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#and like.... idk this is all of the fics i can't find a single one that isn't like this it's so stupid

alphabetboyluvr · 7 months

Text

NIGHT CRAWLERS - JJK

title credit: night crawlers - kids in glass houses

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

synopsis:

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

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

wordcount: 26K

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

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

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

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

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

That, and 'rather be dead than cool.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At least they barely crossed. Past tense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Again, the rogue look isn't a front.

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

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

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

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

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

"Mhmm?"

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

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

Partners?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A control freak, you note. Nice.

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

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

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

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

"I'm very much capable of editing-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When they were still talking to you, that was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn't reply.

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

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

Well, no.

That's not quite right.

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

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

Given your rejection, he was pleased with his choice.

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

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

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

"Like?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he's also determined.

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

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

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

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

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

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

That's the big dream at least.

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

It's his fault, and he knows it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The lack of a camera proves otherwise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hold on."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus, you think. Who pissed in his cornflakes?

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

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

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

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

"You could have fucking killed me!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Never said I wasn't."

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

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

"Where are we?"

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

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

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

That's a lie.

He doesn't think they're stupid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Look I-"

"So-"

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

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

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

"At two in the morning?"

You nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tomorrow?"

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

"Oh right. Yeah. See you tomorrow."

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

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

"Thanks, again."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perhaps that should be your project piece.

Secrets of Seoul: The Seedy Underbelly of The City.

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

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

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

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

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

Who the fuck are you?

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

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

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

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

"Once in a blue moon. Gotcha."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook wants what he wants.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook wants what he wants.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Curious.

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

"No can do, sugar."

"Oh my god, stop calling me that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he's right. It is worth it.

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

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

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

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

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

"It's good," he promises.

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

"Are you broken?"

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

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

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

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

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

And neither of you really care.

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

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

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

He knows you read them.

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

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

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

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

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

You have been thinking about him.

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

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

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

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

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

You don't ask him to expand.

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

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

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

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

And so you return, every week.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Per hour?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You've gotten good at playing pretend.

Jungkook only jokes about you being a sugar baby.

He doesn't fathom that you actually are one.

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

The way you hold onto his waist is different tonight.

Physically, it's the same.

But it feels different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod appreciatively. "You sure?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Kook?"

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

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

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

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

"Like what?"

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

"I don't."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As if he fears the consequences of his claim.

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

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

But you don't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unlike Jimin, apparently.

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

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

"You're being dramatic."

"You're being boring."

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

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

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

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

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

A few months ago, he was a fucking idiot.

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

And you ignore it.

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

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

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

It's all a bit nauseating.

Maybe a party would actually be a good distraction.

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

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

And you were nowhere to be seen on Tuesday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No good ever comes from being nice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you are annoyed.

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

You barely know him. Not really.

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

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

It seems like you found your answer.

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

And he's right.

He's not the city.

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

He's not the goddamn city.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Really, Kook?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey."

"Uh, hey."

"You good?"

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

Ah. You cringe.

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

"Hmm?"

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

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

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

"Good night?"

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

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

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

You don't know what to say either.

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

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

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

"Oh?"

"Yeah..."

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

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

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

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

Oh.

Not a coward. Just cautious.

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

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

"Can you come over?"

THE WAY YOU keep Jungkook hanging on tenterhooks is deliberate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except you do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Can I see?"

"Not yet."

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

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

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

You both feel it.

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

"Some girls like it," he flirts back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You look warm," he husks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do I?"

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

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

Yes.

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

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

Yes.

"Ddaeng."

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

Maybe you do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hobi, can I-"

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

"Hobi will you let me fucking talk!"

Attaboy.

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

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

You try to decipher the conversation, but fail.

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

You blush.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don't hang around for much longer.

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

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

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

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

Just a little peek. He'll never know.

Oh, how you loathe your brain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook thinks he knows who, now.

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

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

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

That had been the plan, at least.

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

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

A punch to the face means very little to Jungkook.

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

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

The dial tone bleeds out, just like his nose.

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

"Wassup, kid?"

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

"I got jumped Yoongs."

Fuck.

"You alright? Sound pretty bad? Where?"

"Daerim-"

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

"Hobi wanted me to drop off my stash."

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

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

"Gone."

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

"No."

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

"Yoong-"

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

"Ple-"

"Kook. Seriously. Trust me with this."

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

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

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

The girl who's now returning his call.

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

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

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

"Can I come over?"

Fuck. Anything except that.

"Please."

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

But he does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This place is just temporary.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook knows he should stop.

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

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

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

Should repulse you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All that matters is what is happening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wants it all.

Wants you naked.

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

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

Wants it. Wants you. Just wants.

And what Jungkook wants, Jungkook gets.

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

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

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

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

He's utterly obsessed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He likes this. Likes how you react to him.

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

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

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

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

He's bored of waiting. Wants you now.

The pair of you move fluidly, minimal discussion needed, just occasional checks of 'you good?', or 'this okay?'. The answer is, always, without a doubt, 'yes'.

He gets you on your back, panties pulled off, legs not quite hanging off the edge of your bed, but nearly. He strips himself of his shirt first, and grins as he notices the way you whine.

"What?" he toys.

"Nothing," you flirt. "Just wish you'd hurry up. I'm a busy woman."

"Oh yeah?" The sound of his buckle coming undone is enough to make you fucking leak. "Busy doing what?"

You neglect to tell him. Not because you don't have a witty remark lined up, but because he's fucking naked now.

What a sight to behold he is. Body lean, honey skin flawless, muscles defined. You pretend like you're looking at his body, but your eyes are drawn to his cock. You'd expected length, but not the girth - and he has both in abundance. The tip of his cock is blushed and wet, with Jungkook just as aroused as you are.

Noticing your gaze, he rolls his eyes, and toys with your pussy again, lightly running his fingers up and down your slick entrance. When he pulls back, his fingers are still connected by thick clear fluid. His cock throbs.

"You're gonna get me so dirty," he hums, as he crawls onto the bed above you, before holding his fingers to your mouth. "Clean them."

Part of you wants to say no, but the other part of you can see his darkened gaze and the way his cock is twitching. You can't refuse.

His fingers are on the tip of your tongue, the tip of his cock nudging so close to your entrance that he may as well just do it. You raise your hips, encouraging, but he retracts a little just to tease.

The fingers that were in your mouth come to grip at the soft flesh of your cheeks, his thumb on the other side. "Don't you fucking dare."

There's tepid aggression to his movements, and it makes you feel vulnerable - but you like it. You like the way he's gripping your face, the ways he's looking at you with narrow eyes, just like he used to do across the lecture hall. You like being reminded of when you were nothing to one another, because it makes the satisfaction of feeling his stiff cock jump a little against your pussy as you moan so much more worth it.

He used to hate you, now he can't wait to bury his fat cock in you. Victory is yours, even if he's trying to act like he's the one holding all the cards.

You don't correct him, though. You let him think he has the upper hand. You'll play pillow princess just this once if it means you get to see him a little bit mean again.

"Dare what?" you pout, cheeks still squished between his fingers. He grips a little tighter, your chest rising as you gasp. He pulls your face towards his, sinking down into your lips, until he decided he's done with you.

He stands by the edge of your bed, and yanks your ankles towards him, pulling you close enough to the edge for him to fuck you like this.

The loss of his grip is unwelcome by you, a frown forming. He isn't looking at your face now, eyes down on his cock, which he's rubbing between your soaked pussy lips, but he can almost hear you brace yourself to whine. He smirks, one side of his mouth lifting, head knocking to the side slightly.

"Don't you dare try and set the pace," he finally husks, still not glancing up towards you. He's taking his time, making sure the head of his cock kisses every inch of your exposed mess. "Nearly got my nose fucking broken for this pussy-" he spits, hard and fast, right onto your clit, spreading it with his cock. "- so I'm gonna make sure I get what I'm owed."

He spreads your thighs back, his fingers gripping harshly just how you like it. Perhaps you should pretend to be embarrassed by the fact your cunt is leaking for him, begging for him, but the way he hisses at the sight, chest heaving, prevents it.

Jungkook's thought about this before, about how pretty and pristine you'd be, about the mess he'd hoped you'd make. Thought about it so many times. Fingers wrapped around his shaft in the middle of the night when no one can hear him chant your name as he spills over. Yeah, he's thought about it a lot.

His imagination has never done you justice. One look and he's obsessed. Wants to spend hours touching, caressing, licking you.

"Take it," you whisper. "What you're owed, Jungkook. Take it."

He looks up now, brows threaded together. You don't recognise the contemplation his face is laced in, but he doesn't give you the chance to question it, for you begin to feel that burn. The one your fingers can never give you. It's alien, and yet familiar, inherently natural but intrusive nonetheless.

"Shit," is all you can manage to say, eyes locked on his.

He wants to watch himself sink into you, watch as his fat cock forces your slick wetness out of your pussy, but he can't. Not when you're looking at him like that. Not when your chest is heaving and your eyes are watering beneath tense brows. Not when your mouth is hanging open and just begging to be fucked like your tight little pussy.

And then he starts feeling something a little strange. A little unfamiliar. A little bit like his heart has stalled to beat in time with the contractions of your chest. And though he's not in pain anymore, too busy feeling you, he's aware that it hurts. Aware that he can't fuck you like he wanted to, 'cause his chest needs to be against yours. Needs to feel the beating drum beneath your ribs.

He doesn't even realise that he's paused until you whine a meagre, "please."

"That's more like it," he hums, as he pushes into you, the base of his thick cock plugging the weeping mess that he's made. You know that as soon as he pulls out, you'll be whimpering, begging for the tip of his cock to kiss your walls once more. "See how nice things can be when you just behave yourself, huh?"

His hips push just a little deeper, and he knows that it hurts. Knows that the little gasp isn't entirely from pleasure. He's seen his cock. Doesn't take a genius to work out that it can do damage.

"You can take it," he tells you, and like a pathetic, whimpering mess, you fucking nod. He's still inside of you, still deeper than you thought possible, and then his hand is on your stomach. He grabs your hand and places it beneath his. "You feel that?" He retracts just a little, pushing back in just as deep. Beneath your hands, there's a bulge. External or internal, it doesn’t matter. It's him. He does it again. "You feel me taking what's mine?"

Whatever the fuck you moan is incoherent, but he doesn't give a shit, 'cause he's ploughing now. Bucking his hips into you like pneumatic fucking drill. Shit. He's done this before. Got it mastered to a fine art. Momenta worthy of a museum exhibition.

Your tits are pillowed on your chest, nice and round, wobbling as he takes command of your body. He slaps one of them, just to watch it ripple, before that firm grip of his is on it. "Perfect tits," he growls the compliment, not really meaning for it to come out. "Gonna put my cock between them later," he tells you. "Gonna cum all over them."

He doesn't tell you that he'll also clean them with his hungry tongue, before delivering his cum into your mouth. Figures he'll just let you find out. His brain is working at a mile a minute, trying to reign back thoughts of sharing his cum with you in such a filthy manner. God, he wants to do heinous things to you. With you. For you.

But for now, he needs to focus on his cock. It's rubbing inside of you, nuzzling. He knows he's weeping, and that his precum is getting mixed with your slick juices. Knows he won't last long if you keep whining like that. Mewling. Purring.

He stalls his hips, letting go of your tits as they jiggle back into position. Your cheeks are flushed, imprints of his fingers reddening your skin. Lips pouted and resting ajar, Jungkook thinks they've never looked more fuckable. More kissable. More whisper-sweet-nothings-against-able.

"You ever shut the fuck up?" he teases, but is quick to notice confusion flash in your eyes. He didn't mean it as an insult, but it's easy to read the hurt in your perplexed features, and the way you begin to try and push your legs together. It's futile. His cock is keeping you open.

But you feel embarrassed, as if your natural reactions to him are a turn-off. It's silly, because he's quite literally inside of you, fat and solid, using you to milk himself. Of course, he's not turned off, but you're hyper-aware of how vulnerable you're feeling right now. It had been fun to pretend like you were in control, but as soon as he slipped inside of you, all sense of power had evaporated.

He doesn't realise this though. Doesn't realise that his cock is nudging so deep into you that it's practically knocking against your heart. Knock, knock, knock. Who's there? Your mind taunts, but you daren't answer.

"Hey," he coos, one of his large palms stroking on the inside of your thighs. That uncomfortable, obscure feeling is back again. The one that tells him he needs to be closer to you. This time, he doesn't ignore it. His hips pulse, just the once. A reminder he's still very much into this. Into you.

His hands grip your waist, softly this time, as he manoeuvres himself onto the bed with you, keeping himself snug. Your head is by the pillows, Jungkook's knees on either side of your ass, his chest flat against yours as one of his hands cradles your jaw. He presses a chaste, airy kiss against your lips, and whispers, "I love the way you sound." He kisses you again, hips rocking. You're trying not to, but you whine. "Fuck, sugar. You're my favourite fucking sound."

Your legs hook over his back, and he groans now. The angle change lets him delve deeper, your walls massaging him so well. Jungkook thinks he might have died and gone to heaven. He's slipping in and out of you with minimal force, skin slapping together. He makes sure to let his moans roll off his tongue and into your mouth. You eat them up and give them back. The pair of you aren't kissing anymore, just gasping and humming into one another's mouths. He's stuttering.

There's a pause as he adjusts his grip, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of your thighs. He likes it, the way you seem to melt around him in all capacities. His lips nudge against yours as his steady hips begin to rock into yours again.

You groan as he pushes down on your legs, pushing you as far apart as your bones allow. It's typical of him, seeing how far he can take things. Push them to the limit. Always gets him in trouble. There's a click, as air escapes from the socket where your leg meets your pelvis.

"You good?" He checks and you respond with a kiss. Hands tangled in his hair, you hope it conveys the fact you've never felt better. He laughs a little, soft and serene, into your mouth, the weight of his body keeping you trapped beneath him.

You're morbid in your thoughts, and consider how nice it would be for Jungkook to suffocate you like this; steal you of the air you breathe with his tiny giggles of satisfaction. So, so nice, you think.

And so you tell him. You tell him that you want his hand on your throat. He takes a second to respond - not because he doesn't want to, but more so because he can't believe you actually asked.

He doesn't normally fuck the girls he cares about like this. Then again, he never really cares about the girls he fucks.

"God," you moan as he pushes one of your legs over his shoulder. His body is clammy against yours, skin hot and damp, chest lean but built. He's working hard; not just for his release. For yours too. Rams into you, stuffing your cunt with his cock, dipping his head to lather your clasped throat in wet kisses.

"That's it, sugar," he growls as his teeth graze your neck. "Need to hear how good you feel. Need to hear what my cock does to you. You owe me."

You want to laugh. You're about to laugh. But then his head dips down to your chest, and he latches onto one of your pebbled nipples, sucking so hard that all you can do is tremble. He knows you like this. Knows it makes your pussy all creamy and slippery for him - and like clockwork, he's proven right. The sounds are lewd. He loves it.

"On your back," you husk, punctuating your instruction with a whimper as he suckles even harder. He shakes his head, eyes closed, mouth vibrating and full of your tit. Not a chance, he tries to say, but it just sounds likes he's forgotten how to speak. Too busy. Too close to spilling himself into you. Doesn't wanna get distracted.

So focused, he doesn't realise you're pushing him over until you're on top. He frowns as he detaches from your nipple with a pop, but his hands are running all over your body regardless. Obviously doesn't care that much. Course he doesn't. That ache in his chest has settled.

Until he starts thinking about it, and oh god, it's back and it's fucking unbearable.

"C'mere," he pulls you flush against him, as your hips begin to work against him. His hands cradle your face so he can kiss you as deeply as he likes, tongue slipping into your mouth, as his cock slips up and down your pussy. This, he thinks, is it. This is what fucking should feel like.

"Shit," he whispers. "Shit."

The friction of his surprisingly neat hair that rests at the base of his cock is nice. Real fuckin' nice. You're not even fucking him anymore, just grinding against it. Using it, using him, to get yourself off.

You think you're being slick, like he won't notice - but he does. Of course, he does. He's obsessed with your body.

"God, yeah, baby," his back arches, pressing his chest against yours, eyes closed. "Use me like that. Use me," he bites into your shoulder gently. "Fucking use me."

He means it. Doesn't give a shit about himself anymore. Just wants to feel you tremble as he holds you close. Wants to press kisses against your lips as your moans become undignified. He needs to be the reason you cum; needs to be responsible for your oxytocin rush.

You sit up a little, and Jungkook holds back a pout from the separation - but how can he complain when you're sat like that, his cock buried inside of you, hair a mess and with eyes like his favourite constellation? He's hypnotised as your boobs begin to bounce, pussy working up his shaft like the true Daerim woman of the night you are. He's forgotten about all of that, now. Can't think about anything except for how to not fucking cum.

He can't and he won't. Not until you do. But you're bouncing, and it's wet, and he can hear it, and it feels so fuckin' good. His toes are curling, torso tensing, eyes half-shut, pretty little pout hanging open. He's fucking whining. "Yeah like that," he encourages. "Gonna milk me so well, baby. Gonna... ah. Fuck. Gonna-"

Jungkook can't fucking speak. He wants to. Wants to tell you how fucking beautiful you look, how he wants this endlessly, how he never wants to let you go. Needs to tell you how right this feels, how good you make him feel, how he doesn't understand his feelings but fuck, just that he is feeling. Feeling so much.

You're not sure at which point he started calling you baby, but you're actually convinced that the name alone could tip you over the edge.

The pace of your hips is slowly, savouring. He doesn't quite get it. You were so close. Why stop?

The stillness of your movements makes way for something new. He feels a throb around his fat cock, which is begging for release. Notices the way your chest is shaking like you've got hiccups, tiny whines of pleasure making themselves known. Your pussy was always warm, but it's hot now, contracting around him.

And then he gets it.

"Oh, shit," he mewls, his hips slowly pumping upwards. "Yeah, that's it, baby. Let yourself cum. All over my dick," he encourages, hedonistic and self-serving. "That's it. Cream for me."

His slow movements as he fucks up into you amplify the sensation, the tip of his cock nudging languidly against your tight walls. Your entire body shudders, the feeling rippling from your chest right down to your toes. You rasp out moans, the sensation all too powerful, a creamy mess pooling at the base of his shaft. There's a jerk as your muscles spasm, your orgasm well and truly delivered. He pulls you down and into his chest, his strong arms wrapped around your back.

Your body rests on his, spent and sensitive, and he can tell you can't hold out for much longer. He pushes back the hair that's sticking to your clammy face, and presses kisses into your temple.

"So big," you hum, voice hazy, eyes shut.

"Just a little more, baby," he promises. " You're doing so well. Just a little..."

You've considered how Jungkook would orgasm on more than one occasion - and you're pleasantly surprised to find that your imagination was wrong. There's no grand declaration, nor large grunt. He's not aggressive, either, like you'd half-hoped he would be.

Instead, Jungkook kisses you as his hips begin to stall. His brows are creased, moans muffled against your lips. His torso shudders, abdomen as tight as his balls. "Baby," he drowsily mewls, and then it's happening. His cock pumps into you, unloading thick creamy spurts with every stroke of your pussy. The first one is so desperate that you're almost positive you can feel it paint your insides. You moan along with him, utterly obsessed with this, him, whatever the fuck just happened.

He doesn't withdraw immediately. Just lays there and kisses your skin, absolutely spent.

You don't move a muscle. You don't want it to be over. Don't wanna lose this. Lose him.

When you tilt your head to look at him, he's smiling. Eyes closed, cheeks appled. Serene. In a state of fucked-out bliss.

You tell him that he's pretty, and he lets out an airy laugh, covering his face with one of his hands. You move his hand and watch him fondly, enthralled with the grin that he's struggling to fight.

He turns to look at you, and the smile he's been boasting amplifies. "God, you're gorgeous."

It's not a new observation; just one he's never voiced before. One that he was able to resist saying. But you're naked now, chest pillowed against his, eyes glowing and nose blushed.

You hum, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. "I'm glad you chose to come here."

Just like that, there's a knot in Jungkook's stomach that seems to anchor that feeling he keeps having.

"Yeah," he nods. "Me too."

IT'S THREE IN the afternoon by the time you wake from your post-fuck snooze. Jungkook's never had one of those before. Hated being sticky after sex with anyone else. Always had to shower - but with you, he wants to stick to you like glue.

"Should have filmed that," he hums, the tips of his fingers stroking up your arms. You aren't sure if he's joking or not. "Would have given us a unique take on the project. Probably wouldn't have gotten us very high grades, mind you, but art is subjective."

"Some would argue that the critique of art is objective," you muse back, still blissfully cum-drunk from the events prior to your nap. Jungkook's nose has stopped bleeding, and the pair of you have almost forgotten the reason he showed up in the first place. "Documentary maker by night, porn star by day," you flirt. "Although it's cute that you think you fuck like a porn star."

"I felt you shaking," he says, knowing there's no possible way that you didn't enjoy it. His nose feels a little cold after all the trauma of the morning, so he buries it into your hair. "Can't fake that."

"That's what I'm saying," you simper, pressing a kiss against his bare torso, just below the meeting of his collarbones. And then another, simply for good measure. "Porn stars never actually look like they're making the woman feel any good." You trail down his chest, tongue licking gently at the darker skin around his nipple. "You... yeah you don't fuck like a porn star." And then you suck a little. He hisses, in the best possible way.

"Don't," he says. "Not ready to go again."

You laugh.

Jungkook thinks he's reached Nirvana. Almost certain, in fact. Never had a girl do that to him before. He loves to give it, but hasn't ever thought to receive it. Wonders what other things you'll do to him that he's never had done before. He can feel his cock fucking twitching again, achy and sore, definitely not recovered yet from how hard he went earlier - but god, he wants it. Wants to bury himself inside you again. Belong to you.

His hands paw at you, one gripping on your chest, the other on your ass, pulling you closer. Your leg hooks over him, and he can feel how wet you still are on the side of his thigh. His balls fucking tighten. He can feel it happening, blood rushing to his crotch.

Yet despite it all, he just kisses you. Softly. Tenderly. Merely his lips languid between yours. Withdraws slowly. Keeps his eyes closed. Bliss.

"The fuck have you done to me, sugar?" he whispers, dark eyes opening to look into yours. His speech is husky, like he trying to steal the answers of a pop-quiz from you. You can't help him. You don't have a clue what the answer is. You're just as stuck as he is. "Got me feeling all fuzzy 'n' shit."

"Just a sugar rush," you smile. "It'll pass."

You're both acutely aware that it won't, but that will be a problem for another day.

"Tell you what," Jungkook muses, though his thoughts are shallow. He's not digging deep. Just talking for the sake of it. "I might not fuck like a porn star, but you don't fuck like a hooker."

He pulls your arm up so that he can study the crease of your elbow. You let him move your body like you're a barbie doll. You'll be his toy, you think, if he wants. No bother.

His fingers press at the thin skin that covers your veins, inspecting.

"Not a scratch," he assesses. "So you're not an addict either."

You laugh, slightly amused. "No? Maybe I just don't inject."

Jungkook gives you a stern look. Hopes you're joking. Tells you that you better fucking be joking. The sweetness of your laughter tells him that you are.

"So?" you press. "I'm not a prostitute and I'm not an addict. It's your lucky day. What of it?"

Jungkook tilts his head down so that his nose is nestled into the crown of your head again. Comforting, he thinks. Smells like laundry. You must have washed your sheets recently.

His next statement takes you off guard.

"Only ever see three kinds of women down in Daerim."

And you know.

You know he knows.

You can feel it in the way he protectively presses his lips into your skull, as if he's Prince Charming trying to rid his Sleeping Beauty of the nightmare she's been living. Wake up.

But Prince Charming rides a white horse, not a petrol-spitting, air-cooled, steel-framed shadow that rips through the city at night.

There are no nightmares, either. You're already wide awake. There's no saving you.

He sighs against your head. Pauses. Resists, and then confronts.

"I know what you do in the dark, sugar."

You don't say anything for a moment, and then you're pulling away from him, reaching for your shirt. He doesn't like this. Misses your warmth, but doesn't stop you. Instead, he follows, sitting on the edge of your bed, the corner of your comforter lazily protecting his modesty. His muscles are relaxed now, a little crease in his stomach from the way that he's slouching, hands in his lap. Those Bambi eyes of his are peaking through his hair, cheeks red and grazed from the morning encounter he'd had in Daerim.

He watches as you pull your shirt over your head, hair just as messy as his, and a graze on your cheek to match. He was pretty certain before that it had been carpet burn, but now that he's seen it up close, softly rubbed his thumb against it during pretty kisses, he's sure of it.

You avert his gaze. Feel shameful. Hate that he knows. You never cared before. It was just a fun little secret, the fact that he didn't know you were no angel.

But you want him to think that you're one, now.

For a moment, you were sure that he had.

Instead, now, it feels like you're falling from grace.

He reaches for your hand, but you pull it back. "Please don't."

And so he doesn't. Just sits for a little while instead. "Do you want me to get dressed?"

You really don't.

But your tongue is lodged in your mouth and it won't budge. You turn away, internally furious with yourself. It's been a while since you've gotten like this; so dreadfully panicked that you can't talk. It's a once in a blue moon kind of thing, the early onset of a panic attack, but you're hoping it won't reach the stage of no return. Praying.

"Babe?"

He sounds worried now, and it's making it worse. Feels like you've just reached the top of Bukhan Mountain without taking a second to catch your breath.

Has your chest always been this tight? Or has someone just been wrapping rubber bands around your torso without you noticing?

It isn't possible, and you know this, but it feels like it and - oh God - you can hear him shuffling, the buckle of his belt clanging. He's leaving, he's leaving, he's leaving, your ribs cackle as they close down on your lungs.

There's a light hum behind you, like a wasp is coming to send you into a state of anaphylactic shock and then it stops. His jeans are tossed to the floor once more.

"Yoongi?" Jungkook speaks quietly behind you into the receiver of his phone. "Wassu- Yeah, yeah, I'm safe. I'm good."

I'm safe.

I'm good.

"Where are- Yoongi stop. Stop it. I'm being deadly fucking serious-"

You don't realise it, but your chest begins to mellow as you listen in to his conversation.

"It's my mess!" He shouts now. "I'll fucking fix it. I don't give a fuck what Hobi says. Where you at? The Zoo? I'll be there- Yes, I will. Don't do anything fucking stupid."

And then he hangs up, chucking his phone into your bed with more aggression than he'd ever wanted to show in your presence. You don't see it, back still turned, but you hear it, the way his phone rebounds against the springs of your mattress.

"Shit," he hisses, and when you turn to face him, you find that his head is in his hands, elbows on his knees.

Crouching by him, your chest expands. You don't give a shit about yourself anymore. Your palms rest just behind his elbows, eyes anchored below his, looking up.

"He's got his fucking final in an hour," is all Jungkook says. "He's gonna miss his fucking final."

He lifts his head, tender lips pouted, eyes bloodshot from the pressure he's been placing on his palms. Looks right at you. Decides he'll never trust another pair of eyes more.

"I know what you do in the dark, sugar," he relays. "But I do worse. So much fucking worse. And I've just gone and fucked it all up."

And while he blames it all on himself, you know it's your fault.

He didn't stay away from the girl. He tempted fate, tugged on the red string, and accidentally snapped it.

Forlorn, he slumps, tongue wetting his bottom lip as he bites down on it. It's only to stop it from trembling. Clouds lurk in his eyes, trying to block his vulnerabilities from you, but it doesn't take a genius to work out that he's scared.

"Take it," you say, lips in a flat line, eyes stern. You nod towards the pile of cash on your desk, and his eyes follow. "Take it. Pay your debts. I can earn it again. I don't have a deadline. You do."

He shakes his head.

"I'm not taking the money you've earned."

"Yes, you are."

"I'm not," he protests and you've got it in your right mind to slap his pretty face silly. "Gonna be totally honest," he adds, "Don't really want your sugar baby money. Kinda resent it a little. Resent the fucker who gave it to you."

Jungkook hates him.

Doesn't know him.

Loathes him.

"So then give him the middle finger and take it," you plead. "He got you fucked up into this mess, he got you jumped, he got your stash stolen. Take his money and get yourself and Yoongi out of it. You don't have time to be fucking arguing with me."

He wants to fight back. You stop him.

"We can argue later," you promise.

And that ever-present effervescent feeling is back in his chest.

"Sugar," he speaks quietly. "Don't do this."

"Kook," you respond, voice much firmer than his. "You gotta do this. Yoongi shouldn't be fixing your mistakes and you know it. We can work it out on an I.O.U. basis. It's okay."

"I.O.U. suggests I'm gonna keep seeing you for a while," Jungkook mumbles. He isn't feeling as confident in himself as he had done earlier.

You stand, offering your hand to him so that you can pull him up with you. Neither of you acknowledge the fact that he's stark bollock naked. It's really not the time. Nothing you haven't seen before, after all.

"Well, yeah," you shrug with a straight face, but there's a glint in your eye. "I'd hope so. Pretty sure you said you were fuck my tits later? Gotta hold up your end of the bargain, sugar."

And despite it all, he laughs, toying with your hands before slipping his finger between yours. "Don't call me that."

"Why not?" You squeeze his hands. "You're technically my sugar baby now."

"That's not how it works."

God, he knows he shouldn't be fucking about, wasting time flirting, but he just can't help himself.

"No?" You question, equally distracted.

"No," he says. "If you're paying me, and I'm fucking you, then that makes me a hooker."

He's not wrong.

"Oh, that's kinda hot," you smile, pulling gently on his hands to encourage him to lean down. He does as he's told, and kisses you like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"You're so fucked up," he whispers against you, knowing that it's exactly why he enjoys you so much.

You don't let the moment linger, though, tossing him his clothes and going to grab the money while he dresses himself. You stack it together, all nice and neat, using the desk to straighten the edges. The wedge is thick in your hands. Yellow 50's are laughing at you. Stupid girl thought we'd fix her problems, they chatter silently to one another.

"Three and half million won," you hold it out to Jungkook. He hesitates, so you force his grip around it and let go. It's his problem, now. Not yours. You smile so warmly that Jungkook can't help but let that feeling in his chest simmer. Your hair is still messy, mascara still smudged. He wants to kiss your cheeks.

Jungkook hasn't disclosed what exactly was in his bag.

But in the same way he knows there are only three types of women in Daerim, you know there are equally only three types of men.

There's only one demographic that he belongs to. Yoongi, too.

You don't say it explicitly, not like he does.

"Holangi are nasty fuckers," you acknowledge. "I know they raise the stakes just for the fun of it. Whatever got stolen, the street value doesn't matter. Take it all. You'll need it."

Take what I owe you.

When he kisses you goodbye, it's just like the first time; all breathy and needy, lips parted and pouting. Again and again, he presses down into your lips. His brows furrow, hands on your cheeks, chest pressed against yours.

The crimson paint that had stained you from his very first kiss returns. You're painted in red for the second time that morning, but this time only you can see it. Only you can feel it.

That's her. That's the girl who let Jeon Jungkook kiss her like he actually meant it.

But it's funny now, because you know that he does mean it.

When he finally leaves, his nose is blushed, his cupids bow too. Eyes glassy. Smile forlorn.

Disappointingly, as you close the door of your apartment when he's no longer in your line of sight, you remember exactly how Jungkook had kissed you for the first time:

Like it was going to be the last.

And it consumes you, because the kiss you just shared felt exactly the same.

Your chest is uncomfortable again, but it's not rubber bands this time.

It's that stupid red string that Jungkook had tugged too tightly on.

The one that he'd snapped right in half.

WATTPAD // AO3 // KO-FI // CARRD

#jungkook #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts fanfic #jungkook imagines #jungkook scenario #jungkook fanfic #jungkook oneshot

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cyberrose2001 · 9 months

Note

Hi hi! Your op drawings are so good?? My bby aaa drawing him (bots in gen) is so tough, I get too caught up in the details TT

Anyway, since I miss him lol I was wondering if I could request some... uh, gosh I hate this word but idk anything synonymous. Could I request pussydrunk tfp op?

Hope you're having a nice day/night btw <3

- 🍄

TFP pussydrunk!Optimus x reader

Hi hello!!I am very proud of this and it's probably up there with my list of my favourite fics I have ever written. Thank you so much for requesting and liking my silly sketches of the blorbo. I've written this as gender neutral <3

(lowkey ive been writing heaps of OP eating pussy,,, its a canon event for me i cannot intervene..... anyway its 11AM and i havent slept yet but i needed to finish hggggh *dies of horny*)

Warnings: Oral sex (reader receiving), edging, reader has a vagina.

Word count: 657

18+ ONLY! MINORS DNI

Spending time alone with you has learned to be one of Optimus' most treasured past times. But as much as it pains him, relaxing with you is a rare treat. The usual business of the base either keeps him up all night, or he genuinely has no time. However, he tries his best to make the most of it, whether he's relaxing with you, cuddling you, or with his head glued between your inner thighs.

Like right now. It was nearing two AM. Optimus has you sprawled out on your shared berth, his face pressed against your aching heat, finally finding sweet relief from his built-up arousal. It's been too fragging long since his face was buried in you. He misses it, and if Optimus had a choice, he would sacrifice everything he's worked for to keep you bare before him.

Two hours. Optimus had been lazily lapping at you for two hours now. At one point, his helm had lulled to the side to rest against your right inner thigh to not strain his neck. His glossa grows tired, and his energon roars through his hot frame.

His stamina is almost depleted compared to when he initially delved into your drenched pussy. Despite this, Optimus still has the capacity to tightly grip your hips, gently massaging them as you lie still for him. He is weary, yet he perseveres, ignoring his aching joints and pulsing spike painfully pressed against the berth because tonight is about you. He will make up for all those lonely nights you've spent in berth alone in one lengthy oral session.

It's very often that when Optimus gives you oral, his mind feels like he's been transported to a higher plane of existence, one where he has no responsibilities or obligations to lead a team, just the mind-numbing taste of you. It makes him dizzy and light-headed, similar to the buzz he gets when he has a high grade or two, but Optimus prefers revelling in you instead to get his high.

As ever patient as you are with your star-crossed lover, your hips still gently roll and shudder involuntarily against his glossa, and Optimus fucking loves it. He loves your soft cries when he sucks on your clit, and he loves when you clamp your legs around his helm when your orgasm is merely within reach. But he won't let you finish just yet, not when he's yet to relish and thoroughly drown himself in your sticky sweet.

His warm optics remain lazily trained on your face, only fluttering close when you squeeze his helm. The pressure from your thighs only heightens his hunger, a carnal desire to swallow every drop of your aphrodisiac juices.

"Mmmmm," You mewl, sweaty palms digging into the berth, "Fuck, I missed this… why don't we do this - aah - more often, baby…."

Optimus doesn't respond, and he can't because his processor is so intoxicated and aroused that he can't even form a single coherent sentence. It's quite ironic, he thinks. A mech of his nature that is so poised and articulate in his vocable is conned by his own desperate need to surrender his intake to his humans' essence.

"Mmmffh," He purrs into your heat, parting your sensitive lips with his glossa, lazily swirling around your bud before pressing a gentle kiss against it. He can't help but grind his spike into the berth below at your whimpers, servos kneading into your soft flesh, "More… Primus, I need more…."

You titter breathlessly, snaking a hand to the top of his helm to lightly press his face further into your pulsing heat, and Optimus delightfully grunts. You shiver, biting back a moan at the vibrations, "Go ahead, hun, you've got me for the rest of the night."

Optimus may need to blow a hole into the sun to prevent it from rising, since one night will never be enough to satisfy his thirst for you.

#transformers #transformers prime #transformers x reader #tfp optimus #tfp x reader #tfp optimus x reader #tfp optimus prime x reader #tfp x reader smut #valveplug #smut #cyberrosewrites

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twola · 5 months

Note

idk if this is too vague, but arthur/f!reader in the classic trope of, oh my god I can't believe we both almost just died sex? did they both almost drown? Was there a fire? did he save her life? who knows! i feel like arthur would sees the woman he loves almost die and immediately fuck about it

Okay this has been in my asks for WAY too long and it’s such a good one and I wanted to do it justice.

Left Unsaid

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

When he think's he's almost lost you in a run-in with a rival gang, Arthur quickly gets over his nervousness in approaching you.

The bloodcurdling scream jolts him from sleep, making him stumble up from where he was sitting on a rickety chair in the main room of the old cabin. At first, he thinks it's a dream, but when the sound of breaking glass pierces the night, Arthur shoots up; the chair falling to the ground in a clatter as he quickly shakes the vestiges of sleep from his mind.

This abandoned cabin off of Eris Field seemed the perfect place to spend the night instead of making the trek all the way back to Shady Belle tonight - your yawning from behind him on his horse had him chuckling as he made the decision to stay - doing the gentlemanly thing and giving you the bedroom with the old single bed. As much as he’d like to be sharing it with you - he remained externally aloof - proclaiming that he’d sleep on the chair in the main room. He certainly did not dare to ask to share your bed - not now, probably not ever.

But the rustling and thumping behind the door where you sleep has his heart racing - his hand flies to his revolver as he readies himself to throw his shoulder into the door and shoot whatever it is that is making that noise, but the door bursts open before he gets the chance.

A man stands on the threshold - dirty, and grimy, with a faded gray woolen military uniform and a yellow bandana around his neck.

Of course, goddamn Lemoyne Raiders.

The raider holds up his knife in front of him, and in the din of movement and chaos around them, Arthur can see the liquid sheen over the steel in the man’s hand.

The knife, dripping with blood. The man, seemingly unharmed. The door, slightly ajar, to the bedroom where you slept.

A cold stone settles in Arthur’s gut as he puts the pieces together. In an instant, he snarls, diving toward the man with little regard for his own person, tackling him to the ground and ready to rip him apart with his bare hands for what he’s done to you. As Arthur mounts himself on the man’s chest and begins to strangle him, the movement knocks the oil lantern off the table, crashing to the wooden floor and immediately bursting into flame.

The man’s neck snaps between Arthur’s hands and he immediately leaps up, moving toward the bedroom where you were sleeping.

Another body crashes into him, a Lemoyne Raider dressed like he is straight out of a Civil War battle tackles Arthur to the ground, the two of them tumbling along the floor and breaking through the rickety door to the porch. Arthur rolls backward, unsheathing his hunting knife as he grits his teeth, ready to slice this damn bastard into shreds.

Of course, the wannabe soldier is no match for the hardened outlaw. They sure as hell don’t make them like they used to. Arthur easily dodges a swing of the man’s fist and throws his weight forward. He sinks his knife into the raider’s gut, and immediately shoves him to the ground. He gurgles blood from his mouth as Arthur rushes over him, back toward the house.

The flames burst out the windows as he barrels back toward the door, grabbing at the handle and cursing aloud as it burns him.

The constriction in his chest has settled into a churning in his gut as he prepared to kick the door in. At this point would he be finding your charred, lifeless body, having bled out on the floor because he couldn’t protect you?

“Arthur-!”

He steps off the porch, not sure if he is lightheaded or hallucinating, but you move toward him, hitching your skirts, blood covering your blouse, your hair wild.

“Jesus-” He crashes into you, having nearly leaped the final few steps, crushing you into his chest, nearly causing you to stumble.

He yanks you back, large hands on your shoulders, and looks you up and down, eyeing the blood patch on your blouse.

“N-not mine.” You breathe, but he does not move his hand from your ribcage. It presses inward, against the wet cotton, splaying across your side as if he did not believe you, checking for where the knife would have marred your flesh.

“Arthur-” You whisper, your hands tight on his biceps, “I’m alright.”

His eyes dart back up to yours, searching, pupils dilated, breathing heavily.

“Ar-”

You’re cut off completely as he pulls you against him and presses his lips desperately against yours, muffling your surprised yelp as his tongue demands entrance into your mouth. After a moment of shock, you melt into his embrace, fingers tightening on his shirt sleeves as you open your mouth to him.

He kisses you like you are the air he breathes. Like you are some kind of salvation… like he thought he almost lost something.

Arthur pulls back, breathing heavily, a flush having taken over his face, “Christ-” he goes to unwind his arms from you, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

It’s his turn to be cut off as your hands immediately travel to the collar of his shirt and you pull him down to your lips to kiss him again, needy as you moan into his mouth.

His arms immediately recircle you, hands moving down from your ribs, down, down to your waist, your hips, your rear. Hooking his arms around the back of your thighs, you’re lifted up, squealing in surprise into his mouth as you wrap your legs around his waist.

Continuing to press into each other's mouths, you barely notice him walking the two of you back, further from the flaming cabin, into the woodline, and finally against a tree trunk a safe distance away. He pulls back, panting as you recline against it, his arms tight under your thighs.

He gazes upon your kiss-swollen lips; your heaving chest as you breathe heavily, your pupils blown wide in arousal. Arthur takes the opportunity to roll his hips once, his hardening cock pressing against your cunt, and your eyes flutter closed as a needy, breathy whine escapes your lips.

“Arthur-”

He does it again, maybe for his sake as much as your own, the blood rushing to his groin and filling his cock properly. He grits his teeth as the rolling becomes rutting, your gasps driving him insane.

Before he gets to the point of no return, he slows his hips and leans over to recapture your lips in another kiss. As he pulls his

“Thinkin’ you was dead back there-” He pushes his lips to yours again, “Christ- I… I never told you-”

One of his hands leaves your thighs, but you have no fear he’s going to drop you. He buries it in layers of cotton, pulling at your skirts to move them from his way, reaching your bloomers and pressing against your cunt, watching your face intently as you moan, the cotton separating you quickly dampening against his fingers.

He leans in again and groans against your neck. Grabbing the cotton tightly, he yanks until he feels the seams give way, the tearing sound ringing in his ears as he delves within the ruined fabric to your soaking folds. You jolt against him and whine loudly as he slides his fingers along the seam of your body.

Arthur covers your mouth with his own as he sinks his fingers into you, working you open as you clutch desperately at his shoulders.

After you’ve cried out several times in the night, his hand leaves you and you sigh at the loss, he shushes you gently as he works at the buttons of his trousers, finally freeing his cock from his pants after moments of fiddling. His hand returns to your thigh as he adjusts you in his arms. The head of his cock presses gently against the rim of your cunt.

Your hands move from his shoulders to cup his face, your thumb tracing his lower lip gently before he sucks the tip into his mouth, his eyes trained on yours.

He pulses his hips and his cockhead slips inside you. Your brows crinkle with the first vestiges of the ache of penetration, and he leans forward again to press his lips upon your forehead.

“What did you never tell me?” You whisper as he holds you on the cusp of joining, the precipice of sheathing himself into you.

One of his hands leaves your thigh, though you are completely unafraid of falling with your legs wrapped around him and the strength of his other arm. His fingers brush back a strand of your hair from your forehead, tucking it gently behind your ear before his rough and calloused palm rests on your cheek.

“You’d have died and I woulda never told you I’m in love with you.”

Your eyebrows raise in shock as you clutch at him, and while you remain silent, after a moment, you pull him closer with your legs, nudging his back with your ankles, and he slowly slides himself inside you, inch by inch, until your hips touch and you mewl with the stretch. He hums softly before slowly, gently, rocking his hips, starting a slow rhythm as you get used to him.

His powerful arms keep you suspended against the tree trunk with each roll of his hips, each glide of the inches of him in and out of you, well glossed and hot with your slick.

Arthur’s lips press to yours incessantly, muffling your gasps and whines as he presses into you. After one particularly deep thrust, you throw your head back in ecstasy, bumping against the trunk of the tree.

“Careful there, darlin’,” Arthur slows his hips, and tightening his grip on your thighs, he pulls you away from the tree, you yelp and tighten your legs around his hips. He chuckles softly as he walks you, still joined, a few steps from the tree and slowly lowers the both of you to the ground on a patch of grass. Spreading himself out over you, he buries his head against your neck as he lets go of your thighs, his forearms on either side of your shoulders, rocking his hips into yours again.

The staccato whine of the syllables of his name escapes you as you hook your ankles around each other over his back. Carding your hands through his hair, your fingers interweave between his honeyed strands, his hat long gone in your desperation to join yourselves.

He presses himself up above you as his thrusts become more erratic, his breathing loud and heavy as he pounds you into the ground.

“God-” you cry out as your hands grasp his shirt, “Arthur, yes-”

He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, looming over you as he careens toward completion.

You arch your back, your thighs wrapping tighter around him as you begin to babble - “Yes- Arthur… I love you too-”, another gasp as he hits that spot within you, “God - I love you so much-”

That’s it. There it is, stripped bare and bleeding out like an open wound, his heart catching in his chest at your confession, and his amazement leaves him speechless as he thrusts into you once more, holding himself as deep as he can possibly get into you, feeling you pulse and clutch around him, wailing your pleasure into the night. It’s only a moment more before he has the wherewithal to yank himself from you, in the nick of time as he spurts his seed over your cunt, dripping white into the dark curls at the joining of your legs.

He’s gasping, you’re gasping, and he groans as he settles himself to the side of you, barely able to hold himself up with the exertion. Your legs hang open as you pant, flushed from your cheeks down your neck.

One of his large hands spreads out over your chest, against your racing heart, and you turn your head toward him, breathing out through your nose as a smile graces your lips.

“Probably should get outta here before any more stragglers find us.” He says, out of breath as he removes his hand to tuck himself back into his trousers. You nod and sit up, pulling your skirts down over your legs.

“D’ya think…” you trail off as you watch him rebutton his pants before he pushes himself to stand. His hair is ridiculously ruffled from the amount of times you've run your fingers through it.

“Mm?” He holds out his hand to you to help you up.

You take it, and he pulls you up into his embrace, his hand secure on your lower back.

“Was wondering if we could spend the rest of the night in Rhodes or somewhere instead of heading all the way back to camp…” You ask as you lay a hand on his chest.

He squeezes you closer to him.

“Sounds mighty nice… certainly wouldn't mind a stay in a hotel room tonight.”

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead fanfic #red dead redemption #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader #twolafic #prompt request #red dead fandom #rdr2 fanfic

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jishyucks · 9 months

Text

Bittersweet ‣ csb

‣ pairing: choi soobin x reader

‣ genre: fluff, implied f2l, 'drunken confessions' cliche

‣ wc: 2.6k

‣ summary: in which a very drunk soobin is not afraid to tell you how he truly feels about you

‣ warnings?: soobin is (really) drunk, sorta really cliche but I like cliches, mentions of reader being shorter than Soobin

‣ an: first soobin fic huhhh?? this is a product of my severe itch to write, so it's something short but sweet! idk how good this is but I guarantee something cute ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

There was a bittersweet feeling behind waking up in daze. On one hand, you knew you had enjoyed a good, deep sleep, leaving you blissfully unaware of the world. But on the other hand, that same grogginess leaves you clueless about what had transpired while you were out like a light.

But in this case, you could say that it was a lot more bitter than it was sweet, all because you were woken up from your phone being blown up by four different boys for no clear reason. In fact, if every single missed call and text message had rendered heat through your phone, you’re one-hundred-percent sure that it would have been blown to bits by now.

You sit up, head throbbing and fuzzy from the sudden change in position, and tap on the most recent caller. It was Beomgyu.

“Y/N! Finally!” You hear him sigh through the line. In the background, you can hear the other boys’ voices, accompanied by the bass of a song you couldn’t quite name.

Your brows furrow, blinking away the sleep. “Gyu? What’s up? Are you guys okay? I was taking a nap.” The mix of confusion and curiosity wakes you up.

There’s more ruckus on the other side of the line and you’re tempted to yell out for them to spill, only you’re sure that they’re not going to hear anything. You glance over at your clock through your pitch-black room and find that you’ve slept through dinner. It was nearing midnight. This only feeds your curiosity.

“Y/N are you able to come to where we are right now?” Yeonjun’s taken over the phone. There’s urgency in his voice and now you’re worried, “We’re at a club downtown.”

“Downtown?” You groan, “I’m not sure if…” To be fair, you’ve just woken up and now you’re being requested to drive down to the city on a Friday night? You were in no mood to—

“It’s Soobin.”

“Soobin? What happened?” You shoot questions, “Is he okay? What is he even doing at a club?” That should’ve been your first question. Soobin wasn’t one to tag along on trips to the club. Usually, he and Kai would opt to visit an internet cafe while the others drank like their lives depended on it.

“We’re… not sure,” Yeonjun retorts, “But he’s just asking for you. If we touch him, he starts yelling and there’s no way we’re getting accused of anything.” You hear a familiar voice start screaming in the background and then you hear Yeonjun’s voice scold someone, “Beomgyu, I literally told you not to touch him until Y/N’s here… I’ll send you the location?”

“Go for it,” you say. At this point you’re already grabbing whatever hoodie you can find and you’re making your way down the stairs, “I’ll meet you guys there.” Yeonjun sighs out a relieved ‘thank you’ before ending the call.

You hastily slip on your shoes and grab your car keys, your mind racing with concern for Soobin. The drive to downtown feels like an eternity as you navigate through the city streets, trying to make sense of the situation. The club they mentioned is known for its loud music and lively atmosphere, and you can't help but wonder what Soobin, usually the reserved and introverted one, is doing there.

Finally, you arrive at the club and park your car nearby. At this hour in the night, you don’t even bat an eye at the parking meter sitting right next to your car. As you step out onto the bustling sidewalk, the thumping bass and muffled laughter spill out from the club's entrance. A small part of you is afraid to even go in, but as you take a deep breath, you prepare yourself for whatever awaits you inside.

The club's neon lights cast an eerie glow on the people entering and exiting, almost creating a movie-like atmosphere. The first thing you notice in the second you enter is the change in humidity. The place was stuffy and filled with people. You felt sticky even though you haven’t been there for an entire minute and you didn’t like it.

With your heart pounding, you make your way through the crowd, following Yeonjun’s text that indicated they were at the far corner of the club. You’re relieved to see that it was in a quieter area of the club, away from the pulsating music and dancing bodies.

Taehyun notices you first, being the most sober out of all of them, he waves you over, calling out your name despite it being drowned out by the music. The other three look over, waves of relief washing over their faces when they realize that you’ve finally arrived.

As you reach the boys, they part to reveal a very drunk Soobin. He sits hunched over a table, his left arm propping up his head while his right hand draws doodles on the surface before him. He looks almost identical to a child being babysat.

“He said he wasn’t going to drink,” Taehyun explains, “Before we knew it he was all… like this.” He gestures to Soobin, scratching his temple.

You’re compelled to palm your face, sighing, “Is he sobering up, at least?”

Kai shakes his head, eyes wide, “No. He keeps finding ways to get more drinks.”

“Yeah, he finished all mine,” Beomgyu pouts. He was sitting across from Soobin, arms crossed. There’s a line of empty glasses sitting right in front of him as evidence, “We’re just glad you’re here though. We were being serious about this.” You watch Beomgyu reach out to touch Soobin’s elbow with his index finger. Right at contact, Soobin scowls and starts yelling as if Beomgyu had just threatened to slice his skin with his fingernail, “He’s been doing that all night. He keeps asking for you, too.”

“He’s so far gone that he doesn’t even realize you’re here,” Yeonjun remarks, blinking at Soobin. "Hey, Soobin!" Soobin's ears perk up at the sound of his name, and he turns his head towards you, resembling a curious meerkat.

Soobin’s eyes meet yours and his face lights up, “Y/N, you’re here!” The lanky boy pushes himself off the table and tries to regain his balance before stumbling over to you. Without hesitation, you rush to his side and throw his arm around your shoulder, attempting to steady him. Being shorter than him, you're not sure if it's working perfectly, but you do your best to provide support.

You suck your teeth, “Choi Soobin, who told you to drink this much? Why aren’t you letting the boys help you?”

Soobin’s in a daze. He's not really catching on to the fact that you're talking to him. All he sees is your lips moving as you scold him. He reaches out to poke your neck and then your cheek.

“I guess it’s a good sign that he isn’t screaming,” Yeonjun points out, “Let’s go, then?”

You nod and then jut your head toward Soobin, “Can you help me out with him?”

Yeonjun gives you a nod and moves over to grab Soobin's other arm, assuming that he would no longer scream. But the moment his hand touches Soobin, he starts yelling just as expected. “Okay! Okay!” Yeonjun steps back and gives Soobin a blank stare, completely done with the younger boy.

You stifle a laugh, “Binnie, can you let Yeonjun help me please?” Soobin nods and watches Yeonjun repeat his actions, taking his arm to support him. This time he doesn’t start yelling.

The six of you navigate through the crowd, keeping your gaze fixed on the exit at the far end of the room. Once you finally make it outside, you direct everyone down the street, gesturing towards the direction to go, "My car's parked over there."

They simply nod and follow you, piling into your car without hesitation as you all get ready to leave. Soobin’s slumped in the passenger’s seat, his head wobbling side to side. He’s muttering words under his breath but you can’t quite make them out.

You’re driving them back to their house, which was conveniently on the way back to your home. Everyone was too exhausted to make small talk, so a playlist you’ve chosen and Soobin’s murmuring fills the silence.

“Thanks, Y/N.” Taehyun speaks up as you near their house. From where his voice was coming from, you can tell he was sitting directly behind you, “We owe you.”

“It’s nothing,” You hum, “I’m just… trying to figure out why Soobin got drunk today. It’s out of character.” You knew your best friend, Soobin, inside out. He was the kind of person who would take a sip of alcohol and be satisfied, not really needing more than that. But then again, he could have just wanted to do it for fun. He didn’t need a reason to drink.

“I think it’s because Taehyun gave him a drink that tasted nothing like alcohol,” Beomgyu says, “Then it went downhill from there.”

“You’re so nice, Y/N~” Soobin giggles, “You’re so so so so nice! The nicest of all persons I know.” He points out the window and continues, “See? You’re driving us to our house! That’s so nice! That’s why I really like you.”

You breath hitches in your throat, eyes widening at Soobin’s comment. Unbeknownst to you, the other boys exchange alarmed glances, silently pleading for Soobin to stop before he reveals more than he intends to.

“You’re a funny drunk, Binnie,” you say, trying to swat the comment away, regardless of the meaning. You turn into their street and park along the curb once you’ve reached their house.

Soobin pouts, his expression displaying a mix of confusion and disappointment. "Funny how?" he persists, his drunken state causing his emotions to be more apparent.

You quickly recover, mustering a playful smile to cover up any potential awkwardness. "Just funny in the way you talk and act," you reply, hoping to divert his attention from his previous statement.

Soobin's pout slowly turns into a small grin, satisfied with your response. "I guess that's a good thing," he muses, his words slightly slurred. "As long as I can make you laugh, Y/N. I like when I make you laugh. I like seeing your pretty smile."

Your heart skips a beat and you quickly turn the car off. Has Soobin always been a flirty drunk? You try to shrug it off, getting out to help the drunk boy from his seat. The others are already out of the vehicle and Yeonjun’s waiting for you to pull Soobin out of his side.

You open the door and a pout has returned on Soobin’s face, “You keep ignoring me… Do you not like me?” Yeonjun tries to speak to Soobin using his eyes, but obviously, with the intoxicated state that Soobin is in, the signals completely fly past his head.

You groan, helping him up, “Let’s get you some water before you go to bed.”

“I don’t want to go to bed,” Soobin whines. He looks over at the older boy and frowns, “I don’t need your help.” He shrugs Yeonjun off and uses both of his arms to cling onto yours. Yeonjun lets the boy be, walking ahead to hold the door open for the both of you.

Soobin kicks his sneakers off out of habit, shifting a bit of his weight onto you in the process, “Do you want to play animal crossing or mario kart or—”

“Soobin, you need to go to sleep,” you say, “We can play tomorrow.” Together, you both ascend the stairs and eventually arrive at Soobin's room. He sighs at the sight of his bed, plopping onto his neatly fixed bed. The intoxicated boy lays down with his legs hanging off the edge. He swings them playfully and you can’t help but giggle at his state. You’ve rarely seen Soobin drunk, but now you know that when he’s drunk, he was like a 6-foot-tall toddler.

You turn to grab water, but you’re met with Kai, who was already at Soobin’s door with a cup filled to the brim, “Do you want anything, Y/N?”

You thank him and think, “Maybe tea would be nice before I leave.”

He nods, “I’ll prepare that for you.”

You thank him again and bring the water to Soobin, who is now sitting up. He's slumped over, head looking too heavy for him to handle, “Drink up.”

Soobin squints at the beverage, leaning forward as if he were trying to read the non-existent writing on the glass. "Water is boring. I want... yakult and sprite... with soju," he declares, giggling at the thought of alcohol. As amusing as it is to see him so enthusiastic about alcohol, you shake your head in disagreement.

“That’s fair,” you sigh, “But I know you’ll regret not drinking this when you wake up tomorrow with a bad headache.” You urge him to take the cup. And after a few moments of deciding, he sighs and shakily takes the cup from you.��

Soobin takes a few long sips before he looks up at you, his gaze intense. "Don't... don't tell you that I told you this, but..." He glances around cautiously to make sure no one else is listening, "But... I love how you always look out for me." His words hold a hint of vulnerability, as if the alcohol has loosened his inhibitions enough to reveal his true feelings, “You take care of me, too. And…” Soobin takes another sip of his water and smiles.

You wait for him to continue but he looks up at you, waiting for a response, “Well, it’s what friends do.” You don’t even need to think twice when it comes to Soobin.

"Friends," he repeats, almost as if testing out the word on his lips. "Yeah, we're friends, right?"

You raise an eyebrow at his question, finding it slightly odd that he would question your friendship. "Of course. We've been friends for a long time," you reassure him.

Soobin chugs down the rest of the water and holds the cup out for you to take, “You’re right… but…”

You gently take the empty cup from him, setting it aside. The need for sleep is finally reaching Soobin’s eyes and you can see the way his eyes flutter shut before he forces them open. He scooches closer to his pillow and pouts. You give him the look for him to continue.

“Don’t tell you I told you this but…” he repeats his actions from earlier, looking around, “I think I have feelings for you.” A giggle slips out of his lips and he nods in satisfaction.

You freeze in place and blink at the drunk boy in front of you, “Soobin, you’re drunk.”

He shakes his head, eyes half closed and practically begging him to sleep, “I just drank water, I’m not drunk!”

“You are,” you sigh, trying to dismiss his earlier confession.

“I…may be drunk, but I still have feelings!”

He’s right. When you’re drunk, your emotions are simply amplified, but they are still your real emotions. Surely, this could be the case with Soobin. But then again, not everyone was the same when they were intoxicated, “Soobin, I’ll make a promise with you, okay?”

At this point, he’s being lulled to sleep by the alcohol, but he still nods and his words are coming out mumbled, “A promise?”

“We’ll talk about this tomorrow. When you’re sober and when I’m not tired. I want to hear what you have to say.” And, frankly, you had things (that were far overdue) to say too.

“Promise?”

The moment feels dreamlike, standing in Soobin's room with him being so vulnerable and open about his feelings (even if it could be the alcohol talking). You can't help but wonder if he'll remember any of this in the morning.

You nod. “Now go to sleep, dumbass. I know you want to.”

“I do,” He laughs, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Binnie.”

°•. ✿ .•°

on to another story ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ if I'm able to miraculously think of something... anyways thank you for reading! pls support the post by leaving a like/rb!

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soulinheehee · 6 months

Note

Okay, so I read "my body wants you bare" and OMG I liked it more than I'd like to admit, i mean, it's actually rented a triplex in my head and i loved it to much, your writing is so smooth and sweet <3333

Anyway, I would like to ask for a "continuation" (it doesn't necessarily have to be one, i just don't know exactly how to explain 😔), perhaps from Arlecchino this time? Like she's excited about the idea of getting her wife pregnant this time ( and maybe doing it...?)

Ps:: don't feel obligated to write about pregnancy if you don't want to, after all, I know that most authors don't feel comfortable writing about a pregnat reader, so just do what you want to, i have i'm sure it will be incredible

Reader having Arlecchino's child

first of all, thank you so much!!🙏 ngl i enjoyed writing that one more than i would like to admit lol. guess I also have this habit of making everything sweet when it comes to my writing 😭 idk i just feel like everything should be sweet and cute and lovely. love me some tooth rotting fluff with murderous white woman 🥰

i also understand why ppl might be uncomfortable with it, can't say i completely am, but I'm chill about it in some particular cases so i decided to answer 😇

˚⁺‧ 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘺, 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘩. 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘴. 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘈𝘍𝘈𝘉!!!

So as was mentioned in the fic, you and Arlecchino are unable to have children of your own, so unless some sort of science or magic is involved, there's no way to do so, and I suppose this is what you were implying, anon.

i also had to do some googling since i wasn't sure if whatever i was thinking about was my fever dream or if it's actually real. I'm still not sure if getting pregnant from another woman is possible in the real world, but let's pretend that it is in teyvat!!!!!!

I still kinda feel like if Arlecchino could've agreed to have a child, she'd just adopt one from her orphanage. kinda see it as "there are so many children under my care that had lost their parents, what would they think if they knew that some child gets to have proper parenting, and from their caretaker!!". Maybe she's afraid playing favorites, but then again, there are Lyney, Lynette and Freminet.

So who knows, maybe the idea of having one of your own had grown onto her over the time, and in the end she agreed to your idea.

well, choose where you want to do the deed: akademiya, institute, or try to find a chill segment of your wife's coworker to help you.

Whichever one that is, there's no question who's getting pregnant, since Arlecchino has important job as a country's official, so naturally there's no time for carrying a child.

So, everything was settled. Arlecchino's stem cell was grown into a sperm that was later used to get you pregnant via IVF. It felt.. strange, as in, it wasn't the usual way people would become pregnant, but it wasn't a bad feeling. And unlike some poor cases where children were results of some sort of mistake or whatnot, your case was planned and serious. You tried so hard to follow doctors' recommendations, and Arlecchino was always there to support you.

When you felt weird, she was buying you all the weird foods you craved for (in adequate amounts and combinations. ain't no way she'd allow you to drink milk after eating fish just cause you felt funky like that). She'd reassure you when you felt down or nervous, and keep you safe from any harm. After what you both went through to get this child, Arlecchino won't let a single bad thing happen to any of you!!! This also includes taking care of your health.

Can't say I imagine Arlecchino as a person who would play with your belly. Maaaybe if you were silly enough and called for her she'd do something. But she's not talking to your belly no. Don't ask for her to read to the baby. She'll tell you it can't hear anything. But despite that you still feel how gently she rubs and caresses you as you two lie down. So what if she's not the one carrying the child? She's still a woman, and one with children (even if they aren't hers..), she understands competely what you're doing through, so of course she loves and appreciates you.

Whether you want to continue having intimacy or not is up to you. And while Arlecchino definitely isn't going to disturb you, or the child when it grows big enough, you still had your fingers in tact, and Arlecchino's job is full of stress all the time...🤭

The time was close, you noticed newly arrived nurses and accoucheurs in your mansion. Arlecchino didn't know when she'd have to leave you for a mission, she hoped she wouldn't, but just in case she invited them ahead of the time you supposedly would give birth to your child. They were also monitoring your health, so that was a plus.

But soon, the inevitable day arrived. You were scared, and everything hurt so badly, and there were so many people, and Arlecchino wasnt there. Where is your wife when you need her so badly?! The spasms were growing more and more painful, and were lasting for ao long that you were almost passing out.

You were about to give birth. At the last moment, Arlecchino rushed towards you, finally arrived from her mission. She ran to you as soon as possible, taking your hand in hers as she calmed your screams. She cast a threatening glance at the doctors, silently telling them that if they do something, anything that you might find disturbing, they won't be there tomorrow. The last thing Arlecchino would want you to suffer is accoucheur violence, be it a bad word from them or forcing you to agree to some procedure.

After so many hours, you finally gave birth to your and Arlecchino's child. Of course, since you and her are both the same sex, your child could only be the same. You still weren't sure how you would name your daughter, but this could be discussed a little later. During your pregnancy, you still couldn't decide whether you'd give her a snezhnayan or a fontainian name, but you had some good ones in mind that both you and Arlecchino liked.

She. She'll take maternal leave. No way she'd leave you on your own when you're recovering. Expect to wake in a cold bed only to realize that you don't hear your daughter screaming, since your wife is currently busy with her, wanting you to get more sleep to recover sooner.

Overall, I think Arlecchino, despite being strict and demanding, is a pretty good parent who takes care of her family. A very solid option to choose for your child ♡

also ngl I'm thinking lewd thoughts about milf reader with arlecchino, how y'all feeling about this?--

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin fanfic #arlecchino #genshin arlecchino #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino smut #(does this count?)#female reader

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idyllic-affections · 9 months

Note

i’m thinking about kaveh first dropping off his kid in ghandarva ville. he did a good job explaining to them that he’ll be back before they know it and that he’ll alway be there for them. before he leaves he feels little hands clutching onto his leg as they just whisper “you promise you’re gonna come back? you won’t leave me, right? you promise you won’t leave me?”

i'll be back.

summary. kaveh finds the strength to leave his child in gandharva ville.

trigger & content warnings. fear of abandonment, references to kaveh's backstory.

tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. comfort, soft angst. adoptive dad!kaveh & child!reader. 0.9k words. they/them pronouns for reader.

author's thoughts. wow you just woke up today and chose gentle violence huh anon /LH i love soft angst. hard angst? yeah, it definitely hurts, but soft angst like this? idk. it hits different sometimes!!!

kaveh did not want to resort to this. he didn't.

the architect truly, sincerely had tried his very best to think of any alternate solutions—maybe he could convince alhaitham to give [name] a chance? no, caring for a child he impulsively decided to pick up off the streets isn't his roommate's responsibility and it really never would be unless the scribe himself decided to take it on, but some people have spontaneous changes of heart! why would alhaitham be any different?

(unfortunately, said man was not going to budge anytime soon. a child would disrupt the comfortable life he had put so much effort into building. kaveh had no choice but to accept that fact. well, really, he knew from the beginning! he was just hoping alhaitham might change.)

in the end, he managed to come up with nothing. he could not think of a single good or attainable option that would allow him to keep them. as much as he hated to admit it, only alhaitham's solution was a viable and reasonable one.

so, here he is, standing in front of tighnari's home in gandharva ville motionlessly with his child held securely in his arms. there were no words in any language that kaveh knew of that could describe what he was feeling. he wordlessly rubs soothing circles on their back.

the silence is impossibly loud.

tighnari does not rush him. he does not so much as even think of complaining. he simply waits quietly with collei at his side, the girl bouncing on her heels slightly in a nervous fidget. she wants to be a good caretaker to [name]; tighnari knows the prospect alone of having to care for them is making her nervous.

kaveh's slightly wavering voice finally breaks the silence:

"you know why i have to leave you here, right?"

they nod quietly, little hands clenched in fists raising up to rub at their watery eyes with their palms—they hope it looks like they're tired and not like they're about to cry, which they are. they hope he doesn't know they're about to cry. they hope he just thinks they're tired from the long journey. they hope he doesn't know the truth.

kaveh knows, of course.

he doesn't say anything about it, though, and only tries to swallow back his own emotions. he tries his best to repress the nauseous feeling stirring in his gut. he tries his best to repress the crawling of his skin. he tries his best to repress the thoughts that this is so impossibly wrong, so impossibly cruel of him.

he hasn't known this child for long, but...

he felt like he was abandoning them.

he felt like he was abandoning his flesh and blood.

absentmindedly, kaveh wondered if this was how his mother felt when she left to fontaine. he hopes not. this feeling is vile. he wouldn't wish it upon his worst enemy.

"and you also know that i'm going to come back all the time to see you, right? and i'm always going to be here if you need me?"

their voice cracks slightly. "yeah."

it's not at all that kaveh doesn't trust tighnari and collei; he does, and he knows they'll take good care of [name], but... still. he wants to be the one taking care of them. he wants to keep them.

he can't.

kaveh then kneels down, and their heart sinks in to the pit of their stomach, despite the fact that they already knew this was inevitably going to happen. just as they dreaded, he sets them down onto their own two feet.

they're reluctant to release their tiny grip from his shirt, but they do so regardless of their hesitance. a slight whimper rises in their throat when kaveh's warmth is gone from them.

kaveh hasn't ever really had to comfort children before.

he's... not sure what to do from here, quite frankly, so he does the first thing that comes to mind.

he leans forward, pressing the smallest, most hesitant of kisses to the crown of their head.

then, he stands up.

he doesn't get very far before one of their little hands is clutching his pant leg, and he inhales sharply, turning back to face them. "[name]..."

kaveh cuts himself off.

their eyes are wide, glittering with the sheen of unshed tears, and their bottom lip is split and cracked—they've either been picking at it or biting it, kaveh notes. how did he not notice before?

in their moment of sadness and stress, their accent peeks through a bit more heavily. it's in a shaky voice on the brink of breaking that they ask, "you promise you're gonna come back, right? you won't leave me, will you?"

...

kaveh earnestly believes he might cry about this when he gets home. oh well. alhaitham will simply have to deal with it.

for now, though, he doesn't cry. he can't.

the architect kneels back down to their height, wiping away the single tear that slid down their cheek with his calloused fingertips. "of course."

"you— you're not gonna leave me, right? you're not leaving me?"

"no. never. i promise, okay?" he whispers. "i'm here, okay? i'm always here if you need me. you just need to tell tighnari. he'll tell me you asked for me and i'll come back here. anytime."

kaveh briefly wonders if he'll regret making such a promise—his clients may suffer if they ask for him at a bad time—but then again...

he can't really say he ever will, not with the way they look at him with such vulnerable trust.

he can't regret it when they're putting their damaged trust into his hands.

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot!

#aphelion brainrots 🌸#favoniuslibrary #astronetwrk #: [ adoptive dad kaveh! 🌸 ]#platonic genshin impact #platonic genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x child reader #platonic kaveh x reader #platonic genshin x reader #kaveh x reader #kaveh x child reader #platonic genshin #genshin platonic

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dietmountaindewbae · 3 months

Note

hiii i LOVE ur fics omg pls never stop writing,

could you maybe do something You-ish (the TV show "You") (idk if you've seen it but it's amazing) something stalker-ish? where alex is joe and reader is his, soon to be, gf (cuz he makes her) (any alex era) 💌

hope ur well🤍💋

xxiii. obsession

alex turner x reader

word count: 12626

summary: We ran into each other by chance or by fate, your clumsiness started something for me, something for us, and it's my duty to find out who you are. (the car! era) This story is written on Alex's narrative.

warnings: obsessions & rough s*x

song recommendation: tear you apart by she wants revenge

───── ୨୧ ─────

Ever since that day outside of a party, when you fell into my arms, drunk and loud, I had never felt so high, I had felt something the moment you smiled at me and flushed from the embarrassment, your eyes watery from the cold, your lips red full of blood, alcohol running fast through your veins, my heart falling from my mouth, you pulled away and hugged yourself, too embarrassed from what had happened, you thought it was too much booze, I thought it was meant to be, right place and right time. You just said "Sorry," I helped you to get back on your feet, our hands lightly graze and we lock in a stare, but then your mates dragged you across the street, they had dragged you away from me, like parents and their out-of-control kid, you waved goodbye at me, and all I could do was smile and wave goodbye to you, I was a fool, I didn't know what to say, it was one of those 'what would have happened?' moments when I ask myself, 'what if I had just said "It's ok, don't worry, love"' Icould vividly picture us walking down the street, going for some food because we were pissed, I would've kissed you, and asked for your number, then we could be dating, holding hands in the street, laughing at everything, hanging out with your stupid mates, if they hadn't been there and taken you away from me, I probably wouldn't have found meself, hiding behind the threes in the middle of a cold winter in LA, hoping to be in the warmth of your arms than out in the cold darkness of the street. I can't help to wonder if you ever think of me.

Your name and your last name stayed in a constant loop on my mind, one of your mates, the one with the light brown hair had screamed it as she found you falling into my arms, it would be stupid if I didn't look for you, right? You're gorgeous, you were nice and interesting, It would be weird if I didn't try to find your social media. It was easy to find you, I hate to admit how easy it is to find everything online these days, I found your Instagram and Facebook with just a few clicks on my computer, it's too easy it makes me laugh.

I scrolled through every single one of your posts on Facebook, you had a few, not many, everything was mainly about your little family trips and your sister's child, I made a note that you might just have Facebook out of pressure from your mother and sister since they always tag you in memes or those annoying TED Talk videos and you never answer, I found your mother's page, widowed, 49 years old, looks 45, she gave you her face, older sister, found her page too, married with a toddler, awfully bitter since she has to post where she is at all times, even if her child had taken a massive shit and had the looks of a giant worm, she would've posted it, I left the best for last. Your Instagram, no one these days uses Facebook.

Your Instagram was private but empty with not a single sight of you... so it's no use, what about your friends?... Hello you... I could hold on to these group pictures Larissa posted, thank you internet! Your friend group was small but they knew how to get around, only 4 people, two girls called Julie and Larissa, and Julie's boyfriend Luca, 5 if you counted me in, soon, luckily for me, Julie had an empty page, barely any pictures, just her and Luca but her profile was public but that lead me to find your other friend, Larissa had pictures of her face and some of you and Julie at pubs, very self-centered I suppose, Luca only posted about being a gym addict. I took a more personal approach, your sister Nina, who loves you very much, she had plenty of pictures of you. Thanksgiving was at your house, you looked gorgeous in those pictures, you wore a white dress with red flowers and black platforms, your long hair in beautiful waves, if any pervert were to see it, you would be such an easy victim with that long hair, but you're not, you're not so easy to hunt down in the dark. There was a picture of you and your sister's baby boy, sitting next to the three by a bay window, great. I took note of the stores, houses, and historical buildings nearby and then reality hit me as I took a cab on the way to your house.

Come on Alex, what are you doing? You look like a creep with your cap and coat in the middle of the night, It's only just a crush it'll go away, just like all the others. But you see? That's the problem with you, you're not, this is dangerous but I'll take my chances for you, I'm not obsessed with you, like I said, it's only just a crush. I hide behind some trees in front of your house on the other side of the street, and I contemplate this wonderful girl in her bedroom, going round and round with a book in her hands.

At night me head couldn't stop spinning, making all of these scenarios, about a girl who meets a stranger, and they fall madly in love in just a split second. I didn't need more, I could hold on to your light vanilla perfume and the softness of your hair, your lips, your collarbone, your shoulder, the curve of your breasts in the blouse you wore that night, I want to hold you close and kiss you hard.

For next few days I followed you around, I made you a time table, every morning at 5:30 you went for a run, and you finished off at home some with exercises you found on YouTube, you were visibly struggling, and that made me laugh but I felt bad for doing so, you worked hard, you finished around 6:30, you liked walking like a true new yorker, in your most sober looks, sometimes in a dress with a blue navy sweater on top of dresses , jeans, and a silky shirt, winter or no winter, you loved wearing tank tops, loved exposing even just a little bit of your body, even in the coldest days, your legs, your beautiful shoulders, a v-neck, mini skirts, checkered shorts or pants, and sexy patterned tights with colors like pastel blue, and even red to spice up your all black outfits, and you always wore that luscious and berry coloured lipstick on your lips, heels, motorcycle boots, ballerina flats, dresses, chunky sweaters, straight leg vintage jeans, coats, heels, shoulder bags, mini bags, but what a must was, something that never came off of you, your golden necklace, you're an everything girl, you dressed for the day, it told you exactly what to wear, even if you broke your pattern, you mostly dressed like Jane Birkin, jeans, white shirt, chunky purse, but you love leather, leather belts, leather jackets. Then you walk to your favorite café, and your drink depends on how tired you feel, black coffee for busy days or cappuccinos for the days you don't feel in a rush, then you take the metro, read a book and sip on your coffee while listening to your music, you are in college by 7:30, have 30 minutes to spare, but you're wise, and you use them organize yourself while you ease up with some music, I've never seen a longer playlist to be honest, there's a bit of everything there, you write your things in a red wine journal, I wonder what's in those little pink notes you stick on your notebook.

I made sure you got safely to your workplace after school at 4:00 pm, a bakery, you love talking to the people at the register as they ask you for your favorite dessert, and you always choose the same, tiramisu, rich coffee with some liquor, mascarpone carefully enveloped with delicious whipping cream, and a touch of cocoa sifted all over the tiramisu, and you juggle back and forward with doing school work, help in the kitchen, serve the costumers with a bright and friendly smile, you're tired and they don't pay you enough. And when you get home a 10 pm, you don't go to sleep, you stay up until you're finished but you never truly are, no matter how late or early, you can't sleep, why is that beautiful? Aren't your sheets made of the softest cotton? But I can see, that you are compromised to live in a city that never sleeps, you get ready for your next job at your nearest live jazz pub as a bartender, I'm very familiar with that type of job, you serve the customers with a kind smile as the music rocks you, you talk to other girls, and the artists flirt with you from time to time but you didn't submit, you knew better than that, you got paid well, the tips that fell on your back pocket from the nasty old men helped you to afford your apartment, barely making it to the next cut but you made it.

And every restless night when your mind couldn't stop thinking you went out to the nearest pub, and you made new friends, some men flirted with you until sadly, one night I had to watch you leave with one of them, he conquered your body before me, I wonder if you ever think of me in that way, a sexy stranger, that clouded your mind with ideas until you finally gave in. He did what he wanted to do, and when he left, you were still flushed and needy, that night I watched you hump your pillow with angst to get yourself off, a gorgeous picture to see, one that was engraved in my brain since then.

Every night when I crashed in my bed, and I prayed for this to go away but it continued to grow, I prayed for you to get out of me head, but your face, your smile, every curve of your body lived in me head, and if I don't something about it, you'll hunt me down forever.

I walked down the street on a Saturday night, It's been a week since we bumped into each other, discreetly searching for you with my eyes, until, I found you, in your West Village, street-level, white, vintage but modern apartment that might be hard for you to afford but you keep on paying it because the creepy landlord has a massive crush on you, he cannot fool me, I know what it's like.

You live in such a melancholic part of New York and also warm, old, and historic, it holds so many stories, and memories that's why it reminds you of home, like the baby pictures your mom posts, your living area illuminated with yellow lights from you mid-century lamps, like the sky in a beautiful afternoon, laying in your sette in a white tank top and panties, finally, you get to relax and enjoy yourself.

I could see the outline of your body through your thin linen white curtains, you were wearing vintage headphones connected to your record player, reading a book, Bukowski's 'Love Is A Dog From Hell' Yes, it must certainly is. Then suddenly you stood up, I'm certain you're barefoot, through a crack in the curtain I can see you're approaching the window, I could see the left side of your face, soft, round, cute little pointy nose, and your eyes, a sparkle in them as you stare into the sky, pink pouty lips, and a little beauty spot in your cheek, your phone in the ear, moving your lips with a smile as if you were talking to the person in the other line in real life. You nodded a couple of times and then you hung up, I saw the outline of your body, running towards your bedroom, what's got you in such a hurry? But before you forget, you turn up the music so loud the whole neighborhood can hear it, you choose something classic 'Bang Bang' by Nancy Sinatra, shoot me down, your linen curtain reflecting the light, and you take out your top in one move tossing it away, the outline of your naked beautiful body stretching had made me think so many things to do with it in less than a second, you pick your clothes with care, hanging them in front of your mirror, posing with the clothes on top of your body.

You sit somewhere in your room, and I can hardly see you, something about your magnetism draws me to you, so I stupidly cross the street and find shelter behind a three, but I get even more stupid as I get to see you doing your makeup in the mirror, your phone rings and your face goes blank, you answer and I see how your expressions change like the way flowers rot, gradually you get darker and darker, until... you break into tears putting an end to the call, and you push your phone away, you look into the mirror, and I see a tear roll down your cheek slowly, your face scrunched, and your cheeks reddened, you look at yourself in the mirror, all I can see is hate and rage, and then, you're cold as ice, not another tear rolls down your cheeks, you clean them up with a soft cotton pad and continue to apply makeup on your face, I wonder who has made you cry? even if it was just one small insignificant tear, whoever that was...they still made you cry.

Before you leave, you check yourself one last time, the dress you choose to wear was way better than the typical night outfits women wear these days, less ostentatious, you like dressing feminine, classic but modern, but not so pretty that you look like a little girl, you were more than pretty, you were hot, steaming, boiling, no man would approach you like that, and that was the sad truth for you but good news for both of us, not as any man would approach you, they had to have big balls to do so, baby doll dress, platforms, and a racer jacket, cute, stylish, edge, as always, you were sharp as a blade to the skin. Your hair is straight and it looks longer than when it's on your natural waves, and the wind blows perfectly on it, but that velvet red lipstick on your mouth might be the death of me.

You went outside, took a cab, and went out, I waved my arm, and soon enough a cab passed by.

"Where to?" The man said.

"Follow that cab in front of you," He took off, it was sad, drivers these days don't even care for men like this, the ones that just order to do something like that, there were a lot of crazy people here, and I had to protect you from them.

I see you being dropped off at a crowded pub, I hand a good amount of money to the man, and he drives off, I see you go inside, and you find your mates, I sit across from you, not too close so that you can see me but, but not so far so I don't hear you. You hug each one of them and you sit in the booth next to Julie.

"What's the occasion?" You said, next thing, Julie turns and shows a sparkling diamond on her finger, "Luke, Luke, Luke!" You teased her in awe, you held her hand carefully, examining it up close to the ring, "It's stunning" You said with a kind smile, it was amazing how I wished to be that hand, the one you caressed with care.

"I wanna do something big for the bachelorette, and I don't know where to start, I mean..." It must be hard for you, everyone around you is married or has a serious more than the 2-year relationship you can't hold on to, everyone has a kid now, everyone turns 27 and suddenly they already have a house, a child, and a loving husband, I wouldn't be like that ever, things won't be like that with me, I promise, we can take it as slow and calm as you want, or maybe go fast, I can go both ways, I just have to wait for the moment I may finally introduce myself to you, maybe by tomorrow when you go out but it must be soon before you forget about that last Saturday night, and it looks like you are in the process of, you are emptying those glasses of wine like coke in a hot summer day.

"Ease up with the wine," Larissa says, "You're gonna end up embarrassing yourself like the last time, you always have to pull a seen," Here we go.

"What fuckin' scene?" You spit back, "I was tired and I had been wearing high heels for more than 2 hours, yes, I was drunk but it was a genuine accident" You were annoyed, why could no one understand that? Accidents happen, and it must be hard for you to stand that pain, if I had stayed over, I would've given you a lovely massage, and treated you the way you're supposed to, I'm starting to be not very fond of Larissa.

"Uhu, yeah, but do you remember the last time you went to that party and got so drunk you "accidentally" confused a cigarette with marihuana and cried in the street like a baby?" Larissa, you just had to make it worse, didn't you?

"Fuck off, I can do whatever the fuck I want, if you don't want to believe me that's fine, oh!... and a scene, Larissa, a scene is what you pull when you yell at everyone as if you were the fucking owner of everything and everyone" You took your purse and rushed out, I see that Julie went out to get you, so I discreetly follow her, and find you waving your arm for a cab.

"Wait, don't go," Julie says with a caring tone, "I know you're not ok, you can't lie to me, you know how Lari is..."

"But why does she have to be a fuckin' news flasher of everything I do, embarrassing me in front of everyone, making me look like I'm not fun to be around," Julie tried to hug you but you wouldn't let her near.

"You say some scary shit while you're drunk, that's the only thing I'm going to agree on, but I can see you're not ok," Intuitive, honest, and kind, good choice for a friend.

"He called me" Julie sighs, who is he? This is the prize of being old fashioned, just like me, that's another thing I like about you, you have a life, even if you spend time alone, you go out in the world instead of taking a picture of it and expose your life, you have a little life, but it's yours and only yours.

"What did he want?" You shrugged and searched for something in your leather purse, taking a cigarette, and desperately flicking the lighter on.

"He just asked how I was, while he's off... modeling and possibly fucking two to three girls every single night, and he asks me how I am, drunk and high, he's so... he's-" To find the right words to describe that wanker only made me think about the damage he must have done to you, come on, spill the name, "That's not really everything, he's just-"

"Part of everything" Julie answered back, hugging you close to her, a caring hug, sweet, I could take a picture of it, I'm glad there is Julie for you, "Go home, and text me when you get there," She holds her arm up, taking a cab for you and sending you back home, I did the same thing as before, and the man did as he was told. But the problem was, you didn't go home, you went to a nearby liquor store and bought more wine for yourself, you drank it straight from the bag and you plugged in your wired earphones to your phone, kicking your feet and humming to the music 'New Dawn Fades' by Joy Division, a sad post-punk classic, you should be glad I am here to be on the look for you as you waddle in the steers, an easy target, if anyone dared to do anything to you, well, you must be glad there is me.

You walked a few blocks to your house, but you didn't go in, you couldn't hold yourself up anymore, so you sat by the staircase, defeated since you were desperately looking for your keys in your little purse, and you stared into the empty dark street, and you cried, you kept crying so hard it makes me feel the need to go and help you, I didn't really think about what I was doing, you were desperate, and I was afraid of letting you stay outside like that, then you stood up, unpredictable as always, I see you taking a fast pace. What are you thinking about? Did you forget something? You walk a few blocks until you stay still on a crowded street, the cars on that street go by faster, and you stare into the void as the red lights flash before you in straight lines, your cheeks stained with black tears, the darkness takes you in like one of their children, your head wrapped up in horrible ideas, so dark they blind your eyes, so atrocious your mind can only find one way to make you see the light at the end, you can't find peace, your body is tired, your eyebags are heavy, and you don't feel like yourself, you've lost control and you murmur something over and over again under your breath like some sort of sick prayer...

"A loaded gun won't set you free"

I see you take a step forward, now standing on the pavement, my heart drops to my stomach, and I run to get you, the wind blowing my cap away, what are you doing? why are you doing this? I can fix it, I can fix you, I can help you, I'll make it all disappear, before you take another step, the bus coming your way was out to get you, and you closed your eyes, but I won't let you go like that, my hand grasps your shoulder tightly, and I pull you to my arms, you're cold, shivering, your wired earphones fall from your head and get tangled in your hair.

"Are you alright?" Your face is wet with tears, and you look at me with big eyes, flushed again from the embarrassment, but that sparkle, that little fucking sparkle just makes me so mad, I'd kill for you to see me like that over and over, your little nose red, your eyelids a bit puffy.

You quickly wipe your tears, "Erm..." You sniffed, and you stared into my face with a cute and educated smile, "No... I mean, yes... sorry, I'm just... I wasn't thinking, I'm sorry," You scan my face, the familiarity of it makes a grin spread on your lips, "If I sound like a creep please stop me, but, I think I know you" Your lips curl into a bigger smile, as you realize who I am, I am that man, I am the man who will always be there for you, "You're that guy I fell into the other day" I pretend as if am amazed over who small the world is.

"Hey you," You said to me with a smile.

"Hello you" We both look to our feet, and I feel some warmth creeping up me cheeks, "We gotta stop meetin' like this" I see you flush, looking at me through your lashes, you slowly bite your bottom lip as you brush your hair out of the way, flirty. You struggle to untangle your earphones from your hair, I take a step forward and gently untangle them.

"You just had to come and rescue me again huh? Who are you? Superman?" I hear your voice, and your laughter like a melody I would love to hear over and over again, gentle, a little deep, but beautiful, I can see that behind all of that dark makeup and those dark looks, you're a sweet but lost little girl.

"I'm Batman" You're laughing and blushing at my jokes, that means that you like me.

"I like your accent batman" That's nice to hear, some people say that it sounds too rough and I sound like a scumbag, but I'm glad your ears enjoy the sound of it.

"Thanks, love" You take a step forward, your eyes looking at mine and then at my lips, it's hard to breathe right now.

"What are you doin' so late, huh? Are you wearing your costume?" You tease me, and we begin to walk together, to nowhere, just where we want this conversation to take us.

"Sort of, and you?" You shrugged, what a hard night you had. I'm worried about you, you didn't need to apologize for "not thinking", we kept walking until the smell of food dilated our nose trails.

"Just went for some drinks with a couple of friends nothing too exciting... do you mind if we stop for some food?" My fantasies had become real, you wanted to get some street pizza, the nice old man smiling at you tenderly, he's nice, not creepy, just a nice man, you ask for two slices of pepperoni with Italian sausage and the man is nice enough to give you the most fresh and warm slices of pizza, "Here, it's on me... it's the least I can do"

"Thank you" You chuckled and waved it off, gosh I wish I could just freeze this moment forever.

"I should be thanking you..." You wait to hear my name, and I stay silent contemplating this moment for a second, this is how it starts.

"Alex" You shake hands with me as your tongue, teeth, and lips articulate your name, you have a lovely name, and I'm crazy about you, "Charmed" I hold my gaze at you as you slowly let go of me hand.

"So, what were your plans for the night before I had completely crashed them" Funny, dark jokes, sarcasm, you're really smart but you don't like showing it off, you make me laugh so much, it's clear we have the same humor, that's another reason as to why you're perfect for me and I am for you.

"Um... I thought about going out somewhere, anywhere, sometimes I can't sleep... I'm afraid of losing life by being a slave of me work, me house, everythin' but I found something exciting" You smile to yourself, and you smile at me, you see? We're perfect.

"I do that sometimes... whenever I can't sleep, I go to a bar and you know... try to meet new people, I hate having to post about it on social media though, everyone has their screens glued to their faces, and I just don't like that, I don't wanna breathe my phone, I wanna breathe air" If I were you I would write a whole book about this, I love that you think just like that, we can be people for once, and run around the world and make it ours, "What do you do for a living?"

"Music producer" You smiled at me, "And I have the gift of guessing people's favorite artists,"

"Really? What are mine's?" I have the chance to look at you confidently, I see you like that, I can see how fast your heart is going, how you try to calm it with your breathing, your chest rising and falling fast, as I stare into your eyes intensely making little goosebumps crawl like spiders, I hope you know how much I like you.

"Nancy, Lana... and summat dark like Joy Division Unknown Pleasures" You clap and you're amazed at how exact I am, I can smell it on you.

"Exactly, I love them," You began to hum their songs, dancing on the street, I follow your lead, as you spin, "I was listening to it a few moments ago" You turn dark again, I'm not going to let you, I immediately regret ever saying that, I don't know what that bloody song did to you, but you were listening to it before you attempted to get crashed.

"I'm glad I was there" Sweeten up, tell me what's wrong, I'm here for you.

"Yeah... me too, I wasn't thinking straight..." You clean your throat, you cross your arms, and furrow you're eyebrows, it makes you angry to say it, makes you sad, makes you frustrated, and even so since you watch me patiently waiting for you to tell me what happened to you, I didn't have to say it, you already knew "I don't think you would like to hear about my problems Alex, they're meaningless"

"Nothin' is meaningless just like us meeting tonight perhaps..." Shite, I take it back, I can see your face looking at me weirdly, but you smiled, you're fascinated? Did you like that?

"You're right," You warm up to me, I can see it in your body, I can see it in your face, I've given you no reason to not trust me, I'm harmless, I told you you can trust me, "But I want a ciggy, if you don't mind" You lean against a brick wall, your leg supporting your weight, I'm in love with your smooth and shiny legs, what's your secret?

"Mind if I steal one?" You say no with your head, you check your box again, and you curse in your head. The box has only one cigarette left.

"Sharing it is" You light your cigarette with your pink lighter, I can see some cute puppy stickers on it, you inhale the thick white smoke and exhale it, your whole body relaxing, feeling lighter, you feel calm, and you hand it to me, holding it between your index and your middle, you have a vintage silver rose ring in your middle, cracked red nail polish, and the cigarette butt was stained with your gorgeous red lipstick, I take it in between my lips, your lipstick tastes sweet like marshmallows, I savor it, Jesus, I hope I can taste your pretty lips soon.

"Talk to me," You sigh, and your mouth articulates each phrase, your voice tired and sad, I hear every detail of your story with care, a girl that can't control her alcohol, one that just wants to have fun, one that makes stupid mistakes but learns, I see beauty not only out but inside you, in your mistakes, in your intentions, in your life, you only got one, and you've made noble mistakes, I can see you're a whole woman, a hot and determined woman, but you have no road clear enough, no road to pick, you're chasing something you don't even know what it is.

"So now, I'm just trying to see what happens, I'm getting my degree soon, and then I'll keep working, maybe I'll start something on my own" Maybe if you don't love your work, at least you can come home back to me, I'll cook dinner, I'll wash your clothes, I'll set the table, I'll prep you a warm bath, I'll shower you, you won't move a single finger when you come home to me, "How's working as a music producer?"

"Oh, well, it's great... sometimes we have our differences but most of the time I just do what people tell me to do, in secret I make their music better, sometimes they don't notice and they just brag about how amazing was their idea" Your cigarette burns away into my fingers, I set it off into the wall and discreetly put it inside my pocket, you change the direction, we're going back, you're shamelessly eying me up and down, I swear if you don't stop...

"What are your favorite bands?" You're changing the subject, I don't like that, I don't like that you don't want to talk about what you've told me, but I keep you interested.

"Well... an old-time favorite is The Strokes" I answer firmly, you take out from your purse your earphones, plug them into your phone, and press play on the music as we walk together sharing your music, 'Call It Fate Call It Karma' on full volume.

"Might be basic for you, but I don't see a better song for this moment" You turn to face me, and we stop in the dark corner of the sidewalk, your eyes greedy and precious, that bloody spark in your dark eyes excites me, it's all in your eyes, I can see it clearly, I can see what you want from me, you blink slowly and wait for me to make the next move, and I don't doubt for a second, I close the space between us, and very gently press the palm of my hand to your warm cheek, it's warm and pink, staring into your eyes like stars in the black sky, kissing your lips, sweet as burned marshmallows in a bonfire night, you kiss me so softly at first, but you make that animal inside me come alive, I'm a man, I'm an animal, and I kiss your tender lips hungrily, I didn't expect for you to answer back with the same hunger, you feed me with your kiss, and your breath tastes like ecstasy, I'm a junkie, sweet sweet nicotine, I'm a chain smoker, "Take me home, Alex..."

"I'll take you anywhere you tell me, sweetheart" You grab my hand, fingers intertwined, and I feel 15 again, my palms are sweaty, my sweat is cold, and I feel so warm in my clothes, I can't wait to take them off, the anticipation getting the best of me, you make my dreams come true, and I'm so happy the world had chosen you to fall into my arms. I'm your protector, a guardian angel.

On the way home, we sneak to share some angsty kisses three or more times, you're getting me worked up, letting me touch you, grasping your hips, biting my lip, kissing my cheek, moaning my name into my lips, you're making my head spin. We walk up the stairs together, opening the door to your shelter, you have a lovely house, so clean that some things are allowed to be misplaced, it's big because you don't like having so many things out, your bed is on the other side of the wall were you living area is, the vague familiarity of it makes me feel like I'm imagining it all.

"This my girl cave, my crib" You joke, I take pictures of it in my head from bottom to top, every single inch, every place I imagine us being in, watching tele, cooking together, making a mess of the kitchen of course, dancing, fucking, scratching your wooden countertop, "What do you think?"

"It's-" We both get freaked out by the knocks at your door, some dickhead calling out your name, begging you to open the door, you roll your eyes, you know exactly who he is.

You swing open the door, cross your arms, and stand your ground, marking that he's not welcome here, you're strong, you're determined, go you! Show some teeth, "I don't wanna hear another one of your crazy fucking stories, tell them to your mother, Cameron" You were about to shut the door in his face but he stops it with his foot, that must've hurt Cameron, that's your ex isn't he? The one who made you cry, "Leave" You spit.

"I won't, you can't possibly ask for something like that... you and I know there's no one better than me, no better match than us" You stay silent, why are you thinking? why are you second-guessing? He takes a step forward, he's getting closer, you're face is a frown, you don't want him to touch you even though he keeps trying.

"I don't want you here, you must leave now Cameron, I want you out" He turns into hysteric laughter, he thinks you're crazy, he thinks you've lost your mind, well big shot, you're not it, Cameron only wants to hurt you with his words, he wants to make the most damage, he gets off at this, making you his only real standard, but Cameron will never treat you like you must be treated.

"Don't talk me to like that" I take his aggressiveness as a sign to take a step in, who the fuck does this wanker think he is to talk to you like that? You see that's a real scumbag, and I'll be his worst nightmare.

"Like what?" I come up from the back, cocky, sounding like a total prick, and I can see that you love it, when I sound like this, dominant, confident, "She's telling you to go, I'm telling you to fuck off. Now" I slam my voice at him, there are scary people in this world, there are men like Cameron, he has an intense gaze, but he wouldn't ever pick up a fight for anyone, yes... not even you, he's too vain, a narcissist, he is all bark but no bite, and then there are the men who would move mountains for their loved ones, he steps away, and I shut the door close, I can feel you shivering beneath my skin.

You stare at me, and I drag you in closer, that's what you like... you liked to be treated rough, you like being needed, I push your hips against mine, I can see it in your face, you've felt it, you've felt how hard my cock is, and it's hurting so fucking bad now, I can't wait for another second, I can't wait to take you to bed, you jump on me, wrapping your gorgeous soft legs on me, I decide to leave the first reminder of me on your kitchen table, laying your body on top of the cold wooden countertop for the first reminder of me and the things I'm about to do to you, my knuckles pull down your panties, ripping them off from your skin, your pussy glistening, bathed in your wetness, I can smell your flesh from the distance, like a predator and their victim, I'm a lion, "I'm gonna fuckin' tear you apart"

"Fuuuckin' please" You moan so loudly I bet it could be heard from across the street, and your voice shivers, I've barely even touched you yet, and you're already so wet for me, what are you thinking about? what's in your mind? I wish I could crack your skull open.

I lower myself in between your legs, I've been so busy admiring your body, the scent of the almond oil you rub on your smooth legs, I bet that you shaved them today, and I wonder what else have you shaved, your dress rides to your hips as you contortion under my touch, Jesus, you're desperate for it, but no, I want to enjoy you.

"Calm the fuck down, lay still and close your eyes" I order, and you stiffen up, staying quiet, and still, "Atta girl", I can finally see what's in between your gorgeous long legs, a pink and small pussy, Jesus, I bet you're so fucking tight by the looks of it, my ring and middle finger begin their assault, pressing down vertically against your clit, you hum and your hips writhe against me fingers, slowly, pushing them, you like that, rubbing yourself against them, and when I see you through the glass I lose my mind, I see how me fingers get coated and damped in your wetness, and I love watching you get so worked up by that, I can feel me cock just getting harder by the second, it's hurting and it's a pulsing pain, but I bare with it just for you, because now I'm going to show you how exactly you're supposed to get fucked.

I spread open your pussy, pink and warm, swollen clit I pinch in between me fingers, and you hiss but you only get wetter, if I pinched for a little longer you were sure coming all over the table. I open me mouth to taste your warm and savory juices, I suck and kiss your clit, picking up with my tongue your wetness, you're going to cum so good, I can feel it building up, you're in for a ride, and you've just begun to climb up the roller coaster.

"Oh... that's soo good" You gasp and sigh, I let my two fingers twist inside your pussy, me knuckles rimming your walls slowly, the bumpy and hard skin of my fingers make you gently fuck yourself into them, while I watch you with my tongue lapping over your clit teasingly, just those gentle touches make your legs shake, and your walls to contract, you're wonderful, you behave well, your hands slowly crawling into me hair, pulling it gently, your little whimpers get me worked up and I have to put in the biggest effort to not palm meself, I want you to feel every inch of me.

"You feel so lovely, babe doll" This feels so right, you bite on my lower lip, pulling my flesh until it bleeds. You're a sucker for my accent, you really are, you enjoy hearing me voice, doesn't it relax you? Doesn't it turn you on? I want to know what it is... I want to feel what it is, your legs keep shaking and your body keeps getting stiffer, your lower abdomen making pressure, and your walls are closing around me fingers, I shake them inside you, your mouth falls open, my lips sucking your clit harder and your body arches until I feel your cunt losing up, feeling your release leaking out of that tiny little hole, I'm eager to taste it, I eat your pussy eagerly, you know I'm hungry for it, my mouth eating your pussy like a soft and warm bun, and you taste just as sweet, just as good as I imagined, I won't let you rest, I will keep you on the limit. I drag you forward, making you kiss me lips, "Do you taste that? Taste how sweet you are... taste how good I ate you"

"And you're gonna fuck me just as good?" Your hand sneaks in between me legs, you love how hard my dick is for you, it makes you feel so thrilled, makes you feel good about yourself, and it makes you feel hot.

"You'll just have to wait a little bit longer, I'm not done with you" I'm certain about something, you're a kinky little shit, and I know you want something like this, I bend you over the kitchen table, and you're just ready for it, arching your back, spreading your legs, you're not putting a fight, my hand kneads your ass like dough, and spanks it hard over and over again, "You precious little thing, are you going to do everything I tell you to do?"

"No" You state firmly, earning another smack in your ass.

"Tell me summat..." I push my hips against your dripping wet cunt, that's oozing for another smack, "How much do you want it?" You sigh, rubbing your ass against my cock, you're killing me, you better stop now, the friction, the warmth, your goddamn smell, "Answer me you fuckin' cunt" You giggle, you do love it.

"I want you so bad" You whisper, no, I don't like that.

"Not enough" The smacks you earn are getting harder to bear, but you enjoy them, and so do I, you masochistic little shit.

"I need you inside me, Alex... I can't wait any longer" You rock your hips against mine, humping your naked pussy against my bulge, "Please..." You whimper so sweetly, I can't handle it any longer, I take off your dress, and you're wearing nothing but your tall black heels, looking like a fuckin' hooker, but I bet that's what you like.

"You want it you fucking slut?" You keep whimpering and rubbing yourself on me jeans, I bet that you've stained them already, "Come here" I turn you around and kiss you deeply, I can feel your hands unbuttoning my shirt as fast as you can, even in the heat of the moment you don't break my shirt but I couldn't care less, I take your hands and make fists ripping it apart and throwing it away, you're even faster to take out my jeans and leaving me on my boxers, that's the one good thing about me, I can see how your eyes lit up as you see how hard me fat cock is for you, you bite your lower lip and I pull you back up from your knees.

Time for reminder number two, the settee, I pull you up, and you sit in my arm until I put you back to the ground gently, I have to let you know that I was here, I need you to know how good I am, no other man could please you like that, I pull your leg up while you hold yourself up with the other, your pussy is so fucking wet my cock slides inside you so easily, I can feel the electric shocks that run all over your body, "Hard, please" You whine, I'm going to show you what hard actually is.

My hips thrust inside you so roughly the settee moves out of place, your nails dig into the cushions as I keep railing your tight hole harder, and you scream like bloody murder, I hope your neighbors don't call the police, I hope they can see how hard you're getting your cunt fucked, I want everyone that walks by to hear you, "You wanted hard babe!" You moan and scream, and keep getting your pussy pounded like meat being beaten up to get it tender. I dig your head into the pillows.

"Don't... d-don't-" Don't what?

"I can't understand you, babe, can you repeat that for me?" You pant trying to catch your breath, and your legs are numbing up, and I can see they've lost some strength, "Do you want me to stop, because I can" As I saw you didn't make a move, I began to pull out but you stopped, digging your nails into my wrist.

"Don't stop for fucks sake" Now for the next one, I stay buried inside you like that, you keep trying to fuck yourself into me cock but I just won't allow it, I pick you up once more, and your legs around my torso, and you press your warm chest against mine, I lean back against the giant bookshelf next to your bedroom door, you hold on into the shelves for leverage while I drive my cock inside you, your pussy feels so tight I wish I could let this last forever, I'll make that pussy mine.

"You want more, babe?" You hum and gasp, yes of course you do, you're loving every single inch of me cock, "God you look so beautiful with your mouth opened like that," I lick your bottom lip, "And that little cunt of yours is so wet for me, you're just making things harder for me..." I pushed meself too hard inside you, the shelf shook, and something hard dropped to the ground but you ignored it, you've lost yourself in my touch, and I feel embarrassed for dropping something. Your inner animal wakes up as I throw you into your bed.

I crawl on top of you but you gather up your strength to flip me over, I didn't expect that, you've taken the lead and I want to see you lose control, you writhe your hips into mine, your eyes facing the roof, and your mouth wide open, your hair falling into your head, you looked possessed, but you had lost the power to think about what you were doing, "For fucks sake" If you keep moving like that, you're going to make this end sooner, and I've already planned everything out, I try to sit up but you hold me down, chocking me so hard that it's almost impossible to breathe for me, but I love that feeling, my head feels light, my vision is blurry, but I'm not going to give in to you, I already have, you have got to give into me.

I flip you over so harshly, your head almost slammed against your headboard, "Listen to me you fuckin' cunt" My harsh tone makes your core shake, "You ain't the one on command, now... I don't wanna repeat meself" It's arousing you, I can feel it in between your legs, you're shamelessly getting wetter, "Don't make me repeat meself again" You love to play with me, I see that naughty little smile curling into your lips.

"You already did" You like to pull on my hair, don't you? And you will pay for that.

"Don't fuck with me" Your eyebrows push together and your little smirk makes me go mad.

"You know I love to" Love? You "love to"? Does this mean that you might love me? Even just a tiny bit?

"You do, huh?" I begin to rock my hips against yours, slowly, passionately, like a slow and steaming dance, I see your fingers grasping the sheets making hard fists, "You don't know what you've gotten yourself into" And I'm not lying, you really don't.

"Show me Alex" You whisper to me those three words so sexily, charmingly, I've already lost my mind.

"I'll show you how a real man fucks you, babe," Your oozing with the thrill, "I'll show you how to behave... you little fuckin' cunt" Your mouth opens to moan and I take advantage of it to spit inside your mouth, both my hands chocking you, "You're mine... all mine"

"I'd love to" You whimper, "Make me yours please... please just do, I want you Alex" You keep asking me that with your little weak voice, your body that speaks to me, I can read it so easily, it tells me that I'm doing exactly what you want me to do, it shivers, and it quivers, and it sweats, it screams, it tightens, it stiffens, in your eyes I can feel your fast heartbeat in my fingers, and it goes just as fast as mine, my body against yours sounds like I'm butchering you, your neighbors must think I'm holding a knife against your throat, but it does go as deep, it does penetrate and it hurts you in the most magnificently and pleasingly way, your eyes red shot, and your voice gets quieter, shit, I'm losing you, I am.

"Wake up, wake up!" I scream to you, my hand patting your cheek lightly, your pulse is barely detectable, I slap you across your face and you gain back consciousness in the blink of an eye, I didn't want to do it, I would never do that, but when your lips curl into your devilish smile, I know see how you really are.

"Do that again Al" You tease me, I love it when you call me like that, no one ever really does that anymore, is that my new nickname? Al? You're going to remember me forever babe, I hope you do, and tomorrow when you wake up, I'm still going to be there, I'll make your breakfast, and I'll do anything you ask me to do, even dishes, you won't pick them up.

"You're mad, woman" You giggle, and you try to pick yourself up, I can't let you, I did knock you over completely, my hand very gently caresses your cheeks, it's red and fragile, it must burn or at least sting, "Let me do the kissing for now, babe"

"And the fucking too perhaps?" You smile at me, your cute little button nose is flushed, your cheeks and chest are red, your nipples are hard, it turned you on to this point, you're dark, what else are you not telling me? "I'm crazy about you" Those words will echo in my head for the rest of my days.

I take no rush into fucking you, I'm not just a guy you'll sleep with, I'm your man, and I wanted to make sweet sweet love to you, but you won't let me, you like it rough, hard, fast, I don't want this moment to be over, at least not for me yet, you can cum as many times as you like, and like the real man I am, I am profoundly true to the saying 'Happy wife, happy life'

I hug you close to me, that's the least I can do, if I'm going to lose control, let my heart tell yours how much I love you, even if you dump me like a puppy, I'll stay loyal, I'll follow your scent everywhere, I will forever remember the scent of your vanilla hair, your Dior perfume, and the golden necklace around your neck, I counted 15 moles on your body, even the one in between your legs, my hands grab your hair into fists as I pound you harder and harder, you're losing your mind and I'm losing control again, your bed squeaks so loudly and the headboards slams against the wall so harshly, but I don't stop I can't stop now, I can feel you, I can feel it coming, you bring yourself to an end again, the palm of my hand slowly adds pressure on your lower belly, to ease you up, the bed keeps squeaking so annoyingly, and even after we ignored the several warnings, the legs of your bed broke and your headboard fell to the ground, we both break into laughter.

"Oh God!" Your little laughter is so bubbly and funny, it makes me smile and feel so ashamed at the same time.

"I'm so sorry, I'll pay for that" You rub the tip of your little nose against mine, and look at me tenderly, your fingers caressing the back of my head, if only you could see the hearts in my eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous... you know, I've never broken a bed before... you're not going to be easy to forget batman, I hope you don't disappear into the night soon" I'll get you off first, but there's one thing you should be certain of.

"I never intended to" Was that too much? Sorry if that was too much, maybe it was... maybe it wasn't, I'm having a hard time reading your face right now, you're looking at me very seriously, I don't want to get my hopes up, but you're killing me, I should focus now, finish the deed, "But I'm still sorry about your bed though"

"Shut the fuck up, and keep fucking me" Whatever she wants, whatever she wants... You're already the song on the radio I got stuck in me head.

I pull us closer to the safest edge of your bed, toss your legs over me shoulders, and bend them over, I lean over and pound the living shit out of you, I was balls deep inside you, and you like it, so much that you dig your nails into my back, scratching my skin until red and bloody, I don't care how much it hurts, leave as many marks as you want, the deeper the better, my hair falls over my forehead and you make the kindest gesture, your brush it back with your long nails, even if by now I'm sweating like a pig you keep bringing me closer to you, I can feel the light tingles of you breathing in me face, of you biting down on my golden chain making laugh, making me go insane, I keep pushing harder, and you throw your head back, almost letting go of me, but I won't let you, I'll send you to heaven if you want, but don't leave without me.

"Oh, Alex... I'm so close, please..." Your eyeballs turn into beautiful glossy pearls, and you crumble down into pieces as you coat my cock in your warm release, I can feel your walls pushing it out and running down your cozy hole, I stay buried inside you, watching your mouth fall open and choke out your last orgasms, they spin in my head like a tiny little music box, "You're next, Alex... you can't end things like that... you know how much I want it, you already did so much for me" Wait, what are you doing?

Your hands run up my chest, and you massage my shoulders, "You really want me to breed you, you greedy little fuck?" Your hands go down and you massage my balls, Jesus, you really do, I bet you're not even aware of what you're doing to me... or are you?

"Yes Alex, use it... use me" You know exactly what you're doing, I drag my cock out just rimming your walls once again, I better start warming you up, but you don't want that now, you're thinking about me, about what I want, you deserve a little star on your forehead for being so caring, a man and its needs, it's nothing compared to your needs, and I bet you needed someone to get you off correctly.

"You're mine... I want you to say it" I promised to you since the beginning, I won't stop until you're mine, "Are you mine?" I look at you with my big eyes full of hope for you to say it, please tell me now.

"I'm yours Alex" My lips taste your mouth, your tongue dancing with mine. You're made of the sweetest poison

God, I remember that time I was watching through your window, that night you were laying down on your settee, your hand was vigorously and shamelessly rubbing your clit in circles, fucking your little cunt with two fingers, rocking yourself into your touch with the desperate need to rub yourself against something hard, just like you were rubbing yourself against me hard cock. You keep squeezing my balls, your hands sneak into my ass squeezing it gently to keep me going, you love having me right at the edge of ending it all, I can't keep it up for another moment anymore, you're big stary eyes, your little sparkles, your touches, the smell, the noises, you're begging for me cum, I slam my fist next to your head, dragging your body up as I push myself deep inside you and coat your walls in me creamy cum, you're pure bliss as I feel us both coming together, a gorgeous after bliss surrounding us, you have this certain smell, a certain heat, and you're just so beautiful with your cheeks flushed like that.

"Let me clean you up, it's me mess, just lay down" You nod your head, laying gently on your broken bed to not let it crash completely into the ground, you point your finger telling me where the toilet is, and I rush there to grab a few paper towels and clean your skin softly, soothingly, I can feel you relaxing, I can smell my body in yours, the smell of my cologne, your almond oil, and your pheromones. And when I'm done you grab my hand and I can see you thanking me for even that tiny gesture, that's nothing you should be thanking me for, that's the least.

"Now the question is... where are we going to sleep?" We? You want me to sleep here, with you? You're not quicking me out, or at least not yet, this is my chance and I would be lying if I didn't say I was the luckiest man alive.

"Maybe the settee would be a nice place" Your gorgeous olive green settee, corduroy, soft, and marked, I can see you smiling at the space in between your two cushions, I see your giant ivory bookshelf, another mark. I lean forward to pick up what I had dropped when we assaulted the shelf, but it wasn't one of the thousands of vinyl records you've got organized by letter, it's a case... a guitar case. I didn't know that about you. Tonight made me realize that you're a hat full of surprises, the deeper I search the more I find.

"Want some food?... I've got some nuggets and fries... and-" You close your fridge and turn to look at me, "Oh, you know how to play?" I nod my head, trying to stay as noble and humble, you smack your hand into your forehead, "Of course, you do," You sigh and I can hear you whispering to yourself, "Stupid question"

"And do you?" You hum as a yes, interesting, I bet you do, but why do you hide your guitar like that? As if it was buried in this beautiful world with music, colors, words, and meanings.

"I did..." You turn on your air frier and toss some nuggets and fries in there, I'm so happy that you're not like one of those crazy keto girls, you pour us some fresh orange juice as you keep talking to me, "But you know, my mom always told me 'that's just a hobby', and when I moved here I hoped to find some people that wanted to share this fire to try to make some music... but I never managed to, and then I just gave up"

"That's a bit sad, love... you shouldn't have" You lean over the kitchen countertop, amazing reminder, I see you smiling over the edge of your shoulder, but you turn to look at me as you pick up some of our clothes, and then you run into my shirt and you decided to wear it as your sex shirt, you look beautiful, "I mean, being a music producer and making it was hard, but it was even harder to follow something I'm not passionate about" That's what's wrong, you didn't follow your passion, that's what you're missing, "Have you got any songs?" Your face lights up but it quickly slips away, and the redness crawls into your face, What? I'm trying to help you, I want you to be happy with me and with your life.

"I can't accept that" You quickly answered, your head said no but I know you want this, it's served on a silver platter, why can't you let your reserved self accept this?

"Accept what? I haven't said anything, I just asked if you could sing for me... I know you have a lovely voice" You laugh sarcastically at me, leaning over to fetch your guitar, and searching for a notebook on your vinyl shelf.

You sit next to me, legs crossed, guitar on your lap, naked with just my shirt on, your knees holding your notebook as you search for the perfect page for me, you make sure that your guitar is tuned before you start and your thumb softly strums down the notes, making a lovely rhythm, and only two chords, C and Em, your voice sounds like a million angels, and I feel like a lost man after serving the purgatory, your voice is so hauntingly beautiful, your lyrics are very forward, and I'm happy to know through your lyrics how truly you feel about things, you don't search for big words you choose the right ones, you're bold, and you're wise, you try to put an end to your complicated feelings, your questions, everything, all in one song with a few strums and two simple chords.

"That's all," You say putting your guitar next to you, I'm blown away, "I know I suck"

"No!" I answer immediately, "You don't... I think it's beautiful"

"You're just saying that because..." No, I'm not just saying that because I want to fuck you, no not at all, don't you ever believe that.

"I'm saying that because I think you've got it, and you don't want to quit everything to live your dream, I know it must be difficult... but I'm being truthful, you've got summat and we can work on it" Why do you keep saying no with your head? Stop that, if I could rip it off right now... no, don't think that, "Come on, I'm not takin' a piss" You break into laughter with me, throwing your head back, you jump up the moment your oven dings and you run to flip the nuggets and the fries, putting 10 more minutes into the oven.

"Takin' a piss" You laugh to yourself, "Well, if you're not takin' a piss" You imitate my accent and it sounds so silly when you try to do it, "I'm not accepting your help Alex, you have your own thing, and if I'm going to do this, I have to do it on my own," Perfect, I'll take that.

"Why don't you go to Panda's next Saturday? They're looking for some people to play some music, any style, any theme, you can do whatever you want... I'm sure everyone will love you, and you know, there's always someone on the hunt for summat fresh!" I see you thinking about it, I'm not saying I'll help you, I'm just offering the start of something great for you, this is it for you. And yes, I am going to get you the best deal you could ever imagine, but first I have to run things through your notebook, I secretly hide your baby pink notebook, your initials written with a black sharpie, and I stash it in between the cushions.

"I'll think about it" I'll think about it. I hope you do go, I can't wait to see you singing for everyone, you will charm them, "Dinner is served me lord" You're also a dork, just like me, imagine all of the jokes we can make together, they'll be endless.

"My! Thank you, very kind" Dinousor nuggets with a side of fries, the melancholic feeling of your childhood must be present every single day, you squeeze some Ketchup into my plate, squirting into my chest.

"Whoops! Let me clean that for you" You lean in, sticking out your tongue to lick off the ketchup from my chest, "Eat up!" I'm in love with you, "And then we'll get on with that" You look down, and I do the same, shite, look what you do to me, you make me get so hard like a little boy hitting puberty.

"Bugger" I whisper under my breath, you heard it since you giggled, "You know, I think the food can wait right?" You push your plate away and you immediately crawl on top of me, kissing my lips so tenderly, caressing my chin with your fingers, and enjoying the texture of the little hairs that are growing on me cheeks.

"Mmm ketchup" You laugh into the kiss, and our teeth collide accidentally, and us by casualty, "You taste yummy"

"Imagine yourself" You blush hard, something tells me no one has ever made you feel that good about yourself, and that's because no one will see you with the same eyes as me, you're my girl, you will be, I try to flip you but instead you stop me, have I done something wrong?

"We're not going to break this couch, I love this fucking couch, you understand that?" You firmly said, your eyes threatening to kill me if I do as such, "I'm on top" I squeeze your ass tightly biting my bottom lip.

"Whatever she wants... but if I broke the bed it's 90% your fault," You scoffed and laughed as I peeled my shirt from your body gently, making sure I don't break more buttons so you could keep it, "Because you feel so good, and maybe you could be on top, but I know sooner or later... you'll be the one giving into me" Quite intense, wasn't I? Fuck!

"But for now, it's me who calls the shots, so if we break this... it will be 98% your fault, how do you like me now, smarty?" You secure your arms around my shoulder, I pull you in, chest on chest, as I give myself a few more strokes before you slowly slide down my cock, moaning so gently, I like feeling every part of you, I can see how your body twists and shivers when I hit that sweet spot.

"How do you like that?" I rub it in your face, how good I'm making you feel, "I guess one round just wasn't quite enough for you," You start humping on my cock slowly, you're just teasing me again, but I enjoy feeling your body move against mine, your little cries and moans, everything piles up in me, I know this time I'll enjoy you, picture you going in slow motion, I can feel your rapid heartbeat, I can feel the heat wave that raises and wrap us in, I can feel your body begging to mine to stay as close as possible, because that's what your body and my body want, we smile, we laugh, and I fall deeper in a hole full of love for you, and I'm no donkey to use the dirt to get out, I rather stay buried deep inside you just like now. Your body is tired, it's been two hours since your legs worked for the last time, and you beg for more into my ear.

"You're so good, I-I don't understand" What don't you understand, babe? Your fingers intertwine in the back of my head, as you writhe your hips to mine, our bodies dancing together so wonderfully, your hips move in circles against mine.

"Neither of those assholes could ever come close to me, I'm a real man..."

"And you've got the size" You flirt with me so shamelessly, your walls keep dragging me in, your head falls into my shoulder, you're giving into me, fading into me, and it's me time now, I finally get to give you what I wanted since the beginning, make sweet and honest love to you, my hands on your thighs I keep driving your body against mine, I gently bounce you on me lap just to get you to stay up again, you're eyes are shutting, your mouth is falling open again.

"Look at me" I order, and you do what I tell you to do, you look at me towards your end, I hope you can read it in my eyes, I hope you can feel how warm the flesh is, how my eyes, my brain, and heart have no space for anyone else but you, how mad you've made me, I'm obsessed, and I'm not going to lie to myself about it anymore, I don't want to just use you, I hope you can see that, but if you can't, I hope this is enough for you to understand it, my eyes big and dilated for you, my body feels so stiff, it's overwhelming, "You're so beautiful, love"

"If you keep calling me that, you're gonna make me fall in love, Alex"

So I'll say it every single day for the rest of my life, you feel so good on me, your body fits into mine so perfectly, and I'm so close, and so are you, the flesh is tender, the flowers bloom, the sun rises and it's heat rains all over the world, and you and I bond together for one last time before your body crashes into mine, I make a mess, but that's a bit on purpose, "Ah, yes" You sigh into my ear as you let it rest on top of mine. I have the chance to clean your body once more, to clean you up with care and love, my touch is so gentle your body fills with goosebumps, "You really don't have to Alex" You put your hand on my hand, and I freeze, should I stop? Am I making you uncomfortable?

"Sorry... if I'm doing too much" Your eyebrows push together and before I can get away you drag me back by my wrist and smile at me. What do you think of me?

"No, I'm just..." You sigh, you're troubled by your thoughts, "Not used to the 'aftercare' part that's all, you know, sex for us girls... it's not like we see it in films, or read in books, maybe I don't have that magic to turn a beast into a prince, and... I just I dunno, I don't feel weird... you make me feel special, normally, they just leave" Are you... maybe falling for me?

I smile at you, my thumb grazes your cheek softly, "I'm a man, and I'm messy but I just don't like doing that there's an attraction, and if we have sex, unless you ask me to leave I'll leave" I put away the paper towels in the trash, and when I come back I find you waiting for me with my shirt on your body.

"Well, if that's the case" My heart pumps one thousand miles per hour, I feel I'm entering a trance, about to puke my intestines out if you ask me to leave, "You don't mind staying?"

Fuck yeah! "Not at all" I try to keep me cool but I just can't, my heart betraying as I lay down with you.

After we finally had the chance to close our eyes, the sun peeks through the curtains of your windows, the sky painted orange and ocean blue, you smile at me, and you get back up from our little love nest that was the settee, you're quick to find the vinyl with the song we were listening together, the song we kissed to, the perfect song to watch the sunrise.

"Come with me!" I've never heard you so excited before, you run to the kitchen and fetch my boxers from the ground, and I'm a bit troubled by the thought of me wearing my jeans with no underwear but I do nevertheless because I would kill to see you like that every single day.

I cover my body with my coat, and you grab my hand, we run out of your house, and we go through this tiny little white gate, into a garden covered in green chasmophyte, that's the place where the flowers bloom in little boxes of dirt, the perfect place to see the sun, the perfect place to hide, to dream in, it's wonderful, you pull out a chair for me in this old rusty table, you find place to put your music and we listen to Call It Fate Call It Karma as the sun rises from the horizon, I pull you to my lap, wrapping your legs around my arms and hum the song to your ear, the birds are chirping, and the sun warms us from the once oh so cold night.

"You're a lovely singer," You say to my ear, I was never one to watch sunrises, I haven't done that since I was 17, and now with my busy life, I finally get to taste this little piece of paradise that you've given me.

"Not as good as you, bunny" You kiss my nose with a big smile, and I take out from my jeans a box of cigarettes and my old zippo, you set on my smoke, and you love to play with my zippo as your hands run through my naked skin, you love playing with fire, don't you? I just hope someday, you don't get burned in the fire of my love.

A/N

Anon, I want to kiss you. You don't know for how long I've been trying to figure out how to write this chapter, I had to watch You again but it was totally worth it, so thank you!

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takenbypeter · 3 months

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Hey! Jumped on the Wonka train since yesterday and had two thumbs up! Can I request a Wonka x single mom reader where during the course of the movie they’ve built up a bit of a flirtation/relationship and he bonds with her kid (s) bc of course they love the magician with chocolate who makes their mama smile. Specifically I’m looking for like a scene towards the end of the movie or post-canon where he expresses interest in adopting her kid (or kids) and of course marriage so they can all be one real happy family together. Sorry if that description’s a lot

Beginnings of a New Dream

Willy Wonka x reader

Words: 1780

Ahhh this one is so bad 🙈 I tried with this one but honestly I hate it, Idk I think it's cause I can't relate to parent fics so I just suck at them but still I wanna thank you for requesting

“Where is he?” You said to yourself, as you turned around in search of the young child. You’ve left him alone only for one second and now, poof, he’s nowhere in sight.

Your eyes scanned your surroundings quickly until it spotted a familiar tiny figure standing upright among the white snow and you wasted no time to catch up.

“There you are,” you breathed out, worried tone evident in your voice, “I told you to stay put,” you reminded, before noticing the stranger who was with him.

The unknown man was wearing a tattered overcoat, along with a worn out top hat. His outfit was very…unusual, to say the least. And he was quite handsome.

But what concerned you the most, was his outstretched hand which held a small piece of wrapped candy.

You glanced at your son who was already chewing on what you could assume was a different piece, then back at the stranger who instantly understands how bad this looks.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t properly introduced myself. My name is Willy Wonka and I’m a chocolatier hoping to open my own shop very soon.”

“Mommy he can do magic!” Shouted your son.

“Oh he can now, can he?”

Willy Wonka. You’ve heard that name around town a few times, but this is the first you’ve seen of the man.

He held out a hand to which you firmly shook, “well Willy Wonka, surely you, being a stranger and all, understand why I find it odd you’re giving candy to my son, knowing how dangerous it is for children to talk to, no less take candy from a stranger.”

“Ahem,” he let out an awkward cough as he retracted his hand. “I do apologize. It wasn’t my intention to cause fret. The little guy looked lost so my only intent was to keep him safe and occupied, honest.”

You squinted slightly unsure of the man. He stood arms up and opened in an innocent manner. His eyes were big with his thick eyebrows angled upwards at the middle before curving down. He did seem to be of no harm, and he did keep your son safe.

You let out a relaxed sigh, “it’s alright, it’s my fault anyway, I should’ve kept an eye on my son. Thank you for keeping him safe.”

Wonka’s shoulders dropped and his facial muscles relaxed at your pardon.

You reached down holding your child close, “we’ll leave you be. Thanks again.”

“Wait,” his voice rang out, catching you before you departed. “Would you like to try a piece?” He held out the same small piece of chocolate from earlier in his palm upwards towards you.

You’re just about ready to decline the offer but again he speaks out, “it would really be helpful to have a mature opinion on this chocolate.”

You nodded caving in because honestly, who were you to deny free chocolate, your mind thought showing you to be just as gullible as a child. Taking the sweet treat, you pop it past your lips.

Immediately a rich flavor overtakes your mouth and as you bite into it, a milky chocolate filling spreads around.

It was quite good.

“Mmm,” you nodded towards the man, “oh you are going to go far with this chocolate Mr.Wonka.”

“Thank you. Your words mean much to me,” he said genuinely, and you let out a chuckle, “you’re welcome Mr.Wonka,” you say, as you turn around, hand in hand with your son.

Willy watches you fade from view with a prominent smile on his lips, because although he knew his business would do well, with the justification of your words he felt he was on the right path.

And honestly he hoped to meet you on this path again.

Days passed until you met the self proclaimed chocolatier again.

You had been traveling, hand clasped with your sons, when you spotted Mr.Wonka’s pop up store in the center of town. Initially wanting to pass the store along with the small crowd surrounding it, your plans are thwarted when your son pulls you towards it.

“It’s Mr.Wonka!” Shouted your son as he pointed towards the herd, “alright, alright we’ll just stop by.” He runs, his little feet taking him as fast as he can while dragging your body along.

“Mr.Wonka! Mr.Wonka!” Shouts your son as he rushes to the front with you following close behind.

Willy’s eyes widened in recognition, “well hey there, little guy, back so soon?” He asks, prompting your son.

You watch, looking on as the chocolatier chats with your child. They go back and forth creating small talk, before Wonka pulls out one tiny piece of chocolate, He waves his hands around and the crowd watches as he turns one piece into two right in front of their eyes.

“Woah, do it again!” Clapped your boy in amazement, and truthfully you felt the same way.

He performs the trick once more and again your son laughs as Wonka gives him one of the pieces before turning to you and handing you the other piece.

“You are surprisingly well with children.”

He shrugs, at the comment, “it helps when you have such a sweet child…who has such a pleasant mother.”

He tips his hat while all you can do is chuckle trying not to look too moved by the man’s remark.

“Thank you Mr.Wonka.”

“Please, call me Willy,” he adds and you nod while he returns his attention to other customers.

That Willy Wonka, what a charmer he was.

The week goes by before you run into the young man again, however, this time you were alone.

“Willy!” You announced, trying not to sound too excited when you saw the chocolatier, who was walking along the street with a young lady. (You soon learned her name to be Noodle.)

You exchange greetings while Noodle makes her exit leaving you be.

“What are you doing all alone? Where is the little one?” He asks, glancing around. “Oh I had to run some errands today so I had a friend watch him for me.”

Willy shares a soft smile, “he really is a brilliant kid, with a brilliant mother of course.”

“You flatter me Mr.Wonka.”

“Willy,” he reminds.

“Willy,” you repeat, sharing a look together before he blinks readjusting his focus.

“Oh!” His eyes enlarge as he reaches behind him into his battered briefcase, “I had something made for the little guy, and for, ahem, the mister back home,” he holds out a small jar of candies to which you take grateful.

“Please, there’s nothing of the sort, just me and the kiddo.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s alright. It’s been that way for a while, it’s sort of the only way we know.”

Willy shares a look with you, one unlike the look of pity most give when they hear your story, it was more of admiration? Respect? Either way, you thank him for thinking of you and as you do so, you hear a siren noise nearing before the chief of police arrives.

He steps out of his vehicle and Willy turns to you, “I think you should go. Now. I’ll talk to you soon,” he says and you nod in understanding leaving the scene as the chief of police nears.

That’s how your time gets spent whenever you spot the man; your son talks with him, you talk with him, Willy performs a magic trick. You try to buy some candy, Willy refuses and instead gives it to you for free and then you’re on your way.

“Willy! Willy! Look, my tooth is missing!” Your son yelled running up to Willy.

“Oh wow, that is outstanding! But you know what I heard?” Willy lowers himself to your son’s level, hushing his voice.

“I heard this year, the tooth fairy started leaving candy underneath the pillows, for all the good boys and girls.”

“Really?!”

Willy looks up in your direction shooting you a quick wink.

“Really.”

Your son turns to you with a smile from ear to ear present on his face as you nod confirming his curiosities.

Mirroring his grin you watch on as Willy and your son continue in conversation. You’ve grown to the sight of them both, chatting and laughing. It was a very lovable sight.

That’s how it went, your meetings together.

And with each meeting you found yourself drawing closer and closer to the man, staying longer and longer on your visits.

The last time you saw Willy was at his opening for the factory, when everything went south. People rioted and burned his shop down and in the craziness you grabbed your son and ran putting his safety first.

After that you didn’t hear from Willy.

That is until today. You weren’t there when all the mess went down. When Willy and his team practically outsmarted the Chocolate Cartel, having them arrested.

But you made sure to be there for Willy Wonka’s new opening of his shop.

You stood in the crowd, your hand clutching your sons as the people gathered around trying the various sweets and treats.

Walking around taking in all the beautiful colors and lights you stop at a wall full of jellybeans and gumdrops. And giving your son permission to collect some, you stand a short distance keeping an eye on him.

“You made it,” said a voice as a figure emerged beside you. You smiled at Willy who was positioned just as you were towards the colorful wall.

“Of course I did. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

You watch for a moment as your son collects snacks, putting them into a bag that was provided. You were so occupied with him that you hadn't realized Willy was holding out one of his own creations for you.

“A chocolate flower for the lady.”

“It doesn’t have any yeti sweat does it?” You asked, eyebrow raised. You were lucky enough that you hadn’t managed to eat any of the poisoned chocolate last time.

“No, no yeti sweat.”

Beaming you take it and happily munch on it.

“So this place…is it everything you’ve dreamed of.”

He glances around taking it all in. The smiles on peoples faces, the way they’re in full enjoyment, but then his gaze returns to yours, “yes it is. But it’s strange.”

You tilt your head silently, allowing him to continue his thought as he turns his attention back to your son then you again. “I think…I think I have a new dream now.”

“Oh yeah? What’s your new dream?”

Willy’s eyes lock onto yours.

There are no words shared between you two but somehow you seem to understand what he means.

#willy wonka x reader #willy wonka fanfiction #willy wonka fanfic #willy wonka imagine #wonka x reader #wonka fanfiction #wonka fanfic #wonka imagine

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httpsserene · 7 months

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i've been looking for weeks and months but can't find a single x male reader fic/au/etc... could u spare sum for the boys too😭🤲

ɪ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ᴡ/ ᴍᴠ33

📖ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: max is over at daniel’s where they're supposed to be doing whatever best buds do. but somehow, the topic of his father comes up, and it brings max to a…realization of sorts. it also causes the two of you to argue, and for several discoveries to be made in the early morning hours; some of the depressing-kind, and some of the heartwarming-and-life-changing-kind. 📖ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: angst and fluff (hurt/comfort). argument. jos verstappen's a+ parenting. no beta we die like alphatauri's engines. 📖ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 4k words 📖ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: max verstappen x male!reader (race not specified) 📖ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: oneshot 📖ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ: ivy • frank ocean

ᴘʀᴇꜰᴀᴄᴇ: i *usually* don’t write for male readers (as a cis woman idk i think it’s sus? idk, but maybe it’s not since i do support and love mxm ships, so maybe that’s hypocritical?)....but since it is my first request and max’s birthday (when i started writing this) i figured i could spare sum for da boys :)))) i scrolled through the tag and most of it was f1 x platonic!male!reader which is lowkey depressing, the boys deserve to simp wholeheartedly with us girlies ✊🏽 i hope “the boys” enjoy this and it makes the f1 x male!reader life a lil better! (you also didn’t specify who you wanted, so i went with max bc of his birthday) big shout out to the best kitties in the world, jimmy and sassy, for being great sports in this fic ☠️ they were wonderful setting devices! this is not an accurate description of max’s relationship with his father. we all don’t know what’s going on there, but it did become a wonderful plot point. so, it’ll probably be the only thing jos the boss is good for besides being max’s sperm-donor 🙂.

want to be added to my taglist? or my f1 kinktober taglist? send me a message !

prompts from @forestryprompts and @dumplingsjinson

it’s 3:23 AM, and you’re brutally jarred out of your sleep by your phone ringing. you’re disoriented–still in that sleepy “where the fuck am i” stage–and don’t quite catch the first phone call. a few seconds pass by without another call, and you’re convinced you hallucinated. usually, there’s only two reasons for you to be disturbed in the middle of the night. number one, when sassy “accidentally” presses all ten pounds of her body weight into your spleen with one paw; and number two; when max returns from partying, a late flight, or streaming. glancing around, you guess sassy is the bengal curled up on max’s side of the bed, gravitating to where his scent is the strongest as max is over at daniel’s; missing her favorite parent. and you guess that jimmy’s the heat source curled against your feet under the duvet, as that’s his favorite spot to sleep and his favorite place to prey on your toes. you lay straight back, head resting on your pillow and shrug, dismissing it as a problem for the morning.

then another call starts ringing through. now, you’re awake enough to start processing the important information. you always set your phone on dnd when going to bed, and there’s only a few numbers that are set to bypass it during sleep. this ringtone in particular, identifies the caller as max, which is peculiar. max doesn’t disturb your sleep unless absolutely necessary, he already feels guilty enough for doing so when traveling. with that thought, you reach for the phone with a reaction time you’d only relate to your boyfriend’s occupation.

you breathe out, “maxy, baby? are you okay? did something happen?”

a panicked and slightly desperate giggle slips out of the receiver, “heyyyy, it’s daniel, actually–”

“daniel?” you softly exclaim, sitting up in bed, worriedly continuing, “where’s max? did something happen? is he okay–”

“well,” daniel starts, “i wouldn’t say he’s ‘okay’, so to speak–”

“oh my god! what does that mean, daniel? i’m coming over right now give me like, fifteen minutes–” you say rushedly, already leaping out of the bed. jimmy yowls in shock of being disturbed, panically darting out of the duvet, and sassy shoots up–airplane ears activated and all.

daniel cuts you off, “NO! uh, no! i’m actually already on the way back to yours with him right now! he’s like- kinda drunk- tipsy i guess, one would say uh- but–”

“are you driving, daniel? if-if you’ve drank you should’ve let him sleep over, or called me to come get him if he’s being a menace!”

“no, uh-” daniel starts whispering, “we’re in an uber. ma- i mean- your boyfriend is kind of out of it, and not in a drunk way.”

“what the fuck,” you bite out, switching to hold the phone to your ear with your shoulder, as you pull on a pair of sweatpants (max’s) over your boxers, “does that mean, daniel?!”

“so, like,” daniel whispers even quieter, “hypothetically, we started talking about ma- sorry, his- wonderful childhood, and i guess me saying that seeing his father stabbing a mechanic with a fork isn't a normal thing to experience, kind of sent him into a spiral.”

“oh, fuck” you pause, while pulling one of max’s championship hoodies on.

“yeah, that’s pretty much what i’d say,” daniel sighs, “but, then um, he tried to like rationalize it to me? like, he’d bring up different crazy memories, and i’d be like ‘no, mate, that’s not normal either,’ and everytime he’d bring up a positive interaction with his dad, he realized it correlated to how well he performed, and he kind of um-shut down.”

“oh. fuck.” you repeat. sassy, in a rare show of solidarity, winds between your legs and mews gently at you as if she’s letting you know that she’s here. “um, well,” you say, running a stressed hand through your hair, “you should be on max’s list to come up to the apartment, but i’ll call down to give them a heads up. text me when you get here, please?”

“will do,” daniel perks up, “i’m sorry by the way. i should’ve left it alone, or distracted him away from the topic. but you know how he gets, probably better than me.”

now it’s your turn to let a depressing chuckle escape, “probably not, dan. i’ve known him for fourteen years and dated him for five of those, and he hasn’t done more than agree that his dad ‘isn’t perfect’” you wave your hand through the air, brushing the train of thought away, “anyways, i can get the spare room ready for you, so you don’t have to uber back?”

daniel nervously laughs, “forgive me for saying this, but i don’t really want to be present for whatever conversation is going to happen. or have to pretend like i’m unaware of anything. max would do his best to avoid me for as long as he can if he knew i was around, and i don’t want to risk that…after what happened when i left red bull.”

“yeah, you’re right. don’t forget to text me when you get here,” you state.

daniel’s text comes through when you’ve just gathered the ibuprofen and water bottles. you thumbs-up the message, and go to sit in the living room to wait for a knock on the door. you plop down on the couch and your leg bounces anxiously. jimmy gracefully hops up into your lap, and he must be an emotional support cat because he sits down on that leg, and leans into your torso butting his head into your chest asking for pets. you indulge him, a shaky laugh erupting, “thanks, jimmy,” and you lean down to press a few kisses to his cheeks. silence overcomes the room, and then three knocks break the still air in the apartment, and both you and jimmy jump off the couch and race to the entryway. you push jimmy behind you with a foot as you open the door, knowing damn well he’ll sneak into the hallway if given a chance.

max stumbles through the doorway first. his eyes are bloodshot with a cold and unseeing look glazed over them, red-rimmed and looking so distraught at tonight’s realization, that your heart aches for him. you wish you could take his pain away, or at least carry some of it for him. his hair is sticking out in different directions like he was anxiously tugging at it, but the most surprising observation is the tear tracks on his cheeks. max doesn’t cry, like at all.

well, that’s not exactly true. he’s one of the men that says crying is “strong” and not a sign of weakness when you cry and even encourages you to cry it out on his chest. but, when it’s himself, he refuses to cry until everything gets too much. he’ll come up to you and sit or stand pressed right up against you, grabs at and plays with your hand to let you know that he needs comfort, before he looks at you and softly asks with a cracking voice if he can have a hug. you always set aside what you’re doing as quickly as you can, because you’re not going to let an opportunity of caring for max in a rare vulnerable time pass, and pull him into your chest. even though he’s broader than you, he appears to shrink himself within your arms, and presses his face into your shoulder while he cries. his tears are always silent, but his body is loud; he shakes, and his hands grab at whatever you’re wearing in fists like he’s afraid that you’d slip out of his grasp.

anyways, you’ve never known him to really cry with other people. with a soft, “max…” you reach out to him, but he brushes right past your hand and goes straight for the bedroom. jimmy trots after him, and sassy falls into step from whatever pocket she was hiding in. you freeze, shocked at his behavior while also understanding, he’s had a life-changing realization that he’s never allowed himself to address. you feel guilty that you're jealous of the fact that he had it with daniel.

daniel clears his throat, still standing outside the doorway, “...you know he doesn’t mean to ignore you like that, right?”

you nod, “when did he start crying?”

“he held it together until we got into the uber, i think. he was turned towards the window the whole time and refused to look at me. i didn’t notice he cried until we got out.”

“are you sure you don’t want to stay the night? it’s late, dan. or at least let me get you the uber back” you offer again with a questioning look.

daniel refuses both options, “nah, don’t worry about it. i’ll make max take me to lunch one day to pay me back. i’d say good luck but that seems redundant. be gentle with him, alright?”

you sigh, “i’ll be gentle, dan. can’t say the same for him,” daniel’s face saddens more, “get home safe alright, dan? text me when you get there.”

“of, course,” daniel nods, “goodnight.”

you watch him walk into the elevator before closing the door. you turn the lock, and step forward until you can rest your forehead onto the cool wood. eventually, you push off the door and turn around to grab the water and ibuprofen from the settee and make your way to the bedroom. max is sitting at the foot of the bed, elbows on his knees and his head resting in his hands.

pausing, you place the water and meds on the nightstand first, then you sit next to him and lightly place your hand on his upper back, attempting to rub between his shoulder blades to provide comfort. max shrugs your hand off. you pause, blinking a few times trying to discover the best course of action. you decide to ignore the second blatant dismissal of the night, and pull his hand off his face and push him to sit up straight. you forcefully straddle his lap, ignoring his grumbles, and grab his face, thumbs resting on his cheeks and directing him to look straight at you.

“max, you’ve got to communicate with me here. i was terrified, when daniel called me! you refuse to talk about your dad with me, which is fine, okay? but you have to talk to somebody. whether it’s me, daniel, a therapist, christian, or even fucking helmut marko—you need to talk to someone. you’ve repressed this shit your whole life, and when whatever film you had over your eyes when looking at your father slipped away, you shut down completely? that can’t happen again! i don’t want it to happen again…daniel sounded completely fucking terrified—like he was afraid he broke you or something. and if you’re scaring me right now with how-h-how out of it you look, i can’t imagine what it was like for him,” you finish, taking a few deep breaths. max doesn’t say anything, just stares at you blankly.

you make a distressed groan, both hands releasing max’s face to rub at your eyes and drag down your cheeks. doing so, you continue talking, “max. you don’t even have to talk, baby, not to me at least. i don’t care if you journal, if you meditate, if you go goddamn axe throwing; but, you need to see a professional. cause, how your brain is coping, and how you’re rationalizing it isn’t good. you aren’t the problem, nothing you could’ve done differently would have made your dad change; you are not the problem, max, he is. okay? i’ve known you for fourteen years, and not once have i pressured the topic after you said that ‘you’re fine,’ but, you have to at least promise me that you’ll start doing something.”

max parts his lips, thinking about what to say, as you fully sit on his lap. you look at him with wide eyes filled with worry—with care— and you’re anxiously playing with the hairs on the nape of your neck.

“i don’t want to talk about it.”

“that’s not an option,” you state, with a furrowed brow, “can you at least tell me what caused the breakdown?”

and, that’s what gets get’s max going. his cheeks flush, and his eyes darken, and he starts talking with a firmer voice.

“it wasn’t a breakdown, first of all. i was just overwhelmed and overreacting. it’s nothing serious, like you’re pretending it is. i don’t need this—this false worry, showing up all of sudden when you know how the relationship between my father and i has been for all of the time we’ve known each other.”

you pull away, retreating off his lap and stand in front of him with your arms crossed over your chest.

“false worry?? that’s what you think this is,” you start with an exasperated tone, “max, ‘for all the time we’ve known each other’ all you’ve done is deflect from my questions about you two, or tell me that everything is fine when it’s clearly not! and i gave you the space you wanted, because i was afraid that you’d stop talking to me, that you’d stop trusting me. but now, as your boyfriend, i can’t let it go unaddressed anymore!”

“you already did for fourteen years! it shouldn’t be that difficult for you to keep ignoring it.”

“because you asked me to, max! you didn’t want to talk about it then, and you need to talk about it now! i don’t give a fuck if you don’t want to share it with me, but it needs to be with somebody!”

“i already told you I didn’t want to talk about it, yet you keep insisting!”

“that’s because i fucking care about you!”

“well, did i ask for you to care about me?”

you’re stunned silent. the room is filled with heavy breaths from the two of you. this might be the most serious argument you’ve had, in awhile, or ever.

it’s the third blatant dismissal of the night, and you’re calling it quits, daniel did tell you to be gentle, and if you keep going like this you’re word choice will become less gentle.

“you’re right,” you exhale, relaxing your clenched jaw, “you didn’t ask for me to care. and you shouldn’t have to ask for anybody to care. and, for some ‘unbelievable’ reason, i do happen to actually care,” you finish, your words dripping with exhaustion and defeat.

you walk around to the side of the bed, grabbing a pillow off the top and point at the nightstand, “the ibuprofen and water are for you. at least, finish one bottle before you go to bed, please.” you start walking towards the closet.

“wait,” max calls out, finally standing up with a confused look in his eyes, “why’d you grab a pillow?”

you grab a blanket out of the closet, and sigh, “i’m sleeping on the couch.”

“what? no-no you’re not,” max stutters out, disbelieving.

“uh, yes i am.”

“what, no! no, schatje, i’m sorry, please come to bed,” max utters out, looking absolutely heartbroken.

“i’m going to sleep on the couch, max,” you repeat, “if i go to bed, i won’t be able to not talk about it, and we’re clearly going to talk in circles about it. both of us are tired, frustrated, and mad, and we’re going to end up even angrier, so i’m going to sleep on the couch.”

max, crossing the room quickly, grabs at your waist with his large hands, and pleads, “if you’ve made up your mind about it, you can at least take the bed, i’ll sleep on the couch, schat.”

you, grab his hands off your waist, having to fight him a little bit for it (you may be a man, but your man is a professional athlete, you’ll be outmatched any day) and press them into his chest, “you’re still pretty drunk, max. i’ll let you take the bed so you can be comfortable, you seem like you’re going to have a pretty bad hangover, i can smell the alcohol on you still.”

max looks upset, but eventually concedes. you press your lips to his cheek, “i’ll see you in the morning, babe. then, with clearer minds we can talk, ‘kay?”

sassy baps jimmy on the face before nuzzling in between max’s legs, while jimmy makes to follow you out as you shut the door gently.

situating yourself on the couch, you squeeze your eyes shut. usually you’d be hugging max’s arm to your chest but tonight, jimmy is benevolent enough to leave his usual spot at your feet to fill in for max. even with the comfort the bengal’s purring body provides, you know you’re only in for a fitful night of sleep.

you wake up a few hours later, your body not able to keep you under for long you guess, as the early morning sun has barely started lightening the room. you take a minute to get your bearings, not used to waking up on the couch (in the past when you have accidentally fallen asleep on the couch, you magically wake up in bed laying on top of your boyfriend, how weird), and jimmy is no longer laying with you. he’s with max, who’s sitting on his floor below you, with his back facing you.

you rub at your eyes and whisper, “max?” he startles, and turns around to face you. his eyes have fresh bags underneath, his hair is still slightly damp from a shower, and you can tell he hasn’t gotten any sleep. even though you got a couple hours of shut-eye, the matching bags under your eyes prove that your sleep was restless.

“hey,” he whispers back sheepishly, “i know you told me to go to bed, but i couldn’t fall asleep. i only came out here a few minutes ago though, and i was just going to wait until you woke up in the morning.”

you sit up straight, and pull max onto the couch with you, “max, what? you could’ve at least layed down on the other couch, and not sit on the–”

max cuts you off.

“i just…couldn’t go to bed alone tonight, okay? i still feel raw–i think is the word for it. i’m exhausted and cried out, and the only person who can make me feel better is you right now. so i was just going to sit here, and be next to you, without disturbing you like you wanted, because being in your general vicinity already makes me feel better, even if you're mad at me.”

your mouth is left gaping, and you feel guilty now, your chest aches. leaving max at a time where he was vulnerable, even if you were right down the hallway–

“and, don’t feel bad about your decision to sleep out here. you decided that space was the best course of action for you, and you are probably right, because i was ready to argue with you,” max continues rambling, “honestly, you sleeping out here made me realize that i never want you to be angry with me like that, ever again. at first, i was scared that if i opened up about my relationship with my dad you would think i’m weak, or that you'd judge me for it, or that you’d leave me. but when i was in the shower earlier, i got really…scared.”

he pauses, taking a few deep breaths and you don’t make to interrupt him.

“i got scared because i thought you left me right now. that you lied to me about sleeping on the couch, and you were actually planning to leave. and, obviously you did not, you are still here right now but, it made me realize that i do need to talk to you. and that the reason i thought you were leaving was because of how i thought i scared you away with my issues. but i realize now, that the way i’ll scare you away is by not talking about my issues,” he turns to look at you with an earnest expression.

“so, if you are okay with it, i will talk to you. about everything, even though it may take me some time to work up the courage. i am uncomfortable with talking to a…professional, but i will, if you truly think it will help me. but i do not want to risk the chance that my refusal to communicate costs me a lifetime with you,” he ends.”

you stare at him blankly, and max begins to fidget at your silence. you lean forward and pull him into a hug, tears gathering in your eyes. he nestles his head in the crook of your neck, and presses gentle kisses into your skin.

“max, all i want is for you to talk to me about it. i want to share the burden you feel, and understand you better than the back of my hand. most of all, i hope having somebody who understands you to that depth makes you feel lighter, and validates your emotions.”

max says something, but it’s muffled by your body.

“what was that, baby?”

max pulls away to look at you with bashful eyes and pinkened cheeks, “you know i can’t imagine my life without you.”

“likewise,” you respond, just as meek.

“no, really. i've fallen in love with you,” he continues.

“max, you told me you loved me years ago,” you say laughingly.

“no, like, i’ve fallen in love with you again. everytime i think i can’t fall any deeper, you manage to prove me wrong,” he says intensely.

you pout at him, hands coming up to feel at your heated cheeks, “oh, max! stop, you’re going to make me cry. that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me. i fall in love with you again, everytime you finish a race, and come home to me. that you chose me as the man you want to see after a tiring race weekend, regardless of the outcome.

max smiles all teeth, “there’s no other person i want to share my highs and lows with. well, hopefully more highs than lows. i have the ring for you already, but i at least need to win eight championships before i retire so you’re able to marry a record-breaking champion. i am proposing to you this year though, i cannot wait any longer.”

you stare at him unseeing for a minute, and he looks awfully confused for a man who just announced his plans to give you his last name.

“max,” you start shakingly, “what do you mean you already have the ring?”

max’s carefree expression drops, and becomes pale, “what are you talking about? i never said anything about a ring–”

“you literally just did?! the part before you said you were proposing to me this year, and before becoming an eight-time world–”

max claps, cutting you off while standing up. he offers you his hand, “alright! we should go to bed now, right? together, yes that’s a great idea.”

taglist: @saintslewis @cherry2stems

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ashthemadwriter-archived · 11 months

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Two Peas In A Pod

—A blessing... or a calamity in disguise?

Fandom: Blue Lock

Pairing: Nagi X Fem!Reader

Genre: Crack, Humor, Horror

Format: Short fic

Warnings: Breast feeding, Jealousy, Probably ooc!Nagi

Word Count: 1.5K

A/n: Idk I just thought this would fit him lol. Might remind you of boss baby.

There are moments in life which can never be forgotten. Long awaited moments that leave a sweet velvety taste in your mouth and get engraved on your memory,

Moments like this.

Nagi is in hospital, standing next to the delivery room with his infant in his arms. He's wearing the most genuine smile he could ever wear, staring at his baby boy's angelic face. The baby has the tiniest hands ever that would get lost in his if he were to hold them, and the cutest chubby feet ever. He could just eat them right away.

"Wow Nagi, he looks just like you!" Reo says, smiling at the sight while snapping a picture. "You two are like two peas in the pod, except that his hair isn't long enough to be as messy as yours"

"I know. I did hope he'd take after y/n, but he's still cute"

Your husband looks so grown up like this with a baby in his hands. That's what makes Reo to snap another picture, this time in full frame of both Nagi and the baby. His smile is as soft as when he watched him saying his vow to you, and he can't help but to feel happy for his best friend.

"I'm gonna go get a cup of coffee and call Isagi and others. They've been waiting for the news"

"Ok"

Nagi's gaze doesn't leave the baby's face to follow Reo's footsteps walking away. He persistently stares at the baby's closed eyelids, wondering if they're hazel colored like his, or have the color of your eyes. Maybe it's a mixture of both, he thinks, if it's possible. He doesn't have to wait for long to find out though, because suddenly, the baby's eyelids start shuddering and in less than a second, they're wide open, displaying the warm chocolate brown color of his eye balls.

Every inch of his figure resembles his father. Even the look in his eyes is curious, just like Nagi's is right now.

"Welcome home, little thing. We're gonna have so much fun together, me and you"

…

"I don't think that's gonna happen"

Nagi doesn't know whether he should believe his ears, or his eyes. A talking baby? That's a miracle! Babies don't start talking until they're two years old, but this one in his arms was definitely the one talking a little while before, since his intense stare is piercing through Nagi's heart.

I must have very strong genes.

"What do you mean, that's not gonna happen?"

"Oh sorry, I guess I wasn't being clear on the matter" The baby speaks in a semi-grown up voice. "I meant that, you won't be having much fun from now on"

"How come?"

The baby's innocent expression is all gone. Now there's a straight yet devilish look on his face which Nagi doesn't find charming. "I thought you would already figure out that much, but I guess I was wrong. Heh...what a pain"

"Stop giving me that shit and tell me already"

"You don't care much for sharing; do you, my dear father?"

Oh.

Nagi doesn't like where this is going. He feels an unwelcoming sense of threat in his heart.

"So what? Are you saying you're gonna steal y/n from me?"

"No..."

The grin on the baby's face isn't casual. All of a sudden, Nagi doesn't find a single thing resembling him. The baby looks more like... Light Yagami from death note, the blond version.

"...I'm saying that I already have"

This can't be happening.

"Tough luck. You'll never be able to split us off. Y/n's love for me is boundless. I'm her one and only"

"You were her one and only" His gums are visible through his demonic smirk. "Now that I'm here, you won't get a quarter of the attention you used to receive. From now on, I'll be the one who sleeps in her arms at— well all the time. She'll always be near me, looking after me since I'm just a fragile little thing. The time she used to spend alone with you is gonna be limited to less than ten minutes, and your share of affection will also be mine. Even if you two do get the time to be alone with each other, she'll be too exhausted to even look at your face. She wouldn't miss it, since she gets to be with me all the time"

The world comes crashing down on the white haired man. Through his storming mind, he can see himself curled up under the strangely ice cold blanket while staring at you frustratingly, asking you to get in the bed with him already. But standing on the other side of the room, it feels like you're a thousand miles away, voice barely making its way to his hear yet so destructively striking him, saying you have to put the baby to sleep first. Even after doing that, you're so tired that you pass out on the bed before Nagi can even lay a finger on you.

"Not only that, I'm gonna take away all the other things you enjoy as well"

Another illusion appears before his eyes, only this time he's sitting on the couch, and you're standing in front of him, wearing a somewhat annoyed expression.

"I'm sorry Sei, but we can't afford to buy more video games anymore. We have to start saving up for Light's college"

No.... that can't be real. He can't give up on his video games for a serial killer's his child's future. That's absurd. You're not expecting him to do that, are you? You know how video games are important to him.

"Just you wait my stupid father, I will take everything you cherish in your life, and it starts from this very moment, with your most loved one"

His most... loved one?

Just as he's about to ask the little demon about his intention, the door to the room opens and a nurse comes out. "Alright! It's the baby's lunch time"

No. Not that.

"His lunch time? You mean, y/n's gonna feed her...?"

Nagi's voice is shivery, like he didn't know about how the babies drink milk. The nurse is a little taken aback by that, but still keeps her smile on.

"Yes sir, he needs to be fed right now, so if I may..." She reaches out to take the baby from his embrace, but fails when Nagi steps back.

"You... can't do that. I mean, this baby looks like he should drink formula milk instead of breast milk. It'll be better for him"

"The hell are you talking about, Nagi? Let the nurse take him to y/n" Reo suddenly appears next to him, giving him a questioning look.

"No— You don't understand— I—"

"What's up with you man? Here, ma'am; take the little thing to his mommy"

Nagi feels all the misery existing in the world raining on him as he watches the nurse take the infant to you. Reo looks away when you pull up your hospital gown to reveal the enchanting sight of your breast that are bigger than usual and are full of milk, all ready to be devoured in the baby devil's throat. This is it. The beginning of his torment, the sight of his most comforting treasure being possessed by another person, shattering his heart into a zillion pieces.

"No..."

The baby squeezes your right nipple with his hand, letting out a small whine.

"Stop it... No..."

You softly caress his cheek and baby talk him to enjoy his meal.

Why can't all of you people see his devilish smirk?

"No..."

The baby looks at him from the corner of his eyes. He's taking his most special thing, his stress balls, his warm pillows he snuggles his face into at nights, his soft squishies he plays with whenever he's bored, his delicious jello balls he sucks on to help him go to sleep...

"No... No... No..."

You hold your left boob and snuggle him closer to help him drink, and he helps himself out, by brutally taking it into his mouth.

It happens.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

Then Nagi wakes up from his sleep.

Through his blurry vision, he recognizes his room in the middle of the night, and of course, your kind hand on his shoulder.

"Sei? Are you ok sweetheart?"

Nagi keeps panting. He hurriedly looks around the room to see any sign of the baby, but thankfully, he finds nothing. He can't ignore the cute bump of your belly under your oversized T-shirt though.

"Y/n?"

"Yeah?"

"If the baby looks like me we'll give it away"

"Excuse me??!"

Want to be added to my tag list?

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shiftylinguini · 8 months

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Fuck I Can't Write Crisis Pack:

@phoebe-delia asked in response to this fun lil ask game:

Do you have any advice for getting out of a slump/getting writing confidence back? . (for the ask anything) Do you have any advice for getting out of a slump/getting writing confidence back?

Now THIS. This is a good question, and something that is very much on my mind and has been for a while, as I am currently absolutely in the midst of this and trying to army crawl my way out. I don't have any magic bullets (is that the saying? idk) but I have been here before and i do have a small arsenal of tips or methods that I find can help me.

Here is my Fuck I Can't Write Crisis Pack (In no particular order):

Write anything

This is hardly groundbreaking advice, and it's also the hardest thing to actually do (imo) so do not beat yourself up if it takes a while to get to this. Basically, write ANYTHING―it can be aimless, it can be pointless, it can be crap (crap is subjective!! don't let the brain gremlins win!!).

Don't think about posting it, don't worry about anyone else ever reading it, just fling a few words onto a page and feel the rusty faucet turn on, proving to yourself that it still works.

Try and sus out what it is that's blocking you

Again this one is hard and annoying but functional. Once you can put your finger on the particular reason you're staring at a flashing black line on a blank page it can help you kick that reason off your lawn and into the bin.

And then, take it out of the bin and be kind to yourself about whatever that reason is. Maybe you feel shit because you're comparing yourself to others, your last fic felt like a lead balloon, you can't muster enthusiasm for what you once loved doing and fear that it's gone forever, you're projecting in a Tumblr post―whatever it is, it's something all the writers you admire and aspire to be like have felt, and been annoyed with themselves for, and so you can wrap it up in a blanket and put it on a shelf and be kind to it so it, (respectfully) shuts the fuck up.

(and remember, everyone feels insecure about their stuff. Like literally everyone, at some stage, feels like their stuff is rubbish)

Cheat on your OTP

Okay this one might not work for everyone, but it really does for me lol. Ruts (not the sexy kind) can often come with not wanting to engage in my usual ships, being annoyed by my lack of ability to fucking write them/anything/all my ideas taste like cardboard/bleh, and stepping out on them and reading something new can snap me out of it. Just, an injection of new ideas or scenarios or words or even just a little reprieve from being fed up with myself, which ideally, is why we're all here anyway.

(And then I come crawling back, and am welcomed with open arms haha)

In a similar vein:

Engage in media

This subtitle is genuinely terrible, i am sorry, LMAO, but essentially: find a piece of media that makes you go "oh, helLO sailor", unhinge your jaw like a snake, and consume it whole.

Let it nourish you, inspire you, excite you, making you feel SOMETHING, and then take that and think "fuck, what if i wrote bleepbloopblarp" and even if you write nary a single word, you've thought about it and that fucking counts.

It might be an album, a book, a song, a show, gifs of a hot person, the wikipedia summary of a movie, literally anything counts here if it makes you feel a twinge of creativity.

Ask yourself, what would Astolat do?

No for real. @candybarrnerd and I genuinely use this haha.

Worried your idea is stupid? Astolat would say write it.

Worried it's too weird? Nah, just write it.

It's dumb and no one will read it? Just write it for you *waggles eyebrows* (and then find out that yeah, nah, someone else will absolutely read this and be real fucking happy about it haha.)

Worried you're a one trick pony and have already written this fic before, like, and not even once before, and also you're projecting again in Tumblr post? WRITE IT AGAIN! As Astolat once said, "it's a fic so nice, I wrote it thrice".

It's good advice.

Make a friend or lean hard on the ones you have here

Misery loves company because it knows they'll come out of this together :). I know, I know, that's fucking NAFF, but fandom is all about finding like-minded freaks and blowing up their DMs because you saw a gif and now feel a kind of ways about it.

And lastly:

FUCK STATS!

I mean I love stats (yay validation!), but god can they make you feel like a worthless shit (hey where did my validation go :((( ). It can be really insidious, so piss that right off when it starts to fuck with your confidence or outlook on your own writing.

Hopefully there is something useful here, even if it's just looking at this advice and thinking "no that's shit, it's writing POISON" cos then you can maybe do the version you think is NOT shit, and that might work.

Good luck, fellow travelers!!

#thank you for this ask #this turned into projected cathrsis but i hope this helps if you are possibly feeling in a slump!!#on fic #writing #writing advice #our lord and saviour astolat #shifty turns an innocent ask into a therapy session #also is there a fucking name for the flashing space bar line on a word doc LMFAO there has to be right?? i do not know what it is

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purinfelix · 4 months

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by midnight ⋆⭒˚｡⋆⊹₊ ⋆

pairing: carlos sainz x reader summary: you find yourself at one of the hottest parties on campus, eager to land a kiss before New Year strikes to avoid bad luck warnings: none w/c: 2.3k

a/n: i can't believe this is my first proper carlos fic even tho he's my fav driver - also is this a uni au ?? college au ?? sort of idk ... anw hope you all enjoy this and i wish you all a happy new year !! <333

As you stood in the corner of the dimly lit room, with no company other than the half-empty glass of red wine you’d been cradling for the past hour, you were beginning to question what you were doing at this New Year’s Eve party in the first place.

Of course, your mind was quick to point to the obvious reason - you had come because your friend asked you to. Because she had burst into your dorm room about a week ago with a sparkle in her eye and an invite to a party hosted by what she referred to as ‘high profile university elites’, which you understood as ‘popular kids who were yet to realise they’d already peaked in high school’. Nonetheless, her eagerness and incessant begging had somehow convinced you to trail along with her to the party and the numerous shopping trips preceding it.

You had to admit, there was a tiny part of you that was excited about it. You enjoyed going out and the occasional dance session but after an extremely stressful university semester you weren’t sure you could handle any more chaos or drama. But it was something different, something interesting - something to look forward to in the break routine your life had become. Especially since your friend seemed very insistent on the possibility of you meeting some new “hot singles”, and whilst the dig at your uneventful love life didn’t go unnoticed you let it slip considering it wasn’t entirely untrue.

Maybe it was this possibility that had urged you to tag along with her, despite not knowing any of the hosts or people she had listed out. However, if it weren’t for her constant reassurance that she would be at your side the entire night, you probably wouldn’t be standing at the front door of whatever unlucky house had been chosen to host the event, so dressed up you felt a little silly. Your hands trembled slightly at your sides and you felt stupid at how nervous you were. But, as the door opened for you by a boy who looked like he had already had too much to drink from his crooked tie, you swallowed your nerves and reminded yourself that even if you knew no on else, you had your friend to lean on.

At least, until a mere hour had passed into the party and she was nowhere to be found. She had told you she was going to go introduce herself to some other people and that she’d be back to meet you in the corner where she had left you. And the last you saw of her she had been standing a little too close to a guy you vaguely recognised from one of your marketing lectures, and hand ultimately decided best to leave her to enjoy herself - even if that meant awkwardly taking up space, biding your time, and avoiding eye contact with anyone.

Your friend had discussed at length, and much to your dismay, about how this wasn’t just any old New Year’s Eve party like one thrown at a frat house. Rather this was one organised by your university’s wealthiest, most popular, most talented students - which had been one of your biggest turn-offs from it initially. And as you leant against the corner of some vintage-looking wallpaper, you couldn’t help but observe the atmosphere that reeked of elitism, snobbery and daughter laughter. People around you chattered away without cares in the world, donning clothes that surely came from stores you weren’t wealthy enough to know of. Others danced in the centre of the dimly lit room, some moving with elegance and others waved their arms around, drunk on a mixture of whatever expensive bottles their peers had brought.

But, to your surprise, there was something - or rather someone - that managed to catch your eyes from the other side of the room. It was what seemed like the only other person not involved in some sort of conversation, dance circle, or the lips of whatever partner they had brought. And it seemed he had noticed you too by the way his deep brown eyes had locked onto yours, even in the shadowy lighting from where he sat on the cough. He was handsome, there was certainly no denying it, especially not when the eye contact and the slight quirk of his lips alone were enough to make your heart rate quicken. You took a shaky sip from your glass, watching as he ran a large hand through his dark hair that was styled in a way you could only describe as ‘princely’, the gold cufflinks on his shirt sleeve flashing as he did.

He’s way out of your league and your tax bracket, you remind yourself. But there’s something about the way this handsome stranger is looking at you that makes you feel compelled to him. Almost like he’s cast an invisible string around your waist and is slowly pulling you towards him. A grandfather clock in the corner tells you there’s less than half an hour until midnight and the strike of New Year’s, and until you can get out of here without missing too much. Half an hour to work up the courage to go up to him, talk to him, to do anything other than stand her paralysed under his intense, yet insanely attractive, gaze.

Your feet unstick themselves and go to take a step in his direction, until your friend appears suddenly around the corner, her hand already on your wrist. She’s talking to you about some people you “just have to meet”, half dragging you with her to the kitchen. But your eyes are still stuck on him, and he watches you go with an expression that’s equal parts amused and disappointed that your charged staring competition didn’t last longer.

You find yourself in a circle with three other people, forcing a smile on your face and trying your best to act as if you care while your friend introduces you to them. One’s an engineering major, the other in medicine, and the last you can’t even bother to remember, your brain busied with plans on how to get back to the lounge, and the handsome stranger. You nod incessantly as your new company drones on about final exams and papers, eager to have the conversation done with you.

“Well, seems like there’s not much time left until midnight,” one of them says, which catches your attention, and your friend laughs along.

“And you know what they say about a New Year’s kiss, hm?” she chimes in, “that failing to lock lips with anyone after the countdown will bring in a whole new year of loneliness!” She nudges your arm and you swallow the urge to make some excuse, settling on rolling your eyes with a resigned smile.

“You found the lucky guy yet?” the engineering major says, looking directly at you with a suggestive sort of look.

As if summoned by the question, you spot something out of the corner of your eye. A familiar tuft of dark hair snakes its way around the kitchen hallway - it’s him. Now that the two of you are standing you truly get a sense of how tall he is, and you can definitely see that the dark suit he’s wearing is doing his figure justice. He moves quickly, purposefully, as he pours himself another drink and is already making his way out of the kitchen. Though, not before looking back and shooting you a quick smile. The sight renders you incapable of speech and basic function, as you go to take a sip of your own drink and instead spill your glass’ remains onto your dress.

Your little circle erupts into groans and worried cries, your friend trying her best to laugh off the total fool you’ve made of yourself in front of them. Luckily though, it seems the handsome stranger didn’t stay long enough to witness your little accident, so you don’t mind too much as your friend ushers you off to one of the bathrooms, pushing past bodies that move along to the pulsing music. Your head throbs as your friend shoves you in and shuts the door behind her.

“I can’t believe you,” she sighs, grabbing handfuls of toilet paper and throwing them at you as you sit on the closed toilet seat, “that was so embarrassing, and you’ve completely ruined the dress we spent ages picking at.”

You clearly couldn’t care less as you dab at the large stain on your dress with indifference, as she paces back and forth and waves her hands around to express her frustration.

“It’s really not that big of a deal, they all seemed like assholes anyways,” you mutter. Your quip seems to calm her down as she takes a seat on the bathtub rim. She takes a moment to glance at her phone in her hand before letting out a tired sigh.

“And now there’s less than three minutes until midnight and neither of us is getting a New Year’s kiss.”

“There’s nothing keeping you in here with me, you know,” you say, a smile in your voice as you watch her expression turn hopeful.

“You really wouldn’t mind?”

“I mean, I don’t really want to spend New Year’s Eve alone but I don’t want you to as well, I think I’ll manage.”

She lets out a squeal, pulling you in for a quick hug whilst being careful not to get any of the red wine you’ve spilled on your dress onto hers.

“I’ll meet you outside in half an hour,” is the last thing she says to you before turning and leaving the bathroom to rejoin the crowd that’s formed to count down the seconds until midnight. It’s almost funny that you’re alone once more, only now with a gigantic red stain and under the harsh white light of this lavishly decorated bathroom. Sitting back against the toilet, you close your eyes and try your best to enjoy this moment of peace, and ignore the fact that this may just signal another year of loneliness - as your friend mentioned. You can hear the partygoers outside getting ready, pulling out tiny confetti canons and ushering others into the lounge.

“10!”

“9!”

Suddenly, the door opens and you jerk up to scold your unwelcome intruder. That is until you notice it’s him, the handsome stranger. He looks equally surprised to see you until you realise he probably wasn’t expecting anyone to be sitting alone in the bathroom during the countdown to New Year’s. Your throat is dry but you still manage to croak out some form of a response.

“What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he says, and you notice he’s almost panting. You gesture to the stain on your dress with an expression that says “duh”.

“Oh, right, well I just wanted to get away from all the chaos and loudness, you know.”

“8!” The crowd outside keeps going, and they seem to be getting louder.

“You didn’t find any lucky girl to kiss when midnight struck?” you say, trying your best to make light of how insanely awkward this interaction is. He rubs the back of his neck and looks down at his feet shyly.

“Well I did, she was standing in the corner of the room all alone,” he takes a couple of steps towards you and his voice is sheepishly quiet.

“7!”

“She sounds like a loner,” you retort and he lets out a dry laugh. You’re trying to play it cool and act as if you’re not dying to just kiss him already, because you know that’d be too forward, especially for someone like you at a party like this.

“Well, I thought she was beautiful, at least until she got dragged away by her friend.”

“6!”

“Really?”

“Yeah, but then I saw her later in the kitchen talking to some guys and figured she’d be more interested in them.”

“5!”

“I’m sure they were boring,” you decide to play along with his game.

“Really?”

“Yeah, and I’m sure she would’ve much rather been talking to you instead of them, and hearing her friend talk about how if she didn’t kiss someone by midnight she’d have to deal with another year of being single,” this catches his attention, his eyebrow quirking up alongside a smirk spreading across his face.

“Really?”

“4!”

“Yep, until she spilled a bunch of wine on this dress she bought and ended up in the bathroom trying to clean it off.”

“3!”

”Sounds unfortunate.” He’s towering over you now, looking down at you with a softness in his eyes and a playfulness in his tone.

“Extremely.”

“2!”

You finally find the strength to stand up too, and almost immediately his hand finds its way around a strand of your hair, twirling it absent-mindedly. It moves to your cheek, then your chin, which he cups softly so that he can look into your eyes properly. You feel on fire underneath his touch. At this distance, he’s breathtaking. His eyes are almost enchanting and you feel tiny underneath their gaze, swallowing a lump nervously. He watches you intently, eyes flickering between his own and your lips - it’s clear what he’s thinking.

“1!”

The crowd outside erupts into cheers and the popping of confetti canons, but you’ve forgotten about them immediately as his lips crash into yours with a passion you realise haven’t experienced in a while. It’s not forceful though, it’s too perfect to be anything else. His hands snake around your body and support you - almost lifting you up into him, and you let him, your body turned to jelly under his touch. All the night’s eye contact, the silent messaging, the tension, has been squeezed into this single kiss and it just about knocks you off of your feet. Finally though, your lips separate, and you feel so dazed you can hardly form words.

“Carlos,” he says heavily.

“Huh?” you mumble, mind still processing.

“My name, my name is Carlos.”

“Oh, right, Happy New Year Carlos.”

#carlos sainz #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz oneshot #carlos sainz jr #cs55 #ferrari #formula one #carlos sainz fanfic #formula one fanfic #f1 #purinfelix #jet writes ★

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ihni · 3 months

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Okay so I read a fic (in another fandom) that made me think, and this morning I woke up with ready-made fic idea in my head which I will ABSOLUTELY NOT WRITE, I have too many WIPs already, so I'll just ... write it all out here and then hope that's enough to get it out of my head.

So! Harringroveson-ish. Very rough, train-of-thought style.

Imagine Eddie and Steve smoking together and hooking up on the regular, because they both live in a small town and it's difficult and risky to find another guy who's willing to fool around in small-town Hawkins. So they've been doing it for a while, and they have fun and like each other kind of a lot and are comfortable with each other and all even though they keep it on the downlow for obvious reasons.

And then Billy Hargrove rolls into town, and he's mesmerizing and both Steve and Eddie can't really keep away from him. But Billy's acting so über straight that surely, none of them have a chance, right? So they may talk about him when they're together (for the Thrill or Sexytimes of it, idk), but they don't really think they have a chance. Until they start realizing that Billy's eyes ... wanders, if he thinks no one is watching. So they start talking about it, about trying to see if they can seduce him to the gay side of Hawkins, and it's mostly a joke between them, to get the other riled up when they're together; talking about what they'd do to him if they could. Because Billy's always taking girls out, and he's got quite the reputation - SURELY he's got a lot of sexual experience and would be up for whatever, right?

And like, they both think that THEY'd be the one to succeed to sway Billy over. Steve thinks that since he's the former King Steve and plays sports with Billy and they hang out in the same circles, of course he'd have luck with the guy than Eddie, but Eddie claims that with the music Billy listens to and the car he's got, he's obviously got more in common with Eddie than Steve ...

So they make a bet. Mostly as a joke, but a bet nonetheless; Which one of them will bed Billy first?

Meanwhile, Billy is of course secretly gay and has been moved to a closed-minded town against his will by his abusive dad for being found out just kissing another boy, and even though he's secretly eyeing both the former King of Hawkins High and the King of the Freaks, he does not fool himself into thinking something will happen. He can't allow himself to show a single sign of his preferences. So he takes girls out on dates, a string of them, and he parties and he flirts and he wraps Hawkins around his thumb, and only shows the careful mask he has created, and not an ounce of the real Billy, because he wants to live until graduation, thank you very much.

He had planned to just keep his head above water and survive until he could get the hell out of town, but that gets increasingly difficult when the two guys who he's been eyeing start to approach him. Trying to be friends? Trying to throw him off? Or ... check out the competition? Billy's not sure what's going on here, but he knows it's messing with his mask and his composure. Harrington didn't use to play this hard in gym, did he? Rubbing up on Billy like he is, now. Didn't use to smile at him and talk to him and like, stretch out in the shower after practice. And Munson had kept his distance until then, so what's up with the way he suddenly appears whenever Billy's sneaking off for a smoke, offering a good price on weed and inviting Billy to see his band play?

So, Steve and Eddie do their best to seduce Billy, mostly as a challenge between the two of them, but when they notice that Billy gets flustered when they touch him or lets his gaze for a little too long when they do things like stretch or lick their lips and so on, they start to suspect that this could actually happen. It's not so far-fetched as they might have thought. So they talk, and find it very exhilerating to imagine that maybe they both actually stand a chance, here ... but of course, the bet is still on. Who will have him first?

Billy's only human. And gay. And desperately alone in this sea of people, since no one knows the real him. So he's falling for it, even if he's hesitant and afraid (because of Neil, because of what if this is an elaborate prank, and also partly because all that he's done with a boy thus far has been kissing (Your choice as to what he has actually done with girls)).

Maybe both Eddie and Steve are getting bolder, right about now. Putting the moves on Billy, so that there's no mistaking their intentions. And Billy is tempted, so very tempted - but also so very scared. He backs off, or draws back, or maybe stammeringly mentions that his dad would kill him if he found out. "He's not gonna find out," whoever is with him says, but Billy bites his lip. Hesitates. Shakes his head.

But like, of course, eventually one of them - Steve or Eddie, your pick - succeeds. Billy gives in, gives up, throws caution to the wind. He gets to sleep with at least one of his crushes, and it's GOOD, it's so much better than he could have ever imagined sex to be and he can't believe he's so lucky that he gets to have this.

And of course whoever won the bet is thrilled. Both because they got to fuck Billy (who they are realizing that they LIKE, just like they like their other boyfriend), but also because of the thrill of winning the bet. So after, directly after or the morning after, your choice, they hurry back to their boyfriend to gloat about their win. Maybe they have to look for him, though, so they don't find him right away. Because of course for PLOT REASONS we need Billy to be at that place, too - feeling light, happy, and for the first time not feeling like a prisoner in this town - and overhearing. Overhearing the gloating, the "I won our bet" and "yup, fucked him good" and the "he was so sweet, you should have seen him". And then, for added angst, of course Billy sees the two of them kissing, making out. Looking very busy and into each other.

Billy should be angry, but he's so shocked and gutted that he can't bring up even a spark of anger.

And I want them to spot him there. Realize, by the paleness of his face, that he heard every word. That he thinks they've used him, made fun of him - and they kind of HAVE. But when they break apart and turn horrified eyes on him, Billy turns and runs. They go after him, try to stop him, but oh THERE's that anger (bubbling up to hide the HURT), so he rips himself out of their grip and snarls at them not to TOUCH HIM. Maybe he yells at them, for using him and stringing him along and making him think he meant something when really he was just a pawn, just a game. Maybe he doesn't say ANYTHING, just blinks away tears and leaves. I don't know which is worse.

But he leaves, and they feel horrible. They realize that they fucked up BIG TIME, they should have approached this differently, they never should have made that bet. They talk (again) and realize that they actually DO both like him, and they want him with THEM, all three o f them together. They decide to try to make things right, somehow. Explain to Billy, grovel at his feet etc.

But oh, it's not that easy of course. Because Neil has gotten wind of Billy being seen with some boy (maybe a neighbor saw him when either Eddie or Steve reached for his hand or pressed a kiss to his cheek or something, in the late stages of the seduction), and he punishes Billy for it. Severly. Billy's home from school for a week, recovering. Steve and Eddie thinks he's avoiding them, but eventually put their foot down like, enough is enough, if he doesn't come to us we'll come to him, so they go to his house.

Thankfully, Neil isn't home. But Billy is. And when he opens the door, still black and blue, they are horrified. Billy is afraid that anyone will see them and tells them to go, and even scrapes up some anger and tells them that this is their fault, which shuts down their attempts at apologies, and then slams the door in their face.

Eddie and Steve do some more talking, maybe some minor stake-outs. Realizes that when Billy said his dad would kill him, he meant it, and if the man knew what Billy had done, Billy might be lying dead in a ditch somewhere. They feel bad (as they should, and also because this is my fic and I live for the guilt).

In the end, I think they'd have to find a way to get Billy out of his abusive household, as a way to prove they are sorry, and that they're serious about him. Maybe they set something up to make sure Neil gets caught in the act, maybe they involve the police, maybe they blackmail the man or threaten him somehow. I don't care how. But they get Billy SAFE. And THEN they grovel. As they damn well should.

And I hope that eventually, they manage to convince Billy that in fact, they were BOTH into him from the start, and the bet was just a way for them to dare to act on it. They both wanted him, with them both. And they still want him.

And maybe Billy might just be lonely enough to eventually believe them.

#harringroveson #billy hargrove #steve harrington #eddie munson #fic idea i will never write #would kill to read it though!#up for adoption if anyone wants it #i'm not even being nice about it; this is me kicking this idea to the curb and letting it fend for itself on the harsh streets of fandom #in order to sleep and NOT add to my WIP pile

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kana-de · 9 months

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★ summary: wanderer x gn!reader. you find solace not only in your cautiousness, but in him too. more than in your cautiousness, in fact.

☆ cw: sfw. fluff. intended/implied romantic relationships in the end. terms of feeling unsafe in your own house. safety anxiety. 976 words.

req (msg) from @ahtopoteyto :

"sooo i was trying to request Scara/Wanderer (your choice of era) with a reader who can't really sleep because they don't feel safe. Like they can have all the door and windows locked tight but still won't feel safe enough to sleep. But once they start having Scara/Wanderer in their presence they start sleeping easier cause they feel safer with him around.

ALSO you write Scara comfort SO good i plucked my hair out while reading your thunderstorm fic :D"

☾ a/n: thank uu!! glad you liked it, but I feel this one is kinda lazy idk｡⁠•́⁠︿⁠•̀⁠｡

"your cautiousness will have you going crazy someday." wanderer once said.

that time, you had nothing to reply with.

your home, your lovely home, once a calming and reassuring abode, now clogged without a single free gap. your panic has driven you to the point where you simply check even the most secluded corners of your house, finally making sure that there is no danger. for now.

upon arrival, you promptly secure the doors and windows, ensuring every possible entry point is locked and closed, even checking of the curtains are shut. your anxiety becomes palpable, emanating from you like an invisible force. wanderer observes your actions with a mixture of curiosity and concern. he has noticed and noted aloud your unease before, but never delved into the depths of your anxiety.

silently, he observes your anxious movements, recognizing familiar signs of someone who has long lived in fear. the way you carry yourself, always on guard, speaks volumes. though he can't deny the slight flutter in his heart seeing your trust in him.

as you finish securing the house, he watches you with a contemplative gaze, wondering if the lingering presence of his past transgressions has inadvertently assuaged your own insecurities. it's a notion that conflicts with his self-perception as a harbinger of danger and mistrust.

wanderer takes a moment to assess the surroundings. the dimly lit room exudes an air of calm, shielded from the prying eyes of the outside world. the soft glow of the lamps creates a warm, comforting atmosphere, contrasting with your lingering anxiety.

with the curtains drawn, effectively concealing the interior, you appear to relax, your shoulders easing their tensed posture with a sigh that comes out. wanderer takes a moment to examine your expression, his violet eyes piercing as he studies you intently.

you kindheartedly gesture for him to sit at the table, his favourite bitter tea still hot in the cup. you make yourself comfortable in front of him, making a cup of tea for yourself then. a second after you look down at wanderer's clothing, your gaze lingers on the small shining of his anemo vision, before you shake it off.

"you act as though the whole world is out to get you. does closing your windows and locking your doors bring you any kind of solace?" his tone carries a mix of amusement and an underlying, lingering feeling of genuine concern.

you maintain a small pause, thinking about the answer. "solace..." you think. something you haven't felt for a long time already.

"a week after i started doing.... all of this, i started sleeping with my bedroom door open and unlocked, which is... something i have never done. it might seem like needless self-soothing for the problem of paranoia, but..." you shrug, pursing your lips in a thin line, not finding any more words to explain without getting into details.

"if it’s something or someone in your home that makes you feel unsafe, you need to find a way out. if it’s something, fix it. if it’s someone, be somewhere else. things that make you unsafe can usually be fixed." you continue, words carrying a sense of knowledge tp the situation. "people that make you unsafe usually cannot."

"then why would you let me inside?" the emphasis on the 'me' was evident, yet his curiosity got the better of him. he then chuckled, giving out a small smile that he hid with bringing up his cup to his lips. "do i make you feel safer or what?" his question was clearly intended as a joke, but you couldn't help but freeze at his words, the realisation hitting you immediately - yes, wanderer does make you feel safer.

you don't understand what exactly makes you feel that way, but you know for sure that when he's here - there's no need to fear or be scared. his presence hugs you like a shelter of protection and as a sanctuary of security, washing away all possible panic that intended to boil at the core of your creation almost 24/7.

"yes." you finally asnwer, a warm undertone in your voice clearly heard. you grab your a cup of tea, and bring it to your face even if it's already empty, just to hide your embarrassment and rosy cheeks. "you... do make me feel safer. i don't know how to explain it."

wanderer freezes, swallowing a lump in his throat. his eyes widen and eyebrows raise, staring at you as he puts the cup away.

"i... see." he finally replies, seemingly in thoughts.

you? feeling safer with him? there's absolutely no way-

in comparison to him, his past life and his past put together, you are a literal angel, descended from heaven to announce a devil like him that he will spend the rest of his immortal days boiling in hell. but, to his surprise, it's nothing like that.

instead, you're here, telling him that he's basically the most comfortable and aafe person in your entire life- is he dreaming?

"you... do you want me to-" the words catch in wanderer's throat, and he coughs a few times to keep himself composed in front of you. he continues talking in a much quieter and softer tone of voice, seemingly embarrassed by what he has to offer. "do you want me to spend more time with you?.. so you will feel safer more often."

now it's your turn to widen your eyes, and then lower your head, contemplating everything. it takes you a few seconds to process his question, and when you finally look up at him again - his face is bright red, and he covers in with his hand, elbow on the table. you find it hard to hold back the urge to chuckle, but manage nonetheless.

"of course, wanderer. that would be amazing."

in fact, he wants you to go crazy not over your cautiousness, but over him.

#kunikuzushi x reader #wanderer x reader #genshin x you #kunikuzushi x you #wanderer x you #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin fluff #wanderer fluff #scara x reader #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x reader

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wangxianficfinder · 4 months

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Fic Finder

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1. Hi, me again!! Returning to your amazing site!! I hope you can help me find this fic!! I'm looking for a fic where WWX doesn't die in his first life, but he ends up in a paperman and in Yummeng they have to find a way to returning him to his body!! Please help!! Be well :) @monicaop21

NOT FOUND! 🧡 a paper friend by soft_wanning (G, 4k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fluff, Paperman!WWX, Identity Porn, Meet-Cute, Different First Meeting) I'm not sure this is right but I'd thought I'd mention it just in case - Mod C

I remember this one but can't find it! Iirc, WWX was in a coma in Lotus Pier, but the rest of the cultivation world was told he was dead. Can't remember how his spirit ended up in a paperman, but all the Lotus Pier people knew, and eventually LWJ figured it out when he was visiting for a cultivation conference or something. I think they were trying to figure out how to get WWX back into his body when MXY did his ritual and WWXs spirit was pulled out of the paperman and everyone freaked out that he'd died for real this time

FOUND!🔒 something like by silversshadow (T, 69k, WangXian, XuanLi, SongXiao, Canon Divergence, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Temporary Character Death)

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2. Hi!! Thank you for all your hardwork here.

I was looking for this fic where Wei Wuxian doesn't get adopted by the Jiangs.( I'm not sure if it was because he retained his memories of his earlier life.) Anyway... he gets the Dafan Wens at Yiling and closes Yiling with a barrier that no one can break through.

At some point Lan Wangji comes by and meets Wei Wuxian and there's a little bit of an identity crisis happening because Wuxian doesn't want to tell Wangji who he is but the smart Lan figures it out (I think lol) Also the war happens (again not so sure) but anyway all the sects comes to ask for refuge at Yiling.

The part I remember really well is where The Jiangs come by boat and Yu furen is her usual self with her condescending attitude.

I also remember a section where, towards the beginning, Wuxian actually cures the Burial mounds and like the entire village just loves him and takes care of him because he's such an angel.

Please find this for me cuz I went through 115 pages in my history and still couldn't find it. @poetic-writes

FOUND? The Devil That You Forgot by pottedplnt (Not Rated, 20k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, BAMF WWX, YLLZ WWX, Rogue Cultivator WWX, WWX Isn't Adopted by the Jiāngs, Angst, Sentient Burial Mounds, Demonic Cultivation, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sunshot Campaign, Chronic Pain, JFM and YZY Bashing, Bad Parent YZY, Jiāng Family Bashing)

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3. hiii for the next FF I’m looking for a modern wangxian fic where wy is a toymaker and LZ is a writer and single father to lsz. It’s largely comfort where wy reintroduces LZ to the magic of imagination I think and idk if it’s only where i stopped but the most recent scene was lz’s mother being stuck in the hospital. I also rmb that wy couldn’t leave the toy shop for long. @crazy-gay-killxr

FOUND! Pure Imagination by Witch_Nova221 (T, 119k, wangxian, LXC/NMJ, JYL/JZX, LSZ LWJ & WWX, modern w magic, Romance, Toys, Toy maker, Magic, Found Family, Family Feels, Family Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hospitals, Mentions of Cancer, Minor Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Loss of Parent(s))

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4. Hi!! Thanks for your work, I have been looking for a fic I read I while ago. It is a MDZSxTGCF crossover, it starts with Wei Ying arriving to ghost city after his death and Hualian finding him (I'm pretty sure he calls Xie Lian an angel at some point). Some time later, Lan Zhan travels to the ghost city to find Wei Ying, he doesn't find him but Hua Cheng lent him some luck so they can reunite soon.

Thank again for everything!!! @jesuqueso

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5. hi! im looking for a fic where the juniors of lotus pier think wwx gives the worst punishment. in reality, wwx just deliveres them to the most appropriate adult to deal with it. like if the best punishment would be "im not mad just disappointed" lecture, then he'll drop the kids off to jaing yanli or if they need handstands then to lan wangji and so on.. but wwx himself rarely punished them and somehow the juniors came to the conclusion that he must give out the worst punishment

this was just a small scene from a long fic. not even related to plot, i think this scene was towards the end. @mumblerovertmblr

FOUND! I'm pretty sure 5 is And Time Is But a Paper Moon by sami (M, 139k, WangXian, XiChengQing, Time Travel, Fix-It, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Healing, Mental Health Issues, PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Depression, BAMF WWX, BAMF JC, BAMF LWJ, BAMF JYL, Getting Together) or one of its sequels / yes like previouly said, it is in And Time Is But A Paper Moon by sami, in chapter 20!

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6. For the next Fic Finder – I was looking for a fic to suggest for an ITMF request, but I can’t find it! It’s a modern AU, where LQR suggests a marriage between JYL and LWJ (after a scandal with JGS comes to light, making JZX a bad option even though JYL still wants to marry him). But LWJ and WWX are already secretly dating, so WWX chaperones JYL and LWJ on a “date” where they finally tell her they are together, and then go about telling the rest of their family through the rest of the fic. @eorlgreylady

FOUND! I think 6 is A Sequence of coming out by kippalittlefox, but it seems to be deleted.

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7. What I remember from it is that WWX was in the bath before some people broke into the jingshi and held him hostage when LWJ got back. He had a string to his throat, or a knife not fully sure. After the guys that broke in were killed and it was like the next day, JC came by and the three of them started talking in the middle of CR so that the others would know that LWJ killed the men because they tried to kill his husband and if they wanted to see the scar left across WWX's throat.

This part was at the end of it, but I don't remember it being long. Don't really remember honestly

FOUND! sounds like No journey is too long by dea_liberty (M, 12k, wangxian, Post-Canon, Found Families, Epilogue, Happy Ending, Some angst, a lot of feelings, WWX has some PTSD to deal with, Minor Violence) the last in a five-part post canon series. The incident takes place in an inn, not the Jingshi, but other details match

~*~

8. Hi! I’m kinda desperate now.

I’m looking for a fic where a-yuan or I think OC child is wwx and lwj biological child. I remember there is a chapter wherein before dying (due to canon stuff), wwx confessed to lwj that they had a child together. Then wwx died and I think they search for for the child (I forgot who saw the child but I sure it is either lxc or lwj)

I really appreciate it if you help me😭

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9. Hey! I'm looking for a fic I've read once but can't seem to find it anymore.

It was a modern Wangxian au where LWJ is a motorbike racer and WWX is a single parent to A-Yuan. LWJ sees WWX on the street as he drives by and circles back just to ask him out on a date. Incredibly sweet fic and I would like to read it again.

Thank you! 😘 @lucica-stuff

FOUND! My Heart is the Finish Line by UseMyMuse (E, 29k, WangXian, Bikerji, dadxian, Mpreg)

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10. There's a long modern au where lwj and lxc are art agents or something and wwx is an artist. But the main thing of the fic is that wwx hears from mxy that lwj FUCKS and might have a spreadsheet for it. This turns wwxs world upside down cause lwj is his best friend and he'd never known this. Then there's pining. Wwx painting a triptych, pining while fucking and finally the two idiots talk. There was also a b side version from lwjs pov. I cannot find this fic now. Help.

FOUND! show me a quiver, give me tonight by spookykingdomstarlight (E, 115k, wangxian, lwj/others, communication failure, mutual pining, artists, demisexual wwx, angst w/ happy ending)

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11. hello! i need help looking for a fic please 🙏🏻

i remember a lot but these are the important bits: modern au, wwx & lwj used to be classmates, nhs finally convinced wwx to confess his feelings for lwj, and when he did (in public, blurting out loud cause he was VERY nervous), lwj thought it was a prank, got angry and rejected wwx. wwx was devastated, nhs felt guilty, planned to drink & then met wen xu. wwx and wen xu get together, but wwx ran away (?) with wx. he was actually in an abusive & manipulative relationship with wx. then wwx adopts wen yuan and he fled with wy. years later, wwx owns a cafe, wy is a teen and they accidentally meet lwj again at the cafe. the junior ensemble is there, things happen and wx finds wwx but there is a happy ending.

i have TRIED looking for it myself but to no avail. (This part added to an itmf)

we are blessed in this community for all the work that you do, thank you so much! 🙇🏻‍♀️ @emkaii

FOUND! how to make your dad fall in love with your high school teacher in five steps; the complete and bulletproof guide by ravenditefairylights (T, 90k, WangXian, Modern AU, Coffee shop AU, NB LSZ, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst, Genderfluid WWX)

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12. Hi i'm looking for a wangxian fic were everyone watches (fallows lan wangji) wei wuxian and thinks that he gave birth to lan sizhui. its on ao3 @sansfan286

FOUND? Assumptions by draechaeli (T, 50k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Mainly Novel with a few CQL and Donghua bits, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Adoption, Adoption but WWX birthed them all, not mpreg, Not Established Relationship, Fluff, Canon-Typical Violence, Fix-It, gender non-conforming titles) the mirror follows WWX but they assume A-Yuan is the bio kid bc of convos they overhear but

FOUND? We made every mistake by JosieLinton2002 (T, 10k, WIP, WangXian, Mpreg) also features a mirror where they spy on WWX and they discover A-Yuan is Wangxian's bio kid

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13. Hi can you guys help me find a fic? It was a modern au; it was about Lwj slowly realizing the Jiangs neglect Wwx or something along those lines. I remember two scenes, one where they were talking about gifts, and Wwx said Madam Yu got him shampoo and conditioner for his birthday, and Wwx thought that was normal. The second scene was Lwj learning Wwx is left alone in the house when the Jiang family goes on vacation.

FOUND? Lessons in Belonging by Nyatci (M, 12k, wangxian, Modern, Childhood Friends to Lovers, POV LWJ, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Canonical Child Abuse, Bad Parents JFM & YZY, Not Jiang Family Friendly, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Homophobia, Good Uncle LQR, background 3zun, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Assumed Asexuality, some mild non-overly-explicit smut, LWJ really wants to put a ring on it so he does, Domestic Fluff, wangxian adopt a-yuan, 5+1 Things)

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14. this is for ficfinder.

I read a fic a couple of months ago and I can't find it.

in it, lwj dies because of the lan elders in the cave, and wwx gets really really mad (obvi) and then gives half of his heart to lwj surgically (literally)

FOUND! To Love a Lonely God by sunandseas (E, 6k, WangXian, Body Horror, Blood and Gore, Wwx gives Lwj his heart, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF WWX, Hurt LWJ, Dark WWX, Dark LWJ, Temporary Character Death, sacrifice as a form of love, Murder Husbands)

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15. For fic finder: It was a modern au about sport dueling. You could duel in pairs or one on one, and WWX and JC were raised to be a pair but Madame Yu kept them apart, I think? Anyhoo, JC goes on to pair with Jiang Yanli and WWX eventually teams up with LWJ and win the championship. I feel like someone got kidnapped halfway through?

FOUND! I feel like I win when I lose by so_shhy (T, 25k, wangxian, modern cultivation, Sports AU, Getting Together, some semblance of a plot, gently implied 3zun, obsessively observing someone from a distance is super romantic, LWJ pls use your words, really WWX cannot be blamed for obliviousness in this one, WC causing trouble, WN is precious, Fluff, Podfic Available)

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16. Hi! I can't seem to find a fix I really loved -- I remember it was sort of cyberpunk cultivation world and wwx downloaded himself into a sexbot which fought with lwj who realized he was fully sentient and took him home. There's eventual wen remnants and wwx has a secret agenda.

FOUND? In Imitation of Life by travelingneuritis (E, 70k, wangxian, modern cultivation, scifi au, android WWX, tone: neon seedy, rich people are bored and terrible, post-apocalyptoc landscape, happy ending, smut, severe major characger injury, time loss)

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17. Hi! I read a fic ao3 and i forgot to bookmark it. It’s a modern and i remember wwx being a ceo of a huge tech company and lan zhan ran away and kinda asked wwx to be his sugar daddy??

FOUND? finally safe (for me to fall) by sassybluee (E, 77k, WangXian, Modern: No Powers, Sugar Daddy, Age Difference, Sex Work, Rich WWX, Older WWX, Service Top WWX, Poor LWJ, Single Parent LWJ, Sugar Baby LWJ, Family Issues, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Cockblocking, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, No Lube, Lube, Addiction, Compulsory Heterosexuality, Implied/Referenced Abuse, wangxian + others) sigh so good

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18. Hii I'm looking for these fics I read not long ago, couldn't find it anymore,

A) it's a short one I believe? Where nie huaisang kinda drags wwx with him to the past and wwx was livid (wwx chocked nhs or something), the scene happened in front alot of ppl .

B) I've read multiple like this one can't remember the exact one but it's where wwx was actually female, and hid her true ID from the jinags, and was discovered by the Lans or something

C) it's similar to b but I remember this scene it was an established Relationship post canon? Where wwx got her og body back after being resurrected by male mxy

Thanks in advance ☆ @karinasnowwwx

18A)

FOUND? Selfish by Valeska (T, 2k, NHS & WWX, Time Travel, NHS Needs a Hug, WWX Needs a Hug, YLLZ WWX, Sunshot Campaign, NHS kinda messes up, WWX needs a break, Hurt No Comfort, no NHS bashing even if it kinda sounds like that in the summary, he's tired and desperate, which doesn't mix well with presenting opportunities as we know)

18B)

FOUND? 🔒 Fallen Flowers and Closed Blooms by mondengel (M, 1k, wangxian, Female WWX, Creepy JFM)

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19. hello, I am looking for a fic " where lan wangji save wei wuxian after he jump from the cliff. baoshan rescued wei wuxian, lan wangji ang wen yuan from a cave and save wei wuxian by giving him his mother's core, later wei wuxian and lanwangji become demonic cultivator and immortal. "

FOUND? It's not a perfect match, but Ghosts Shouldn’t by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 15k, WangXian, Grief/Mourning, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending)

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20. Hello! I’m trying to find a modern AU fic where the Lans still run a school, and in the backstory, WWX did something, got expelled over it (can’t remember why, it’s either punching JZX or messing with LWJ) and after being sent home, Madam Yu disowned him and threw him out of the house. There was also a mention that LQR was horrified, because the other times he expelled someone, they simply petitioned to be readmitted to the school and he was expecting that to happen with WWX.

Unfortunately that’s all I remember. Any ideas help!

FOUND!🔒With Intent by KizuKatana (E, 14k, WangXian, modern cultivator au, Modern with Magic, First Time, YLLZ WWX, WWX/others (minor), Jealous LWJ)

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#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic finder #wangxian fic search #the untamed #wangxianficfinder #long post

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