when you witness the end of a life? Cry and wallow in the darkest corners of disconsolation? Feel your heart shatter, a million fractals of sharply glittering reflections exploding in a mere fraction of a second? Some believe time is nothing more than an illusion though – so should you instead decide to lie on your bed, a place of restless solace, and stare up at the empty ceiling?

If this were the case, could you then be compared to a lonely garden gnome, fated to ponder life’s every aspect through a single perspective? Would you shrivel away from the light, choose to accept the pitiful concept of simply existing and allow your garden to wither; green to grey, flesh to bones, petals to stems? Perhaps your coping mechanism is to simply scream. Shut the doors. Close your blinds. Block your ears. Scream. Dry your eyes. Breathe…

Scream.

He does none of those. Instead, his eyes flutter closed momentarily, chest heaving, hands shaking, before he pulls himself away and picks up the computer mouse again. They’re becoming more frequent, or maybe he’s becoming more attune to them.

He doesn’t witness these deaths, exactly. He feels them; what it’s like to have the frigid wind tug at your hair, howling in your ears, the moment of impact with the blistering ground causing him to flinch violently, hand clamped over his mouth in a desperation to quell any yell; what it’s like to have your vision swim, blotting in and out of darkness, your throat constrict as though a pressure is forcing its way from inside out, desperate, erratic gulps for sweet sweet oxygen achieving nothing; what it feels like to stand there, shivering, your heart rate increasing tenfold, breaths quickening to mere pants, as you will every instinct in your body to remain still – ‘do not move’, you think, ‘it’ll be over soon’, you remind yourself, ‘the lights are closer now, and they’re fast, they won’t stop’.

How dearly he wishes for them to stop.

He’s better at dealing with them now, definitely more subtle. The panic that envelopes him every time he realises something is about to happen however, will never leave him. He’ll drop what he’s holding, frantically disappear into one of the empty rooms in the company building, lock the door and rake a hand through his hair. The number of times the stylists have grumbled at him for messing up his styled hair is limitless, but he doesn’t care, why should he?

The studio door clicks open, and his head snaps to the sound. Immediately, he attempts to steady his breath, and pulls his expression into his signature straight smile :] as Jisung enters the room, a plastic bag filled with takeaway containers in his hand.

“Eh? What’re you doing here…?” Chan grins, his eyes widening dramatically. Swiftly, he swipes his computer mouse to the top of the screen to check the time.

2.23am

“It’s so late Jisung, were you practicing choreo?” he continues, hitting save on his keyboard so he doesn’t accidentally delete his work while distracted. “I brought you food,” Jisung mumbles, lowering it onto the coffee table and carefully unpacking it all. Chan’s mouth begins to salivate excessively as the smell of chicken wafts towards him, but he rubs his face and resists the urge to sit down with Jisung and eat to his heart’s content.

Jisung plucks a drumstick from the box, “Why are you working here alone?” he questions, a sad pout on his chubby cheeks as he wanders over to the computer, careful not to drop any crumbs. Chan shrugs, hoping it’ll satiate Jisung’s concern.

It doesn’t, of course, and his pout morphs into a small frown. Jisung tries to shove the chicken into Chan’s mouth, offering it to him demandingly. “You eat, you eat,” Chan waves it away and turns back to his computer, “You wanna listen? I think it’s almost finished, something’s just not right with the auto tune… I think. It sounds off,” he picks the headphones off the desk and holds them out for Jisung, who has taken a bite of the chicken happily and is munching away. Again, he tries to give Chan the chicken drumstick, and refuses to take the headphones until Chan is eating the chicken.

As Jisung listens to the song, Chan’s mind drifts back to the corners of his thoughts, the shadows that have been swirling there for a long while now. He doesn’t know when it first began, doesn’t want to remember it to be honest. He was in his room, dozing off into a comfortable sleep, the purple LEDS providing a soft glow to the darkness.

It was abrupt, swinging into him out of nowhere, but he sat bolt upright, hands grappling with the sheets desperately. His vision swam, and he retched on dry air. He groaned and keeled forwards, hands suddenly clutching his chest as it tightened painfully – corkscrewing into his heart, but at the same time it was as though someone was trying to pry it open. He retched again, and he regretted in that moment that he had chosen purple to light his room earlier. The colour was making his head pound, his belongings swimming in and out of his vision, worsened by his unstable swaying.

In a panic, he crawled over to the side of his bed. Then with a last hacking cough, he vomited onto the floor, the acrid taste on his tongue causing him to recoil, the stinging burn in his throat making his eyes water. Not that it mattered. He couldn’t see shit anymore. A dry sob escaped his lips, as he desperately tried to fumble for something to ground him back to reality. He saw speckles – grainy, fuzzy, surreal.

The world tilts, and maybe he falls off the bed too. And he’s gone.

“It’s not the auto tune effect – it’s the timing of the bridge,” Jisung drags Chan back to reality, his head bopping slightly to the music. Chan blinks and scoots aside to allow the younger to fiddle with the computer mouse, rewinding the audio so he can listen again. Chan is finishing off the chicken drumstick, so he hums in acknowledgement instead to Jisung’s feedback. “Yeah, it’s the bridge. The vocals need to be delayed a little,” Jisung concludes, “Want me to fix it up?”

In the silence of the room, Jisung pulls over another chair and gets to work. Chan watches him contentedly for a while, happy to absorb himself in the clicking and tapping of his first child’s proceedings - watching him edit and perfect the track they’ve been working on for the past few months. Jisung glances at Chan, his concentration breaking, “You’re unusually quiet.”

Chan reaches over and squeezes his shoulder comfortingly, “Just thinking.” “Right... well, eat more. And then go to bed,” Jisung insists, briefly squeezing the hand on his shoulder in return. Chan sighs and hoists himself out of his chair, sinking back onto the couch so he can easily dig into the food. “Thanks mate,” he mumbles, and when the man makes no move of acknowledgement, Chan smiles softly and nibbles on some more chicken.

He woke that time, on the floor of his bedroom, dangerously close to the stinking heap that was his vomit. His head pounded, a dull ache ringing in his skull as he mustered all his strength to simply stand up and pull over the blinds.

“What the fuck was that?” He groaned, resting his head on the window and basking in the warmth of the early morning sun, so comforting, so full of life – a steady presence. After he spent the next ten minutes gathering his wits and cleaning up the mess, he brushed it off as food poisoning; maybe something in the food Hannah cooked last night (he’d never tell her that, of course).

On another day, in another place, maybe a few weeks from then, he had returned to Korea, jumping straight back into his busy schedule. They were in the middle of an interview, not the first, and certainly not the last. In hindsight, he was thankful he had chosen to stand in the back row. At first he thought he merely needed to cough, a ticklish sensation wrapping around his throat, a ghost of a hand caressing his neck. He swayed dangerously when he felt it tighten harshly, so suddenly, and his heartbeat escalated, his legs becoming jelly.

His head snapped back as his whole body teetered over the edge of the platform he was standing on. A searing pain blazed across his neck for a second, causing him to grapple with it in shock. Changbin grabbed his arm at that point, preventing him from completely falling over backwards.

“You okay?” he whispered, careful not to draw too much attention to the pair, professional as always. Chan corrected himself and tried to control his breathing, forcibly inhaling and exhaling through his nostrils. He pulled a face, his eyes wide, and waved his arms a little, “Thanks. Almost lost my balance there.”

Throughout the rest of the interview, he remained silent, thinking hard. What just happened? And why did it feel like… he had just been… hung?

It took him months to string two and two together, months of spontaneous moments of death, in which he remained alive. He’d be drowned countless times, be stabbed infinitely, shot in the head, electrocuted, run over by train… after train… after train, until he fully accepts that these were all connected.

As time wore on, he began to hear things too, inner monologues he supposed, of their voices. He figured if this condition, whatever it was, lasted long enough, he’d soon be able to see it too.

Stay. Just stay. Stay’s. It’s you. You’re not staying. He was burning in the middle of a fire. That much was obvious by the scorching pain on his skin, brutal enough that he just wished he couldn’t feel. He screamed into the couch pillows, knowing full well that the studio was soundproof, but paranoid all the same that any of his members would hear him.

‘Thank you Stray Kids, for everything.’

Stay. He couldn’t tell at this point whether the pain was his or from the person who was dying. Both, perhaps. All this time, the people who were dying, the people who were killing themselves, were Stay’s. Or maybe this time was a coincidence, maybe this person just happened to be a part of the fandom.

It wasn’t though.

More and more often, in the midst of some version of death, he heard thoughts, whispers:

“You got me this far Stray Kids.” “Skz you’re my everything.” “Keep fighting Stray Kids.”

“Chan, I love you.” “Thank you Chan.” “Life was good thanks to you, Chan.”

Fuck. This. Shit.

Stay.

His members were either dense, playing dumb or he was an incredible actor and the sneakiest being on all of planet earth. He had no idea how he had managed to hide this, for so long, and not hear a peep out of any of them.

Sure, he attributed his puffy eyes (from tears) to a lack of sleep, or too much time in front of a computer screen. Maybe his lack of sleep could be contributed to insomnia, not that he genuinely didn’t want to sleep with the fear that he might wake abruptly to a strangling death. Again.

More recently, in an attempt to be more cautious, when that panic settles in - a familiar feeling of fear, 'I can do this. I'm going to do it. I want to die. Do I want to die?' - he'd excuse himself to the bathroom.

“Chan hyung’s gone to the bathroom.” – posts Hyunjin.

Yeah. To die.

He yawns, stretching as he returns to the studio from a genuine bathroom break. He’s excited to return to his work; a sample he’d stumbled across waiting to be incorporated into a new song. After he shuts the door, he checks the time on his phone.

There’s an hour and a half until 12am– he needs to do Chan’s Room soon too, it’s Sunday. He was comforted by Chan’s Room, to see so many Stay’s on his lives, thankful to have them there, rather than at the top of a building, or sinking at the bottom of a river. He decides that the sample can wait – it’s saved anyway.

He flipped his black hood over the top of his cap, carefully adjusting it so it was presentable, and began to set up the live. He had a few songs in mind that he’d play for you all but was really hoping you’d contribute to the song suggestions too. He smiled, and he laughed, and he danced along to the songs, joyously reading your comments and responding with enthusiasm despite it getting later into the night.

Then the mood shifted when his eyes skimmed over a particular comment. He froze, and his bubble of security popped. He wasn’t sure if he had managed to blot you out, or if the fear had only crossed through after you had sent that message, but he was positive that the person who typed the question, was the person currently pressing a knife to his heart – a small, sharp prick on his chest.

Chan inhaled sharply and swivelled in his chair, “Yeah don’t… don’t hurt yourself, yeah?” The chat exploded with questions and comments, wondering why he was bringing it up and offering words of comfort. The sharp pain on his chest receded slightly, but the fear was still there, the emotional pain ever present. “Just because you have a lot of stress, it doesn’t mean that you have to relieve it by hurting yourself.”

There. Same user. New comment. ‘Your future isn’t worth living for’? Bullshit.

“If you think about the future… it’s best to just keep away from that and find different ways of relieving stress.” Self-consciously, he fiddles with his hoodie drawstrings and swivels in his chair again, desperate to hide the panic flicker across his features briefly. The knife was back.

“You never know what’s going to happen in the future. Something might go wrong, then there might be a turning point and then- from then on you feel really, really regretful,” he’s rambling at this point, thoughts unhinged, spluttering and mixing like mush in his brain. He just needs to get you to stay.

He takes a deep breath, and drills his eyes into the camera, pleading with what little he could offer, “If you really, really can’t help it or if you really just don’t know what to do or you’re really- really lost, as I’ve always said,” he smiles, eyes shimmering, “come here; look for me, ask me, talk with me.” He waits, praying, fiddling his thumbs below the desk.

And the agonising feeling fades, leaving him deflated, relieved.

“I’ll try my best to relieve your stress,” he concludes, then spreads his arms wide. He knows Stay didn’t ask for it, but he was offering one of his hugs more for himself than them.

His relief would be short-lived. He can’t save everyone.

I guess, it’s about time I introduce you. You, not as one of those who have given up. Not as one of those who have caused Chan’s suffering. I introduce you, as simply you. You, who carefully pulls your keys out of the café door. You, who draws down some of the shutters with a soft smile. You, as wonderful, loving, bubbly you.

You make your rounds around your haven, your café. It’s a combination of everything you could possibly imagine to be creative. It’s been your dream to create a safe hub for the public that incorporates a library, a café, study area, art studio, computer labs, rehearsal room and even a recording studio.

Pets were welcome, of all kinds, as long as they wouldn’t fight with each other, and you were open from 7.30am in the morning until 1am the following day.

If anyone fell asleep studying, working on music or reading, you’d leave them where they were and pull out the blankets you kept in storage. The policy for this was simply a bond of trust. Customers could stay working for the night as long as they didn’t mind watching you drift around in the morning in your bedhead and PJ’s, slowly beginning to set up for a new day.

You would always offer them a morning hot chocolate, coffee or tea, free of charge, but more often than not, they’d leave their money on the counter when you turned away, refusing to let you best them in a game of generosity.

Books could be borrowed, studios and study rooms booked, pets left in the backyard day/night day care. Equipment was supplied in all the rooms, instruments for loan, computers to log into, art tools for perusal. The rule for these? Don’t break them. If customers break them, they pay for them.

If something run’s out, let you know. You only offered the basic necessities anyways, so you restocked them yourself. Anything else customers bring for themselves. It was safe. It was cosy. It was yours. Yours to give. Admittedly, you still had to pay off the loan you took out to set up the place, and if time grew short you were considering shutting down the recording studio – it was the least used area.

You pushed the last few stray chairs in as you considered whether to make yourself a final cup of tea before settling down in your apartment upstairs. There were two people currently dozing in various locations of Café Studio, one of whom was a regular. A third customer was sipping the last dregs of his coffee, watching your humble movements out of the corner of his eye.

“Mind if I call it a night on one of your couches?” he asks, scraping back his chair to place his mug on the counter by the coffee machine. That’s James. James fucking Jamison. Always here for whatever reason, never not here, where you wanted him to be. You withhold a sigh and the temptation to pinch the bridge of your nose, “Yeah, go for it. You know the drill.”

You welcome all customers, all are valuable guests. Except for him. He just won’t take a hint.

He saunters idly over to you, hands in his pockets, and clears his throat, “So… are you sure you won’t be free any time this week?” You can feel his eyes drilling into your back and scrunch your nose distastefully, pulling out your phone as if to check something, “I can’t, I run this place.”

He’s still staring at you, so you whisk your earphones out from a pocket in your apron and plug them into your ears. It doesn’t take you long to press shuffle on your playlist, and immediately your current favourite song begins to play, as if it knows exactly what would help you through this situation, or maybe they knew.

“What if you just shut the place down for the day?” he asks with an awkward laugh, running his hand through his hair dramatically. So cool. You roll your eyes and turn around to face him, internally dancing to the song in your ears. You give him a once over, genuinely considering him, “I can’t shut down my only source of income for a day.” “Even for-”

“Especially not for you.” The two of you stare at each other and you can sense that somewhere in those blue eyes of his, you’ve angered him. He’s not pleased, and he never has been with your constant rejections, but so far he hasn’t tried anything. He would be stupid to do so, with surveillance cameras set up everywhere and two customers sleeping not far away.

Go kill yourself.

You wince as sharp pain crackles across your forehead, “Sorry what?” James blinks at you quizzically, his sizzling demeanour vanishing at your confusing outburst. “I didn’t say anything.”

Go. Kill yourself.

You hiss, hand clutching your forehead, and stumble into the nearest table. James is onto you in a second (“Woah there”) trying to support you, when the table was doing just fine. “Back off,” you snap, pushing him away, which causes you to stumble back into the window, the last one without its shutter pulled down, “and shut up.” Again, he blinks at you, ever the stupid dolt he is.

‘Heh… funny.’ Why’d I say that?

Desperately, you swivel and press your forehead to the cool of the glass window, groaning in agony. The music playing in your earphones becomes too much, so you tug them out of your ears, your phone lighting up on the paused song of “Silent Cry”, by Stray Kids.

I wonder if it’ll still be funny after- if I-

You crack your eyes open and peer outside, dimly trying to discern whether this was a voice in your head, or a voice in real life. It spoke with a pained clarity, exhaustion numbing what could have been a voice of laughter and passion. How you knew this, you had no idea.

“Hey, are you good? Are you on your period or something?” James piped up helpfully, and if you weren’t so heavily concentrated on scanning your surroundings outside you might have kicked him out of your store right then and there.

Then you spotted someone. A lone figure, shrouded in the hazy glow of a streetlight, leaning over the bridge railing. Café Studio was located on the banks of the local river, wide enough for boats to barge through, deep enough to be terrified of the unknown creatures writhing within.

You watched, the incessant pounding in your head diminishing the longer you stared at the figure. If he wasn’t standing in the middle of the light, you wouldn’t have spotted him in his completely black outfit. Someone certainly wasn’t one for colour. He leaned further over the railing, clutching his beanie to his head as though afraid it would fall off in the wind.

In seconds, you had ripped your phone and headphones from your apron, leaving it on one of the tables, and fumbled with the key to unlock the café door. It was chilly out, but you ignored the goosebumps speckling your skin, and James’ confused fucking shouts – like would the guy stitch his mouth shut please.

That was him. The idiot leaning too far over the railing was the one whispering nonsense in your brain. How you came to this conclusion was to anyone’s guess, but it was him. In the seconds it had taken you to sprint over to him, he had clambered on top of the railing, balancing precariously, his hands in his hoodie pockets, gazing into the depths of the water.

Maybe in another life, if you weren’t out of breath trying to stop him from ending it all, you might have been enamoured by his features. As you drew closer, you could make out the defined cut of his jaw, his wide shoulders, plush lips tinged with pink from the cold, dark eyes alluringly intimidating. This wasn’t that life though, and you paid no attention to any of it really.

A dawning realisation settled on your features however, after a brief assessment of his face caused you to realise that you knew him, perhaps not personally, but still knew him. “Bang Chan?” you whisper, the name falling from your lips in a panicked whisper, “Chan no…” your legs work harder, and you pray almost deliriously that he doesn’t do it. Don’t do it. He can’t.

“Bang Chan!” you yell, losing all sense of discipline as he sways gently, contemplating, “Chan!!” he doesn’t appear to hear you, absorbed in his own mind. You’re there, you’re right there, and this time, when you call desperately, “Christopher!” his eyes snap up to meet yours.

It’s this particular moment, that will be ingrained in your mind in the following years. The way his eyes spark in shock at the sight of you, then relax, as though he understands, and has complete control over everything in his life.

Without hesitating, you snatch at his clothes and tug him backwards. His heavy body crashes into yours, but you don’t care. You wrap your arms safely around his waist as you tumble to the paved path in a heaped mess of clothes and limbs.

He wriggles around in your grasp, trying to position himself more comfortably, and eventually wind up staring each other dead in the face, blinking through your lashes up at him, his palms on either side of your head.

An uncomfortable silence settles between you, fizzing in the limited space between your faces. Then without warning, you roughly shove your hand behind his head and pull him down into a hug, tears beginning to stain your cheeks.

“What the fuck? What the fuck?” you croak, needlessly shoving your hand underneath his beanie so you can tangle it into his curled hair, “What the actual fuck, were you doing?!” you cling to him tighter, and your breath escapes in garbled gasps that quieten to silence when you feel the trickle of wet tears on your neck.

Gently, you remove your hand from his head and relax your body, allowing him to remove himself from you if he so wished. He burrows his face further however, his arms collapsing onto his elbows, and suddenly you can hear him sobbing.

The tears on your neck weren’t your own. He sounds so broken, crying his heart out as though he were a lost little child who dropped his ice cream. The raw emotion and lack of restraint in his sobbing scrapes at the threads of your heart, and again, you’re crying. Crying with him, for him – understanding everything, and nothing at the same time.

Eventually, you wipe the tears from your face, trying to figure out what to do next. You need to comfort him, talk to him, remind him that he’s worth this world, and the world doesn’t deserve him because by god- if anyone knew even a scrap of what this man meant- he’s laughing. Why is he laughing?

His warm breath tickles your neck as he chuckles, his sobs magically morphed into an amused laughter, which is the most concerning thing by far. Chan pulls away from you, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he laughs and hastily dries the tears on his face.

“Sorry. I am so sorry you had to see that,” he grins, and you frown at him. “Sorry I had to see what? You almost jump off a fucking bridge, or your tears? It better not be the latter Christopher, or I’ll gladly rewind time and push you over myself.” Almost immediately, you regret the words tumbling out of your mouth when his face crumbles again, “Would you really?” he whispers, sitting up beside you.

“No. No I was kidding. I was just- you’re allowed to cry, Chan,” you sit up too, and then it’s just the both of you, sitting alone, a strange pair, by the railing of a bridge. “So you know who I am then?” he dutifully asks, gingerly fixing his beanie and offering a small smile.

“Yeah,” you take note of the way his posture deflates, and add quickly, “But it doesn’t matter. None of that matters. What matters is that you tried to…” your words die in your throat at the reproachful glint in his eyes, shimmering eerily in the lamplight. Instead, you stand up and offer him a hand. He cautiously accepts it, allowing you to help him stand with you. “Y/N Y/L/N. Nice to meet you,” you smile, giving his hand a shake. He stares at you, bemused, and shakes your hand back. “Christopher Bahng. And… thanks.” You’re not sure if he’s thanking you for stopping his plummet to death, or for helping him sit up, or for letting him cry… he could be thanking you for a lot of things, so instead, you do the next best option.

“Want to head over to my café? I’ll make you a cup of coffee,” you offer, flicking your head to the still lit building, where fucking James is standing outside, ogling you from afar, his hands on his hips. “Sure… only… I assumed you’d know I don’t drink coffee,” he shoves his hands into his hoodie pockets again, and as your eyes slide from James and then back to the man in front of you, you suddenly struggle to process everything that’s just happened.

“Why would I? We just met,” you flash him a coy smile and lead the way. You stroll into the café, holding the door open for Chris so he can step through, his hands still in his pockets. James makes to follow, but you slam the door shut in his face and lock the door swiftly.

“Uh…” Chris begins, his eyes wide, asking for an explanation. “No questions. He won’t leave me alone, and that’s that,” you grin brightly, then rush to disappear behind the café bar and begin to prepare him a drink. He seats himself on a stool and tries to watch as you work. You grow uncomfortable in the silence, especially with him watching you so closely, so you instinctively begin to ramble.

“This is Café Studio. You might have noticed by the sign out front.” He nods, indicating he’s paying attention. “I run this place entirely myself, and I live above…” You tell him everything you can think of, from the studios attached to the café, to your favourite pets that frequently get dropped off for day care or overnight stays. His eyes light up when you mention the recording studio, and you have a feeling he’ll go back to the topic after.

In no time, you have two hazelnut croissants prepared, a steaming mug of white hot chocolate for yourself, and a mug of caramel hot chocolate with a dusting of cinnamon for him (you refuse to tell him what’s in his drink, which makes him pout sadly because he loves it). You lapse into silence as you eat and drink, and you know you need to breach the topic again, somehow, you can’t just leave it unattended.

“Can I ask…” you begin, but he interrupts you smoothly. “I just wanted to see what it would look like.”

Chan knew he could never tell you that he’d experienced death a hundred times over in the past months. You’d think him insane.

You knew you could never tell him you heard his voice, loud and clear in your head. He’d think you delusional.

“About that… recording studio… does anyone use it?” he inquisitively asks, and you shake your head sadly in response, wiping croissant crumbs off your face. “Not really… I’m considering selling it. I need to repay the loan I took out, and if the recording room is just dead weight then I don’t see why-” “Don’t. It won’t be dead weight,” he hurries, and is about to say more before he reconsiders, “Mind if I check it out?”

Of course you don’t.

Chris returns to his hotel later that morning. It’s 4am by the time you crawl into bed, recounting the events of the day in a sluggish fashion. Only 2 and a half hours ago you had pulled him away from certain death.

A shiver disturbs your spine as you replay the memory, and you curl tighter into your blankets. What if you hadn’t? His inner monologue certainly didn’t sound like he simply just “wanted to see what it looked like.”

Somehow, you manage to drag yourself through the rest of the morning, living off a few hours’ sleep at most. Thankfully, there aren’t many customers to begin with, giving you a chance to get organised a little later than usual. Chris had left with a small smile and a wave, and you watched him disappear down the street, a part of you worried he’d decide to try the bridge again.

He returns in the afternoon with the same small smile and wave, shocking you to the core. He’s got a cap pulled low over his eyes, hood pulled neatly up, and a black mask obscuring most of his face.

The only reason you recognise him this time is because of those actions, and the particular way his eyes crinkle, disappearing when he genuinely smiles. Quietly, he asks for the same drink you made him earlier that morning and asks to borrow the recording studio – “change of scenery,” he explains casually.

As the days go by, he visits as often as he can, always with those same twinkling eyes, and always still carefully covered up. You have no idea how he’s managed to convince his company to continuously let him out in public without staff, nor how long he’s staying here for.

He must be on vacation or something because this was certainly not Korea. You frequently check up on him too, never hesitating to ask whether he needs any support. He shakes his head every time and stares at you unblinkingly, trying to convey a message through only his eyes.

You��re already helping him. This haven, your haven, is helping him already. You don’t know this of course. Nor do you know that his odd connection to suicidal Stay’s has ceased. He hasn’t felt them in ages, and in a twisted way, he’s relieved – hasn’t felt this light in a while.

“Mind if I book the whole café out for a day?” he mumbles to you from your side, his hands nimbly working with the coffee machine to produce an order for a customer. One day he had asked if you could teach him a few things on the machine. Before long he knew how to make every drink, and happily watched underneath his mask as customers sipped his creations.

Every drink that is, except for the special one you made for him – it was actually your Mum’s recipe. You refused to teach him, but he could easily figure out the ingredients and method to make it for himself by now, if he really wanted to, which perplexed you every time he asked you to teach him.

Truthfully, he didn’t really want to know. He just liked seeing the tiny crease on your forehead and adorable smile whenever you refused. And now… he had even more reason to come back. For the hot chocolate. Definitely.

“The whole-? Library and everything?” you inquire, as you refill the jar of chai powder. “Mhm,” he hums, nodding to a regular as they float by, “Staff want us to film a Skz-Code Episode while we’re here, and they left it up to us to decide where.” “Oh. Sure. What do you need, for me to close up for the day?”

“I want you to stay though. Don’t disappear upstairs to your apartment… please. Can you stay and… watch?” he innocently asks, and you stare at him in surprise, clipping the jar in your hands shut with a snap, “Am I allowed to?”

It turns out that would be their last day. They returned to Korea on the following. In hindsight, you wish you had hugged Chris tighter when he tackled you with one before they left after filming, raising the eyes of several staff members and causing the Skz Members to chuckle with one another.

Chris was hugging you because he would miss you, and he was afraid that if he left, the traumatic episodes would return.

You were hugging him because you were full to the brim with Stray Kids’ warmth and happiness, but also because an unfamiliar safety nestled into your stomach as he hugged you, burying his face into your neck – the same place he had where he first met you.

“See ya soon, mate!” Felix called, carrying a box of your brownies. He had given you his recipe, and you eagerly followed its instructions while you watched them record their episode, smiling contentedly at their tinkering laughter, “These taste better than mine!”

“No one can beat Felix’s brownies,” Hyunjin muttered through a smile, but he’s happily munching on one of yours all the same. Jisung also has his mouth stuffed, his chubby cheeks wobbling as he nods his head. Seungmin offered you a polite handshake, and Jeongin an energetic round of high fives.

Somewhere in the distance, Changbin calls out your name, and performs a half heart above his head. You complete it, sticking your tongue out playfully. Not surprisingly, you and Chris have to duck back inside the café to hunt down Minho, who’s been playing with the cats left in your care for the day.

You didn’t find out that Stray Kids were leaving until that night when you spotted a live of them on your YouTube at the airport, and your heart plummeted with a sadness you couldn’t explain.

What… a strange… dream.

Everything become’s more surreal when you discover an envelope by the coffee machine the next morning, tucked neatly under the corner where Chris would usually stand to make his coffee’s. You pull it out carefully; there’s no name penned on the front. Curiously you pull out two sheets of paper. The first you open is in Chris’ handwriting (he had been leaving random notes and scribbling his signature wherever he could during his visits, so you were relatively familiar with it now),

A B C D E F G I wanna send my code to you Eight letters is all it takes And I’m gonna let you know

Lyrics. You flip over the paper and stare in a daze at the phone number scribbled there. Further down the page, there’s more lyrics, but from a different song.

Together, I feel time has flown so fast In my time, memories are crowded I didn’t know the sky was so clear like this until I met you I thought the sun was only scorching Thank you for coming to me And becoming the same shadow as mine before approaching the light

“Chris you cheesy ass,” you laugh, heartbeat thumping loudly in your chest.

You can STAY.

You’re so lost in your own thoughts that you almost forget about the second piece of paper. It’s a receipt. And on the bottom, are more words written in his handwriting.

The loan for Café Studio has been paid off, and the rent on your apartment. It’s all yours now. You can thank me when I come back.

Your eyes widen, and a small gasp leaves your lips. You fumble for your phone and add his number to your contacts. Then sparing no second, type out a message.

(A/N: When dialogue is in script format, it's meant to represent text messages)

You: “No you did not”

In the few seconds that you stare at your message, that you sent to Chris, disbelief written across your features, your phone buzzes with a response.

Chris: “Oh but I did”

You laugh, the sound gradually increasing as you throw your head back, giddy, a delicate pink tinge warming your cheeks.

“Something good happen?” James interrupts, rapping his knuckles on the counter to get your attention, “No side barista with you today? Who was he anyways, and what was with that mask?” “He’s… a good friend. Care for some tea?” “But I don’t like-” “Perfect.”

What should you do when you witness the end of a life? Cry and wallow in the darkest corners of disconsolation? Feel your heart shatter, a million fractals of sharply glittering reflections exploding in a mere fraction of a second? Some believe that time is nothing more than an illusion though – so should you instead decide to lie on your bed, a place of restless solace, and stare up at the empty ceiling?

Chris: “Are you awake?” You: “I am now” Chris: “Sorry go back to sleep” You: “I was kidding Christopher” You: “Of course I’m awake” Chris: “That’s not a good thing” You: “Look who’s talking” You: “Are you all good? Can’t sleep?” Chris: “Just felt like a chat”

They only visited him in nightmares, he discovered, which was still an improvement from before.

You: “Sure” You: “Care to explain your latest Insta post?” Chris: “No haha” You: “You burnt Stayville to the ground” You: “I think that deserves an explanation”

Chris smiles and flops back into his pillow. It certainly was an improvement from before. His mind was working over the possibilities, the many different choices he could make from here on out. Did you have something to do with this condition? Were you the solution to it all? What was it about you, exactly, that drew him to you?

You can thank me when I come back, he had written.

He thinks… he’ll be back for sure.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

-> PART 2 -> Masterlist

Yay! Milestone Event 1, Check!

Feedback is always appreciated, negative and positive alike. I apologise for any editing or formatting errors, I’m forever learning.

Until next read! - Kaisowoo

#bang chan #bang chan fluff #bang chan x reader #stray kids #bang chan angst #bang chan fanfic #bang chan x you #bang chan fic #suicide #feminine reader #cringecheeseycornycrap #swearing #wth idk what other tags to include #just don't read if you can't handle dark themes and SEVERE angst and strong descriptions of suicide :D #bang chan imagines #skz #stray kids fanfic #stray kids x reader

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coldshare · 9 months

Note

A word To build a scenario around... Steam

thank you for the prompt, anon! ♡ here it is (with some gratuitous references to contagion... you know me)

a character who's the type to prioritize self care over everything... who lives luxuriously, the type to resort to everything from expensive spa days to unwind, the type who's familiar with every natural remedy in the book, because really, even the slightest ailment is a perfect excuse to take it easy and even pamper themselves a little bit

the same character who feels themselves coming down with a terrible, incredibly contagious cold. but for whatever reason - maybe their boss urges them to come in (it's just a small cold, after all, and so much work still needs to get done), or maybe because they're just so confident in their home remedies to do the trick - they head to work anyways.

their desk becomes a mini pharmacy for the day - soft lotion tissues, three different tins of tea specifically meant to relieve cold and flu symptoms, herbal cough drops, a few cooling salves for their red, irritated nose, hot packs for their sinuses, a humidifier for the congestion. after all... if they're going to have to work with this cold, why not make their time here as comfortable as possible?

but still, despite every remedy, their cold turns out to be annoyingly persistent - they're just so congested they can hardly breathe through their nose, plagued with a tickle (not severe enough to catalyze a sneeze, in most cases, but present enough to be very distracting) in their nose which won't leave them alone no matter what. even worse, every sneeze is irritatingly unproductive; it does nothing to relieve the tickle - in fact, it almost seems to make it worse...

they make it to halfway through the afternoon where they decide they can't stand it anymore - they're not feeling too terrible, but this is certainly annoying, and that's enough of a reason for them to put an end to it once and for good. breathing in steam can be therapeutic, and even better, it's supposed to relieve congestion, right?

after a few moments consideration, they swipe the small vial of lavender essential oil off their desk. they've never been fond of this particular vial compared to the other essential oils they own - it always leaves them sniffly and teary eyed - but perhaps that would be a welcome side effect, just this once.

from there, they head into the break room and boil some water using the coffee machine (so what if they end up sneezing a few times, all over the coffee machine, misting the company countertops? it's not like they can control when they sneeze... with this cold, every sneeze just sneaks up on them; it's not their fault that they're not always able to cover.) they pour the boiling water out into a large bowl, drop a few drops of the lavender essential oil inside, and take a seat at one of the tables in the break room, which - aside from them - is thankfully empty.

the first breath of hot, fragrant steam does wonders for their congestion, which they can feel start to loosen for the first time, making their nose run. they haven't brought any tissues with them... perhaps that was an oversight, but the steam is just so relieving, they can't just stop now...!

the next few breaths, they can really start to smell the lavender, and... oh, the tickle in their nose sharpens with such intensity it takes them off guard.

"heh... hEhh... HIH-! hheh-Hhehh... heh... hehH..."

god, their nose tickles so badly; it's practically begging for relief. they lean their head down, taking another deep breath in through their nose.

"hehH... hehh-HEH-!" fuck, so close, just a little more... "hheh... HehhH.... hh-heh-Hehh-HEHh-!! HEHH'IIHHSHIEEEW!"

it's as if that first sneeze completely opens up the floodgates, snapping them forward - only for them to inhale a huge breath of hot steam. they wipe their nose on one palm, but even the slightest pressure against their nose seems to increase the tickle tenfold. everything smells like so strongly of lavender, it's - HEHh-! making them - heh-HEHh - h-have to -

"HEHH'ISSSHHIEw! hHAH'IITSHuUH! heh... heh-hEhh-HEHh-hHEH'TCHIIIEEEW! hH... hHIh! hahh-HAh-AHH.... AHH'IIIITTSCHHUueE!"

every sneeze absolutely drenches the table beneath them. they lift their hands to halfheartedly shield the first couple of sneezes, but with the number of particles that escape through their fingertips regardless, does it really even matter? it's not like anyone else is in the break room, after all. they turn their head aside to keep from spraying the table (even if all that accomplishes is spread their cold in the other direction.)

besides... don't they deserve to sneeze after having not been able to sneeze all morning, aside from the few terribly unsatisfying sneezes they'd had to put up with? isn't it only right that they get relief from this annoying cold as soon as possible? they need to get all the viruses out of their system to get rid of this cold... each messy, spraying sneeze sets them closer on the path to recovery. the tickle in their nose is really just there to help them sneeze out their cold as soon as possible, so why not coax it even further, make this process a little faster? really, they're doing their body a favor as they breathe in more steam, as they give in to the tickle in their nose, as they sneeze and sneeze and sneeze...

(maybe that's what they think, but they've left the air so utterly saturated with their cold viruses that it's no wonder that half the office comes down with the same miserable, messy cold in the weeks following, leading to more than a few dirty looks... after all, they brought their cold to work, and they hadn't exactly been subtle about it)

#snzblr #snz kink #contagion #contagion kink #snz scenario #snz prompt #sneeze scenario #snzfucker #sneeze kink #snzario #the research i did to write this sneeze post (what a sentence) says #apparently it is possible for essential oils to make you sneeze if you're allergic to the scent #i also spent like 15 minutes researching humidifiers (usually it's harmful to drop essential oils into the water tank) and diffusers #(neither of which i have ever used but i just wanted to write a character with this archetype ahaha)#before settling on this method which i can only hope is logically sound #also i think this is my longest post thus far? totally got carried away

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cheeriecherrymain · 1 year

Note

Hc of viktor with babies 👀💕🥺

Viktor x fem!Reader Warning: Pregnancy, brief mentions of the horizontal tango

-Neither you nor Viktor had ever expected something like this to happen. You’d been so careful during your nights together, always taking extra steps to be safe.

-It wasn’t that either of you disliked children, or were opposed to having them, but you and Viktor had been clear about it from the start - not right now. His work was just beginning to take off, and you were in the middle of school; neither of you could afford to be parents at the moment.

-Which was why you didn’t immediately come to the conclusion that you were pregnant.

-You’d woken up one morning with a touch of nausea, but you chalked it up to eating something strange the day prior. Then the fatigue, and the ache in your back - clearly you were sitting too much, and your schedule was too busy.

-It wasn’t until you took your lunch hour to go visit Viktor at the lab, that you finally had the realization.

-Viktor hadn’t been in the lab that day, much to your surprise, so instead you’d sat with Jayce for a couple moments to ask about how things were going. He seemed grateful for the company, telling you about their experiments and which parts worked and which parts had ‘maybe exploded, just a little bit’.

-And then you’d caught a whiff off the coffee he’d been brewing, in the little machine that he and Viktor had sneaked into the lab. A scent that would usually delight and comfort you, that instead twisted your stomach and worsened the ever-present nausea tenfold.

-Jayce must have noticed something was off, because seconds later, a bucket was hastily stuck in front of you and you were emptying the contents of your stomach.

-You apologize profusely once the wave passes, and promise that you’ll empty the bucket out yourself, and clean it properly.

-Jayce doesn’t seem to mind, though, laughing and telling you that you ‘can’t help being pregnant’.

-You don’t say anything after that, opting to pop a lid on the bucket so you can drag it back to your apartment, but your mind dwells heavily on his words.

-Surely he was joking, you think. There was no way you could be pregnant - you’d been so careful.

-But you can’t stop thinking about it, putting together your symptoms and counting the days since your last period - two weeks late. And that’s when it really hits you.

-You spend the next hour crying and despairing over what you were meant to do - tell Viktor? Don’t tell him? Keep it? Don’t keep it? You’d both been very clear that you weren’t ready to be parents yet, but…

-You wrap your arms around your midsection and sob again. A little piece of you doesn’t want to give this up, and you know that it’s not a person yet, but…but it could be, if you wanted it to.

—

-Another week passes before you’re ready to tell Viktor, but even that isn’t an accurate description. You have to tell Viktor, before he finds out on his own, and before his opinion won’t matter on whether or not you keep the pregnancy.

-You make sure to get all your files in order - blood test results, symptom tracking, and the exact timeline of when everything had happened, and you tuck it all into your bag.

-Viktor is at the lab this time, where you expect him to be. He and Jayce both greet you when you walk in and make a beeline for your partner, giving him a light kiss on the cheek.

-You ask him quietly if he’s busy and if he could spare a moment - to which he replies that he’ll always have a moment for you.

-And then you set the folder in front of him.

-And you wait.

-And wait.

-In silence, as he looks through the handful of papers you’ve given him.

-Waiting, watching as his eyes grow wider with every word he reads. As every emotion known to man passes across his face - disbelief, shock, fear, confusion, anger-

-You look away when a quiet fury shines in his eyes, opting to bury your face in your hands. You know if you look at him any longer, you’ll start crying, and with Jayce oblivious across the room, you don’t want to draw attention.

- “Are you…certain?” he asks, his voice tight with something you can’t quite place, and you nod, tears beginning to sting your eyes.

-You expect him to be upset, stressed, maybe even resentful. You expect an outrage, or perhaps for him to walk out.

-What you don’t expect is for him to gently pry your hands from your face, and then tenderly hold your jaw. His thumbs swipe across your cheeks where your tears have fallen, and he stares at you with an amazed sort of awe you’ve never witnessed.

- “Truly?” he asks again, and when you -again- nod in your confirmation, he pulls you into a kiss. Deep and warm and desperate, an arm snaking around your midsection to guide you impossibly closer.

-Until you part, breathless, and he rests his forehead on yours.

- “I know we said we weren’t ready for this,” he says quietly, “but…would you be willing to- could we- keep it?”

-You fully burst into tears after that, finally drawing the attention of Jayce, who happily congratulates you both when you tell him the news.

—

-Seven and a half months later, after many sleepless nights and exhausted days, the two of you welcome your daughter into the world. Viktor stays by your side the entire time, bringing and offering you whatever you could possibly want, regardless of its absurdity.

-He brushes your hair from your damp forehead and presses a kiss to your crown, staring with unparalleled adoration at the tiny baby on your chest. Cooing to her when she whines, whispering his love when she sleeps. Sheds his first tears when she wraps her little hand around his finger and refuses to let go.

-After that, there’s not a moment when he’s not at her beck and call. The moment she makes a noise in the night, he’s at the side of her crib to silently check on her. His excuse is that he wants you to rest as much as possible so you can heal and recover from the delivery, but you know as well as he does that he just wants to be near her. Watch over her, keep her safe, make her smile and laugh.

-Even when she brings up her breakfast on his work clothes, he’s able to laugh it off and help clean her up, making sure she’s comfy and cozy afterwards.

-And your daughter always seems to know when he’s around, squirming and giggling around the time he gets home from the lab, especially as she gets older; refusing to eat on time because she knows Viktor will arrive soon, and she wants him to feed her.

-And he does, every single time.

-He dotes on her unrelentingly, possibly even more than he dotes on you.

#viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #arcane x reader #i just want him to be loved and happy #hes tragic and i want to give him a good life #viktor headcanons

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drbased · 18 days

Text

One of the ways that capitalism naturally creates division is that it places us in situations where social equals are forced to role play as oppressed and oppressor. Literally all of us will be customers at some point but the relationship between that of customer and employee is that both are forced by circumstance into percieving themselves as the oppressed underclass and the other party as representative of the oppressor:

The employee (rightfully) percieves themselves as the low-paid over-worked wage-slave, typically of a huge corporation. However, due to the bureaucratic structure the employee is never truly given the opportunity to really take their oppressors head-on. The customer, then, becomes the automatic representative of the oppressor - the corporation is reliant on the customer to make profit, so the supposedly symbiotic relationship places the customer in some percieved bourgeoisie status. It's also worth pointing out here that the actual class of the customer is obscured - whilst certain businesses have certain reputations, you can never know for sure exactly who is buying from you at any time, and this flattens out the percieved status of the customer into a blanket 'representative of the oppressor class, in cahoots with the business itself'.

The customer (rightfully) percieves themselves as a singular entity up against the titan of a huge, faceless and ultimately hostile industry. Consumers have rights, but they are limited, and only here because of how people have fought for them in the past. And companies make it as difficult as legally possible to ever truly make a proper complaint - and so many transactions take place every second for so many products, many of which are cheap enough that complaining and getting a refund seems gauche and a waste of time. The stereotype of the fussy, whiny, customer - this is applied tenfold if you're a woman - always overshadows you. There are, of course, plenty of customers who do not give a flying fuck, as they have learned a form of 'civil disobedience' where the forced ritual of filling out forms and sending photos and arguing your case can be completely bypassed by being a stubborn asshole and demanding 'special treatment' by those low-paid employees. The employees, then, are percieved as part of the scaffolding of the bureaucratic wall, designed strategically to prevent customers from demanding the few rights we have. If we 'go high', then we are forced to play their game - which can result in threats and gaslighting from higher up representatives of the company*, including, if it goes far enough, the costly process of legal action. Many simply chose to go low, instead.

Let me be clear: I am not defending the actions of those that harass members of staff to get what they want; what I'm illustrating here is that the narrative is carefully constructed whereby the company that orchestrates this narrow window of options gets to remain blameless, making the exchange seem like a natural power imbalance between two individuals. The employee is absolutely dehumanised more than anyone else in this context, do not get me wrong, but the origin of that dehumanisation does not come from the customer, but from how the corporation cultivates that mindset.

Just like immigrants 'taking our jobs', the power relation between the employee and the customer is over-inflated, and this works to divide both of them. Employees are deliberately under-paid and workplaces are deliberately under-staffed so that nobody has the time or patience to ever truly side with the customer against the business. And customers are 'coddled' purely insofar as it benefits the company in repeat sales and increased reputation; because the moment the customer takes out their ire on the right entity, suddenly we have cases like the infamous McDonalds 'hot coffee' lawsuit, and the recent class action lawsuit against Kraft.

Ironically, in these scenarios, the percieved smallness of the grievance is used against the consumer - if we argue with an employee over a small issue then we're taking it out on the wrong person, if we take it out on the right 'person' then we're overreacting. Either way, the grievance is too small and should have just been dropped to be 'reasonable'. The organisation gets to hide behind this, actively making large amounts of money from false advertising, whilst every single instance of that exact false advertisement is dismissed as too small to worry about, and you're supposed to be a savvy consumer these days anyway. What's missed here is that the false advertising is deliberately small for this exact reason!

The rightful sympathy generated towards the employee by decades of stories of real abuse by customers (I have recieved some of that myself!) helps contribute to the all-consuming narrative of the customer who lies, steals, complains about nothing, is entitled and rude, a 'karen'. This narrative is extended into contexts that have absolutely nothing to do with the customer-employee relationship, because the stigma is benefitial to the organisation and can absolutely be transferred as needed to literal class action lawsuits as shown above.

As with all issues of this type, there's nothing that can really be done other than acknowledge it. But I find it interesting how despite the fact that being a customer is literally a necessity of existence that even homeless people have to do, narratives around customers are almost universally panned as bourgiouse and exploitative of the underpaid(!) staff, even though one business's underpaid staff is another business's customer. The use of the word 'underpaid' is fascinating there because ironically people end up using the word 'underpaid' to emphasise how shitty the customer is being; the word 'underpaid' becomes a floating adjective with no cause, instead of a direct and emotive pointer to active exploitation by the business.

I think this is different from an old-school trade relationship, where it's one person representing themselves, and the in that context there's a much more equal relationship between buyer and seller. Like everything in late-stage capitalism, businesses have been carefully crafted after decades of trial and error into being as hostile and closed-off as possible. And this is made ten times worse with internet businesses and call centers. The call center issue is incredibly emblematic of this problem because customers hate the global south employee - and this absolutely comes from a heady mix of racism and the phenomenon I've described. But the stakes for the customer are even higher, here - this is a situation deliberately cultivated where if you push too much someone can literally just put the phone down on you. And the company gets to remain faceless and blameless, as always.

*Story time: Like everyone in the UK who has ever been a student I used to have Virgin as my internet provider. At some point I had spoke to someone through the chat function on their website, and unlike other services, Virgin do not send you an email transctipt automatically after the chat is finished. Some time later I believed that I had been given wrong information by the employee, but I couldn't remember, so I attempted to contact Virgin to see if I could get a transcript of the chat I had. At some point in my complaint/request journey someone 'from head office' called me and proceeded to attempt to gaslight me for an hour, continuously telling me 'I don't know what you want from me', when I would simply reply that I want the transcript for the conversation I had. It remains to this day, the most surreal interaction I've ever had.

#my writing #partisan posting

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kakairuficfinder · 8 months

Text

Trans Kakashi and/or Iruka

Riding in Circles by magpie_senpai (Trans Kakashi and Iruka, E, WIP)

Iruka is just trying to make ends meet working at the daycare with a struggling boyfriend that works nights but then Kakashi comes to pick up Naruto one evening. Things start rapidly changing and Iruka is faced with having to make a lot of incredibly difficult choices.

Where We Were by magpie_senpai (Trans Kakashi, E, WIP)

Kakashi and Iruka share an early connection that ends abruptly when faced with the consequences, only to find themselves pulled back together years later.

Learning to Hold On by whenimdeadillrest (Trans Iruka, E, 54K)

Kakashi is at a dinner party for Gai's birthday when one of the drag queens performing turns out to not be a drag queen at all, but his high school sweetheart, Iruka Umino.

Bye Bye Blue by MrSedaris (Trans Kakashi, T, 3K)

Wearing a tank-length chest binder whilst being chakra drained wasn't how Kakashi's evening was supposed to go. An A-rank mission alone, devoid of contact from the village, being utterly alone besides him with the enemy, and not knowing any medical jutsu. Because why would he?

Writer's Block by LexNite (Trans Kakashi, T, 4K)

Iruka has been plagued by writer's block for months when one of his online friends offers to help. Could this coffee date really help him finally finish his story? Or is there more to Sukea's offer?

Drift by thechaoscryptid (Trans Kakashi and Iruka, T, 6K)

Uhei, Bull, and Bisuke eventually wander in from their perch on his bed to settle by his side, noses freezing as they seek out his company. It’s so much easier with them, because they take what he has to give and multiply it tenfold. There’s no worrying that they’ll reject him, no worrying that they don’t feel the same, because they don’t feel in the same way Iruka does. It’s what he loves about them, but he can’t help the way he craves something more. Something to fill the space he’s carved out for another person inside his chest.

Bloom by thechaoscryptid (Trans Kakashi and Iruka, M, 5K)

“My mother always made me swear I’d never fall in love with anyone because of this.” “Sort of a crappy thing to make you promise.” “Ah, I did it with my fingers crossed,” Iruka says. “Everyone knows those promises don’t count.”

Iris by transkakashi (Trans Kakashi, M, 76K)

legacy /ˈlɛɡəsi/ noun 1. An amount of money or property left to someone in a will 2. Something left or handed down by a predecessor 3. The sum of our parts: the lasting effect we have on others: what is left when we are gone (Or, the one where Kakashi and Iruka learn what it means to be together.)

Tracing Stories by JustAnotherFool (Trans Iruka, G, 1K)

Scars are stories embedded on skin. On a too hot night, Kakashi finds himself tracing Iruka's stories.

Genre Savvy by Kalira (Trans Iruka, T, 10K)

It's a regular day of work at the library for Iruka when in walks a distractingly gorgeous (and strange) new regular with a devotion for perfect romantic happy endings - the kind you only get in fiction, the books Iruka's new regular reads voraciously and discusses passionately, not in reality.

Epics whispered, not sung by orphan account (Trans Iruka, M, 9K)

It stands to reason that the day Naruto Comes Down From The Mountain, Iruka and Kakashi should be the ones to follow.

Hidden Blooms by Kalira (Trans Iruka, E, 6K)

A devoted, domestic pair of lovers finally bring into the open the deeper feelings between them, safely held in secret blooms.

Hold Me Close by VoidEldritch Trans Iruka, T, 4K)

Secrets often come out when you least expect them to, and Iruka's are no different. Delirious with a fever, he lets slip a secret he had never intended on Kakashi finding out. (This is not an accidental trans reveal story)

To Be Seen by OneSaltyLeo (Trans Iruka, E, 1K)

"It’s what I really want. To be seen as myself.”

Yokubō-no-Jutsu by Ero-Kay (Kiayla) (Trans Kakashi, E, 59K)

Yokubō: Lust; sexual desire A.K.A. Kinks: the Collection

When Kakashi is hit with the yokubō-no-jutsu on a mission, he almost makes it home to ride out the unfamiliar arousal alone (or, at least, with a clone). He doesn't get that far.

But, lucky for him! (?), the genin of dai-nana-han send help!

#kkir #kakairu #trans kakashi #trans iruka

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slibbyjibby7000 · 8 months

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I CAN'T CLOSE MY YAPPER

What occupies my mind the most when it comes to Hannibal, alike many others, is the things we didn't get to see. Hannibal rescuing Will from getting his pretty face swapped, for example, isn't the only thing that comes to mind. No, it's the bonding moments between the two in their little sessions! Like, I NEED TO TALK ABOUT THIS! Of course, we do see them chit-chatting about murder cases, motives, behaviors, metaphors, and yada yada yada, but we've all seen that already and appreciated it. I mean the other sessions that aren't strictly plot-relevant, sessions where they are simply bonding over their similarities and dissimilarities, a drink or two by the fireplace, and both of them understand a moment in themselves that they haven't been so intellectually stimulated like this before. Even in comfortable silence. Just those small internal moments of, "Wow, he actually understands what I'm talking about," or, "Huh, I don't think I've ever met anyone who surprises me," and, "Hell, this is actually interesting". Even those thrilling moments, however small, where there's some innocent miscommunication and they have to explain themselves to a subconsciously eager listener and realize they enjoy being heard, accepted, or challenged. I would've loved to see them being friendly-- sassy, arrogant, kind, and snappy like good friends do in seemingly insignificant instances. Bonding over agreements and disagreements; Feeling stimulated just by an interesting conversation and comfortable company. I often find myself imagining them in a scenario where they talk about the time they had shared the road with a rude lady that drove recklessly around them and threw curses and honks their way. Will and Hannibal warmly laugh and joke about the situation over excellent food, and it feels like it goes on forever. With reciprocated smiles and laughter when Will teases Hannibal about the look he gave her as she drove past and Hannibal matches that energy tenfold, and vice versa. Where they aren't a patient and doctor, killer and agent; Where they are simply two inhuman human beings-- two men-- sipping coffee, eating, and laughing.

#PLEASSEEE THE BRAINROT #hannibal nbc #nbc hannibal #will graham #smitten hannibal i guess #murder husbands #hannigram #hannibal lecter #i cant not talk about it #again i cant not rant #crying sobbing peeing im insane

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gcdeater · 9 months

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𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐫?

brianne tju . nonbinary . they/them . ➶ I RECOGNISE THAT FACE ! that’s CRESSIDA , the TWENTY-EIGHT year old filmmaker from THE CAPITOL . they’ve been in the capitol around THEIR ENTIRE LIFE , long enough to gain a reputation for being so RIGHTEOUS & IMPATIENT . they’re so lucky getting to live in the tribute center for the duration of the games! ( character IS part of the uprising )

STATS

name: cressida birthday: april 1st zodiac: aries sun, capricorn moon, scorpio rising gender: genderfluid pronouns: they/them orientation: lesbian occupation: filmmaker rebel district: capitol family: abraxas (father), cybele (mother) faceclaim: brianne tju

PERSONALITY

positive traits: passionate, righteous, principled, insightful, creative, altruistic negative traits: stubborn, closed-off, perfectionist, theatrical, sarcastic, reckless moral alignment: chaotic good mbti: infj-a (the advocate) enneagram: 4w5 (the individualist) temperament: melancholic deadly sin: pride heavenly virtue: charity parallels: nomi marks (sense8), kinsey locke (locke & key), june osborne (the handmaiden's tale)

BACKGROUND

your parents are the infamous duo, abraxa, and cybele dawntree. your mother, cybele, a world-renowned filmmaker, and abraxas, an infamous actor turned muse. your birth is one celebrated across the capitol, the welcomed result of your beloved parents.

your childhood is spent with various nannies, though occasionally, your parents bring you on set with them and alongside them during their travels. there is little choice in your being thrust into the spotlight, but you learn to adapt at a young age. still, you’re a rather stoic and precocious child, preferring your own company over children your age.

you’re ten years old when you first take an interest in filmmaking, insisting on recording your father’s birthday party on your father’s camera. you even go out of your way to edit it afterwards, producing a shoddy, but promising piece. your parents encourage your aspirations tenfold, enrolling you in specialized film classes to shape your craft.

this, on top of innate talent, would propel you into the spotlight at a very young age. you direct your first feature film at only twenty-one years old and receive endless praise. your next movie arrives at twenty-three, and receives equal acclaim.

despite your successes, something is always missing. while your movies were good, they always seemed to be missing something. like many of the capitolites, your movies are aesthetically pleasing, but lacking in authentic emotions, something that results in your movies earning your ire. they simply weren’t you.

you’ve begun filming your next movie when the uprising first makes it across your radar. you’d heard about rebel activity on occasion, but never in full detail. something compels you to inquire further as if you’re unable to turn away from what you’re seeing. the injustices they speak of move you. you know you’re meant to lend your abilities in some way.

you abandon your movie once and for all after a heated argument on the set. the controversy surrounding your untimely resignation is across every tabloid– though you couldn’t care less. the sum of your proceeds is donated on behalf of the cause. you become the resident filmmaker of the rebellion– responsible for documenting and editing key happenings.

this is where you’d been meant to be. that much you understand.

FUN FACTS

typically keeps her hair in a pixie cut with the sides shaved. will dye it randomly from time to time.

drinks so much coffee... it is integral to their artistic vision.

has a tattoo sleeve on her left arm of assorted art.

has a black cat named hitchcock.

CONNECTIONS

people she worked on set with in any capacity (actors, crew, etc.), a "muse" back in their capitol days, childhood friends, frenemies, enemies, someone to teach them how to fight b/c they can't, exes & past hookups (nonmen only)

#intro / cressida

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tokoro-ga-dokkoi · 1 year

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WELCOME...! Today I will introduce you to the Kaiji spinoff Jokyou Seikatsuroku Ichijou, in Morning magazine.

Jokyou Seikatsuroku Ichijou: "chapter 0" review

This is rare. It's only in this Morning issue, not reprinted in a tankobon. I purchased the physical edition. So I hope you don't mind if I post these. Please forgive me. (For chapter reviews of true chapters, I won't post any actual chapter pages, only panels and description.) Pictures and edited DeepL translations are below this cut.

This is the cover. When this manga was announced online, it was a mosaic-blurred version of this illustration. His clothes are revealed- he is relaxing at home, enjoying a mikan under the kotatsu. A Japanese custom for the New Year.

Contents page. A pose similar to his appearance in the Kaiji season 2 OP.

A front cover 4 colour page introduction. How luxurious! Even Tonegawa is jealous, he only had a 1-page intro. This page is a meta comic (it is a page from the Entertainment chapter of Tonegawa spinoff, edited with different dialogue).

ICHI: "I'm here to say hello! I'll be playing the main role in 'Jokyo Seikatsuroku Ichijou'. My name is Ichijou Seiya....!" TONE: "Hmm...." ICHI: "As I'm sure you know, Tonegawa-sensei... To be clear... This work is a spin-off...! I wish to follow the example of Tonegawa-sensei, who worked on 'Chuukan Kanriroku Tonegawa'. I hope to take a leap forward with this work. But... It will be serialised in 'Morning'. As we don't want to confuse the new readers... It is necessary to introduce myself, tenfold, twentyfold....!! I am a newcomer, but I have 4 colour pages, and a front cover. It's not a problem, is it? Hehehe... TONE: (Guh... When my spin-off was new, I only got 1 page... In Monthly Young Magazine...)

Now to the next page.

The official Ichijou introduction is hilarious tbh. Summarised:

POINT 1: Maintainer and developer of The Bog POINT 2: HE'S HOT POINT 3: HE'S MOÉ

Point 1 page and profile:

A page about his most addictive gambling machine.

The serialization of "Jokyo Seikatsuroku Ichijou" has started! Some of you may ask, "Who is this Ichijou in the first place?" Well, he is a very popular character who fought a ferocious battle with Kaiji in Young Magazine. We will give you an in-depth look at Ichijou Seiya!

DATA Workplace: Illegal casino directly maintaned by consumer finance company Teiai Group Position: Casino manager Routine: Adjusting the nails of "The Bog" Disliked People: Kaiji, Chairman Hyoudou, local classmates Favourite Phrases: "Tenfold, twentyfold", "Foolish dream", "This is reality"

The other paragraphs mainly describe the Bog itself and its specs.

The next page is a precious treasure...

Ichijou Point 2: Almost the only handsome guy in the "Kaiji" series!! It's a far cry from Kaiji's beer-guzzling and the Chairman's lapping of fine wine from a basin! Ichijou's unparalleled elegance! In the world of "Kaiji", where basically only old men with bad faces appear, Ichijou is an exceptionally handsome character. The fact that the man Kaiji was fighting before was the middle-aged, thread-eyed, dumpling-nosed, round-cropped Foreman Ootsuki, should give you an idea of the uniqueness of the situation. From tending to his nails and eyebrows in the manager's office to enjoying a glass of wine or coffee with his blacksuits, his every move is elegant. However, handsome guys are always frowned upon, and not only by his nemesis Kaiji, but even by his very own boss Chairman Hyoudou, who calls him 'snooty'." “I always…” “Hated his face…！” “Just looking at him makes me sick……….！” Handsome looks were a liability for Ichijou, unknowingly raising Chairman Hyoudou's ire. How unlucky!

Ichijou Point 3: Brilliant, cunning, worrying, and... pitiable! He is such a snooty handsome man, but as a result of his disadvantaged circumstances and the hard days he endured at Teiai, he has developed a distorted personality that makes him seem not popular at all- this is Ichijou's surprisingly endearing charm. The great man at Teiai praises Kaiji, so the primary school boy-like Ichijou gets involved with him in a fierce rivalry, and the pachinko balls' whereabouts gives him joy and sorrow with unusual amplitude... We invite you to witness Ichijou who is full of varied charms, in "Tobaku Hakairoku Kaiji".

Yes, I like these phrases: 「多彩な魅力たっぷりの一条」「一条の何とも愛おしい魅力だ。」「小学生男子な一条」 is sort of weird though, like shotacon bait ww.

不憫 (I translated as 'pitiable') has an affectionate connotation, you can read about this word.

Ichijou's official introduction spends 1 whole page talking about how hot and cute he is. It's no surprise- Ichijou was officially described as the 2nd Most Moé Fukumoto Character in Kaiji season 2's original broadcast. Next is a page of his memorable quotes.

Introducing a number of quotes filled with the charm of Ichijou, the villain who wavers your heart...!

Indeed. He wavers your heart, because many viewers and readers of the Bog arc say that they didn't know who they should cheer for. Two young men full of dreams. (Indeed- one of the anime staff said in a staff comment that Ichijou is like the second protagonist of his arc while also being the villain- I'll try to find it and post it).

The TOKORO GA DOKKOI scene is described:

※『賭博破戒録カイジ』12巻216Pより) 土壇場でカイジの猛攻をしのぎ切ったときに思わず飛び出た一言。テンパリすぎて言葉遣いが変になっているところ、カジノ店長にあるまじき本音で周囲の客をドン引きさせているところが愛おしい。 (* From "Tobaku Haikairoku Kaiji" volume 12, page 216) When he survives Kaiji's fierce onslaught at the last minute, this phrase pops out unexpectedly. The fact that he is so tense that his wording goes all funny, and that he is making the customers around him feel uncomfortable with his true feelings, which is unbecoming of a casino manager, is adorable.

That's right, 愛おしい. Adorable, precious, endearing etc. Tokoro ga dokkoi = tokoro ga itoshii. I thought I was just toxoplasmosis-infected for finding this scene very cute, but it turns out I'm perfectly normal.

''テンパリ'', odd turn of phrase, and [dangerously close to the circle-name of a certain artist known for his Ichijou doujins] it is a slang term for tempermental, and derived from mahjong 'tenpai'.

You can tell that this introduction was written by a based Ichijou enjoyer because I agree with everything stated. The writer understands the appeal perfectly and articulates it perfectly. Did Hagiten write it?

If you now understand Ichijou's charm... Turn the page and GO!

To next chapter....

#ichijou seiya #jokyou seikatsuroku ichijou #kaiji #fkmt

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nanamikentoseyebags · 11 months

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Apartment

oh that feeling of slight rapturous thrill that comes over you when you realize you will finally have a chance to move in together. finally no more phrases like "it's late, i have to go". this apartment is just for you two now. but this pain is solely yours.

pairing: rindou haitani x gn!reader

content: angst, angst, angst, no comfort, swearing, break up, pure pain for fragile souls i'm sorry, rindou is an asshole in this, no hard feelings you've been warned <3

a/n: @shamelessperfectionhideout is the one to blame

The deafening clatter of a key chain tossed onto the coffee table's black polished surface together with the loud thuds of retreating footsteps reverberated tenfold in your head, causing you to stagger back in disbelief. The mug with its steaming content that had been resting in your hands a few seconds ago, slipped from your trembling fingers with surprising ease, waiting to collide with the cold surface of the tiled floor and shatter, saturating the material of the soft carpet with its sugary liquid.

He didn't turn around when the sound of broken glass and your scurrying footsteps reached his ears. His hand turned the doorknob with gut-wrenching calm, as he, with unfeigned confidence, took a step outside his own prison, leaving not just the confines of your shared apartment. Rather, with a sudden fury, forcing his way out of your heart and your life.

______________________________________________________________

“All this... it's fucking overwhelming, Y/n." The phrase that rolled through your small apartment like a thunderclap filled every nook and cranny of it.

Absorbed in the mire of his thoughts, Rindou Haitani sprawled out on the couch; nervously tapping his foot every now and then. One of his hands rested on the back of the couch while he wearily rubbed the bridge of his nose with the other one.

You were in the kitchen at that moment, preparing your favorite snacks, so you could bask in each other's company later while watching your favorite movies. Such opportunities came so rarely that you seized every one of them, not sleeping a wink the whole night, just to postpone the morning's arrival. Wasting one of these precious moments would have been pure madness, right? You slowly appeared in the doorway of your dining room, holding that ill-fated mug in your hand. A smile slowly fell from your lips as a slight chill ran down your back.

"What are you talking about?" you leaned your back against the doorjamb, tilting your head and scrutinizing his face, which displayed nothing but fatigue. Slowly, as if every movement was unbearably difficult for him, Rin sat up straight, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his palms. The whole world seemed to fall silent with the loss of his peals of laughter. Endless lingering remorse enveloped your small apartment like a serpent, threatening to suffocate you in its embrace. He was silent, letting it hiss intimidatingly, sticking out his split tongue, while peeking through the open window.

"Rin, what's going on?" tentative attempts to start a vain conversation led to nothing. He slowly ran his hands through his hair, brushing it away from his face, then stopping his palms at the back of his neck and anxiously pressing his fingers into his skin.

"Why this silent treatment?" you uttered quietly, feeling that treacherous lump in your throat that made it impossible to speak normally, "everything was okay just a few minutes ago. Now I am not even worth speaking to?"

"It hasn't been okay for a long time," his violet eyes, hidden behind his circular glasses, carefully scanned your figure until they stopped at your startled face. "It gets worse and worse with every fucking day," he stated blandly, without breaking eye contact.

"I just-…What do you mean by that?" your eyes flicked across his face, hoping to find at least one answer to the myriad of questions arising in your head.

"Everything-... us. This whole stupid game that we’re desperately trying to play, pretending to live together like we're an old married couple with a hundred years of happy married life under our belts. But I'm not your fucking husband, and you're not my wife," he said exhaustedly, as if repeating it for the millionth time.

"But you were the first one to suggest we move in together, buy a place where we could be on our own," you pressed your mug closer to your chest, trying to find just a tiny hint of warmth in this icy room.

"I don't know maybe I was just stoned as fuck and then I couldn't find an excuse to say no. I didn't think it would come to that. In fact, I didn't think we'd get this far." He seemed oblivious to where he was, as if his main job was to eliminate the enemy and he elaborately handled it, hurting you more and more with every word he uttered.

Your mouth fell open at his sudden and unsubstantiated revelations yet you managed to find strength to respond. "I thought you were happy here. You never mentioned any of this. Where is this all coming from?" you questioned bitterly. The words were coming out of your lips deliberately slowly, barely audible.

"My bad," he admitted instantly, "I should have told you sooner, so it wouldn't have turned into a fucking show. But maybe I did feel happy at first, until it all became unbearable, Y/n. I got tired of it. I'm tired of it all. It's suffocating me. Our relationship, this fucking apartment. These fucking walls, Y/n, they're closing in."

You could feel it now. It was as if you were Alice, who had accidentally eaten a biscuit and become enormously huge in this small room, barely able to fit in it and hardly able to breathe. It seemed as if the ceiling was slowly coming down, forcing you to duck, and drawing closer to the moment when you would be squashed inside this trap.

"Every time we go to the stores picking out some stupid frames for the fucking pictures on these fucking walls it makes me realize that none of this is for me. Every time you ask me what to make for dinner, I realize I just don't want to go home," he rose abruptly from the couch, now striding nervously across the room, shoving his hands into the pockets of his striped pants.

"Then maybe you shouldn't," you muttered, feeling the tears forming in the corners of your eyes.

"Maybe. Maybe we shouldn't have started all this. I just can't be your man anymore. I can't keep holding your hand, walking down the streets earnestly smiling at each other. Even sex became a hollow pleasure. I'm tired of pretending to like all of this." Rindou slowly continued this verbal torture, not allowing a moment's pause to sort things out. You stood there completely at a loss, frantically scratching the handle of your mug.

"Every time I come in tired from work and you ask me these stupid questions like “how was your day” or “what's new” I hold back from turning around. And you just-"

"What? Go ahead and tell me," you started to feel the growing irritation surging through your veins that threatened to overpower you.

"And you just never shut up. God you never shut the fuck up, Y/N. You are everywhere. You're constantly trying to talk to me when I don't have any strength to utter a single word. Don’t you see it?” he paused for a second, “all this... it's fucking overwhelming, Y/n."

"Are you being serious right now? Why should it be my problem when a simple display of human feelings like caring is alien to you? What the hell is your problem, Rin?" you raised your voice, feeling your body begin to tremble with unbridled anger and resentment.

"I have no fucking problems except for the fact that I can't find a single fucking corner in this house to be alone. I just want to be alone after a hard day with no questioning, no forced hugs, nothing," he spelled the last word out, as if he were explaining the alphabet to a small child.

"Well, maybe it would have been different if you weren't with me?" you snapped into a scream, unable to stay silent any longer, bending under the weight of his vicious remarks.

He turned sharply in your direction, accusingly pointing his finger at you and gritting his teeth, “maybe it would’ve fucking been!” the words slipped from his lips so quickly that he didn't even realize what it was he was about to say. “Fuck”, he cursed under his breath, realizing at the last moment that his choice of words was literally a slap in the face for you. But he was too stubborn to admit it and too frightened by the sudden outburst of his own rage.

You felt as if you stepped into a crosswalk, confident that you were safe as you passed, but you were traitorously hit by a car, and then again, and then one more time, until there was nothing left of you, and at the last moment, you could notice that the person closest to you who had promised never to hurt you was the one behind the wheel.

"Anyway", he slowly put his hand back into his pocket, pulling out a pair of keys, "this can't go on like this. I need to move out, grow up, change, whatever, I don't know. It'll be better for both of us", for the first time that night he glanced at you ruefully, and then turned on his heels, walking away toward the door.

______________________________________________________________

As you found yourself at the door that had just rattled shut, the one that now permanently separated your once intertwined lives, leaving him somewhere out of reach, you carefully picked up the so carelessly tossed away keys from the coffee table you had bought together and smiled melancholy at the memory. You sank slowly to the floor, fiddling with his keychain and looking longingly around the now completely alien space reminiscing about how things had been back then. Before the apartment.

thank you so much for reading! comments and reblogs are very much appreciated! <3

art is not mine, let me know if you know the artist!

tagging some of my tokyorev moots (hope you don't mind <3): @shamelessperfectionhideout @mitsuyeaah @keiskyutie @afortoru @a-nuisance-called-sam @sin-and-punishment @mochimiyaas @kzuyii @burndownyourparade @redsdread @sleeplessreader @virtue-and-beneviolence @nikokopuffs

#rindou haitani x reader #rindou x you #rindou haitani #haitani rindou #haitani ran #haitani rindou x reader #rindou x reader #rindou angst #rindou haitani angst #tokyo revengers rindou #rindou fanfic #rindou imagines #rindou tokyo revengers

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missgeniality · 3 years

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A Date With Destiny (m)

“Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves, alone - we find it with another.” - Thomas Merton

➺ Pairing: Jungkook x Female Reader

➺ Trope: Strangers to Lovers, Idol!AU

➺ Genre: Fluff, Smut, one comedian in the mix

➺ Rating: 18+

➺ Word Count: 11k

➺ Summary: You are a boss lady in the tech industry travelling to world for work. He is a chart-topping artist touring the globe to perform in front of millions of fans. In the cosmos of life, you are not likely to cross paths. Luckily, fate has a different plan for you two.

➺ Warnings: dom!jk, unprotected sex (sex is cleaner when you pack your weiner!), hickeys galore, lot of spit, oral (male and female receiving), balls receive attention, throat fucking, cum eating, edging, masturbation kinda?, cum play, pussy slapping, pussy sniffing, fingering, squirting, spanking, pain kink?, tit slapping, reader teases a bit but this man is a tease maestro, cum stuffing (is that a thing even?), Jungkook’s THIGHS need their own warning

➺ Author’s Note: @ppersonna is an angel among us peasants. Thank you so much for all your help with this! This is my first attempt at writing, and the tiniest feedback goes a long way! Hope you enjoy!

When you die, the first pit stop you make is to the coffee gods.

Without coffee, this whole month would have been a disaster. Back-to-back meetings, daily flights, countless documents being read, it’s a miracle your eyes are open and fully functioning.

Being the Chief Technical Officer of a well-established company at your age had been anything but a cakewalk. You had strived hard and crossed many boulders to come to where you are. But if reaching that point required huge amounts of effort, now your work is tenfold.

“Why can’t I just get longer flights so I can nap in them?” You mumble into your nth cup of coffee - not keeping count is for your own sanity.

“Because longer flights apparently have crying children. You, our resident baby-magnet hypothesized that shorter flights equal more time in hotel rooms ‘sleeping’. Guess who sleeps in said hotel rooms? Everyone but you.” Your personal assistant and part-time truth-spouter Jake offers helpfully.

“Past me was such an idiot.” You shoot back, wondering if you could inject the espresso right through your veins.

Jake pouts. “Woman, you take on jobs that an intern could do. If you weren’t such an unnecessary perfectionist I would be on the beaches of Thailand, getting sensual massages and eating some pretty pussy. But here we are, on our way to Seoul. So quit your whining because clearly, I have lost more.”

“What if I wanted to do that too?”

“Can I watch?”

“Right.” And that was the end of the conversation.

Passengers on flight KE654 from Bangkok to Seoul are requested to report for boarding at Gate 45A. First Class passengers will be boarded first, followed by Business class and lastly Economy. Please keep your boarding pass ready for checking.

Jake stands up, groaning. “This is where we say goodbye. Do you wanna pretend like we’re strangers and have a hot one-night stand when we land?”

“Sometimes I think it’s your natural response to flirt with a breathing being. Do you ever accidentally just, you know, flirt with a tree?” You try to sound sarcastic, but you’re genuinely curious.

“If a day comes when a hot specimen like me has to flirt with a tree, humanity is doomed. Catch ya later!” He blows you a kiss before leaving for the restroom. You shake your head in awe, a small smile finding your lips. He knew how to get your mind off things.

For all his flirting, Jake’s interest in you is perfunctory. He looks after you, keeps you from starving or gouging your eyeballs out, and calms you when things are too hard. He’s seen your worst. You’ve seen him drunk out of his mind, bailed him out when he “accidentally” smoked up, and heard every new pick-up line his ingenious brain churned out. Basically, you’ve seen his worst as well.

You take a look at your boarding pass. 3C. Jake would be in business class, and you in first. Not your choice, the company makes the rules. It's for the better, he says. Apparently, he can ‘prowl for his hunt better’, without your judgmental glare. You nearly vomit on him just for his choice of words.

Entering the flight, you stash away your hand baggage the first place you find the room and head to your seat and-

Holy. Shit.

Jeon Jungkook is sitting on your seat.

Jeon Jungkook is on your flight?

BTS is on your flight?

What are the odds?

Granted, you’re not a 16-year old obsessive fan, collecting photocards and waving light sticks through the screen, but even in your adulthood you’ve admired their music and shows, routinely keeping up with their discography.

Hell, you even learned Korean years ago to better understand their songs. Maybe you are an obsessive fan.

But you can’t approach them like that. They no doubt want some privacy and not be recognized. God forbid you approach Jungkook with crazy eyes, just to be escorted off the plane for stalking. While you liked their work, you had your own, and getting thrown off this flight does not help you there.

So, you’re just gonna have to speak to him like just another passenger.

BTS who?

Biggest boyband who?

You only listen to Frank Sinatra.

“Excuse me?” You call out, a shiver of a whisper leaving your lips. You immediately chastise yourself for being so star-struck.

Big, round eyes glitter under the bucket hat. The softest ‘huh’ throws a lasso over your heart, and holds it captive. He adjusts his hat, inked fingers making a brief yet lasting appearance. The epitome of tenderness, you muse as his eyes flit here and there to figure out the situation. After finding no one to help him out, he gently offers “Yes?”

You feel extremely guilty for marring his serene face with creases of trouble. “I think this is my seat. See, 3C.” you say, pointing to the seat and then to your ticket for good measure. Did he suspect you recognize them? No. Do you look like you’re over-gesticulating? Totally.

“Oh.” His brow distresses further, the sight has you ready to give the man your seat and hide in the bathroom for the rest of the flight. “But even I am 3C.”

His ticket shows the same characters as yours.

Huh?

With both your faces contorted in confusion, an air hostess comes forward to help.

“We both are booked on the same seat. How does that happen? Do I need to catch another flight?” You suddenly pour out, remembering the countless commitments you have in Seoul that would go down the drain if you don’t make it by tonight.

She's quick to reassure you. “Do not worry ma’am, I’m sure there must have been an error in the printing. I’ll be right back.” At the same time, Jungkook is approached by someone, probably one of their staff, to discuss the issue.

The air hostess returns smiling. “Ma’am, you both were booked on the same seat but this adjacent seat was left empty. We are extremely sorry for the error. You may take 3B.” She reiterates the same message to Jungkook in Korean, who then looks mighty relieved.

Goddamn, his eyes got bigger. How much bigger can they get?

“All okay then?” He glances sideways, smile irradiating your senses and waking you up better than all the coffee could.

“All good. Sorry for the trouble.” You add, even though it isn’t your mistake in any way.

“No no. No trouble” He beams back.

Aw, you are in trouble.

As the flight is about to take off, you can see the rest of BTS in the rows ahead of you, with some other staff members taking up other seats. There’s one old man with a scowl on his face, whom you can’t place with the BigHit group. Great, no crying kids. Unless the frowning grandpa snores to the heavens, you can actually catch a good four-hour snooze. Take that, Jake. Hope a kid blows snot in his face.

Looking at your neighbor, you find him busy searching for a good video game on the screen. The other members seem to be using this flight to catch a nap, except him. You always wondered whether their on-screen persona was real or not. Now you could say at least one of his characteristics is true.

Turning away, you bring your focus back to the document at hand. The schematics for a new product your company was launching. You had spearheaded its conception and looked over every single detail in its manufacturing. The Seoul branch is one of the main players in its production, and your last stop before heading back home. You must have every word in this file burnt in the back of your eyelids to make this deal smooth.

Reclining your seat, and putting your legs up, you got down to business.

An Angel was calling you.

You want to wake up, but you couldn’t, fearing the Angel would stop singing to you. Something is poking you, but the voice just drowns it all out.

Wait...

Fluttering your eyes open, you see Jeon Jungkook staring right at you.

“Hi... They, umm--Food? Want to eat?” the Angel utters. Jungkook utters. Tomato, to-mah-to.

“Oh!” you exclaim, wiping non-existent drool on your face. His palm on your shoulder quickly retracts at your exaggerated attempt to hide your embarrassment. “Thank you so much.”

Then, he does that thing. He smiles. Eye scrunch and all.

Fuck the coffee gods. When you die, you want to meet the Grand Master and ask him what crack he was on to hand over so much power to one man’s smile.

The food is placed on your table, and you thank the hostess graciously.

“Do you need anything to drink?” She asks, to which you only shake your head. There was enough caffeine in your system to shoot a horse to the moon and you were still drowsy. There was no need to catalyze this process with booze.

“Your Korean accent is pretty good.” Your next-seat resident comments. Ah, you had conversed with the hostess in Korean.

“Thank you very much.” You giggle, roleplaying an acne-prone teenager talking to her hunk of a crush.

“Have you been speaking for a long time?” He pops a huge morsel of food after asking. Well, that’s another on-screen quality found to be accurate.

“Six years now. Comes in handy for my work.”

“Oh! Did you have to learn it for work? That’s fascinating.” Another mouthful went in. You didn’t even know it was physically possible to hold that much rice using chopsticks.

“Uhh.. no..” You tussle your hair, trying to stop your cheeks from turning beet red, “I just listened to some music and consuming more content.. and subtitles are a bore, plus I needed a hobby at the time so..”

Your unnecessarily long explanation was cut short by Jungkook’s child-like laugh, enjoying the pickle you were putting yourself in.

“Hey! I just didn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable situation, that’s all.” you try to be cross, knowing it’s inconceivable since God himself seems to have given him whatever he wanted. If big ol’ Almighty can’t stand against his charms, you are but a mere pleb.

He looks at you kindly. “Thank you, that was very thoughtful. I’ve been speaking to so many foreigners trying to get across to them I got surprised when you spoke so fluently.”

He went back to chomping on his food like it was his last meal, completely unaware of your staring.

You both speak for a long time. He explains their latest shoot and fan meeting, and you listen to him pour out his love for his job and fans as much as he could articulate. The rest of the emotion is portrayed by his now widest eyeballs (they cannot get any wider, you confirm by asking him - a request he apparently gets a lot) and intense gesticulation. It is very gratifying to listen to his past schedules, and you slip in a quick prayer for not having a job where you had to maintain public appearances while having a schedule as persevering as theirs. Sure, you had a ton of commitments. But can you throw your hair in a bun and aggressively scowl at a monitor and still meet your target? Fuck yeah.

You went on to tell him about yourself - your job, your travels, the reason you were in Seoul. He listens to them with rapt attention throwing in appropriate questions without interrupting your flow. He gives the right amount of sympathy; just enough to show that he understands why you have three sets of nightwear and a futon in your office, but not too much where it seems like you should “take a break” and “think about the joys of motherhood” - as you are often told.

During the conversation, you digress a little to take in his slight features. The apple of his cheeks, in full display, when he tells you about how he pranked his members. The light pout of his lips when he talks about the times their path seemed too far-fetched, when every single obstacle felt like the end of their career. The stars in his eyes when he speaks of how he feels during tours, meeting the endless number of fans, the drive that keeps him going. They all make an endearing package. Eager to please, you kept the conversation going with gusto. The meal is followed by a snack break, after which you had effectively exhausted all conversation topics that could be brought up with near-strangers.

A quick alcohol break later, (yes, you caved, the catalyst was welcome) you both doze off, seemingly exhausted from recollecting respective timetables. He wakes up soon after to play video games and talk to the other members. But you fall into a deep slumber, with an Angel’s chuckles in the background guiding you through the sleep.

Jungkook wakes up to see his character dead. The video game was forgotten after his conversation with you began.

He spent an inordinate amount of time talking to you. And now that you’re asleep, he is only thinking about how much he enjoyed the conversation. Jungkook is not a speaker. His introversion leaves much to be desired in that department. Most of the time, his members cover for him, play the role of dutiful wingmen, and introduce him to their friends. And still, it took him a long time to talk freely.

But something about you made him open up.

Maybe it was the way you listened to him, lips slightly parted when you were absorbing every single word he let out. Maybe it was the questions you asked, treading lightly and skirting any personal questions. Maybe it was the fact that you pretended to not know him at first, mindful of his privacy. The butterflies in him could be explained by this.

But.

It could also be how graceful you looked, even though you’re dressed in sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. It could be how you carried yourself, with great elegance and poise, even though your work was taxing. It could also be your toe socks, and your glee when he showed you his.

Your personality is infectious. He already misses you, despite you being inches away, desperately wants to exhaust every second of this journey engrossed in you.

He wonders if you feel that way too.

Speaking of whom-

A snicker escapes his lips when he turns to face you.

In your sleepy haze, Jungkook sees that a) your mouth is wide open, b) your hands mindlessly fiddle with the reams of pages on your lap, and c) your eyes scrunch as sunlight pierces through the flight to bounce off your face. Cute, he muses, trying to locate the source of the criminal rays irking you.

The window letting the sunbeam in is beside an old man sitting on the other end. He is eyeing the magazine in his hands with abject disapproval, like the booklet had sullied him and his family.

Gathering up the courage, Jungkook calls out for the man.

“Excuse me, sir. Do you mind pulling the window shade?” He asks, in the sweetest voice that his hyungs would melt at first listen.

Puppy eyes are met with the geezer’s piercing glare, making Jungkook wonder if he accidentally said something strikingly offensive instead of what he thought he said. About to backtrack his words and try again, he gets interrupted by the man letting out a big grunt, after which he continues in his endeavor to telepathically set fire to the magazine. He does not forget to give a nasty side-eye but completely refuses to comply with Jungkook’s request.

“And my team thinks my glares are spooky.” You pique, having witnessed the whole interaction, “I ought to have him on board”. Jungkook snorts, and you take that to be his agreement.

Pausing, you throw caution in the wind and add, “Thank you though, that was very sweet of you.”

He eyes you demurely. “No problem, you looked like you needed the rest.”

“Listen, I-”

“So I was think-”

Ladies and gentlemen, we have just been cleared to land at the Incheon International airport. Please ensure your backpacks and suitcases are stowed away in the overhead compartments or underneath the seats ahead of you. The flight attendants are currently passing around the cabin to make a final compliance check and pick up any remaining cups and glasses. Thank you.

High-quality curses almost make it to heaven (speakers). The announcement dissipates all the courage you had mustered, feeling a rush exit your body. You had almost asked for his contact - and by the looks of it, he had wanted it too. Or maybe your hair is a rat's nest and he was just going to point that out. Guess you will never know.

You shyly smile at each other before going about following the instructions. Your half-read document gets stuffed back into its bag, to be read once you have no distractions in the form of eye candy armed with saccharine speech. Well, you have Jake to distract you plenty, but you can shoo him away by threatening his paycheck.

As the flight descends, you look over to your neighbor - one last time, you guess - and surprisingly lock eyes with him. Anything that had exited you comes rushing back, veins in full alertness. A moment’s awkwardness later you both burst out laughing, each doing their best to hide their crimson cheeks. You find one more online fact to be true - Jungkook’s peak happiness laughter, eye crinkle and nose scrunch, can melt your whole entire heart.

“Hey mami, come here often?”

“For the last time Jake, I will not hesitate to donate your bones for science.”

“Well, I heard bone, it's already a win for me.”

You let out a sigh of exasperation. There is no reforming him.

“How was the flight?” Jake questions as you approach the baggage belt. Looking out for your somber black suitcase, you try to play it off like you did not spend the whole time in the company of a stranger who is on the fast track to your heart.

“The usual. Sleep, eat, read needlessly printed out documents that could have been shoved into on email, repeat. What about you?”

As Jake starts an account of his flight experience in exorbitant detail, you took the opportunity to try and find your ride. Once you locate it and get in, you catch the end of his sermon.

“-and the name of the book will be ‘How to manage a farm - ‘cause chicks gon’ be crazy!’. What do you think?”

“I think it was a good idea I chose to zone out.”

“Y/N come on! It’s a self-help book for poor souls born without my raw charisma. Men and women out there want me, but I can’t satisfy them all. I will just resort to making more of me! It will have pointers, DIY’s and pick-up lines crafted by yours truly - wanna hear one?”

You throw your bag in front and turn to him. “Do I have a choice? Go ahead.”

Grinning like a Cheshire cat, he starts. “Am I cute? Squish my cheeks. Am I hot? Clap my cheeks.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Points for creativity. You’ll still get wine splashed at you.”

Jake was not one to give up. “‘It’s good we don’t need eye condoms, or you’d be on your way to delivery.’”

“Just… don’t have kids, okay? This gene must be stopped, right here.”

“Okay, this one is my all-time favorite. ‘Rack so big, I don’t motorboat, I motorship.’”

That’s it. The guffaw itching you since the start of this conversation is out of its cages, populating the air in the car. Wiping stray tears from your face, you face Jake, seeming very pleased with himself. Undoubtedly, he is coming up with absurd scenarios to ease your nerves. No book is in the works (one could only hope).

“Thank you, I feel much better now. You can stop coming up with these.”

The goof has the gall to look appalled. “I was going to cut you ten percent of my book commission but I guess that’s out. Hmph.”

“I’m at the receiving end of all these pick-up lines. I should make twenty at least for all the nuisance I’ve put up with.”

“All right mami, we’ll shelve this for later. Here’s the schedule for today. You have a 10 a.m. breakfast meeting with Dr. Park Shin Young, Lead Research Scientist of the project. Then you have a bunch of seminars to attend, which will go on all afternoon. There’s a bar right beside this venue.”

“How is that pertinent?”

“So you know where to find me.” He continues, unperturbed. “After which there’s an evening meeting with the whole team to demonstrate the product and a marketing meeting right after.”

“Am I required for the marketing meeting?” Your expertise is limited to the technical field. PR work isn’t your cup of tea, but they stubbornly demand your presence.

Jake exhales. “We’ve been through this. You CAN doze off during the meeting, but you have to be there. Just pretend you’re a college student, sitting in one class, completing assignments for another.”

“But if I’m there I feel the need to pay attention.” you whine.

“Clearly you weren’t one of those college students,” Jake says, perusing through his diary, “Stop being a pedant and do one of those things people do. Loving their jobs and whatnot.”

Before you can retort a reply, the driver pulls up to your destination and you exit the car.

Eleven at night is when you finally check in to the hotel. The tedious day warrants your heels coming off before you even reach your floor. There’s an irritant drumming, from the balls of your feet right up to your temples, that beg for your attention. Setting your footwear on your bags, you massage your feet for temporary relief as the lift took you closer to a more permanent one.

Once your suitcase gets parked in the closet, you head to the bathroom to soak your day away with the bath bomb kit you were gifted in one of the seminars. The ball fizzles as soon as it hits the water, dispersing in tiny bubbles and a heady aroma of vanilla and lavender. The soft amber tones of the walls, the lambent gold lighting, and the ambrosial air put all your senses at ease. You sink in; the bathwater permeating warmth through your skin. Crackling bubbles with every move; the water teases your neck, soothing the laceration with every lick. Every pulse point on you is enhanced - you let yourself float wherever your mind takes you.

A familiar face makes its presence known. You allow yourself to think about him, after pushing his visage away all day. Something about him… felt like home. Soothing, comforting, always speaking in dulcet tones unless something humorous pulled out a loud laugh. Even that wasn’t jarring; it was the exact opposite. Felt like sunshine filled your lungs every time he cracked up. Made you want to keep talking to him, keep him amused and entertained. You can’t imagine he converses with every stranger like that.

But maybe he did; maybe this is some unspoken celebrity culture you were unaware of.

All you know is that this was a once in a lifetime experience. There’s no way you are encountering another personage ever again. There’s no way you’re encountering him again. Luck can only thrive so far.

So when you exit the bathroom, clad in a towel, remnant bathwater dripping from every end, the last thing you expect is Jungkook, spread out on the bed, casually flipping through his phone like it’s his own abode.

“J-Jungkook?”

Y/N. In his room. In a towel. Dripping wet hair. Emanating a delectable aroma.

Y/N. In person.

He is dreaming. He has to be. He's been thinking of you ever since the flight, so now he is delusional. Nothing else. There’s absolutely no chance that you’re in his room, let alone… like this.

Right?

“What are you… what are you doing in my room?”

Wrong.

Jungkook knows he should say something. He should not be gawking at you like he is doing now. But God. You look so pretty, eyebrows arched up in confusion, jaw about to be unhinged, hands fluttering around not knowing what to do.

He forces his body to action.

"Y/N!" He exclaims, finally averting his eyes to face the wall.

Pause.

"Wait, what do you mean MY room? This is my room!"

You’re baffled. "Huh? How is that possible? This was given to me!"

“I really don’t know, Y/N, there must have been some confusion! Please, you have to believe me!”

Jungkook wants to turn around and face you. He desperately wants to clear the air. He can see that this looks bad. He obviously looks like an enamored creep, waltzing into your space. You probably think he does this all the time. Many a time people have misunderstood him, his celebrity status not earning him many points. You must think the same.

And now you’re going to tell him to get out and never see you again, he hypothesizes. His brain is working overtime trying to remedy the situation, without noticing your now relaxing demeanor.

“Oh, okay.”

“I’ll fix this, I’ll go to the reception and fix this. You don’t worry, I didn’t see anything, you can trust me, I’ll go an-”

“Hey, hey,” your tone gentle, “it’s okay, trust me. Just, let me get dressed and I’ll come down with you.”

Your soothing response almost has Jungkook on his knees. Whoever orchestrated this meet, he is just thankful for this good turn. Anyone else would go berserk, and rightfully so.

But you’re not anyone else.

He isn’t just anyone.

Technically, he isn’t a stranger, you try to justify. You should have been more shocked, enraged, or at least doubtful of his intentions. But you weren’t. You had accepted his explanation, let him stay in your room while you changed in the bathroom, and now are en-route to the main desk to rectify this error.

The air around you two is strained; he won’t even look you in the eye. Any question you have is replied to concisely, leaving no room for a chat. Nothing to disperse the tension between you two.

Like now, in the elevator, Jungkook has done the math and maintains the maximum distance between you. Opposite ends of the diagonal of this lift, his peripheral vision probably barely picks you up. However, his evasion helps in a way--you are able to study his full form.

He is dressed casually, and any lesser man would have seemed casual enough. On him, it is a whole new game. Ripped jeans hugging his sturdy legs, the slashed fabric allowing you a peek of his dangerous thighs. A plain white t-shirt tucked in to show off his lean waistline. The only thing holding you back from having a full-blown wet dream, wide awake, is his chestnut overcoat, saving his modesty and yours.

Jake was right, eye condoms are the need of the century.

To be fair, Jungkook had the worse end. He saw you scantily clad, post-bath glow and everything. You wonder what is going through his mind.

Definitely nothing like the debauchery unfolding in yours.

He has probably seen his fair share of women, and one hot to trot lady isn’t anything new. If anything, him dodging you is a sign of his civility, something you are lacking apparently--ready to jump his bones.

Stop thinking about his thighs, you whore. Get back home and trusty old Vlad the Impaler will take care of you.

The employee’s jaw almost hits the desk as Jungkook explains the situation.

“Ma’am, Sir, we are extremely sorry about this confusion. We usually keep another key for family members, but somehow you got them both. We are deeply apologetic.”

“Yes, it’s okay, I’d just like my room key now and-”

“We will give you the best of our service to make up for this disorder. Not that we didn’t plan on giving you the best anyway, but now it will be top-notch! Please allow us to have your room cleaned again ma’am. Kyuyoung-ah! Get the people to prep 5338 and set 5337 again, and add more flowers!”

“Hey, that really won’t be necessary, we can just go back and forget about all thi-”

“And!” She continues, relentless, fully intent on doing her job, “Here are coupons for our round the clock pub! The ambiance is phenomenal, and our bartender makes a mean drink! You can use the facility for free during your stay. Hope this compensates for our gaffe. Once again, we are extremely sorry!”

She extends two passport-sized coupons that you hurriedly grab, wanting this quandary to end.

The walk back to the elevator is less tight-lipped, only because Jungkook starts his deluge of apologies. Even though you had felt the same way on the flight, he was going overboard. You quickly assuage him and deflect his concerns.

“It’s okay, Jungkook. It really is. I know it was a mistake.”

“I know, but I shouldn’t have just walked in like that. I should have checked.”

Your expression is the visual form of a question mark.

“Do you go around making sure your hotel room doesn’t have a surprise occupant?”

You’re taking this too lightly; it's obvious you are doing it for him. He can only laugh, broad delicious shoulders loosening in relief.

After a delay, you add, “You can’t help it if fate wants us crossing paths like this.”

The quip makes Jungkook lose a beat. He cocks a brow in surprise - at that juncture, his features lose all boyish charm and turn unquestionably irresistible.

Then, in a flash, the expression is replaced by his usual grin, back to his boy-next-door spirit. Are there world records for this speed? Jungkook needs to sign up to one.

Collecting the stars floating around your head, you return the favor, thankful that the barrier is now broken.

After a quick break of courage gathering, you turn to him. “How come you’re staying in this hotel? Thought you’d be home.”

A thought is building in your mind; that this is too personal a question. But before you can take it back, you hear a chime. Jungkook moves. And somehow, you are moving with him.

The elevator door opens, and people walk out.

But that’s not where your attention is.

You are focused on the sole patch of your body in contact with Jungkook’s arm.

The palm of his hand sitting at the small of your waist is what had guided you away from the elevator. Even through the fabric of your t-shirt, his hand is sending goosebumps all over your body. The air feels twenty degrees too hot for you.

Jungkook is simply being his chivalrous self, while you are ready to get arrested for public nudity.

Woman, you are a disgrace. Get laid.

Jungkook will high five himself once he gets to his pad.

Is it right to get so euphoric about the smallest act of intimacy? That too with a near stranger? He has no answer. You are special to him; that much he knows. And someone up there agrees with him as well, letting him run into you again (albeit under crude circumstances; he’ll take what he gets). In this proximity, he can hear the slight gasp that escapes you once you recognize his hold, feel your muscles tense, smell the flowery fragrance you still carry. The fragrance that takes his mind on a rewind routine; one he forces to a halt. He feels lewd for taking pleasure in that misfortune, but he can take pleasure in the present.

Entering the elevator, Jungkook has taken note of one thing: the roles have been reversed. On the downward voyage, it had been him avoiding you. Now, even with the closeness, you refuse to meet his eye. Something on the carpeted floor has your unrelenting attention. Letting his gaze dip to you, he bit back a smirk. Good to know you are as affected by him as he is by you.

“It’s a shoot.”

You relent, looking up to him. “Huh?”

“You asked me why I’m here, it’s a shoot. The site is close by, so we don’t waste time traveling. Once the shoot is done, we will get back home.”

“Ah, that makes sense.”

You beg your grey matter to find some topic of conversation to halt the blood rushing to your cheeks. The atmosphere is frozen again, but not like last time. Any unease earlier present has drifted. The tension that once kept you from closeness now keeps you from moving apart. His hand sits unmoved, continuing to rest on your hip. Jungkook can hear the loud thudding of a heartbeat, but he cannot discern whether they are from his heart or from yours.

Continuing after a pause, “I will be here for a few days now.” he adds, the suggestive hint of the words masked by his innocuous smile.

“Ah.” You lamely add. You ought to kick yourself - but at this closeness, you might hit him too.

The span of your separation is contracting, even though none of you move. Like the land underneath you is shifting, because even Mother Earth can’t handle the sexual tension in this confined space.

“Ma’am, Sir, you’re here!”

The booming voice of an employee disrupts the scene. You jump, wondering how you didn’t hear the door open, while Jungkook takes a graceful step back unscathed.

“Your rooms are ready, please follow me.”

The walk back is quiet, except for bashfully exchanged glances and racing pulses. When you finally reach your respective rooms, he speaks again.

“Want to accidentally cross paths with me at the bar?”

The heat reaches your ears. A moment of silence prompts you to look up, and you are held hostage by his eyes. His gaze flickers, intense and probing. Then, as if it never happened, his eyes narrow and his smile softens, harmless and easy. Again, this has to be witchcraft.

“Maybe we’ll let destiny decide. Hasn’t failed us so far.”

Now, alone in bed with nothing but your thoughts, you wonder when it will ever happen again.

Three days. Three days before it happens again.

Three days filled with conferences, a ton of files, and a lot of battery acid disguised as coffee. Apart from the success of your work, the highlight of your time is when Jake tried to fix his shoe heel at a meeting and ended up gluing his fingers together. In a quiet room filled with immersed employees, he had yelled, “Superglue, my ass!”.

The punctuation was not vocalized.

Tonight was your last night in Seoul. It was supposed to be a night to yourself, but an office party pulled you out of your cavern to get dressed. You put on an elegant dress, a black and silver number, only to find the ‘party’ was the most monotonous excuse of networking. High-end businessmen exchanging cards over non-alcoholic fizz was not your idea of a party, so you quickly excused yourself.

The coupon still weighed heavy in your purse, carrying memoirs of the last time you saw him. You had wanted to go earlier, but always held yourself back. What if he wasn’t there? What if you missed your chance? Why did you have to sashay away with a cool statement that night instead of clawing your way through the lust-filled air and settling things then and there?

You supposed a drink at the hotel bar on your last night couldn’t be a bad thing, even if Jungkook didn’t show up.

So here you are, sipping on your wine and trying to appear nonchalant as you look out the window overseeing the city’s skyline. One ear is trained to the door of the pub, the slightest peep from that corner alerting your antenna.

So far, no sign of him.

This won’t work, you tell yourself. Second time’s a charm, third time’s pushing it too far.

But as you wave the bartender to top up your drink, the corner of your eye catches movement; one, two, three heads appear through the door. Signature multichromatic mops of hair make their way in, forcing your pulse to marathon mode.

And then you hear it.

You hear his trademark cachinnate echoing through the structure. Multitudes of contrasting sentiments fill your gut. Are you sensing relief, that fate served its purpose without fail? Or is it the anticipation of how events will unfold? A sense of titillation, that a three-day old bond makes you feel more than year-old relationships you’ve had? You pry your eyes from that direction, trying to appear aloof when you are anything but.

When you think you’ve gathered your composure, you look up. Like a hare falling for its bait, you are trapped, because he is looking right back at you.

Jin and Jimin are laughing about something that happened on set today, but Jungkook only has eyes for you. He can’t believe his luck.

The past few days, his schedule had no give. After every shoot, the only thing he remembered was taking off his shoes and falling into a deep slumber.

So today when the shoot wrapped up earlier, Jungkook grabbed his trusty wingmen and open bar enthusiasts to utilize his coupon, and possibly test his kismet.

“Wasn’t she on our flight?” Jin observes, tracking Jungkook’s sight.

“Oh yeah! Dude, is she the one?” Jimin keenly notes. “How do you keep bumping into each other like this?”

Jungkook downs his whisky, the burn felt from the throat to his diaphragm. “I don’t know, hyung. I don’t know what to do.” Beckoning the bartender for a refill, he tears away from your sight.

“Okay, liquid fortification is all good but how about,” Jin stops briefly to pluck the coupon out of Jungkook’s hands, “we handle the drinks department while you attend to her?”

Jimin nods in assent. “The worst thing you could do is spend time with her slurring and garbling while she ditches your sorry ass.”

“Hey! I won’t do that. Just, ” Jungkook gulps, “I don’t know... We’ve met like, hardly a few times. It really doesn’t make sense. What if we’re not on the same page?”

Jimin frowns, and even Jin seems unhappy with his reasoning.

“Things don’t have to make sense. You’re two consenting adults. You like her. By the way she’s eyeing you right now, I’m sure the feeling is mutual. You said it’s easy to talk to her right?”

Jungkook pouts, but sees his point.

“Then go with that. Don’t chart out a plan, just go with your heart.” Jin adopts a soft smile of encouragement.

“Meanwhile we will grab the others and exploit this coupon to the full extent!” Jimin gleefully appends.

Jungkook’s eyes crinkle as he laughs with the other two. They are right. Carpe diem, right?

Finding you again, his breath hitches. You look beautiful. The sleek black dress with silver embellishments over the torso. It hugs you in the right places, accentuating your already alluring frame. Your shoulders bare, elegant collarbones waiting to be tasted. Hair tied up, exposing the delicious curve of your neck, a stretch Jungkook wants to pepper kisses onto, without missing a spot. You look exquisite against the backdrop of the night.

Carpe noctem it is.

“Did you really dress up to use the coupon?” The tongue-in-cheek query breaking your line of thought.

A breathy chuckle leaves your lips, hopefully masking the frenzy in your heart.

“I had a party. A very dull party. Figured I preferred my own company over that.”

“Do you prefer your own company over mine?”

He’s still standing, tall frame waiting for your permission to occupy the next seat. God, he looks amazing.

“Not at all.” The words leave huskier than you intend, but they convey the message.

He takes the seat, a mere step away, his cologne wafting over to your side. The alcohol buzz makes the scent feel stronger, every bone in you wanting to dive in nose-first.

Apparently you have been staring, because he nervously chuckles “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Should you go the modest route or fuck it?

Fuck it.

“You look... great today,” is all you get out. Stupid brain spewing half-baked goods.

Understatement of the year. He looks like sin incarnate. All black attire highlighting his golden skin, the dichotomy of his whole look has you understandably tongue-tied. Black jeans - no rips, sadly- with a dark grey high-neck t-shirt, tucked in of course, because pain is the only constant for you. A black trench coat is thrown on top to seal the look. The obsidian outfit sends desperate need through your body, an intense desire to rip it all off surging through you. Somehow, through all these layers you can sense his fit body, his rippled muscles, his sturdy pecs, like they have an aura of their own.

“Ah, thank you. You look amazing as well.” Halting a moment to sip his drink, he resumes. “Sucks that you dressed up for nothing.”

“Well, you liked it. So it's not for nothing.”

If looks were potent, Jungkook’s own could set you on fire. Gaze coolly raking over your figure, the tick in his jaw betrays his reaction. A chill passes through every part of your body under his intense scrutiny.

“Are there other things you would wear… if I liked it?” He carefully treads.

“There are certain things I’m wearing right now that I’m sure you would appreciate.”

If not for the shrinking distance between you two, you couldn’t have caught the low hiss. His animalistic need, usually kept well under control, is raging against its bonds, screaming to let go. Your exquisite gown, flowing down your curves, accentuating the swell of your ass - God save this dress from his feral hands. Against his will, he restrains himself. He would make this a lasting encounter.

“How many drinks have you had?” He needs you to remember every single moment.

“Two glasses of wine, don’t worry. You?”

“A shot of whisky, that’s all. Haven’t even finished my second drink.”

Gone were his cherubic appearance and dimpled smiles; the man in front of you is oozing pure sex appeal. His clenched jawline, furrowed brow, and perfectly placed tresses add to his raw masculinity. The cusp of your thighs is damp; if this is his effect here, what will it be behind locked doors? You wonder whether this is the same man that gushed about old-era video games in the flight.

“Well, if you are wearing them for me, I’d be a fool to miss them.” he brings you back to the present. Twinkling eyes match your eager ones as you give a small nod.

Every step you take shoots a thrilling tingle through your spine. Every inch of distance closed forces you to close the next with doubled speed. Every foot forward adds to the thick air, laced with hunger, desire, and an inordinate amount of trust placed in the hands of a stranger.

The first time you two walked back to the elevator, his move had caught you unaware.

Now, the arm wraps around your entire waist, body flush against his, yet you yearn to get closer.

Last time, you couldn’t match his gaze, skin burnt a crimson hue.

Now, your eyes are locked together, any movement in your surroundings be damned.

Michael Jackson rising from the dead and performing Thriller wouldn’t tear you away from your current view (sorry MJ, maybe next time).

When the doors close, he places a palm on your bare back, bringing you to his chest.

“I’ve wanted this so bad, ever since I met you. It’s insane.”

The hand caressing your back makes you sigh. “Not if I wanted the same.”

His grip tightens. “The things I want to do to you...” eyes searching yours, ”tell me you can handle it.”

“Oh baby,” you drawl, “I’ll do whatever you want. Whatever it is,” your lips hover on his, “I can take it.”

The elevator doors opened too soon for your liking, and Jungkook drags you through the corridor. You’re practically hanging on to him, feet barely responsive, the faint buzz of wine making you giddy. His hawkish gaze soaks in everything you do, memorizing every response to his touch.

You lean over to lay wet kisses on his neck. Pleasure searing through his veins, Jungkook’s knees almost buckle. He pushes you against a wall and locks you in with his form.

“Uh-uh-uh, honey,” he tsks, “you’re not making this easy on me?”

You pretend to ponder. “Well, I didn’t plan on making it easy.”

He smirks, all sex, and the wetness between your legs is making its presence known. Leaning into your ear, he whispers, “Unless you want me to have my way with you right here…” and all your brattiness dissipates.

Satisfied, he grins. “Your place or mine?”

“Hmmn, depends.”

He cocks a brow. “On?”

“Am I gonna be able to walk tomorrow?”

That damned smirk. “Your place it is.”

Jungkook’s lips are on yours the moment your door is locked. He cages you against its frame, teeth clashing and biting anything they find. You let your hands roam all over, searching for something to hold on to. A throaty sound leaves Jungkook when your digits card through his hair and tug on it, a sound you gladly swallow.

Time seems to have taken a break. Your thoughts are blank. You chase the kiss like it's the only thing you know, the only thing you’re born to do, your sole mission in life before you die. The bruising pace Jungkook set is eagerly matched by you. Gravity is slowly losing its meaning, and you’re nothing but a stray entity floating in space. And this kiss is your only source of air.

Jungkook pulls you towards him, closing the nonexistent distance between you. Heat rises from his chest, the feeling is hypnotic beyond reason. A taste of you has ruined every other flavor. He kept his eyes half-open, sneaking peeks at your flushed face whenever you come for air. His fingers explored your body, grabbing your ass and pulling you into him. Your clothed crevice jolts at the friction, hips hounding for more.

The moan that leaves you gets muted, because Jungkook takes this opportunity to take control. Tongue forcing its way in to explore every corner of your mouth, it melds with your own muscle. If this were a dance, it would be a fierce tango, oozing with sexual tension. Breathing is now trivial, this kiss is imperative.

Jungkook’s hands grab your hips and twirl you, both of you now facing a full-length mirror. You can witness your neckline being abused, mulberry blossoms left in place. The sight has your sex clenching, and lips liberated, you couldn’t stop yourself from mewling.

“Fuck, Y/N. I’m going to make you scream so loud, the hotel reception will hear you.”

With your head spinning in lust, you try to form your words right. “An- And what? Discuss how a second room for you was - oh god - was useless?”

Jungkook pauses to admire his craft; your neck, shoulders, and collar are now littered with bruises, like a garden of hyacinth at his disposal. The view is maddening, your lusty gaze locked on to him in the mirror. His mane is tousled, no doubt your handiwork, and his hand is tracing the outline of your dress.

“That cursed day,” He chokes out, “You were so fucking hard to resist you know?”

You turn back to face him, hand reaching back to undo your halter neck, “You have me now.” Stepping back, you let your gown fall.

He froze. You are standing in front of him, robed in only your black lace-embroidered strapless bra, and matching panties, each adorned with a white bow. The swell of your breasts barely caged in the cups, making Jungkook drool at sight. All the wind was knocked out of his lungs; you look like a prisoner’s last meal, waiting to be devoured.

“On your knees.” he commands.

Not a second is put to waste. You begin undressing him, unbuckling the pants and aggressively pulling them down. Next come the boxers, and you are faced with-

Wow.

You mean this in the nicest way, but, what a dick.

He is already hard, the mushroomed tip angry and red, leaking a drop of precum begging to be tasted. The girth exceeds your expectation, already visualizing the delicious visual of your cunt stretched thin. He is going to reach places even Vlad the Impaler couldn’t; you are already brimming with anticipation for the final act.

And his thighs. Nothing angelic about them. Taut. Muscular. Sinewy. Something uncivilized in you wants them to trap your frame between them, caging you, pinning you down. You press kisses on his inner thigh, letting your tongue poke out when you hear him exhale. A sharp bite shocks Jungkook, but you only smirk.

“Wanted to do that since I saw you.”

The stare that meets you is practically challenging you to try that again, and perhaps reap some delicious consequences.

You bring yourself back, giving his cock the full attention that it deserves. Looking up, you see his half-lidded eyes, assertive and arresting, compelling you to go on.

You bring your palm up to him. He raised a brow in question.

“Spit for me.”

Jungkook almost busts his load when he hears you. “Fuck, so dirty.” he garbles out. Rolling his neck in an attempt to divert his blood, he takes your hand and drops a thick glob at the center of your palm.

A throaty moan arises from you, and his dick is harder than ever.

“Go on baby, show me you can suck dick like a champ.”

You give him a confident look; you’re about to rock his world. Starting with small licks, you tease the slit and taste the pre-cum lodged in it. Meanwhile, you work the spit along the shaft; you spit on it again, the original amount insufficient to cover the length. You can feel his dick twitching against your attention, eager to be sheathed. Interspersing with some long drags on the underside, you zero in on the pinched skin under the head.

Jungkook is staring at your jerking him off. The sight of you, clad in lingerie is blowing his mind. If that was not enough, the mirror in front is providing a sumptuous secondary perspective. The smooth stretch of your back, the swell of your ass, the panty fabric barely able to cover the expanse, everything on you is making him short circuit. Seeing you on your knees, your deferential nature stirs something in him. If he doesn’t control himself, he will bend you in half and ride you to sunrise. He doesn’t want to scare you, but fuck, his depraved early man instincts are telling him otherwise.

“What are you- ohhh, holy shi-”

Instead of slipping his cock fully into your mouth, you hold it up, and pay careful attention to his balls. Jungkook’s hands come to rest on your head, a telltale sign of his unraveling. With a smile, you let your tongue swipe through every nook and corner till they are coated in saliva.

“You think you’re such a fucking tease, ” He grabs you by your now unraveled tresses and pulls you back, “Ease up baby, your throat is in for a treat.”

In one quick swoop, he lodges himself at the base of your throat, provoking your gag reflex, but you restrain the urge to pull back. Breathing through your nose, you suck and swallow whatever you can; his girth isn't giving you much to work with.

Jungkook growls. “Such a tight fit. Like you’re meant to be like this. Forever.”

The last word slips out unwittingly.

Alarmed, his eyes flit down to gauge your response, but all you are doing is looking back at him.

Fuck, your dovelike eyes are captivating. They look so angelic, a complete contrast to the perverse posture you are in. Not an ounce of displeasure in response to his words. Pure, unadulterated affection for him. Only for him.

“God, you’re going to be the death of me.” Jungkook husks. “You’ll do anything for me, you said?”

Muffled whimpers impart your compliance, and you bob your head up and down for good measure. The tip of his cock hits every ridge of your throat, the vibration releasing more fluid down.

“Pleasure yourself, baby. Touch yourself, but don’t you cum.”

Your brow distresses further, a disgruntled whine leaving you and reverberating around him. Already so turned on, the lightest friction would make you combust.

Jungkook’s teeth clench. “Edge yourself for me, sweetie.”

It's like your body is tuned to his command. Slipping two fingers under the band, you part and slide them on either side of your throbbing nub. Despite you avoiding any pressure point that might push you over the edge, the pleasure threatens to tip you over.

You look over for his approval. Swallowing, he nods. Your self-stimulation is making him dizzy. It's time to get serious.

“Such a good girl. Don’t stop, okay? I’m going to fuck your throat raw.” Starting with mellow jerks, “Hope you don’t have to speak anytime tomorrow.” he rasps.

The carpeted floor grazing your knees only adds to the revelry. You’re not in control of yourself anymore. The back of your gullet is aching as Jungkook shoves into you again and again. An amalgamation of his salty juices and your dribble lewdly coats your chin and neck; you must look ravished. Everything with Jungkook feels augmented; every single motion of his making your sex clench.

He is close - you can feel his grip on your hair tightening.

“Can I cum on you?” words slither through his clamped teeth. You frantically nod.

With a loud grunt, he pulls you off and releases all over your chest, a stray pump landing on your chin. Thick liquid, dripping from your jaw onto your collarbones and breasts, the whole scene is filthy good. Your unfilled cunt is aching to be replete with the cum.

Post-orgasmic glow is dazzling on him--hair drenched in sweat, tufts sticking to his forehead. His breathing is heavy and resonant as dilated pupils take in your soaked state. Bending down, he crooks a finger under your chin, anchoring his attention on your dewy stare. The onyx embers in his eyes bore into yours, studying for any hesitation in them. A microscopic moment of tenderness, unspoken words exchange between you.

Satisfied to find only searing hunger, his digits collect the beads of cum on your jaw, pushing them back into your mouth. Your eyes roll skyward, relishing the briny taste, nearly asking him to do it again. Leaning further, he grabs the wrist of your hand that is thoughtlessly rubbing your sex - you didn’t even realize you were still doing it. You feel drained, like you orgasmed vicariously through him.

“My turn.” He wears a devilish expression on his archangel eyes.

Lips connect once again as he pulls you up. If he tastes himself, he is relishing it, with his tongue exploring the deep cavern. With wobbly ankles, you let him guide you to your bed, dropping on your back. He follows you, pouncing on you, plunging into your mouth again like a beast hungered. Bodies melting together like an icicle under the summer blaze, your hands hunt to frisk his skin. Realizing he is yet to undress, you yank at this t-shirt, attempting to liberate him from the offending fabric.

“Tsk, greedy.” he bit your ear, soothing the sting with a kiss.

“Cruel is what it is.” You huff, like everything he’s doing is not a blissful affair.

How do men do that? Violently ripping their shirt off and leaving a messy mop of hair in its wake, nevertheless looking like they could walk a runway the next instant. Jungkook was no exception. The moment he pulls his shirt off, you are rendered speechless.

Chiseled chest like the work of an artisan. Droplets of sweat race down the paths traced by the sculpted abs, an intense desire to taste them forming in you. He is a mesomorphic dream who puts Greek gods to shame. Swallowing, you let your hand trace the outline of his pecks, feeling him shudder against your touch.

“Jungkook, please.”

Who was he to deny you?

Leaning up to you with a wicked smirk, Jungkook drops a thick line of spit right on your hardened nipple. The concoction of his cum and spit soaks through the lacy material. A lone finger circles, avoiding the spot that requires the most attention. You arch your back, begging him for more, just more of anything. The wet fabric amplifies the emptiness in your cunt.

“Aww,” he coos, clearly amused by your neediness, “undo this for me, sweetness. Let me see you.”

Moving at lightning speed, you unhook the bra, swinging it away to a corner of the room.

“Oh no.” He mock-frowns, veins bulging on his arm as he controls himself. “Look at these tits, fuck.” Mind reeling with ideas, filthy ideas, of all the things he wants to do to you. “You’ve ruined everything else for me.”

You tremble. “Good, so have you. Want you for myself. Want you,” pulling him close, “to do your worst.” you end with a whisper.

Jungkook’s jaw tightens. “Careful what you ask for,” he grits before diving headfirst into your bosom.

He licks and laves and bites and laps--your breasts are on fire. Continuing his marking spree, new blemishes make an appearance on your torso. Nibbling on one nipple, he pinches the other; pulling moan after moan from you.

Your hips barely touch the bed, bucking up in response to Jungkook’s sinking teeth into your ample bust. He has decided to not leave an inch without his saliva, and like a man on a mission, covers every part with rapt attention.

“Yo- You don’t have to--oh holy fuck--you don’t have to, cover me in marks you kno--ohh my go-” The sentence is spastic, piercing mewls breaking your flow of speech and thought.

“These fucking tits,” roughly clasping your pert breast in his large palm, “they look so much better like this.” The proud smile he shows has not the slightest hint of regret.

Catching a break, he twiddles your nipples, letting his other hand sit on your covered sex. He is teasing you; you recognize that. Just giving you opportunities to disobey, to take all the pain he has to offer.

It’s a good thing you like the pain.

You slowly roll your hips, trying to grind against his palm, taking whatever help you can get.

A sharp smack lands on your clit, shooting your eyes open - you don’t even know when they closed. Jungkook’s hand is soothing the site of the blow, the pain converting to pleasure under his touch.

“Patience, sweetness,” the gravely whisper sending tingles down your spine, “such a good girl for me.”

You give him a slight nod - he smacks you again, once, twice, thrice, without a break. Your entrance is smarting, but you want to give him everything. Biting your lips to stop the labored moans escaping, you clench your eyes and savor the burn.

Your show of obedience has Jungkook’s heart thronging. Fuck, he was enjoying toying with you. Playing you like a fiddle. You produce every tone he desires in the form of wanton melodies, he wants to play them over and over again like his favorite song.

“How are we doing?” he asks, a shit-eating grin plastered on him. Before you could answer, his fingers shallowly enter your soaked pussy, still hampered by the cloth.

“You- fuck, you said I was the tease here?” Your hands are at his wrist, begging to pull the scrap of cloth aside and have his way.

He comes to face your sopping mound, pausing only to speak “Never said I wasn’t,” and starts pressing soft, feathery kisses. “That day, seeing you dripping in that towel, I dreamt of having these legs around me.”

“I swear, at least take it off - oh Jungkoo-”

Without warning, he kneads your ass and pushes you into his face.

You feel like you’ve been on the edge for hours. The suckle on your engorged clit along with the abrasion of the lace gets you so close. So damn close. So, so clo-

The tightness in your belly finally snaps and you howl, gushing your vat of arousal onto his face. The high was more intense than you had imagined, so high that you wonder if you will ever find your way back to reality. You feel like a rock in space, aimlessly floating in the vast nothingness.

You dimly notice Jungkook toying with the lacy hem of your panties, pulling it back to snap it against your hip. The sting is soon forgotten, along with your panties flung across the bed, as he parks himself back between your legs.

“You smell incredible.” He approves, taking a long whiff of your honeyed center. “Look at you, so messy.” He licks a long stripe along your crease. “Messy girl, I should clean you up.”

“Wait Jungkook-” you oppose, lids heaving in pleasure. “I need you inside me, please. I can’t take -oof”

Gnawing at your sodden folds, he let his nose press against your clit. “You’re so fucking tight, you think you can take me?” He shakes his head. “Gotta stretch you out, gotta make me fit.” He presses his tongue against your nub, feeling it throb in anticipation. “And I think you can give me one more.” He ends, before invading your drenched channel with two fingers. You are putting up with his torments the best you can; walls fluttering against his lips, legs entwined behind Jungkook’s back trapping him between your thighs.

“Ah! God - I, I can’t-” Your eyes are screwed shut, hands bunching the sheets in your grasp.

His fingers fluctuate between scissoring motions, their lengths opening you up for him and curling inside, fingertips finding the rough patch inside. He adds a third finger, pussy straining to accommodate them all. Your thighs clench in the burn, and he groans into your pussy at the pressure. Increasing the pace, he pumps into you harder and faster, sucking your puffy lips in tandem.

“Please, please, harder - let me cum - please oh go-”

“Fuck yeah baby, your pussy is just sucking me in. You like that? You like me shoving into your cunt?”

“Uungh yes yes I love it!”

“Doesn’t it hurt? Or are you such a slut for pain? Tell me, tell me you’re a pain slut.”

“Fuck, Jungkook, don’t you stop- I am! I am a pain slut! Your pain slut!”

“Goood girrrll,” he husks out. Even though he is taking charge, your words are what control him. “Only mine. My pain slut will come for me now.”

A spray of cum ejects out of you, coating Jungkook’s chest and inundating your legs. The coherent part in you recognizes that you just squirted, but the neanderthal side shuts all recognition of anything that is not Jungkook’s cock. Even after two climaxes, you are hungry to get more. More of him.

If you don’t fuck him now, you will lose your capability to reason.

Limbs still heavy and reeling from the ravaging, you pick your pieces and drag Jungkook to the headboard.

“I’m going to ride you.” you declare and straddle him.

Jungkook is staring fixedly at your still-leaking cunt. Running his tongue over his lower lip, and licking the remnant syrup of your release. You position yourself, letting the drippage fall directly on his erection. He twitches, eyes still feasting on the mess you are making.

Finding purchase on his shoulders, you lower yourself. Jungkook’s breath staggers as you drag your inner lips along his hard shaft. You repeat this motion till your fluids drip to his balls.

“Y/N, I swear to God, if you don’t stop with this-”

“You’ll do what?” you challenge, an eyebrow raised in response to his threat.

He grabs you by your waist, jerking you up before bringing you down on his dick. Your cunt, creamy from his earlier ministrations, gives no resistance to his hardness. His cock twitches inside as you bottom out. Pulling you closer, he bites your lip and tugs at it.

“I’ll do this.”

A sharp spank makes you clench around him, the supple flesh of your ass ricocheting in response.

“Go on baby, ride me.”

The low-grained command sets you in motion. Slowly gyrating your hips, you feel every ridge of this length inside. Jungkook’s grip on your waist tightens, and you’re sure you will see evidence of it tomorrow. Your grasp on his shoulders isn’t faring any better.

“You’re so tight, fuck, and so wet. Who made you like this, huh?” A second spank punctuating his question.

“Oh God, you-”, you barely manage to recognize your own voice, “You, Jungkook! Only you!”

“That’s fucking right, only me.”

Hips snapping, he meets you halfway. Both of you are lost in each other, lewd sounds of your skin slapping and juices quelching barely muffled by your desperate whines and moans of passion. Eyes locked in like magnets, neither of you could look away.

Jungkook pulls back a little, slapping your jiggling tit. Your sex clenches, and the following slap has you lodging yourself in the crook of his neck, searching for a reprieve.

“Want some help?”

One swift move and you are on your stomach, face pushed into a pillow, and ass out. A final spank lands right in the middle, and you can feel it pulsate everywhere. He pushes back into your glistening core, taking control of your pleasure and pain. One hand carding through the nape of your neck, pushing you down, the other hand grabbing your waist and setting the pace. The new angle hits deeper, you feel so full.

“Jungkoo--unghh I need to cum! Need to- umph- cum so bad!” You are wailing at this point, shame lying somewhere near your flung clothes.

“Fuck, babe, me too. Go ahead and play with yourself, nice and slow.”

It takes a few swipes for the tightness in you to detonate. Tears flood your face as you unravel, your orgasm crashing into you like waves of a tsunami. You clench tight, wetness flows out of your hole as Jungkook pumps in and out, chasing his high.

He comes undone soon after, ropes of his ejaculate filling your insides. He stays in, plugging you as if to not allow any of it out. But as his member softens, he gives in, turning you on your back to meet his face.

Butterfly-soft kisses are exchanged after the blazing encounter. He asks you if you’re okay between breaths, a tender murmur you almost miss, as if you weren’t screaming your lungs out moments ago. Nuzzling into his neck, you confirm.

A snort disrupts the silence. Looking up, you see Jungkook chuckling.

In response to your cocked eyebrow, he says “Want to talk about what a freak you are?”

“Want to talk about what a hypocrite you are?”

“Hey, you asked me to spit on you!”

You mock-gasp, hand on chest for the extra effect. “My breasts need medical attention after your attention! Freak!”

Laughter echoes in the room as you two tumble in the blankets, and you feel his release seeping out of you. Turning to him, you pout, “Your mess is leaking out of me.”

Jungkook gets up to leave the bed, and you expect a wet towel coming your way.

What you don’t expect is him parting your legs, gunmetal eyes following the rivulets escaping your abused hole.

“Your cunt smells so good with my cum on it,” he purrs.

He gathers the escaping thick liquid and pushes it back into your quivering core.

Jolting with oversensitivity, you try to stall him but he is fingering you with a vengeance. The ache and soreness soon dispel, bringing forth a new wave of ecstasy. His unrelenting stare concentrates on the mix of fluids on his fingers. With a few strokes on your sensitive bundle of nerves and fingers stuffed inside, you come again, legs shivering and pussy overflowing, his juices intermingled with yours.

You are dazed; you’ve lost track of everything. The room is spinning in front of you and your body feels like lead. All you can manage is to arch your neck, and plead, “No more, you freak.”

Jungkook giggles, eyes crinkling in good humor. Ah, the duality of this man is a force to reckon with. You can’t believe this is the same man that fucked you into your bed like a primordial beast. There’s no way you can move anytime soon.

After a clean-up interval, you are wrapped in each other's arms, melting into the embrace. His musky fragrance putting you at ease, you tuck your in the nook of his neck, basking in the aroma. Hands pressed against his broad chest, exuding warmth for you. His hand cradles your head, snuggling in closer till there is no space to cover. Sweet nothings whispered into each other’s lips, tender kisses exchanged in place of the scorching ones that had passed. You drift in and out of your slumber, fearing the sun would ascend too soon and break you apart.

A dim glow from the other end of the bed wakes you up. On turning you find Jungkook, dressed in his now-wrinkled clothes, seated on the edge. His gaze, pensive. You lay a hand on his thigh.

“Oh, did the light wake you?”

The alarm on his face makes you smile. “No, your absence did.”

The corners of his mouth turned up, eyeing you with softness.

“I have an early schedule. I didn’t want to wake you, but, ” he lets his palm rest on yours, “I also didn’t want to leave without it.”

Neither of you know how to walk away from this. The silence is deafening, unuttered sentiments hanging in the still air. Jungkook’s chest is heavy.

This is insane. He wants to lay you against a bed of flowers, treat you like the delicate petal you bear resemblance to, worship your body till the sun succumbs to your blazing passion. How is he to explain that his heart is beating through his chest for someone he knows for mere days? He rifles through his memories for a similar instance.

He finds none.

Maybe you don’t feel the same way. Maybe, you are blissfully unaware of the tumultuous emotions lurching in the pit of his belly. He can’t assume you will echo his lovesick needs, but he can’t let go.

You inch closer.

Fervid feelings die hard. He probes your eyes searching for an intensity matching his.

You let your lips convey the answer.

Passionate as ever, you draw him into the kiss. His lashes flutter against your rosy cheeks. At the moment, there is no dominance in him. Almost like his tongue, dragging across your swollen lips, is healing the brutality of last night. If you pull back, he comes after you; an incessant tug of war no player wants to win.

“Please Jungkook,” you choke between kisses, “Please tell me this isn’t the last of us.”

He is hovering on top of you, the galaxy in his eyes twinkling at your words.

“Please, I don’t want this to end.” You continue against his lips. Head versus heart, you fought a losing battle; how were you to stall the inevitable? Fueled, you plunge your tongue into him, determined to make your ardor known. The void of ferocity is filled with slow sensuality; like he is the sole reservoir to quench your thirst.

“Y/N”, he breathes out, “I feel like I know everything about you and nothing about you at the same time.” Resting your foreheads against one another, he continues. “I’m not about to let fate decide when we cross paths again.”

A grin finds your lips. “Destiny really pulled its weight here, didn’t it?”

He wordlessly nods, not wanting to break the tranquility in place. However, it is short-lived; his phone’s ringer makes sure of it.

“Yeah, I’ll be right down.” Something the speaker says turns Jungkook scarlet red. “I said I’ll be right there!” he yells before ending the call.

“The members are asking why I wasn’t in my room.” he clarifies, waggling his brows. You join his laughter, happy to have just the simple moment with him.

After exchanging numbers (and a photo for keepsake), Jungkook presses one last kiss, lips promising to find each other again. Somehow, you don’t say goodbye. You just stare at his disappearing body, confident that the next encounter is not far.

Jake is babbling about his night, how he managed to ditch the god-awful party and hang out with some overenthusiastic college-goers who paid for his drinks with their trust fund dough. This is usually the time you ask him if he’s proud of mooching off of children, but today his exaggerated narrative is cracking you up.

His forehead creases. “What’s up with you today? You haven’t vowed to skin me alive even once.”

“You like it when I threaten bodily harm?”

“I’m kinky like that.”

You just shrug. Erotic images make a fleeting appearance in your mind, but they are interrupted by your flight announcement.

“Aren’t you glad this is over? You can go back to overworking yourself in your office instead of a hotel!” Jake remarks, throwing his bag over his shoulder. “At least your back won’t break in the travel.”

Thinking over your experience in the city, you confess “Actually, I look forward to returning here.”

A thought slips in, curving your mouth into a smile. You quietly add,

“And yeah, my back was broken all right.”

Thank you for making it to the end! Please do let me know what you think!

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ranhaitanisgf · 3 years

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HI I SEE UR REQUEST IS OPEN! can i request inupi with a rich designer s/o? Like she always give him new clothes and heels she make and literally spoils him?

Also take care author! I hope ur doing ok <3

inui seishu [inupi] with a rich, designer s/o: headcanons

[𖤐] you are literally so smart. so smart. genius. 1000 iq. this was the best idea i've ever written I SWEAR 😭 honestly though, i would spend every penny on my debit card for inupi; i would go broke for him (+senju). thank you for requesting this, and i hope you like it!! <333

�� masterlist

✂︎ even before the two of you started dating, it was quite obvious to anybody who would watch you and inupi that you had taken quite the liking to him; the way you would always buy virtually anything that you thought would look good on him, (without looking at the price, much less) and along with the way that the two of you could always be seen at the fancy restaurants you would frequent, it was quite obvious that you treasured him and his company.

✂︎ of course, every time you offered him a gift, he would, without fail, refuse it. he would always go on and on about how he’s very flattered that you bought him something like this, but he just can’t accept it because he feels it would be disrespectful, (you’ll probably have to shove it into his apartment right before he closes the door and run away so that he can’t give it back to you LMAO).

✂︎ with the amount of gifts that you would give him when the two of you were just friends, the amount just increased tenfold when he finally got the guts to ask you out. at this point, he’s learned to just accept it since he knows you’re not going to let up until he takes it and tries on whatever it is that you bought him.

✂︎ he’ll often drop by your workplace, showing up out of the blue with your favorite lunch and coffee/tea exactly how you like it, (he makes it a point to memorize your usual order at the cafes your frequent). even though you really should be working, he’ll convince you to take a break and to eat with him before going back to work. he’s very insistent on you taking breaks when you need to, and he’ll send you messages with reminders to take breaks if he can’t make it.

✂︎ he’s still wondering on whether it was a good idea to give you his measurements, because now that you know, you’re always randomly showing up to give him clothing that you had made. your excuse is that he’s your muse and that you can’t help but to create pieces whenever you get an idea for him, but he’s a lot more concerned about how much sleep you’ve gotten in the past 72 hours.

“(y/n), i appreciate you so much, but you really need to take a break. how long have you even been up for?”

✂︎ everytime you show up at his place with shopping bags, he’ll just sigh and pull you into a hug, mumbling incoherent words as he kisses the top of your head, (he’s probably exasperated with your spending habits, even though he should be used to them at this point). it’s not much better whenever you pull an all-nighter making something for him, showing up early in the morning so that he could try it on, (he’s seriously worried about you sometimes).

✂︎ i mean, can he really blame you though? in your defense, inupi looks absolutely amazing in every single thing you give him, so it’s technically his fault for being so damn pretty. how can you resist when you know he’s going to look absolutely gorgeous?

“seishu, try these on, i want to see how they look!”

“i thought we talked about this-”

✂︎ i can definitely see him (unwillingly) doing mini fashion shows when you show up at his apartment with bags of clothing. he’ll reluctantly try them on and show you how they fit, telling you that you really don’t need to be doing all of this for him, (he has to admit though, you really do have great taste when it comes to clothing).

“(y/n), you don’t need to get something everytime you go out-”

“you’re so pretty though, i really can’t help myself! now hush, i want to see how the rest of it looks on you!!”

✂︎ he’ll just sigh and look away, the flush on his cheeks evident; he really can’t handle your compliments sometimes…

✂︎ he really does appreciate everything that you give him though, but he’s lowkey afraid to wear it out sometimes because he doesn’t want to get it dirty with anything, (you just tell him that you can buy or make more, but he’ll just nervously laugh and tell you no).

✂︎ the fancy suits, the tailored pants, the casual $200 frilly dress shirt; it’s all hung up in his closet with the utmost precaution, and he’s always very careful when moving the hangers. he doesn’t want to risk anything happening to them even if you always offer to replace it, (he wishes that you had better spending habits).

✂︎ whenever the two of you are out and he wears the clothing you got for him, the two of you are like a power couple. everyone in a 100ft radius is looking at you two, and nobody can decide whether they want to be you guys or if they want to be with you guys. the vibe the two of you give off is just immaculate, and everyone knows it too.

✂︎ inupi’s heel collection has grown considerably since the two of you started dating; he has all sorts of designer heels that he will wear out. he’s always a bit lowkey nervous to wear the louboutin red-bottomed heels because he doesn’t want them to scratch, so he’ll probably do some diy shit to make it last longer, (he refuses to ask for a new pair).

✂︎ if there’s one thing that he’ll never admit though, it’s the fact that he secretly loves that you can’t keep your eyes off him whenever he wears the things that you gave him. he’ll never mention it, but he does get a little bit jealous whenever he sees you having dinner with other very rich and handsome guys, (he feels really guilty about it) but when you’re just staring at him with that little lovesick look in your eyes, it makes his heart skip a beat, (how can he be so utterly in love with one person?).

✂︎ you probably have some sort of friendly rivalry with koko over who has more money and who can buy inupi more things. the two of you will run into each other at stores sometimes, and the casual conversation that’s held up between you two is laced with so much animosity and tension that the employees all stay far away, (it’s all in good friendship though; the two of you are actually pretty good friends).

✂︎ inupi’s closet is probably overflowing with clothing and shoeboxes, so maybe you should buy him a wardrobe to put everything in….

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dingdonghyvck · 3 years

Text

The Only Exception || Lee Haechan x Reader

Summary: You finally realize that Haechan’s the only exception to the one rule you gave yourself.

Genre: Angst and a little bit of Fluff

Pairing/s: Drummer!Haechan x Lead Vocalist!Reader, Minor College Student!Mark x Reader

Warnings: Explicit content, mentions of suicide, suicidal thoughts, implications of sex, sex jokes, use of drugs, cigarettes and alcohol, verbal and physical abuse, divorce, and a few others I probably forgot to mention

Word Count: 5.4k words

So this is part two of the Drummer!Haechan AU I wrote: Still Into You

Please do give feedback, it’s greatly appreciated! Thank you and enjoy :)

"When I was younger I saw my daddy cry and curse at the wind.

He broke his own heart and I watched as he tried to reassemble it.

And my momma swore that she would never let herself forget”

It all started with hushed arguments, hidden whispers of disappointment behind closed doors, afraid of breaking the perfect image your family had, afraid of the neighbors to talk. From hushed arguments to daily endeavors of avoiding each other everyday, it was like a ticking bomb inside your home. A ticking bomb you had tip-toed over each morning past your parents' bedroom, hearing the muffled crying. You knew it was only a matter of time before the bomb would finally explode, imploding your house from inside-out.

You hoped and you prayed to any god willing to listen that the rumors were not true. The neighbors started talking and the news had somehow got out. And that was when everything started breaking down. The hushed arguments turned to wars of screaming and crying, sharp words that cut through you like a knife. That was when the walls of your home began to talk, they spoke to you too, they echoed the hatred your parents had for each other. They made you feel unwanted, unloved and useless, since of course the sole foundation of your life was crumbling. You were the scars, bruises, and pain they brought into the world, you were once proof of their love that turned into a ghost wandering the halls, desperately clawing against the wallpaper to make it all stop.

It didn't end with words, it seemed as if words weren't hurtful enough. You were caught in the crossfire, desperately trying to raise the white flag between the two, but you ended up becoming their stress ball. They would sometimes drown you, lock you up in the basement or straight up hit you. They kept squeezing you and throwing you around like a stress ball bound to burst, the people at school began noticing the bruises and cuts. In the end they left you alone, vacant and ignored since you began bringing your friends over your house.

And for the first time in a while you felt safe, you felt safe in Jeno's comforting smile when he tried to teach you guitar. You felt safe with Hendery's little pranks and teasing during practices. You felt safe in Donghyuck's presence whenever you two would head out after band practice, in his car with no particular destination in mind. The nights were long, but somehow it always ended too quickly for you. You wished you could stay for an eternity inside Donghyuck's car, it was a place where you didn't bother to be someone else except yourself.

It was a space where you weren't either the whore's daughter or the useless excuse of a student. You were just authentically you and Donghyuck openly accepted you, he didn't say it but you knew he did. He didn't talk whenever you didn't feel like it, he opened the car window when you wanted to watch the stoplights and streetlight wiz by. That's what made those nights perfect, it was Donghyuck's soft humming along the mediocre pop song on the radio. His weirdly specific defensive monologue whenever you brought up his tacky lavender car scent. Donghyuck's presence in general as he would sometimes just hold your hand while you thought to yourself.

One of those nights where you thought to yourself that life should always be like this, you didn't know how, but you knew that Donghyuck has to be apart of it. You decided that the world may go to shit, your parents may end up getting a divorce, you may end up living the rest of your life as a deadbeat. But you no longer cared as long as you had this place, in a worn out car seat next to him; well that was what you thought at least.

"And that was the day that I promised,

I'd never sing of love if it does not exist"

Donghyuck's sudden departure from the band shocked both Jeno and Hendery, they took it considerably well in all honesty. They still wanted to continue on with the band, partly because they needed the money from the gigs and mostly because they worried for you as a friend. You tried your best in trying to continue with your life and look for another drummer, for another Donghyuck in your life. As silly as it sounded since you were the one that pushed him away, you would think of him most days. You were only realizing how important Donghyuck was in your life.

He was always the one who took care of you, reminded you to eat and rest whenever you forgot. He would show up at your dorm to bring you breakfast or make you coffee, remind you that some of the books you borrowed from the library was due tomorrow, or even just chat you to check on how your day was going. Now that you had changed your number and avoided him like a plague you were starting to realize how much you lost.

And you had thought of calling him, or maybe reaching out to ask how his day was going, the same way he used to check on you. You were so tempted that you showed up at his place, a second away from buzzing his doorbell, but you remembered. You remembered how awful you were to him, you were reminded of the pain and misery you've caused him all through out your lives so far. You were being selfish yet again, so you stopped yourself. You immediately turned around that day and called up Hendery and Jeno to tell them that the band was over, you didn't have the guts to face them anymore.

The guilt was eating you alive, they had tried to convince you otherwise but you pushed them away too. The only person who you kept in your life was Mark. You still felt happy to be around him, although you didn't feel comfortable since you felt like you had to keep a facade around him. He seemed glad to see you more often, you'd cling onto him like a flee for days. But there came a time when he finally asked why you were so vacant these days, and where were your other friends; it was an argument caused by Mark's growing irritation for being required to see you everyday and almost having to babysit you like child, all the while trying to keep up with other activities going on his life. You had left him without a single word and returned the next day like nothing happened.

He genuinely did like you, he wished things were different but he couldn't handle the nonstop texts and calls that came from you every minute of the hour, he was beginning to get sick of it. And you immediately notice his distaste, the way he would dryly reply to your messages or not talk to you whenever he did have time to see you. You knew you were becoming a bit too much for him, desperate for company that you became too overbearing, a bit too possessive and selfish when it came to his time.

And for the first time, you felt it. You felt how your heart sunk everytime Mark chose to answer a call from a friend when you were talking to him, the way he would look anywhere else but you whenever you tried to start conversations. You were usually on the other end of the stick, careless of other people’s emotions and too busy living in your own world. You finally knew what it felt when Donghyuck dated you, and what horrible thoughts that came with it. In the end, you knew that Mark was too kind to end it with you, he obviously knew you were having issues in your personal life, but he couldn't be bothered anymore; he's tried talking to you about it, but you'd always change the topic.

So you told yourself that it was better if you would be alone for now, this is the tenfold of misery and hurt you've caused everyone around you, especially Donghyuck, your world was falling apart as more and more people left. You eventually ended things with Mark, and he gave you a simple okay and left. He didn't seem to notice you anymore, he continued to live his university life unscathed, it was as if you two never spoke in the first place.

He would sometimes smile at you or give you a small nod of his head whenever you saw each other around campus, but that was the most you've gotten from him. You didn't blame him, he didn't have time to waste with people like you. Being alone with your thoughts truly was eating you alive, you were beginning to go insane. Everytime you were about to reach out to anyone, either Jeno, Hendery, or Donghyuck, you'd always stop yourself to remind you that you deserved this.

You deserved to be alone, you cannot be loved. You were a heartless monster just as Donghyuck said and you lived most of your days alone while trying to survive with the little funds your new part time provided. You didn't know how, but you somehow lived as days went by. You watched the leaves and flowers bloom from the branches outside of your dorm till they wilted. It was now winter, and you freely wandered the streets. No other human could be seen outside, everyone was probably spending time with loved ones, since of course it was the holidays.

Days you should be spending with the people you cherish and loved the most, you could see the warm lights from within some of the homes, laughter resonates through the walls, probably the lovers and families enjoying their own company. Playing dumb board games and cuddled up by the fire, watching the grinch movies with eggnog and warm cups of hot choco. You never really understood the joys of the holidays, probably because the only other person you had spent it was with Donghyuck, and there you go thinking of him again.

As if thinking of him in everything you do wasn't enough, he began appearing in your dreams. You didn't know if it was pleasant to revisit old memories or did it hurt to reminisce what was lost between you two. And as much as it hurt you chose to remember him as someone you loved, perhaps not romantically, but he was someone you truly cherished. You thought that he'd comment on how cheesy you've become, so melodramatic that you'd give William Shakespear a run for his money when he's already in his grave.

You bitterly laugh at the thought, the cold makes your throat dry and eyes watery but you look up to the moon while standing next to a lamp post near the frozen river. You could almost feel his presence, you truly were going insane that you started imagining things he'd say to you at times like this. The snarky comments and cute pet names he'd give you whenever you dragged him along for whatever adventure you had in mind. You remembered how he'd first complain about it to no end, but he always ends up coming with you. He always does, of course, he's Donghyuck, the person who stuck with you through thick and thin; the person you've hurt the most.

You begin humming a small tune, you didn't recognize it at first, but you ended up humming a paramore song. The song you both listened to during class the first day you two met, the same song that you sang here, with tears streaming down you cheeks. You didn't know you were crying until you felt the cold gust of wind brushing against your cheeks, a chill running down your spine as you sniffled.

"I hope you're happy now Hyuck, wherever you are," it felt weird to speak, you couldn't remember the last time you opened your mouth to say anything. it's been months since you've last said a word to anyone, you throat was dry and you could barely recognize your own voice, it was raspier than you last remembered.

"I'm happy enough to know we're looking at the same moon tonight at least." you laughed, your throat hurts like hell, the laugh came as a croak and you tried to gasp in air to try and stop yourself from breaking down.

It felt weird to listen to your own voice, everything felt unreal. These past few months were like a fever dream to you, you even wondered if you were dead and this was some cruel purgatory you served for the shit you pulled back then. You've thought about jumping into the frozen river, maybe the cold would at least wake you up if this was truly some cruel nightmare. If not it could also finally end all the suffering and pain you know you caused yourself, what hurt most was you cannot blame anyone else for what is happening now. You shakily let out a breath, hands gripping the metal railing. You were about to jump over it when the street's fairy lights were suddenly turned on and it reflected off the thin layer of ice of the lake.

You wake up from your daze, what the hell were you thinking? The pretty lights distracted you for a moment, you pace your breathing with the consistent flicker of the warm glow of the tiny lights, trying to calm down.

"And I've always lived like this,

keeping a comfortable distance"

senior year, prom.

You bit your lip while watching the fairy lights flicker, whose idea was it to have tiny light bulbs as decoration for the photo booth, and god you wanted to give them a kiss now. It was such a hazard that you couldn't stop thinking of the endless possible drama it could cause, the prom queen could end up stepping on it and light her dress on fire, that would at least make the night interesting. You blew the tiny patch of fake snow off the table while you grumpily waited for someone, anyone, to step on one of the fairy lights, but you were dragged out of your reverie when you hear Donghyuck's voice behind you.

"Hey ugly,"

"Hey stupid," you replied, eyes shifting away from the photo booth for a second to look at him. He stuck out like a sore thumb, he wasn't wearing a tuxedo like the rest, or even a tie to at least try and be formal. He was sporting his favorite leather jacket with a green untucked button up underneath, he looked underdressed, the only effort he made to his appearance was the way he styled his hair to showcase his forehead.

"That's not a nice way to speak to your boyfriend" Donghyuck faked a gasp, dragging a chair to sit down beside you, you raised an eyebrow at him. The stupid crease on his jacket annoyed you to no end, so you fixed it for him, it was his turn to raise an eyebrow at you.

"Boyfriend? I thought boyfriends put in extra efforts for prom? You know like in the movies, they give the girl a cute corsage and tell them how pretty they look and end up fucking in the bathroom or something?"

"You're beautiful." He says it blatantly, you stop to look him in the eyes, and it seemed genuine. You pursed your lips while trying to hide your smile, boyfriend Donghyuck was different from best friend Donghyuck, he was a lot... sweeter.

"Let's fuck in the bathroom later?" he added, to which you groaned and slapped his thigh. He only laughed at you while gently fitting his hand into yours, gently kissing your knuckles when you swore you were gonna bite his dick someday, just he wait.

Well you'll give him credit, he at least made an effort to look nice for you. You didn't even bother to blow dry your hair today and you were wearing what you'd usually wear whenever you went out with him, just with a bit more grunge added, like black fishnet stockings. He wasn't complaining at all, he knew that whatever you were wearing tonight would end up ripped anyway, probably somewhere on his bedroom floor. And plus, you two didn't really attend prom, the only reason you bothered to this year was for the battle of the bands.

You were already done with the performance so you were all simply waiting for the announcement of the winner. You knew Jeno was probably out on the dance floor dancing with his date in a proper suit and tie like a gentleman, but you had no idea where Hendery went. One second he said he was going to get you a drink, the next he's disappeared before you into thin air. So you were left with Donghyuck, who was currently playing with your rings. As weird as it felt to have a label between you two, nothing's changed. You thought that you'd feel more awkward towards him, but the only thing that changed was the label, and you were happy in a way.

"Wanna dance?"

You perk up at his question, you finally realize that a slow song was playing. Everyone was paired off in front of you, even some of the teachers were dancing. You almost let out a laugh at the sight of some of couples who were trying their best to keep it in their pants. You thought he was joking until you looked over at him, he was shyly fiddling with his own hands now, not able to look you in the eyes. You would laugh if it weren't for the way he seemed so shy to ask, he looked like he was about to combust.

"I don't dance," you laughed, he looks up at you. You didn't know it was possible but he looked much more embarrassed now, it was cute it in a way.

"Let's get out of here?"

"Now that's more like it" you smirk, taking his hand to lead him outside of the gymnasium and to his car. He didn't bother to fight it, he just simply let you drag him out to the parking lot.

He opens the car door for you and you played along, deciding to not tease him just this once since, of course, he was already red enough. He turns on the engine and you switch through different channels on the radio, finally settling on one when he pulls out of the driveway.

“And up until now I had sworn to myself that I'm content with loneliness.

Because none of it was ever worth the risk.”

The song on the radio hummed in the background as he drove as carefully as he could, the roads were iced and it wasn't very safe to drive right now. He was about to take the turn to his house but you stop him and told him to bring you to the center of town, he was unsure why the sudden request, but he follows your directions anyway. For the moment, you stared at his face. The way the streetlights lit up his skin, you rarely saw his forehead and it did make him look attractive. Well he was already attractive in the first place but you couldn’t help but observe the way he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel to the song’s beat, it looked instinctive and natural to him.

"So are you finally going to murder me and take my intestines to sell on the black market?" he spoke, and you laughed, throwing your head back; he was finally starting to look handsome to you, and he opens that damned mouth of his.

"Kidneys my darling! Your kidneys will be worth a fortune!" you giggled while leaning over the center console to kiss his cheek, he smiled at the sound of your laughter.

He takes you exactly where you asked him, the center of the town. The exact intersection that’s considered as the heart of your buzzing neighborhood. The exact intersection that usually had so many cars, always the cause of traffic and delay, was now completely empty. All the stores near the intersect were closed, no other person in sight but the stoplights continued to operate. The colors red, yellow, and green appearing in an ordered sequence, proportionally timed. Although there wasn't a single car in sight, Donghyuck stopped when the light turned red.

"What are you waiting for?" you asked in confusion, he shrugs.

"Can you tell me why we're here?"

You didn't bother to speak, you simply got out of the car and stood at the center of the intersection. You opened your arms up to him and he watched you curiously, you let out a boisterous laugh, spinning around your heel. You forgot that the road was slippery so you fell flat on your back, still laughing. Donghyuck runs out of his car to kneel beside you, he had a worried look to him but it immediately faded away when you looked at him with joy in your eyes.

He scoffed, not forgetting to comment on how stupid you looked before offering his hand to help you stand up. You take his hand but instead of sitting up, you pull him towards you and he slips, ending up toppled over you. His breathing was uneven as it brushed cooly against your cheek, you close your eyes at the feeling. He gently kissed your cheek after a minute, finally standing up to brush himself off. You were still lying down on the ground, flailing your arms around to try and form a snow angel.

"Are you dumb? Get up before we get run over" Donghyuck tried to sound angry, but he couldn't stop the lilt in his voice, a tiny chuckles escapes his mouth.

"Shut up already and just lie down! Why do you always ruin the moment?” you whined looking up at him, still spread eagle at the center of the intersect, he raised an eyebrow at you, it was becoming a habit to him.

“Don’t you feel it too? The world’s stopped, they’ve finally shut up! So enjoy it and come lie down with me.”

“And if we get run over?”

“Then so be it” You shrugged, Donghyuck lets out a heavy sigh before taking his seat beside you. He doesn’t lie down, so you sit up to lean against his shoulder.

And the world stops, like what you said. For a moment the only thing you two could hear was the sound of your breathing and the beating of your hearts, he held your hand in his while you both watched the stoplight change colors. It felt like you two were the only people on earth, and it was the best. There was nothing but the moon, your thoughts, the stoplight, and him. And as peaceful as it was you couldn’t stop the thought from spilling from your mouth.

“Someday I’ll burn this town to the ground” you comment, and he snorts.

“Gee, it sure sounds like a solid plan” he says it sarcastically, and you turn to look at him.

“I’m serious! You better not get in my way or anything or else I’ll have to set you on fire” you say it with the most serious tone that he’s taken aback, well that was one weird thought he thought.

His face makes you laugh and he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to laugh with you. He shook his head when he realized you were joking, probably. You felt content and happy that you decided to grant him one wish. He once again has the confused face he had earlier, just when he was finally settled you suddenly move. He tries to stand up to follow you, but you told him that you’ll be back.

He watched you open the driver’s side of the car, he thought you were about to drive away and leave him here but he was abruptly stopped mid-thought when the speakers of the radio of his car boomed throughout the empty streets. His eyes widened, he was worried that it might wake the whole street up. Then he remembered that the residential homes were located near the outskirts of town, so it was unlikely that anyone would hear. Most of this area had shops and stores, so the people are probably back at home, you both aren’t technically disturbing anyone hopefully. He relaxes back into his seat to watch you waltz back towards him.

“So?” you asked, the smile on your face was infectious.

“So?” he mimicked dumbly and you rolled your eyes in annoyance, was he always this dumb?

“May I have this dance?” you groaned, turning red yourself. You blamed it on the cold, but he couldn’t help but laugh at you. At first it sounded like he was mocking you, but when you met his eyes to smack him on the head you were only met with eyes filled with so much endearment and affection that you could only pull back your hand.

He takes your hand to stand up, you complain of course, he was heavy. But he hushed you when he placed his fingers to your chapped lips, he smiled so widely that it looked like it hurt. You pursed your lips, wrapping your arms around his neck and he securely holds your waist. Although the atmosphere was supposed to be romantic, your terrible sense of rhythm in dancing ruined it. You would think that you’d be good at following the rhythm when dancing being a couple of musicians, but you both always missed a beat by a second. And he could only laugh while you cursed, finally remembering why you never danced.

You were muttering something under you breath, but your voice hitched when he brushes his fingers against your hair. He placed a sweet kiss to your temple and you freeze, you felt your heart clench at the action. He begins whispering the lyrics to your ear, you swallow thickly. This was one of the rare times he’d sing to you, you tried to tell him countless times that his voice was beautiful, but he had always denied saying yours was better. But hearing him now, whispering softly against your ear while he nuzzled his nose to your neck affectionately made your heart throb. You take in a deep breath, this feeling in your chest, it was your heart clenching. You didn’t know if he was hurting you but you were so overwhelmed that you suddenly pushed him away.

“Did I do something wrong?” his eyes spoke, trying to reach out to you again but you take another step backward.

“This was a stupid idea” You were shocked to hear your voice crack, Donghyuck frowns at your comment.

“What do you mean?”

“Take me home.... now.”

He tried to take a step towards you but you run back towards his car, closing the door to wait for him. You lower the volume of the radio and try to gather your thoughts, what the fuck was that? You watched him walk back towards the car and swore to yourself, whatever the hell you felt earlier, whatever he did to you, he will never be able to do again. It was too much of a risk, and you swore to yourself to never let yourself be that vulnerable again.

He tries to talk to you on the way home, but your replies were dry. You were busy fiddling with your fingers while looking outside the window. He tried his best to make you tell him what he did wrong but he couldn’t get another word out from you the moment he pulled up in front of your house. You were about to leave but you decided to try and turn things around, you tried to get back to what you two were used to.

You kissed him, hauling yourself over the center console to sit on his lap. He tries to pull away but you continued to kiss, hastily lifting his shirt to try and remove it. In the end he was weak to your touch, he could never deny you of anything. He hoped that you two could talk it out in the morning but you were unavailable the next few weeks after that, busy fooling around with Johnny.

“I've got a tight grip on reality but I can't let go of what's in front of me here.

I know you're leaving in the morning when you wake up, leave me with some kind of proof it's not a dream”

Present day.

The next day you decided to visit your home town. Although you didn’t have any family left to visit, you had volunteered to play at an orphanage, it was the least you could do for the holidays. If you couldn’t be happy, you could at least make others feel it. Who knew that Jeno’s stupid guitar lessons would end up becoming an asset to you, you could at least spread a little joy to the children who didn’t have parents, you somehow understood how they felt, in a weird way.

It was a joy to finally sing with a purpose again, hearing them laugh and sing along with you made your heart sore. Well at least you didn’t feel as useless after playing with a few of the kids and chatting with the caretakers and other volunteers. It felt freeing, to finally do something right. You fucked up this year for the most of it but you felt a bit less burdened when the children asked you to braid their hair or took your hand to dance with them. After serving your purpose at the orphanage you find yourself at the intersection. You don’t know what you wanted to accomplish, but your feet ended up taking you here.

And as expected it was filled with bustling life, people going in and out of shops to buy late christmas presents, children building snowmen and riding the tiny slopes made by the snow. The traffic as usual was heavy, the cars were honking and the streets were so noisy that no one could bearly hear themselves think. You sat by a bench near the park, the intersect still in your sight. You were eating a bagel mindlessly when a little kid sat beside you, he was eyeing your guitar.

“You play?” the little kid asked and you nodded, giving him a small smile to not scare him away, you probably looked like a walking corpse; you can’t remember the last time you slept properly.

“A little bit, like five songs?” you smiled and he instantly asks you to play, there was this urgency in his voice that you couldn’t help but immediately do what he was asking.

You bite into the bagel while tuning your guitar, thinking of a song to play, well out of the five you knew how to play. You began strumming the guitar to Paramore’s The Only Exception, humming the tune as best as you could with the bagel in your mouth. You end your humming after the first chorus to be met with a grimace, the little kid laughed at you.

“You’re no good”

“Hey!” you take out the bagel from your mouth to yell jokingly at him, he scrunches his nose up when you ruffle his hair and you laugh at his annoyed face, he somehow looked familiar, was he one of the kids from the orphanage? Wait were they even allowed to leave the orphanage?

“So what’s your name?” You ask, putting the guitar back into its case. The voice that meets your ears wasn’t the little boy’s, it was a voice you haven’t heard in a long time, a voice you thought you’d never hear again.

“Dongsuk,”

This has to be a dream, it couldn’t be real. You blink a few times before pinching yourself, you were probably hallucinating. Because there is no way, not a chance the Lee Donghyuck was now standing in front of you. That shit only happens in movies, this can’t be real. But you could only rub your eyes so much, he looked real, like real enough that he was getting closer to you. And he finally speaks, and you finally realize it really is him in the flesh.

“Where have you been?” he speaks, you first thought that he was talking to you but he grabs the little boy’s arm. He glances at you and you try to speak and he simply turns his nose away from you, you feel your world crack in half.

To his defense you were the one who moved dorms, changed your number, and avoided him like a plague. So his reaction was expected, you don’t know why you were so surprised. He was about to walk away when you finally speak, he stops cold in his steps when he hears your voice.

“Donghyuck...” He turns to look at you, and his eyes were still the same. It still had the same hurt and sadness you’d usually see when he looked at you, but he looked much more angrier than you remembered.

“Let’s... talk”

“You are the only exception, oh and I'm on my way to believing.”

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industriallyinsecure · 3 years

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Hey there! I really love your writing and was wondering how you think yandere la squadra would react if their object of obsession ended up hitting on them? Like, the hitmen are just one step away of putting their horrible plan into action, fairly sure that their darling has no idea who they are and suddenly they are sliding into the seat in front of their yandere, buying them a drink/coffee and asking for their number. Would that crash the masterplan? Would the yandere tone it down or get worse?

Okay so basically in my mind there are two groups: the ones that use it as an ego boost and the ones that are skeptical/unsure. I’m sure you can guess who is who hehe

Also thank you so much for the lovely compliment!! I’m glad people enjoy my writing :)

Formaggio definitely wasn’t expecting your cute little self to sashay up and try to woo him! It just makes it even better and fuels his love even more. Less likely to snatch you, but more likely to be a bit touchy and overbearing. Man absolutely craves validation so having the object of his affection is a huge ego boost. Won’t shut up about it when he gets back and proudly waves your number in front of the naysayers (Illuso).

Illuso expected it. With his gorgeous brown locks, who wouldn’t want him? Not that he ever doubted you’d resist him anyway. But, he didn’t expect it to happen so soon. Just stares at you with his evil red eyes and makes witty comments at you until you either leave or say something that intrigues him enough. Either way, it’s not long before the same brunet man is pulling you into your hotel mirror later that night.

Pesci is, well, scared shitless. He thinks that maybe one of your friends paid you to do this, or maybe you knew he was stalking you? Either way, his hands are clammy and sweaty as you smile so brightly at him and explain you saw him sitting all alone and wanted to see if he was interested in some company. However Prosciutto advises him about the situation is how it will go down. If he’s persistent enough, Prosciutto would get tired of him gushing about you and just say, “take them for fucks sake.”

Prosciutto almost leaves the coffee shop because he thinks he’s been found out. Probably just enjoying his cigarette and espresso when you pop up and nearly scare him shitless because he’s used to anonymity (as anonymous as he can be being blond and well dressed in public). When you say you’ve been peeking over at him and finally got the nerve to come over, he just furrows his brow and takes a long, slow drag of his cigarette, trying to play off his indistinguishable anxiety. You shyly write down your number when he refuses the cafe latte you offer to order him, and he knew right then you were too sweet to just let go.

Melone is all but screaming in excitement. Not only were you the perfect partner for him, but a willing one!! That made things much easier for him! In addition to being overly handsy for someone you had “just met”, he immediately goes down the list of questions he already had the answers to. Flirts with you relentlessly, you couldn’t out flirt him if you tried. Ends with you reluctantly leaving and Melone with your number, and unbeknownst to you, a sample of your genetic material.

Ghiaccio doesn’t know how to handle it. On one hand, great!! You’re interested!! On the other hand, he’s never been good with people that aren’t patient. Or new people. Or just people in general. He ends up scowling at you for most of the interaction, face unreadable as you twiddle your thumbs and try not to look up at his “just sucked on a lemon” sour face. Absolutely hates it, but runs after you asking for your number. Because he’s emotionally unstable, this just makes his tendencies worse. Emotionally constipated and in love? Horrible mix for this poor ice baby.

Risotto almost stuck his pastry knife through your hand when you suddenly tapped on the table lightly and appeared in his view. He had been too busy focused on the restroom door (where you had been) to see you scuttle up to the big scary brooding man in the corner of the room. Shyly offering to buy him another espresso, Risotto can’t help but feel like this is a trap somehow. How had you escaped his watch (he had been too absorbed in his thoughts to see you leave the restroom)? Against his judgement, he lets you buy him one. Even though it’s like talking to a brick wall, you leave him your number and smile brightly at him, telling him you hope to see him again. Like Prosciutto, he has the urge to scoop you off the street and into his care. With the scum littering the streets, and horrible people at every turn, Risotto’s need to keep you pure and untouched by the grimy world is suddenly multiplied tenfold.

Gelato and Sorbet weren’t really expecting it. While you only had said that they were an adorable couple and paid for their lunch, they were still baffled. Gelato was trying to strike up conversation, but Sorbet remained stoic, a firm grip on his over enthusiastic boyfriend. It was obvious that you weren’t hitting on them (at least they hoped so. Too many times had someone come up and asked if they could watch), but it still lit the fire in Gelato’s stomach. He has to keep from causing a scene and having Sorbet take you. Too bad they didn’t have a getaway vehicle, otherwise that’s exactly what they’d do.

#la squadra di esecuzione #yandere #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure #yandere reader insert #yandere risotto #yandere ghiaccio #yandere melone #yandere prosciutto #yandere pesci #yandere illuso #yandere formaggio #yandere sorlato #oof that’s a lot of tags #la squadra x reader

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sardonicallys · 3 years

Text

𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸, 𝗻𝗼 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆 | 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝘄𝗼

mobile masterlist | web masterlist

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: Jaebeom + Female!Reader

𝗚𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: Corporate AU, Mature, Smut, Angst, Enemies to Lovers

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: Cursing, sexual content, mentions of trauma

𝗦𝘆𝗽𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀: You don't like to think of the word "workaholic" as an insult, but rather as a title of prestige. Everything you have accomplished in your career has been reflected as a glimmering treasure in your trophy case that doted on your work ethic and undying tenacity to put your best effort in everything you have involved yourself in. When you're transferred to what feels just a step away from a demotion, rewritten as an opportunity to "help" the new CEO, you find yourself in a predicament when you realize he's an unbearable nuisance.

𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗖𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 10,072

𝗔𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗡𝗼𝘁𝗲: This chapter took forever to write, for literally no reason at all.

[ chapter one ]

The coffee tastes like water.

What you noticed about pondering is that it somehow took all the energy from everything else and redistributed it for its own selfish purposes, in this case you were left wandering your snapshots of last night while your tongue savored liquid that was mute. You wouldn’t necessarily call your behavior appropriate but it was concocted not from pleasure, rather delivered from revenge. It was resentment that fueled your desire — sexual gratification could not fulfill this hunger — it was about power. It was about control. It was seizing back every ounce of pride you let your good for nothing chief of executive operations put out like a lousy cigarette on the ground after you had offered humility. These murky thoughts were the reason you felt no regret for your actions, but you were still subjected to the over seasoned yet tasteless rice balls and the coffee that emulated muddy rain water on your tongue. You felt like shit, essentially, but in the complexity of things you had won. Grinding the ball of your foot into the pavement as rock scraps rolled beneath your sole, you slouched into the backing of the bench while listening to the sprinklers douse the grass, quietly piecing together what you were going to do.

What were you going to do?

Now without a job from a company you bent backwards and jumped through flaming hoops for, your mind raced with the anxious reminder that you were going to have to build your way back up. Convincing yourself it wasn’t so bad because you had attempted, and succeeded, was becoming a struggle every passing second. The flood of contemplation had you wondering if you should have accepted the offers that were given to you while you were being scouted by other companies who wanted to poach you from the market. Had you known you’d be assisting a living piece of shit, you may have resisted less.

Honestly you always wanted to live simply, at least amongst the standards of society. A small one bedroom apartment in the city but not on prime real estate, a middle manager job at a branch of a main company with opportunities, a stray black kitten turned cat, and you, the whole of these extensions. You always did your best and prided your perception off these little views into the whole reflection of you, regardless of what the outcome was because in reality, you expected only this much. This was simple and humble living, and this is all you wanted. You worked hard and you minded your own business, so what kind of karma did this entail exactly?

Pushing yourself off the bench, finally grappling with the sore result of your body, you felt the weight sink to your ankles as they balanced between carrying you and keeping poised on your heels. The walk of shame carried a different meaning to you, and it was that you were unemployed for the first time since university started. Discarding the remnants of your tasteless excuse for a breakfast, you brisked through the park and back towards your neighborhood where you could finally wash yesterday down the drain and start over, perhaps through job hunting. Just a block away from your building, you practically planted into the ground at the sound of your mobile phone as it erupted in your purse. Fishing it out, you squinted at the unknown number and somehow between the second you saw it and the second you answered, you hoped it was a pleasant coincidence that maybe someone you knew was looking to hire. Or perhaps a friend of yours recommended you and someone was reaching out to see if you were interested in a new career path? Better yet, that friend opened a company and needed you on the team for a start-up. Anything, desperation chimed, anything.

Anything but the sound of Mr. Im’s voice that oozed with impatience, instead, surfaced into the canal of your ear, “Why aren’t you in office?”

To say you were shocked was an understatement, completely in disillusion to the point where you pulled the phone away from you just to check if you were starting to hear things all on your own. After a brief pause, you curtly responded, “…Because I was terminated?”

There’s silence before a sarcastic laugh sparked from the receiver, “I don’t have any official documentation of that, you need to work until we find a replacement.”

A long pause, “Or did you not know that.”

The last comment was made to be a complete fucking asshole, you knew he was provoking you. Inhaling deeply, assuring not to allow the noise of frustration earn the exact reaction he was seeking, Mr. Im spoke once more, “I’ll see you in fifteen.”

And the line cut off.

Sometimes, you had a habit of taking too shallow breaths and you spoke to a few doctors to which they deliberated that you may have had some form of anxiety that lie dormant between the physiology of your being. Mostly because during these questionnaires, you had a bit of trouble answering honestly and it wasn't that you weren't aware of what you were doing, but you couldn't bring yourself to say the words that were on your mind. Instead you vaguely referred to them, like a directory more than an explanation. You assume the psychiatrist you met with saw through this, but knew how to communicate without causing a catalyst to exacerbate the symptoms. Besides, it wasn't abundant enough for medication but it wasn't quiet enough for you to go through your day to day without feeling a stammering worry that plagued every atom of your body. You remembered reading some time ago that there was a man who had some disease — common or not — and he committed to these breathing exercises that extended his life expectancy tenfold. That was what you wanted, right now in this moment, just to breathe enough to survive this because you were not going to crumble here, not when you were going to prove a point.

Turning on your heel, you started charging back towards the main street only to halt to a stop. But why should you return? It was already decided, just moments ago, to start anew. Right? You had made your resolution the second you slipped your clothes back on and disappeared from the room you shared with Mr. Im that you were going to rebuild this but better. There was no reason to go back to that fucking office to suffer the berating existence that it was to be a secretary of someone who had very little respect for you. There just wasn't. You barely realized how tensed your shoulders were until you exhaled deeply, feeling your muscles release your bones.

I'm going home.

But you can't seem to move because somewhere in the depths of your overthinking, riddled with holes and passages that descended down to nowhere, labyrinths of darkness that encased your every motive you wondered, what if he screws your entire career? What if, being a heavy hand in your industry, he crushes every possible pathway for you and you're left with nothing? Because he knew how much this whole thing meant to you, if it wasn't enough that you were willing to miserably put up with his shit the day before, then at least your work record could prove that much. The worry filled your being, as if someone was pouring water and it was already at your knees. Before you know it, you feel the water climb up your throat and now you're sprinting through the subway as you bite back your tears of frustration because you had never, not once felt that you lacked this much control in your entire life.

Entering the building, the embarrassment crashed into you like a flood, your head hung as you balled your fists up, creating crescents of your nails into your palms, wearing the same navy chiffon dress that adorned you the day before. The several years of pride that you built on your appearance, work ethic, and upstanding quality were crashing down onto you in just a matter of days and you could barely bring yourself to take the elevator up to your floor, the brief glances of your peers and coworkers feeling as if you were scrutinized — regardless if they had noticed your disheveled appearance or not. You're absolutely disgusted as you dropped your things at your desk, no time to even peer at yourself in a mirror, and threw Mr. Im's door open, not bothering to knock.

"Great, you're on time," he doesn't even bother to look up, but you're not surprised. Parting your lips to speak, he finally lifted his head and you could feel his revolting gaze scan over your appearance, causing you to feel nauseated and hold your speech which allowed him to interject first, "You didn't even bother to change?"

There were no words that you could find, or at least, no single formed sentence to use that could have described the frustration that coursed through every vein in your body. Your breathing turned shallow again, reflecting on how your superior had cleaned up — hair slicked back and a freshly dry cleaned suit, the collar of his shirt starched and ironed perfectly to press against his neck. The piercing and judgmental gaze gripped your lungs, forcing you to keep your composure, "...I didn't have time this morning. I had assumed—"

"Your affairs outside of the office aren't my business," sneering your name, you could see half a smirk appear on his lips as he continued, "but it seems you must have had a long night if you were irresponsible enough to show up...Like this."

Leaning back in his chair, you have to program your nerves not to let your jaw drop from his comment. The back of your neck warmed instantly, creating a trail to a migraine as you repeated to yourself breathe breathe breathe because you could feel your throat closing up quicker now.

"My apologies," through gritted teeth, you managed to surface a cruel smile, "I promise it won't happen again."

Rather than wait for his direction, you turned and slammed the door behind you before striding towards your desk, dropping your weight into your chair while quietly gasping for air. I shouldn't have come back, head tilted back as you attempted to ease into steady breathing. As childish as it was, you wanted to blame the whole of this on Jaebeom, every last fucking bit of it. But you can't and perhaps that's what created even more friction, because you knew that this wasn't his fault, at least not entirely. You created this situation yourself, and had you not selfishly decided to seek revenge for something as egotistic as pride, perhaps you could have walked away with your hands clean. This worked in tandem with the arrogance of your boss, of course, but he didn't do anything that was outside of your expectations. You earned this and so you attempted to recenter yourself by focusing entirely on work. There would be no time for your wandering thoughts and regrets, so long as you did what you did best and that was to work. Surprisingly, this is successful, and you managed through most of the day without feeling the combustion of frustration you had that morning, even avoiding Mr. Im as he had several clients to see to that day — all of which did not line up with your schedule, to your relief.

Just as the last two hours of your work day were resolving, greeting you every hour closer to your escape, you suddenly saw one of the sales associates frantically dart towards your desk with a heavy binder in her hands. It's a long explanation you can barely fathom through her shaky sobs, but you managed to piece together that a backorder she had placed had an exponential amount of quantity in contrast to the original form and she wasn't sure where to redistribute it. Apparently she heard you were a savior for these sort of situations at the branch, and now you were her only hope. Perhaps you pitied her tear stained face, and how could you possibly let her be fed to Mr. Im after he put you through the wringer this morning? Assuring her you would fix the mistake, you sent her home and began revising her work. Overtime wasn't new to you, but you hadn't thought this would to be a commitment as someone who was only an assistant. In some ways, you were relieved you were still seen as helpful, and that was honestly the ego boost you needed.

The office was empty, Mr. Im long gone due to some client meeting, the only sounds were your nails clacking away on the keyboard and the hum of the air conditioner every so often to keep the printing room cool. Occasionally, you'd hear the ice maker in the break room, but otherwise you were savoring the paradise of peace you were draped in while you began sorting the order. The work wasn't difficult but tedious, as you sent several notices to the global order management team, making them aware of certain changes you needed to override and why it was so sudden. The familiarity of work offered a sense of comfort to you, so much so, you didn't realize the figure hovering near your desk, "You're still here?"

The recognizable tone rekindled nausea as you focused on your screen, not bothering to look at the owner of the voice, "Yes, why are you here?"

"A meeting got moved and I thought I'd work on something..." the tone is flat and suddenly your vision blurs, fingers cold and unmoving, wondering why he's still looming before he suddenly grabbed the bottom mount of one of your monitors, turning it towards him. The silence indicated to you that he's probably reading, and you prepared yourself to hear him blast you with his uninvited criticism.

"...You know for someone who was at your managerial level, but unable to delegate, it's no wonder why you're a secretary now huh?"

"Excuse me?" Turning your head to look at him for the first time, you felt your blood pressure spike, "You do know you're in charge of overseeing the sales associates right?"

"It's not my job to clean up someone else's blatant mistakes, and it isn't yours either," turning the monitor back, he spoke his words firmly, "But someone who can't create a boundary on what their job title is..."

Sucking in a breath between his teeth, he folded his arms across his chest, "Certainly will do the work for them, huh?"

"Maybe, if you knew how to do your job better, they could follow," folding your fingers together, you leaned across the table, offering a sickeningly saccharine grin, "That way there wouldn't be any mistakes to clean up, don't you think, Mr. Im? You are only as strong as your weakest link."

"That's why you have to learn to strengthen those links, not baby them and do their damn work for them," leering at you, head tipped down, you have no other comments to make and there isn't time for it, because Mr. Im took his leave almost immediately after. It takes everything in you not to throw the monitors out the window behind you, use the computer itself to break through Mr. Im's door to trash his office, light the chairs and shelves lining the walls as a starter for a fire that would burn the building to a crisp. It takes everything in you not to boil over and cry every tear you had been holding in all fucking day. You pace back up to speed while continuing your work, still struggling to breathe.

A mug is delivered onto your desk by the devil's spawn, and you can't help but offer only disgust as he sips his own coffee. You dream a hundred different ways to splash the hot beverage at him as he lies in waiting, you assume, for you to take a sip, "Please tell me you put poison in it."

"You really think too highly of me."

"Trust me, I don't," rolling your eyes, you scanned through the worksheet, scrolling down towards a row in question.

"Drink it."

"No."

"Drink it and don't show up looking like you did again this morning."

Glaring at him, you begrudgingly took a sip before slamming the mug back down on the desk, holding your eye contact. If he was anyone else, you wouldn't have been so aggressive, stubborn. You would have certainly expressed your gratitude, but because he wasn't anyone else, you would never let him hear a single thank you for the rest of your life. It's close to midnight when you finish, and you depart without saying anything, letting the blur of catching the last train and of how you get home consume you through the sticky night air. You can't even recall a hint of how you washed up and got into bed, so drained you don't even notice when you fall asleep.

Water is the most pure and present representation of neutrality, a concoction that occurs only as a reaction. Though many physicists would argue otherwise, its state is a result more than a stable initiator. The temperature of water is adjusted due to exposure of heat, an outside conductor, its movements are recorded through the tectonic plates that grapple against one another hidden beneath the earth’s surface, another outside conductor. With the ability to control small increments in the human hand, it can also be a significant abundance and in mass amounts, water could flood whole cities, countries. Water brought life just as easily as it swept it away and as you float in an endless sea that had no horizon, blended to reflect the ash sky above, you wonder just how much of this is a reaction to you.

Though you were never particularly good at swimming, you could at least float. Fingers parted while exploring the viscous space, head bobbing just above the surface, the water that filled your ears and kept you recording your breathing in silence, soft licks of waves creeping beneath your inhales. Your body must have acclimated to the temperature since there was no particular differentiation when it came to heat and chill. Dipping down as you closed your eyes, you held your breath but soon realized while being under just slightly and seemingly too long, there was no reason to be doing so. Soft dancing bubbles escaped your nostrils as you looked up to see the dim light cadence against the reflective surface, glimmering for your return.

Instead, the urge to sink into the dark abyss intrigued you while you curled up and felt your weightlessness create some form of mass that drifted your being down. Lulling your eyes closed, the shadow depths began to creep over your skin as the gentle shifts in the water turned and rocked you at its will. Each breath you drank let no salt touch your tongue as you listlessly floated through limbo, no particular attention towards anything yet all things, all at once. Opening your eyes once more just to observe how far you fell, now in utter darkness. A deeper smudge of obsidian seemed to cloak your vision the deeper you descended, something stained the water, and what was once faulty oxygen in your lungs surged as you observed the surface growing closer before you broke through the ceiling. Gasping suddenly as the flesh of a palm cradled you in its confines, you were horrified to watch as the fingerprints began to unravel, skin coiling and peeling back. The nails decayed in slivers and crumbled into the water, ribbons of the epidermis effortlessly withering away as the imagery instilled panic — not because you would revert to sinking once it had completely peeled apart but the rotting flesh itself was enough. Ready to abandon ship, you felt your ankles locked in place as the vibrant crimson began crackling in desperation, forming vertices through the bone structure before dying the boards of a small paddle boat to carry you in. It happened so rapidly, vividly, your unease became a beacon of confusion once more as the vessel gently turned in a counter clockwise motion.

Suddenly, you're shivering. You weren't the least bit cold earlier, but between then and now, there's a draft. Craning your head back to peer up at the sky for clues, you notice not even a change in the cloud's structure has budged. It's as if air had no presidence here, not a requirement for you and certainly not present. Left without an oar, you clenched your teeth and leaned over the edge of the boat before scooping water towards the direction the head of the boat was pointed in an effort to escape. Hands cupping the frigid liquid, as if freshly melted ice had made its home in your hands, you continued to part your way before seeing a dark object in the distance. It swayed heavily and must have had some weight to it, creating its own ripples that licked at the bottom of your boat. Flicking the water off your hands as best you could, you squinted while shielding your fingers around your eyes as the vessel drifted closer. It's sinking now, whatever was peeking at the surface began bobbing lower and lower, circumscribed by the buoyant surface of the sea as it swallowed up the mass. When it finally broke the pendulum swing, it sunk and the fibers of protein that warped as the clear reflection finally imprinted on your gaze had you fully forming the inference.

It was Jaebeom, and he was sinking.

Humans like to think — in a hopeful sense — that we could independently peruse this lifetime without a need for others. It's the selfish and human thing to do. But in reality, we all pour from our cup, to another's cup, to another's cup, and to another's cup. We pour a little of our responsibility, our support, the love we share, our sanctity, and humanity all in different people's cups whether we like to acknowledge that or not. In a way, no matter how selfish an individual is, there is somehow a rift created from them that inherently has helped someone else, and that's the beginning and ending of it all. Because of this human response to how we accept the traumas that we experience through others, it really is no surprise that you didn't hesitate for a moment as you stood at the edge of the boat and screamed his name.

Im Jaebeom.

There's no sound. Gently reaching your frozen fingers around your neck, you amplified with what you could, kicking your diaphragm up as you felt your throat quiver in desperation. Still no sound. Panicked, you plunge into the water on a whim, swimming with what clumsy form you could remember — what your body could remember — as your fingers grasped through the intangible material with haste. Every time you reached to propel yourself forward, you realized that the image of Jaebeom would crystalize and somehow turn into fragments before resorting into one whole piece. At first, you assumed it was the water that was claiming your vision, but it wasn't, it was as if his entire existence was shifting before you. With each paddle, his physical being was disintegrating. As you grew closer, seeing the unconscious body drift lower and faster, you reached forward in an attempt to grab him as your mouth opened and struggled to claim any kind of volume you possibly could.

But somehow every time your fingertips drew forward, he was reeled backwards just as far. Kicking your feet faster, harder, aggressively attempting to bring yourself closer, you continued to desperately shout into the abyss, no water and certainly no sound departing or returning. A shadow from above began to cloak over as you watched the onyx shade creep up from behind the descending form in front of you, screaming even more frantically now.

Wake up! Wake up!

Every nerve in your body jolted forward as you sprung from your mattress, awoken by the perilous screeching of your own voice before desperately gasping for air. It was just a dream, but that doesn't comfort you as you felt an overwhelming chill bite at your skin while your alarm ripped through your bedroom walls.

Were you appreciative that you were still employed? Sure. Were you desperately looking for a way out? Absolutely. Wanting nothing more than to escape this reality you had little to no control of, you decided on your commute that you would create a deadline for yourself that would shape the rest of your time as Mr. Im’s assistant. That is, if he didn’t throw some fit and cut your contract short. Though confident in your work and abilities, on the off chance you could not make your way out, you would leave when the allotted time was up. It was a way for you to look forward to something, anything. Settling in your chair as your rolled it towards your desk, one of the sales managers strutted towards you, her elated but professional grin painted on her lips. Though you couldn't recall her name, how could you forget the most gorgeous employee at the main office? A stunning beauty, you were half surprised when you were introduced and told that she was responsible for many of the large trades and shipments that were from overseas; she looked more like an actress or movie star than another one of the pencil pushers here, like yourself. Residing with the top numbers for countless months, she was easily one of the top sales managers after her training period.

Resounding your title and last name formally, she gently placed a hand on your desk as your gaze followed her beautifully glazed nails up her neatly ironed dress, engaging in her glance finally as she spoke, "Is Mr. Im free today? I would like to discuss something with him."

Typically, you recited — like some kind of voicemail message — that he would be unable to take any appointments and you'd have him take a look at whatever was the subject of said request when he was free and return the documents or inquiries after the fact. This was, of course, full of shit and he really just didn't want to meet with anyone and especially not a woman one on one. After what happened the other day, you couldn't really blame him. But you could blame him for the past few hellish days where you listened to his condescending tone beat into your skull and insult any sort of work you did that didn't follow his organization — which you realized was a lot more picky than you initially suspected. With a saccharine grin, you beamed at her, "I am sure I can find some time for you. What did you want to discuss and when would you like me to pen you in?"

The expression that plagued her every feature was priceless, absolutely appalled that it was that simple because in the past, you were sure whoever was the makeshift scheduler refused to have anyone meet the CEO without obstacle and challenge. Leaning into your desk, a patient and friendly smile masquerading your expression, you tilted your head as she stuttered through her words, something you never imagine you'd witness, "...It's just some numbers with a new brand we're working with, just to double check."

The end of her sentence faded into the air similarly to how her tone wafted away, an almost sheepish grin now forming on her lips. It was made clear that she may have had a crush on your boss, how funny. This would make for an interesting meeting, you began jotting down buzzwords that held seemingly more importance than what she was spouting about. Nodding vaguely while she spoke, you peered up at her, "He's free in an hour, if you're available, I can have you meet with him then?"

With that, she fervently thanked you before departing back to her desk. What could you say? You told Mr. Im you were good at you job, which included but wasn't limited to, helping him grow and supporting him. If that meant you were going to help him through his phobia — or condition? Whatever it was — why wouldn't that be considered growth and support? Chuckling to yourself, you mentally began the countdown to your most exciting encounter of the day.

Or so you thought.

Somehow — and you had a feeling that the sales manager must have let that elation loosen her lips — you had a ton of inquiries from every female identifying human in the building to see Mr. Im. What a surprise. You let them come in and deliver him tea, host meetings with him in person and not over e-mail or some poorly streamed video, bring his mail to him personally, and even do their presentations in his office. The rest of his week was fully booked with more or less, mundane and useless appointments with the women of the office who wanted to court him. The current quarter was always notoriously slow, so it's not like you were sabotaging anything of importance. Rather, you filled his time with your very own unpaid therapy and for that, he should be thankful.

By the end of the week, you could tell he was on his last leg, his expression depleted of energy and yet somehow it roused with rage and frustration you knew was targeted at you. Feigning innocence, you went by each day carefully avoiding him in spaces where he could scold your behavior, even going as far as having your lunch out in the courtyard. You were as close to paradise in hell as you possibly could have experienced, as if you had begrudgingly crawled through a desert — famished and dehydrated — and somehow the mirage in the distance had fabricated into a tangible scenery, why hadn't you decided to floor him earlier? Forget fucking him, this was a hundred, no ten hundred, times more satisfying.

Honestly, you expected him to call you into his office at some point, though you were surprised how patient he seemed since he picked Friday and right before you were about to clock out. This may have been his own oversight though, based on the fact that he knew he'd be dipping right into your weekend. Just to add to your misery, why would he not eat up your time?

"Are you insane?"

"...According to my health records, no, not clinically," pausing, you let your eyes wander a bit as you hummed, creating an illusion as if you were thinking through something. Scoffing in response, palm resting at the edge of his desk, you watched as his fingers curled around the margin. Gripping the furniture, you wondered just how agonizing his week had been while his knuckles surfaced an alabaster tone that was wreathed by a rush of blood beneath his skin. Honestly, you only complied to the last minute meeting just to have him relive his entire week through the festering wound you created, "You have got to be fucking crazy."

"Well you aren't a doctor, are you? So what do you know?"

He shot you a look as you smiled at him sarcastically.

"I didn't tell you all of that in confidence, but I didn't think you'd act smart with me," wedging his lip between his teeth in frustration, he finally released the desk as you barked out a laugh. It's the first time either of you hear this curdling trill, and it's rather frightening because you never once imagined that you'd be laughing in the presence of Mr. Im and he certainly never thought he'd be hearing it either.

“...You know, for someone who’s got some kind of issue around women, you seem to know how to fuck them,” lulling your head languidly to the side, you eyes traced over the features on his face as they contorted into a strange expression, “…I said I didn’t know how to interact with them, not that I didn’t know how to have sex with them.”

“All the more reason you should thank me for helping you,” shrugging your shoulders, a smile graced your lips, implying directly that you did him a favor. Which he obviously did not consider. Exhaling a halfhearted laugh, one that does not fill its full resonance, he grit his teeth as he spoke, “Do you have any idea how stupid that sounds?”

“Do you have any idea how stupid it sounds that you know how to have sex with women but not talk to them?”

Silence. Because it was stupid.

"...It makes a lot more sense than you imposing your so called help onto me," folding his arms over his chest, he narrowed his eyes while glaring at you, your smile never leaving your lips. You learned, in a matter of days, your actions held more weight than your words. It started on the very first day and his impression of your preparation, it was as if he complimented you when he arrived at expressionless silence. And it also didn't help that the language you both used seemed to be littered with spite alone. It was how you adjusted his schedules so he wouldn't constantly be parked at his desk for twelve to sixteen hours a day, or how you knew that he liked to stand on the right side of the elevator when you accompanied him to meetings. Even how you arranged his pens and documents in the morning to suit his left handed preference, all these little actions that created a warped way of understanding that held no flames to how you responded to him or would call him by his first name as an insult. It's how Jaebeom worked.

"I'm here to guide you Mr. Im, don't question my methods. I'm supposed to be both your support and mentor," placing a hand at your chest, fingertips gently grazing your necklace as you played victim, your sarcastic tone dug right into him as he sneered.

"You're doing a shit job at it."

"Well, I haven't been terminated yet have I? So I might not be so bad," wandering towards the bookshelf beside him, you peered at the generic picture frames that were made into partitions before glancing over your shoulder.

"Well don't get too comfortable," Leaning into his desk, arms still crossed tightly, his stoic expression reeked of rage as you mimicked his stance arrogantly. It really was all about action with him, and it had a lot to do with how well he read others. Watching his eyes roll as he exhaled yet another frustrated breath, your gaze incidentally found that his condition was acting up. Forcing your laughter back down your throat, you decided on a whim to instead, provoke him first, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You really have to ask? Don't get comfortable where you're at."

Realizing that his exasperation to your behavior must have circumvented any other physical response, the receptors in his head simply overworked by the onslaught of cortisol it must have been pumping this whole week, you discern that he had no idea he was straining in his slacks.

"...Speak for yourself," a stride forward, and you impetuously tucked a finger into his belt before pressing your other palm up against his very obvious erection. The sudden tension that plagued his face leaked down every feature until it dripped down his body, his skin instantly searing beneath your touch, "You're getting a little too comfortable, don't you think?"

The impulse trip kicked up again as you squeezed him through the fabric, guiding yourself just a breath closer. Just as you inhale, you captured the blunder of tobacco and pepper cease your senses before feeling the familiar hand grip at your hip, his thumb finding the slope of your protruding bone.

"...That's your best apology for the bullshit you did this week?"

But, that's how Jaebeom worked, his actions were always alluding to his true intentions. One curved revolution and your positions were reversed, your back creased along the edge of his desk as he trapped you with his hands along the margin. Unflinching, your pupils must have been flooded as you locked your gaze with his, fingers gliding up his silk tie before you gripped the fabric and yanked him a little closer, "That's the best you're getting from me."

In one deft motion, he hoisted you up onto the edge of his desk while dipping forward, the perimeter between the two of you filled with only anticipating breaths. It was as if you were both expecting the other to give in first, a quiet war that sparked a flint that was igniting a swarming fire that could be used to burn the other. But in some ways, you were the guilty verdict, and you took that as a victory rather than a loss. Palms settled behind you, you were ready to recline as you abruptly felt Jaebeom's hand press into your spine to restrict your movement, "As much as I'd love to watch you crack your head on the edge of one of my monitors, I'm not really in the mood to clean it up."

It half surprised you that he read your motion even before you committed to it, but he was always a little too observant anyways. Narrowing your eyes at him, the grimace on your lips deepened when he drank in your expression, his fingers gripping the plush of your cheeks as your mouth rested at the valley between his thumb and index. Crooning in the most unbearable tone you had ever heard, you rolled your eyes at him while he spoke, "Don't be a brat, aren't you supposed to be apologizing to me?"

A brat? Wrinkling your nose, you sneered at him, "Takes one to know one, huh?"

Forcing his thumb into your mouth, you were half tempted to bite down — you heard that all it took was the pressure of splitting a small baby carrot with your teeth to detach it from its joint. You decide against it belatedly as you heard sharp droplets littering the wooden surface before rolling onto the plush carpet, peering down at the lost buttons of your blouse, you groan in displeasure before using your tongue to push out his finger, "You fucking idiot, how the hell am I supposed to go home?"

"Not really my problem," shrugging, a shit eating grin plastered over his mouth, he continued his own handy work as he dove into your shoulder while reaching up to cup your breast in one of his hands.

"You're such a fucking jerk."

"Mhmm," savoring the way your jasmine infused perfume clung to the cotton of your shirt, he reached around and unclasped the hooks of your bra as the garment fell. Pushing the sleeves of your shirt away and discarding your bra along with it, you begrudgingly yanked on his tie — harder this time — as you drew him in and pressed your forehead against his, "Are you really not going to apologize for ruining one of my favorite blouses?"

"I don't remember you apologizing to me yet," and he sealed his sentence onto your mouth as his tongue swiped over your bottom lip, causing you to freeze up, brows furrowing, "...I told you not to do that."

"I told you not to schedule anyone without my permission."

"It was important."

"You want me to believe you thought it was that important?"

Lies were always a struggle for you to vocalize, they just never seemed to fall from your lips without some sort of awkward contradicting action, and even now you were fumbling with the silk fabric around Jaebeom's neck as you tried to pull it loose, "It could have been."

Sliding his index finger into the knot, he pulled the loop with one swift movement before grabbing ahold of your chin to induce eye contact, "But it wasn't, was it?"

"...I wouldn't know, I wasn't the one meeting with them."

The snarl you heard blossom in his throat had you flinch, Jaebeom taking advantage of your staggered movement by gripping your wrists and bringing them to his belt as he began carefully slipping the buttons of his shirt through their respective holes, "Then I can assure you, they weren't. So no more scheduling useless appointments, right?"

The tone he used put you off, and your decision to push him came into fruition almost immediately when your thumbs simply line the leather and silver plated buckle of the logo, as if memorizing the design. You weren't so keen as to drop your hands, but they certainly were not moving at the pace of his impatience. With your jaw in his hold once more, the empty eye contact held your silence between the two of you, as he articulated with more emphasis, "Right?"

"...Right."

Rather than succumbing — much to his desire — you instead only respond to give him the answer he was seeking, because in all essences, you were the one in control. If Jaebeom wanted to create an opulent fantasy where he could overrule your decision, he certainly had not learned about you the way you had learned about him. Pressing the hook through the hoop as the plate and metal hinge knocked against one another — the only sound that seemed to be reverberating between the short and shallow breaths you both shared — the belt came apart in your hands, a touch of fabric against the suede lining whistling in your ears as you let it descend. The dull thump of the heavy buckle hit the carpet as you kicked your heels off along with it, struggling to shimmy out of your own slacks before feeling your weight lifted up. Tucking you against his sturdy frame with one arm, he effortlessly helped you out of your pants before setting you back on the desk unceremoniously, "You're slow to undress, even this time."

"...You just always know what to say, don't you?"

"I'm rather good with my mouth," the smart comment instantly invoked a heavy desire of wanting to redress yourself and leaving without a single word more.

"Are you? Jokes are only funny when you're not lying."

"Do you think I'm lying?"

You weren't sure what your initial intention was but that was a threat, you were sure of it. But a threat you were tempted to see through. There was a prominent suggestion swirling in your mind as you contemplated whether to guide it into vocalization or to simply continue and slice through his ego, perhaps gaining a more intense result if you committed to the latter. The performative action of how you uncrossed your legs decided for you, "I don't believe things until I see them."

"Since when did your apology turn into me doing you a favor?"

Mouth agape, you feigned shock, "A favor? Mr. Im, it's only a favor if it's good."

And you receive the response you were eager to be in through the presence of a brute and concise expression of competition that riddled the perimeter of his whole face. Though he seemed to be composed, you realized early on that Im Jaebeom was a competitive bastard and a few carefully plucked nuanced words were all you needed to get his ignition going. You also realize, in the few moments where you let him finally rid you of the last garment on your body, he doesn't know how to take a joke the same way he delivers them and when he flattens his tongue ardently against your bundle of nerves, you suddenly realize what they meant when they said there were 8,000 of these endings in the clitoris alone. Dipping backwards, you winced as you felt Jaebeom yank your hips closer to him, skidding along the smooth wood and his teeth sinking into your inner thigh as he spoke into your skin, "I told you to be careful your hard head might crack one of the monitors."

The only noise you could utter in response is a groan as he stiffened his tongue back against you, causing an instant slur of moans to escape your lips. As much as people liked to credit the heightened experience of alcohol induced sex, there honestly was no comparison to sobriety, not when you felt every fervent breath between the calculated way Jaebeom used his tongue against you. Even the gentle brush of his teeth against your skin caused you to squirm in absolute delight, feeling yourself drip over every lick you received. Pure euphoric noises passed your lips as your fingers threaded through his hair the moment he slid a finger into you, and even he noticed how hard you were clenched around him. The labored breaths that sunk your lungs was his indicator that you weren't going to last, unraveling at his hands as he pulled away, timed perfectly before your uncoiling. Gasping desperately, you peered at him with a dazed expression as the words fell out on their own, "Why did you stop?"

"To check if it was good."

The violent desire of having his mouth meet your fist was all that roused your thoughts as your hazy expression began to take a tumble, absolutely speechless at his childish action. But he reassured you that he was simply the same asshole, nothing quite so new, you thought he was when he cleared his throat, "...If it was, you can tell me, and I can finish the job."

"So you got a praise kink, now?"

Earning yourself a deadpanned eye roll you can't help but expel an amused laugh, watching him hover over you with an acrid and unimpressed expression, "I mean, I wouldn't be surprised...What with you being an only child, mommy and daddy showering you in all their attention, right?"

There was a fleeting spark of something that crossed over his eyes, just for a moment, and if you had not been staring directly at him you may have missed it. It was a strange chill that emulated an emptiness you had not felt in ages, but you don't address it as he readjusted the banter back towards a boundary you had not meant to cross, realizing you may have not learned all you thought you did, "Call it whatever you want, but unless you say it, you're going to be the one dealing with your own mess."

"Mess? At least when I put my pants on, it doesn't look like I have a weapon on me."

"...So you think it's that big?"

Sucking in your lips, you held them in place with your teeth, a tight line bit down desperately when you realize your words were getting clumsier the more you spoke. Though he wouldn't be lying, you weren't willing to disclose that information with him just yet, "...You did good."

"That's it?"

"Very good," your eyes turned like a dial as you nudged your knee at him, "Are you going to let me cum now or what?"

"I don't know, it doesn't feel as convincing when you say it..." The provocation is supported by a warm growl that you recall from several nights back, a sound that easily caused a kindling and lust filled response. Typically, he spoke with a natural timbre and tone that even the occasions when he cleared his throat to speak during presentations caused your mind to stray and wander far from your reality. You let him win the round, "Could you please? You were right, your mouth is not just for talking shit."

You couldn't help the latter, honestly. But instead of taking offense he bellowed a laugh of disbelief, "Are you seriously begging and insulting me in the same breath?"

"Will it get you to go down on me again?"

"If it was that good, I thought you'd be more desperate."

Pride in humans was such a complex concept that molted and formed where it needed to, and it found a home between your legs at this moment, your knees kissing to relieve some of the tension you had pent up inside you, "...I need you to do it again, please? It was good, and I honestly don't know if it will feel the same if I try and get myself off."

The words jumbled when you attempted to feed them back into your own ears, the sound of distance in your own voice causing confusion in the strange tone and desire that lost to your human will. But the moments you have to feel any last shred of embarrassment is dispersed as soon as you felt Jaebeom's grip on your thigh, spreading your legs once more before continuing his ministrations. Pleasure instantly washed over you as he worked his middle finger back in, lips encapsulating your swollen bundle of nerves as he worked in tandem to let you meet your peak once more. Convulsing as your abdomen tightened, your fingers card back through Jaebeom's messy hair as you gripped hard and bucked your hips forward. When he referred to how apparent your arousal was by calling it a mess he should have simply referred to you instead, your reaction was intrinsic but your movements and inherent being were falling apart before him. A final exhale and you choked out his name while a high pitched moan managed to gather and release from your tongue.

The moment you found to steady your breath is the same one that Jaebeom used to turn you over on his desk, your chest against the wood surface as he propped your knee up at the edge. Hissing as you attempted to adjust for comfort, he selfishly began pressing against your overstimulation as your arms gave out from your position, "Why are you always so impatient?!"

"Can you not comment once in a while, I let you cum already."

Your hips react differently to the way he lined his tip up and down your folds as opposed to your tone, back arching to meet his touch with wanton abandon as you shuddered when he finally entered you. If you were still in the mood to tease him, you liked to think you would have turned around and retorted some well thought out remark, but even then that could have lost to the possibility that the results would be the same. You had him inside of you recently, but somehow it felt like the first time again, the stretch sudden but coercing adrenaline in a way that blinded any initial soreness by raw pleasure. Fervent fingertips traced up your hips and finally to your waist, you plant one hand to pitch you up on the desk but the other curled around his bare wrist — if you grabbed his watch, you knew you'd leave a bruise on him with how tightly you're holding — giving it a squeeze. With no surprise or hesitation, Jaebeom took his cue and pushed his length entirely into you as you moaned.

The pace is slow for only as long as you can sneak a respiration, but his rhythm easily picked up to suit his impatience, and the string of obscenities that left your lips was growing in volume and length. Dousing the back of your neck with his breath, your sensory overload had you losing the last bit of control you had, submitting even your pleasure over to him as he thrust into you with perfect strokes, back and forth. The only focus you had left was to not cum too early and give him new ammunition to use against you, because he seemed to take pride in what he could manage to squeeze, whether that was a reaction or a way to beg him to fuck you, you now learned.

Without intention, you managed to complete his request of not commenting, simply relinquishing noises of delight and pleasure. Reaching for your neck with his free hand, he gently wrapped his fingers around your throat as you felt your skin blister from anticipation — it was sick how much he must have paid attention the first time if he noticed that you got off with how he choked you. Refusing to react, you simply pushed your hips back at the same rate he fucked you against the desk before his grip fused against your skin, pressing the column of your throat to capture your breath. You quietly thanked him for having turned you around because you weren't sure what kind of face you were making, lost in bliss the way every inch of his cock stretched you and how his rough hands were keeping the last bit of controlled ownership to himself.

Stifled moans are the last emission you can manage as you feel the quick snap of your core, completely unwound as Jaebeom crashed his hips into yours. By now, he knew exactly what you felt like when you were cumming, clenched around him and he'd be lying if he said there wasn't an insatiable desire that caused him to chase it every time. Not slowing his pace, he released your neck while pulling you closer towards him, his warm skin greeting your own while you rode out the last bit of your orgasm with soft whines, "You've cum twice and I still haven't gotten an apology."

There it was. But you don't have the energy to argue rather, you languidly reached around and draped your hand over his neck while catching your breath, peering up at him, "...I'm sorry I let all the nice and pretty girls in the company bother you this week. Don't be too mean, they just think you're cute."

Your words snuck between labored breaths as your half lidded eyes shut, your body still drowning in a post high you weren't quite sure you would come down from. There isn't any effort from you as he continued to thrust up to meet your hips, a smudged bout of laughter leaving his throat, "Never thought I'd hear you actually apologize."

"Then why'd you mention it."

"Just to mess with you."

"...You're such a fucking jerk, you know," while you mumbled, he moved his fingers that were originally inside of you against your lips, allowing you to taste what was left of when you soaked his skin and it's enough to make you want to cum against his cock again. You still hadn't figured out why he lasted so long and you decided it was because of his reverse erectile dysfunction, it had to be. When you managed to finish catching your breath, reality no longer lapsing you between a euphoric lust led fantasy, you alternated between how tightly you squeezed him with each thrust — hoping this would usher him to his end, but he doesn't react how you expect, instead his hands traveling over every inch of your skin and causing you to shudder.

It wouldn't be right to cum again, you keep telling yourself, but the way he's groping your breasts or how his fingertips were dug into your thigh was convincing you otherwise, "...I'm gonna cum."

You think the admission is at least better than not mentioning it at all, now for the third time, but you decide it's much worse once his lips pressed against your neck — just below your ear — and he whispered in a tone so gentle that the way he said it probably was what caused you to unravel rather than the way he fucked you, "Go ahead, cum."

Instant gratification was at his disposal as you leaned forward, only held in place by Jaebeom's arm around your waist as anything below your hips grew hot then numb, your toes curling in response to your body's reaction. Mentally you chant and beg for him to finish because you can assure yourself you're not going to be conscious for much longer, and though he could read others well, you started to wonder if he pretended he didn't know your intent especially when you felt his finger against your clit, "Wait!"

The yelp is instant as you shivered against him, torn between a mix of succumbing to every pleasurable desire you ever had being fulfilled or stopping to catch up with how your body’s reaction. Jaebeom, of course, ignored your request as you puddled out moans from your throat. Teeth in your shoulder, the onslaught of sensations were overwhelming every one of your receptors because it really did feel that good yet you couldn't savor any particular moment because it happened all at once.

Lost in a haze, your body felt as though it no longer belonged to you, every extremity inherently detached from the organic state and so heightened by pleasure and tension that they were simply extensions hanging from a frame. If begging could get Jaebeom to finish, you would have done it but you didn’t have the slightest idea how to coax him to cum. What was so intricate about the male physiology, anyways? Yet, through contradiction, you were the one spent over and over. The sudden rough grip on your breast forced you to hiss as the erratic tempo of Jaebeom’s thrusts offered a possibility of an end — finally — while your eyes pooled, festooning your cheeks with tears that were gifted from overstimulation.

The ragged breathing into your skin was your relief as you felt his sudden pull, but in your panic — especially from his disorganized way of spilling and leaving behind his mess — you gripped his wrist, “Just cum inside.”

“What?” A disgusted expression plagued his face as he seemed to lose his rhythm, “You really are fucking cra—”

“I’m on birth control so get over yourself and it’s gonna get on the carpet and your desk,” narrowing your eyes at him, you spoke quickly through your breathy pants. With a contorted expression, he rolled his eyes as he simply nodded, and not a breath later you could hear his painstakingly elongated growl. Shivering at the tone and how he held your hips in place, you finally released a sigh of relief before reaching over the desk to grab the tissue box near his keyboard. While his grip loosened, you secretly savored the warm and viscous feeling of how he filled you.

Watching your fingers tremor as you carried the cardboard container, you realized just how tense you must have been the entire time. Focused on gaining a proper grip back, you witnessed a flash of white as Jaebeom snatched several sheets and did the cleaning himself — much to your surprise and a tinge of embarrassment. You'd mostly expected to have done it on your own, and though this was already the second time you were allowing yourself to be completely naked and blissed out from being fucked by him, something about this action had induced some form of shyness. Gentle swipes over your skin and you listened to him discard the sheets as you whimpered while removing your knee from the desk, a heavy red mark along your thigh and your hip searing with initiated soreness.

The marks and fatigue would fade into an ephemeral glimmer, the same way your high would only last those fleeting moments more, but now in your sobriety you were left with an impression you weren't quite so sure would emulate the same transience. Several nights ago, you barely remembered how you managed to get your dress back on, how you purchased your breakfast, or even how you ended up at the park. Now, with full clarity, you were pulling on fabric over your skin with amplified sensory, listening to how every zip and clasp reattached itself in utter silence. It left your mind to wander once more, why you let this second time even ensue, better yet with your initiation. Two for two, right? You hadn't felt such a deeply mortifying realization until this moment as you awkwardly attempted to figure out how to wrap your blouse so you wouldn't be committing some form of public indecency.

How the hell were you supposed to get home?

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