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sabertoothwalrusa month ago
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hey did yall want some Chat Noir angst? no? oh fuck- shit sorry I'll go
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mishoruwu7 days ago
concept: Cas bridal carrying dean (this thought lives in my mind rent free)
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I couldn't resist turning it into angst sORRY
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thesquipprojecta month ago
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when you鈥檙e a kid and you鈥檙e stuck in your room
you鈥檒l do any old shit to get out of it
try making faces
try telling jokes, making little sounds
dedicated to @shadow-of-a-dream for freaking out about inside with me for the last few days <33
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tizzymcwizzya month ago
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saber please stop hurting my boy i can't take this anymore
this is based off this post!! 馃檪 im fine, also GORE WARNING for the link, be safe, it's really bloody!!!
i was just thinking about how not only is adrien's hand his ring was on,, the representation of his freedom, is gone, but also how his missing arm will be a constant reminder of what his father has done,, actively to him,, in this au. plus a little projecting of the incredible fear of losing ur dominant hand.
i just feel like after he's done joking about being "all left" it would finally sink in and the dam would break once he's alone. (the reason he's so far in his recovery once it sinks in is cause marinette stayed at his side CONSTANTLY until right before this moment.)
also bonus marinette comforting adrien during his recovery cause he would prolly be really hard on himself like carpisuns said
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zibermudaa month ago
high end | jjk
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鈫 summary: jungkook is a best-selling erotica novelist living in a lavish neighborhood. He spends his days cruising on yachts, tasting the world鈥檚 most expensive wines, and fucking bar-staff. But, as soon as you move in next door with your fruity cocktails, tight bikinis, and odd philosophies, his hobbies shift. To put it plainly; you're sex on legs and he wants to write about you in his upcoming novel. But first, he has to get to know you inside and out.聽
鈫 genre: smut, fluff, angst (erotica-novelist!jk, architect!reader)
鈫 words: 13,050
鈫 warnings: unprotected sex, orgy, semi-public sex, semi-public petting, semi-public fingering, ice play, nipple play, bondage, licking, biting, fingering, drooling, spanking, finger sucking, hair pulling, masturbation, voyeurism, exhibitionism, use of sex toys, multiple orgasms, pussy eating, dick sucking, throat fucking, crying, gagging, high drug use, drinking, swearing
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masterlist || request
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Let's get one thing straightened out; rich people love to do rich people shit. Whether it be deep-throating oysters in the coastal towns of France, raiding designer stores, or pretending to relate to the lower class, they do it and they do it often.
Jeon Jungkook is guilty of most of the above. At 25 years of age, he lives in a multi million-dollar house situated in the privacy and luxury of the Hills. His neighbors live just as lavishly; some actors, some dentists, and some wealthy by marriage. Their problems seem bizarre to the average person, but respectfully, problems are problems. If you're feeling off about something 鈥 even if you're standing in your ten-acre garden and can't seem to decide where to build your own personal water park 鈥 you still have a problem.
Jungkook has a problem of his own, but we'll get to that in a moment.
How the fuck did he get so rich and where do I sign up? You might be thinking to yourself. He writes about the intimate and explicit details of sex. Each of his novels revolve around a successful individual dealing with life鈥檚 obstacles and ultimately leaving their imprint on the world. The sex scenes are a by-product of the power play. There's a lot of power in sex, there's a lot of love in his heart for life and its obstacles, and there's a lot of money in publishing well-written (debatable), fantasy-driven erotica novels.聽
To say he was born with a silver spoon sticking out of both of his ears would be a bit of an overstatement, but not too far from the truth. His parents are the masterminds behind a multi billion-dollar tech company that develops security software. From day one, they drove the tech-fantasy into their sons head, and even though they persuaded him to graduate college with a Bachelor of Advanced Computer Science, things took a different turn once he stepped foot into the real world; he grew a little too cocky with his qualifications, social status, and good looks, and so spent his time entertaining a rowdy bunch of people, partying, having insane amounts of sex, drinking whatever was handed to him, snorting blow off bars, and everything else the champagne life entails.
And then, like most young people, he was inspired by a short-lived summer romance. She was an aspiring solicitor, beautiful, confident, and determined, but her determination made her use people like dental floss. She bat her eyelashes a thousand times, said anything to grow her network, and lied like it was a 9-5 job. But, as much as it hurt him, he never grew to hate her. There was something about her聽鈥 maybe it was the way she could tame every doubt in his mind, or the way she built herself from the ground up 鈥 that made it clear that she knew the world was hers. She was the inspiration behind his first novel. Similar to how musicians write an array of emotional lyrics and dedicate music videos to ex-lovers, he too found a way to tell stories. The difference is that he never writes out of spite. No matter how many chapters of heartbreak he could write, he believes it to be wholly unproductive. He sees the good and the fun in others or he doesn鈥檛 see at all.
He knew many fine publishers through his parents, so it wasn鈥檛 long before he was an official published author with a new network of literate friends. His novel was a quick success thanks to his advertising team. They worked their ass to the bone to gain a cult following for him. Posters were on bus-stops, library walls, retirement home notice boards, and even on the 鈥楧o Not Feed the Ducks鈥 signs at parks. If the ducks and the elderly weren鈥檛 already into sexy, but also kind of odd novels, they sure as hell are now.
He was crowned the king of erotica just a week after his first publication.
The average Joe appreciates a little sex every now and then, but this isn't a story about average Joe鈥檚. It's about filthy rich savages who can't get enough of it; in every position, at every time of the day, at every setting. They put rabbits to shame. For all intents and purposes, Jungkook is one of these rabbit-shaming savages. He loves dubious, sweat-inducing, vulgar sex with loose women; MILFS, teachers, models, lawyers, doctors, bartenders, and even the neighbor living in the colonial mansion opposite from him. She's forty-three years old, freshly divorced, and had been a fan of his writing since the very first publication, so she thought 'what the hell? I'll just knock on his door, crack open a bottle of wine, and gush about how much I love his work. Maybe I can work on my game, too.' She came for conversation, but never thought that he'd be spelling it out with his tongue between her thighs.
When it comes to conversing with him, there's often tension, whether sexual or just plain enlightening, and a tipping point. He always says the right things to aid out unlikely confidence within people; a type of confidence that makes a person say what they truly mean and want. He likes to ask unlikely questions and do unlikely things, sex aside.
Back to his problem, though; writers block. He鈥檚 lacking very specific inspiration, but this is where you come into play. He was curious about you from the very moment he saw you chatting with the driver of the movers truck. You'd been standing outside your new house with your summer dress and broad-rimmed hat, and he'd been curiously scoping out his new neighbor from his window. It's not uncommon for him to feel such curiosity toward a successful person, nor is it rare for him to adapt and characterize them for his novels. Only the devil knows what kind of woman you are. Maybe you鈥檙e a teacher of fine arts, a model, a marine, a police officer, maybe you married into wealth, or even a decoy sent by the FBI. He learned many years ago to not judge a person by their cover.
It was only yesterday that he saw you standing on your driveway with a shadow cast over half of your face, and if he hadn鈥檛 been preoccupied with avoiding various voicemails and bickering with his lawyer over the phone, he would鈥檝e introduced himself. Today, though, he plans on doing just that. In fact, he鈥檚 already half-way down the stairs with a free schedule and the brighter side of your face clear in his mind.
The staircase banisters are glass panes adorned with silver hand-railings, and each step is a thick, hand-cut slab of grey marble. The steps cascade from the second floor to the kitchen, where contemporary wine racks have been built underneath. Stocked on the racks are hundreds of bottles of imported red wine, white wine, and limited edition champagne taken from events and given to him as gifts. Most, if not all, are purely decorative. He prefers whiskey.
Bright, white spotlights are tucked underneath floating wall dividers to brighten up the home and most, if not all, of the walls have been coated in a light grey paint. A theme of dark wood runs true to his home; dark counter tops, coffee tables, and sculptures. His home is very much an open plan, quite like himself.
Money has never been an issue for him, but it鈥檇 be foolish to say that wealth is what got him here in the first place. He has always been smart, has always known the right people, and has always been ambitious to the core. You could give him nothing but an empty bottle, and he鈥檇 soon be the best-selling bottle maker in the country.
Jungkook takes a few moments to pick out an expensive bottle of wine聽鈥 a house-warming gift, if you will聽鈥 before heading outside. The sky is a pretty shade of blue and almost void of clouds, except for a single cloud spread across the sky like a stroke of white paint. He knocks on your door three times and checks his Rolex after waiting an excess of fifteen seconds. Almost a minute passes before the front door swings open to reveal your shadow-free face. You have light, complementary makeup and a small smile adorning it. If he were younger and a little more naive, he鈥檇 drop to his knees.
It鈥檚 4:48PM on a Sunday, yet you have a half-empty, strawberry cocktail in your hand. It鈥檚 4:48PM, yet he has an expensive bottle of wine in his. He already likes you.
鈥淗ello.鈥 You say with those strawberry stained lips. Something about you suggests that you鈥檙e a little bit introverted, but it鈥檚 definitely not the cloud-white bikini and black, sheer cover-up wrapped around your figure. 鈥淚 don鈥檛 suppose you鈥檙e the pool man?鈥澛
鈥淣o, but I can take a look if you鈥檇 like.鈥 He smiles a true Hollywood smile. 鈥淵our neighbor. To the right.鈥
His home is the biggest in the neighborhood. Many of the other homes are half the size, but just as lavish, including your own.
鈥淵/N.鈥澛燳ou offer out your hand for him to shake and he does so without hesitation. 鈥淎rchitecture is my forte, but that鈥檚 not usually the first thing people guess.鈥
He tells you his name and you repeat it back in a way that makes him raise his eyebrows ever so slightly. And, as you invite him inside, you size him up; from his broad shoulders, slim waist, to his surprisingly perky ass. What is it with men and winning the genetic jackpot for good asses and eyelashes?
You鈥檙e not the only one, though. He鈥檚 already taken note of your half-naked body, ring-less fingers, and the dimples in your lower back. Your house smells like clean laundry and fresh paint, and an array of gin, brandy, vodka, and whiskey bottles sit on a silver platter on your marbled kitchen counter, right next to a bouquet of deep pink Dahlias. He places the wine bottle nearby, slightly defeated by the wrong choice of drink.
You鈥檙e not a wine-drinker, he notes. Cocktails are your best friend.
"Thank you.鈥 You say, genuinely, as you inspect the brand and age of the wine. It looks expensive and by the looks of him, it has to be. 鈥淵ou really didn鈥檛 have to bring me anything.鈥
鈥淚 would鈥檝e brought you a pie, but I can鈥檛 bake to save a life.鈥 He humors. 鈥淵ou鈥檒l get one, though, just not from me.鈥
The sun is far too warm to keep the conversation strictly inside. Summer has always been your favorite time of the year.
鈥淲hat do you do, by the way? I don鈥檛 think I asked.鈥 You inquire as you step past the large, glass sliding doors and wander around the great length of your swimming pool. Sundays are the only days where you have the time to lounge around in a bikini and drink cocktails before 5PM, so you make the most of it.
鈥淚鈥檓 an author.鈥 Even for someone like him, he鈥檚 never seen such a huge personal pool. Are you coaching the Olympic swimming team or something? He can just about picture you lounging on an inflatable pool float, skin wet and glistening in the light.
"What kind of stuff do you write?" You ask with your drink in one hand and his full-attention in the other. "Let me guess.. Science fiction? Business advice?"
His tan skin, wavy hair, and aura yells聽鈥 practically screams聽鈥 鈥榣eisure鈥, so he could easily be mistaken for a businessman with a habit of visiting the Bahamas every weekend. That鈥檚 not far from the truth, to be fair. He isn鈥檛 one to shy away from self-indulgence.
"Erotica." There鈥檚 no hidden shame behind his confession, nor is their a flicker of embarrassment. He owns it, just like he owns that white, button-up shirt and that dark, ruffled hair. He鈥檚 physically fit, too, thanks to his interest in recreational boxing and high intensity training.
"Erotica?" You repeat, way-off, but entirely captivated by this strange man. 鈥淪o, you鈥檙e addicted to sex?鈥
Cheeky, he notes.
You tap your finger against your glass and drink in everything about him. The longer you look, the shyer you feel. What鈥檚 that about? You鈥檝e never been one to shy away from a hot, single neighbor; that is if he鈥檚 actually single and not just a cocky husband of a woman who deserves a whole lot better. There鈥檚 something very intimidating about him. He carries himself like nothing in this world could bother him or make him stutter over his words.
He likes that you asked that. It gives him incentive to ask you the same thing. 鈥淎ren鈥檛 you?鈥
鈥淲e鈥檙e living in the hills, Mr. Author.鈥 Your laugh strokes his ears like soft velvet.聽鈥淚鈥檓 sure everybody around here is in some sort of sex ring.鈥
He touches the bottom of his chin and your eyes linger there for a few moments. His face is perfectly symmetrical; sharp jaw, deep brown eyes, pretty pink lips. A small mole sits directly under his bottom lip, too. 鈥淵ou free Thursday evening, Y/N?鈥
鈥淐ould be.鈥
鈥淐ould be.鈥 He repeats, amused. 鈥淎 friend of mine opened up a bar down on boulevard. Real fancy shit. They serve $1,000 diamond cocktails and everything else pretentious. I鈥檇 like to take you.鈥
鈥淪ounds fun.鈥 You agree without much hesitation. 鈥淚 get home from work at 7.鈥
And that鈥檚 how Jeon Jungkook meets you for the first time. He doesn鈥檛 stay for too long, though, because he prefers to pace himself. Too much of a good thing isn鈥檛 good for anybody. You鈥檝e only spoken to him for twenty-five minutes, but he鈥檚 already so intrigued. You鈥檙e two years his senior, graduated college twice; first with a Bachelor鈥檚 Degree in Architecture, and the second time with a Master鈥檚 in Architecture. You love what you do, but you hate where you work, even though it鈥檚 one of the best studios in the city. Interior and spacial designs interest you the most, but your boss compresses what you鈥檙e allowed to do out of fear that you might be better than he is. Jungkook can already tell that you鈥檙e better than a lot of people, especially your boss.
鈥淚 won鈥檛 be mad if you pour that wine down the sink, honestly.鈥 He wanders past your front door and eyes the way you ever so slightly lean your hip against the door frame. 鈥淚 mean it.鈥
You laugh, knowing damn well that that very thought crossed your mind just moments before. 鈥淪ee you Thursday, Mr. Author.鈥
He heads back home, but catches you again from the same window he鈥檇 seen you from yesterday. He observes, slightly hypnotized, as you bend over to place a cocktail glass on the concrete nearby the pool. The sheer fabric of your beach kimono rides up your lower back, revealing the curve of your ass and the white bikini thong clinging to your skin. And then he notices his own novel in your hands. The coloring of the front cover suggests that it鈥檚 one of his older novels. He then wonders if you already knew who he was and are just a really convincing actress. You didn鈥檛, really, but his novel was stuffed into a box of books that you had just started to unpack. You recall a friend gifting you the erotica novel for your 25th birthday, but you never even read the blurb. It鈥檚 been gathering dust at the back of shelves for two years, but now you just have to know what it鈥檚 all about.聽
Not expecting much, you flick through a few chapters until you land on a random sex scene. You drink in every word like it鈥檚 a new cocktail flavor, tasting the incredibly lewd descriptions of wall sex shifting to wet, shower sex. The way he describes each scene has your imagination firing up like an old truck. You can picture each water droplet sliding down the two bodies, the hand print left on the main character鈥檚 thigh, and the thick, misty air in the bathroom. A little warm in the face, you flip the novel and peer at the image of Jungkook printed just above the blurb. He鈥檚 wearing that same Hollywood smile.
What have you gotten yourself into?
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Monday rolls around far too quickly. You bid farewell to your bikinis and cocktails until next Sunday, and head to work with armfuls of files.
Your boss, David Woods; a man with a passion for development and architecture; ushers you to his large office before you can even make it to your desk. He鈥檚 tall and lean; at-least 6鈥1; with a short quiff that he feels the need to gel back. His hands are abnormally large and disproportionate to his body. Pressed suits, solid-colored ties, shiny shoes, and white button-ups are all that he wears in fear that he could be mistaken for anything other than a rich man.
A dark oak desk sits toward the further end of the room, closest to a blue-grey wall and a painting of something dark and abstract. There are countless awards for god-knows-what lined up on his bookshelves, and a prayer plant is sat on the left side of his desk in a tall, gold vase. If it weren鈥檛 for that plant doing regular plant things, the air in here would reek of death.
He takes a seat at his black leather chair and places his big hands on the desk, grinning wickedly at you. The gold light fixtures match the thin, gold necklace that鈥檚 half-tucked beneath his button-up.
鈥淎 little birdie told me that you鈥檙e planning to open up your own studio.鈥 He interrogates. Woods has never been one to mind his business, let alone speak to another human being without a condescending tone. 鈥淲hen was that? Sometime this year?鈥
鈥淎 little birdie?鈥 You鈥檙e not afraid to call him out on his blatant dishonesty. 鈥淵ou look through my laptop when I鈥檓 at lunch.鈥
鈥淭he company鈥檚 laptop.鈥 He corrects. He鈥檚 amused by your boldness, but if you squint, you can see the irritation behind his pale blue eyes. 鈥淵ou know how I feel about my people taking clients from The Woods. It鈥檚 not good for business.鈥
No, he鈥檚 not talking about literal tree-dominated land, although he does a good job at making people feel as if they鈥檙e lost in such a place. The Woods is quite literally him and anything he owns. Once you step foot into the building, you鈥檙e in The Woods territory. There鈥檚 a difference between being proud of what you鈥檝e made for yourself and being an overbearing asshole who thinks he has a say in everyone and everything.
鈥淚鈥檓 just trying to help you out, Y/N. You know that鈥檚 all I鈥檝e ever done for you.鈥 He says as condescending as ever. 鈥淚 just don鈥檛 think you鈥檙e ready to be your own boss.鈥
鈥淚鈥檝e been ready for a while.鈥 There鈥檚 no reason for you to say this out loud, because, well, both of you are already aware of it. You鈥檙e his best. You draw in clients like no other, have a network exceeding 500 professionals, and are a complete realist. You could run five successful studios, but with the right investors, you could run one of the best in the country. 鈥淚f it鈥檚 clients that you鈥檙e worried about, don鈥檛. I won鈥檛 steal from you.鈥
鈥淥h, but you鈥檝e been stealing from me since I let you in these doors.鈥
Loyalty is a big thing for Woods, but he holds it against people to an extreme extent. He interferes with personal lives, often ordering people to cut ties with others he holds a grudge against or because they don鈥檛 鈥榝it his vibe.鈥 If you have an ugly pet, he鈥檒l refer you to the nearest pet sanctuary. If your wife or husband is an under-performer, has one too many blemishes on their skin, or can鈥檛 bear a child, he鈥檒l introduce you to somebody he deems worthy.
You leave his office with a plunging feeling in the pit of your stomach and a need for fresh air.
The receptionist greets you as you walk past and toward the revolving doors. She鈥檚 a woman in her mid twenties with a noticeable French accent. Light highlights run through her shoulder-length, brown hair. She鈥檚 fond of wearing sneakers to work as it makes the train commute a lot more comfortable for her feet, she likes ice-cream scented candles, cats聽鈥 that鈥檚 evident by the few cat hairs stuck to the sleeve of her blouse 鈥, and keeping up with local gossip. She鈥檚 good at her job, reliable, and always greets people with a warm smile, even Woods. She鈥檚 no-doubt the glue that holds this place together and prevents people from strangling each-other to death.
鈥淟ong day?鈥 Myl猫ne, the French receptionist, asks even though lunchtime has yet to hit.
鈥淵ou could say that.鈥
鈥11:11AM.鈥 She says like it means anything to you. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 an angel number. I鈥檒l make a wish for you.鈥
鈥淭hanks.鈥 You step outside for a breath of fresh air. The summers breeze greets you like an old friend.
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From Monday to Thursday, you work and you work and you work. You have countless meetings with new and old clients, draw up elaborate designs, revise old designs, and visit various construction sites. Your desk grows littered with pens, pencils, cuts of fabric and woods, and random slithers of wallpaper prints. During your lunch breaks, you often grab a coffee with old college friends and colleagues, making the effort to really nourish relationships.
Jungkook works, too, but in the most unique way. He meets new characters at various events, leaves an impression on everyone he speaks to, and has sex with three bartenders all in the same night. He gets unconventionally drunk, smokes weed with his cousin on his dad鈥檚 side (it鈥檚 their thing), wakes up with nothing but a suspicion of what happened the night before, and then sits down at his computer with a throbbing head and very little clothing on. Funnily enough, he thinks up the majority of his novel plots in less than sober states. He writes about a character very similar to you, focusing on her work ethic, her devil of a boss, her love for cocktails, and her sex appeal. He has no coherent plot for this novel, but he knows that ideas are likely to come to mind the more time he spends with you. None of this chaos is new to him. I told you he does very unlikely things.
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Thursday rolls around faster than usual and you find yourself sitting at a bar with Jeon Jungkook at 8:48PM. He鈥檚 wearing a black button-up shirt with a slight satin finish, rolled at the sleeves, black dress pants and shoes, and a Rolex around his wrist. His well built chest strains slightly against his shirt, as do his biceps. You鈥檝e come straight from work in a deep blue pencil dress. There鈥檚 not a single casual tee or distressed jean in sight, only high heels, neutral colored ties, gorgeous dresses, and styled hair.
Soft, white down-lights shine from the ceiling above the bar table, illuminating whatever vibrant drink the bartender has served to a customer. Pleasant jazz hums from cleverly hidden speakers. The atmosphere couldn鈥檛 get any more intimate. You often find yourself at bars like these after a shit day at work with a drink in both hands. There are specific things that make a shit day, but your boss is always the garlic and onions behind recipes like those.
Jungkook orders a scotch on the rocks and takes the first gulp like a parched man. You order yourself a strawberry-mint gin and tonic.
鈥淲hat got you into writing?鈥 Is your first question of the night. 鈥淚鈥檝e heard that the industry is hard to get into. A friend of mine was rejected dozens of times and told that her plots were all wrong.鈥
He ponders carefully before settling on an answer. 鈥淟ife and its shit. I鈥檝e been rejected before, but that鈥檚 just how it is out there. Wouldn't it be boring to be right all the time?鈥
You chuckle at the notion. 鈥淢y boss begs to differ.鈥
Writing 鈥 putting your thoughts out into the world for crass feedback 鈥 isn鈥檛 an easy thing to do. It鈥檚 often praised as brave; to open yourself up to such interactions with people who should have zero impact on your self-worth because, they鈥檙e, well, complete strangers with a different set of values, literary interests, interpretation skills, and are often just doing their job as a well-paid shit-stirrer.
A handful of people get a kick out of sharing anonymous, hateful comments. Jungkook deals with those kind of comments every day of his life, but if there鈥檚 one thing that he鈥檚 learned by being in the public eye, it鈥檚 that opinions aren鈥檛 facts. It鈥檚 important to take them and then let them go. Hell, you even have the power to build your own foundation with the bricks people throw at you. His life is his. Your life is yours. It鈥檇 be a very big mistake to see your life in eyes that aren鈥檛 yours.
People are always going to be cunts with zero regard for other people鈥檚 feelings. The difference is that you and him know the difference between being a decent human being and being that. That鈥檚 something to take pride in.
鈥淪ure, but how do you deal with criticism?鈥 You ask, intrigued by his extraordinary life. He鈥檚 so young for the empire he鈥檚 amassed. Sure, he鈥檚 two years your junior, but he could teach you a thing or two. 鈥淒o you rewrite or try somewhere else?鈥
He swirls the whiskey in his glass and watches as it glisten beneath the lights. Amusement is written all over his face, but there鈥檚 something foreign wavering in his eyes. 鈥淚 deal with it by sitting in my mansion and not changing a fucking thing about myself.鈥
鈥淭ouch茅, but wealth isn鈥檛 everything.鈥 You challenge. 鈥淎 lot of people learn to love the money, but hate themselves.鈥
鈥淚 don鈥檛 hate myself.鈥 He says and you believe him. 鈥淣ot always. I try to hate the choices I make instead of hating myself for making them.鈥
"Smart. You鈥檙e your own best friend.鈥
鈥淚鈥檓 never going to know somebody as well as I know myself, so why not? I am my own mind. I know what I鈥檓 thinking at most times of the day.鈥
He makes an interesting point, but you can鈥檛 help but challenge it further. 鈥淭hen again.. you see yourself, but you also don鈥檛 see yourself. There are some things that I know about you that you don鈥檛 know about yourself. For instance..鈥
He holds his glass with a limp wrist, listening attentively. 鈥淓nlighten me.鈥
鈥淲ell.. I鈥檓 sitting in front of you and I can observe the expressions that your face makes during our conversation. You don鈥檛 always realize that you鈥檙e making them, but you can鈥檛 carry a little mirror with you and check what your face is doing all the time. Wouldn鈥檛 that be weird?鈥
鈥淚鈥檝e never thought about that before.鈥 He says with a smile. 鈥淵ou鈥檙e a bit strange, aren鈥檛 you?鈥
His answer disappoints you slightly, but you don鈥檛 bother verbalizing it. He can tell you feel this way by the slight lowering of your eyebrows. Only, you don鈥檛 realize yourself that you've taken on this expression. Funny, he thinks to himself. Ignorance was bliss.
You both discuss your the past few riveting days that you鈥檝e had; you speak about your boss in the kindest way possible, and he speaks about the people he recently met in only good tones and smiles. He doesn鈥檛 ever poke fun at another persons flaw, or their dress choice, or their intellect. He could sell anyone any product, no matter how shit it actually is, with that talent. You find yourself laughing and cringing like he鈥檚 an old school friend. It鈥檚 a nice feeling.
鈥淲hat鈥檚 the worst thing you鈥檝e done?鈥 You dare to ask with your straw poking at your bottom lip. You鈥檙e on your third gin and tonic.
鈥淭he worst thing?鈥 He repeats, amused by your formidable question. He could list a few things that鈥檇 shift the mood, but he isn鈥檛 ready for you to meet the skeletons in his closet, to evaluate the bad decisions he鈥檚 made, or to sympathize with the people he鈥檚 hurt.
鈥淵eah, you know-鈥 You take a sip from your drink before returning it to the bar. You鈥檙e in a prying mood. There鈥檚 something about him, maybe it鈥檚 the way he looks at you with those big brown eyes, that makes you want to try your luck. 鈥淭he naughtiest.鈥澛
The naughtiest? He thinks to himself. Maybe it was when he bent his lawyer over her desk and showed her what 'taking it from the back' really meant, or when he fucked a prestigious critic for a better review on his novel. He's been everywhere, done a little bit of everything, and a little bit of everyone. To choose just one naughty thing would take a weeks worth of contemplation, but then, something of value comes to mind and he leans closer to whisper it into your ear; something so filthy that it makes your breath catch in your throat and your posture improve.
As he speaks lowly, his breath tickles your neck, sending goosebumps down the length of your arms. If you were slightly more sober, and some may argue聽鈥 smart 鈥, you鈥檇 recognize them as warning signs.
鈥淎nd then..鈥 His voice is intoxicating and has you hooked on every syllable that falls from his lips. He smells like a delicious mix of whiskey, vanilla, and pine. And, during the most telling part of his confession, he runs his palm from your knee to your upper thigh, taking the fabric of your dress with him.
You definitely took him as the promiscuous type, but this is far beyond anything you鈥檝e ever heard before.聽When he pulls away, your skin is engulfed in an arousing heat. A warm flush had been crawling it's way up your neck, but has well and truly settled between your thighs. "That's pretty naughty."
鈥淭hink so?鈥 His confident tone arouses you more. You鈥檙e wet. That鈥檚 clear to the both of you. 鈥淚 like the way you鈥檙e looking at me.鈥
You鈥檙e way too lost in his eyes and consumed by the feeling of his fingers tracing small circles against your thigh. Your eyes are probably begging for something, a portion of your bottom lip is probably caught between your teeth, and your chest is probably rising and falling quite quickly. 鈥淲hat way?鈥
鈥淭hat way.鈥 His eyes flick to your mouth, and then, just like that, his lips are on yours. He kisses you slowly at first, gently sliding his tongue against your own and relishing in the warmth and wetness of your mouth. He craves you; from your bashful smile to every inch of your body that always seems to be wrapped tightly in designer. He wonders what sounds you鈥檒l make when he fucks you, whether or not you prefer to go slow and make love, how wet you鈥檒l get you with just his fingers, and if your panties are thin and lacy and riding up your ass.
He hates wondering, so he takes you home. You unzip your dress and let it fall to the hardwood floor, and he pours himself a whiskey on the rocks. His curious eyes roam all over your skin, from your hardened nipples to your bare thighs, as he guides your lower back against the kitchen counter. Every touch against your skin makes you shudder, whether it be the pads of his fingers or the grey marble of the countertop.
鈥淟ook at you. Fuck..鈥 He says, mostly to himself, as he rolls your nipple between his fingers. Your eyes flutter shut at his touch.聽
He runs his palm up the curve of your ass and hooks his fingers underneath the band of your panties, tugging it tight against your pussy. The feeling of your skin burns into his memory, and as he looks at your face, really looks at it, he knows he hit the jackpot; your face is as beautiful as your voice, your voice is as beautiful as your mind, and your mind is as beautiful as your body. To him, you鈥檙e fucking faultless. He knows he鈥檒l be on his knees for you before the night is over.
The ice sitting in his glass glistens beneath the kitchen light and it gives him an intriguing idea. He wants to see you come undone, to make you so stimulated that you can鈥檛 pinpoint where the feeling is coming from. He takes an ice cube between his lips and presses it against the side of your neck. You gasp at the feeling of the ice running against your skin; so cold that it almost stings. Your fingers grasp at the fabric of his button-up as he drags the ice past your collarbone and down to your nipple, pressing it firm against the bud until your back arches away from the counter. A thin sheen of water maps out exactly where his lips have been.
Just like he knew he would, he sinks to his knees and tugs your panties down your thighs and off at the feet. The ice melts in his mouth.聽His lips are still cold and wet as he presses a hard kiss against your pussy, and the feeling draws a startled gasp from your chest. He spreads your folds with his fingers and teasingly drags his tongue against your pussy hole. His nose digs against your clit as he licks into you. His own saliva coats his chin, and at one point, drools from your pussy to the hardwood flooring.
鈥淩ight there.. Like that. Fuck!鈥 You sigh as he alternates between sucking and licking your clit, and curling two fingers inside of you. He touches you right, really making the effort to listen to the sounds you make and taking note of the way you squirm against his mouth.
He licks your pussy and digs his fingers into your ass until your moans double in volume and your breathing turns rapid, and then he stands to steal your breath again with a deep kiss. You fumble with the buttons of his button-up as he fervently kisses you. The pace of the kiss is erratic and you find it difficult to keep up. He bites and sucks on your tongue until your lips are swollen.
His body is dreamy and something you鈥檝e been curious about ever since he turned up in that tight, black button-up; wide shoulders, slim waist, defined abdomen and pecs, and small nipples that harden slightly as you run your hands over his skin. You tug on the zipper of his pants and reach beneath for his cock. It鈥檚 stiff and warm in your hand.
He lifts your leg and wraps your thigh snug around his bare waist, eager to feel you. A relieved sigh falls from both of your mouths as he sinks into you. He pulls your hips flush against his own, delving deeper and filling you up until he can鈥檛 any more. You feel so warm and wet wrapped around him. It couldn鈥檛 be any better.
鈥淵ou feel so good.鈥 He praises and he means every word. 鈥淪o fucking good..鈥
Similarly to the first kiss you shared, he starts off gentle and slow, but is quick to lose himself in the moment and set a quick pace. His pecs and abdomen flex as he bucks his hips against yours over and over again. The sex has you in a trance. Moans drool from your lips, your nails rake across the back of his neck, and your head grows increasingly dizzy. Your lower back digs firmly into the counter top as he fucks you against it, and profanities fall from his tongue in arousing moans. You can鈥檛 imagine your night getting any better.
The sex migrates from the kitchen counter, to the doors of the pantry, and finally to the nearby couch. He sinks onto, almost into, the couch as you straddle his lap. Nothing else is running through his mind aside from you; the feeling of your wrapped tightly around him, the sight of your parted lips and low eyes, the sound of your pretty whines and stuttering breath, and the bounce in your tits as you sit on his cock over and over again.
鈥淥h my.. god. Oh my-鈥 You chant in desperate whispers. 鈥淔uck..鈥
He reaches for your tits, squeezing the flesh and pinching your nipples between his fingers. Your skin is delicate beneath his touch; he almost feels like he could break you at any moment, but you鈥檙e proving to be a bigger girl than he made you out to be.
You come twice that night; once on his cock and the other on his tongue. You鈥檙e breathless when it ends and it takes you many, many more moments spent in his arms before you can gather your thoughts and clothing.
Jungkook has had enough sex in his life to understand that sex is never perfect and that鈥檚 a very normal and human thing. Sometimes it takes a few different touches and manoeuvres to turn somebody on, and other times it鈥檚 a walk in the (water) park. Sometimes he鈥檒l laugh while he鈥檚 balls deep in somebody because one of them made a funny noise. He might miss their mouth and accidentally kiss their chin. He might come too early or too late, lose his erection halfway through because a bizarre thought crossed his mind, or even fall asleep before he can take his pants off because he鈥檚 had a little too much to drink. Sometimes sex is boring, or silent, or just an itch that needs to be scratched. But he saw no fault in the sex he just had with you. His mind didn鈥檛 wander, but his hands definitely did. He liked everything about it; from the sounds you made to the way you slipped your tongue into his mouth. He still sees zero faults in you.
You head home with a slight wobble in your step. The sex was something that you never knew you鈥檇 been craving. It relieved a good handful of your pent-up stress and gave back some confidence that you鈥檇 been missing. Your sex life wasn鈥檛 dead before tonight, it was just put on hold for a few weeks while you get your shit together at work. Woods has been hinting at letting you work with a really huge client for some time now and you feel the need to give him a very compelling reason to. Sex with no strings attached is easy to find, but good sex with no strings attached isn鈥檛. You know you鈥檝e hit the jackpot with this one.
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Woods hands you the client on Friday morning. Just like that. He strides to your desk and slaps down a file full of various sketches, building plans, and contact details. You flip through the pages with an abundance of enthusiasm as he glares down at you. He wants you to stay at the studio and he鈥檚 hoping that this will buy your confidence. That鈥檚 what this is.
鈥淒on鈥檛 disappoint me.鈥 Is all that he says.
You meet with those clients on the very same day, introducing yourself and chatting about various design ideas over coffee at a nearby cafe. They鈥檙e a married couple in their late fifties and as rich as ever. They carry themselves well and decide on a budget in the millions. They want to build a retirement home for themselves; somewhere secluded and surrounded by gorgeous scenery, open plan, modern, lots of light, white and elegant decor.
鈥淧lants.鈥 The man adds as you鈥檙e taking notes on an iPad. He鈥檚 handsome; short, dark hair, well-built figure, pretty brown eyes, and a soothing voice. 鈥淟ots of house plants. They make the air better.鈥
鈥淎ctually..鈥 The woman adds as the meeting comes to an end. She鈥檚 as attractive as her husband; pretty eyes, shiny black hair, and delicate fingers. 鈥淲e鈥檙e heading to a literature event tonight and the venue is exactly in the style we鈥檙e looking for. Why not come? It鈥檚 a nice excuse to get you out of the office, isn鈥檛 it?鈥
You accept with a smile. Who are you to turn down free champagne during a weekday? You鈥檙e not much of a reader, not because you don鈥檛 like to read, but because you rarely have the time. Regardless, you put on your nicest dress and your nicest heels, and adorn your face with pretty makeup.聽
The venue is stunning; high ceilings with expensive chandeliers, white Victorian walls, indoor ivory hanging from aged wooden beams, huge windows that allow the sunlight to pass through. It really is beautiful here. The other guests are dressed to the nines; shawls, glistening dresses, designer ties and suits, and priceless shoes. As you鈥檙e looking around and sipping on a glass of complementary champagne, somebody all too familiar catches your eye. He notices you just moments after and comes bounding over with a handsome smile on his face.
鈥淔ancy seeing you here.鈥 Jeon Jungkook, your neighbor and the man you had literal sex with the other day, joins you by the table of champagne glasses. A huge chocolate fountain and a few vases full of white flowers are sat on the table, too.
鈥淲hat are you doing here?鈥 You ask, a bit taken aback by how good he looks; black blazer over a tight high-neck sweater, black dress pants, and shiny shoes. His hair is styled neatly and pushed off to one side.
鈥淚 was invited-鈥 He quirks an eyebrow. 鈥-to the author鈥檚 events because, believe it or not, I鈥檓 an author. Why are you here?鈥
鈥淩ight.鈥 You breathe out all of your tense energy in one, long sigh. With little conviction, you gesture toward the middle-aged couple who are enjoying champagne with a slightly younger woman. 鈥淭hose are my clients. They want a home in a similar style to this. They didn鈥檛 have to invite me, but it鈥檚 nice that they did. Could鈥檝e just googled this place or visited later in the week..鈥
鈥淢y parents?鈥 He asks, unaffected.
鈥淵our parents?鈥
He points two limp fingers in the direction of the same couple and you can鈥檛 help but remember the feeling of them between your thighs. 鈥淭he pretentious looking couple, yeah, my parents. I was so sure you were the type to read through my Wikipedia page and draw up my family tree.鈥
Small world, you think to yourself. It seems like every rich person knows all the other rich people in this world. They all meet at some point, buying and selling parts of themselves in the good name of business. The world makes the strangest connections sometimes.
鈥淚f you ever feel nervous, just remember this.鈥 He says. 鈥淭heir son writes sex novels, so nothing can really disappoint them any more than that. You鈥檒l give them what they want, though. I鈥檝e seen some of your work.鈥
鈥淭hey don鈥檛 support you?鈥
鈥淭hey do. My mom tells people that I write about science and the order of the universe, though. She鈥檚 still holding out hope that I鈥檒l suddenly want to work at their company. My dad doesn鈥檛 really care.. as long as I don鈥檛 overdose on some yacht in Cancun.鈥
Jungkook鈥檚 eyes drag from your exposed neck and arms, to the curve of your ass. Your glittery dress is as amazing as everyone else's, maybe even better. The soft skin of your back is exposed and a delicate string of jewels runs down your spine.聽鈥淵ou look nice, by the way. Really nice.鈥
The opportunity for mingling comes to a close once a young man聽鈥 about the same age as Jungkook聽鈥 steps up to the mic that鈥檚 been set up at the front and center of the venue. He鈥檚 wearing round glasses and a black, fitted suit. The guests take their seats at their allocated tables. It comes as no surprise to you that Jungkook is seated at the same table as parents. You sit at the table behind with a few other rich women draped in designer. The eldest woman sat around the table taps your shoulder and compliments your dress.
鈥淪tunning.鈥 She says and you smile.
鈥淭hanks for coming everyone. I鈥檇 like to start us off with a passage from my latest self-help book.鈥 The young man with the glasses begins after tapping the mic with two fingers. He鈥檚 not nervous, just eager to change at least one person鈥檚 outlook. 鈥淚f somebody doesn鈥檛 bring anything positive into your life, let them go. You鈥檒l feel bad and question whether you鈥檝e done the right thing, but just give it some time. Don鈥檛 check up on somebody who doesn鈥檛 check up on you. Don鈥檛 try to keep in contact. Stop associating things, music, and people with that person.鈥
鈥淢aybe they said something mean and you said something back or vice versa, but in reality, it just doesn鈥檛 matter. You were both upset. You鈥檙e not defined by a petty argument. People in this world kill each-other, steal, abuse power, and assault the most vulnerable. You鈥檙e not a bad person for being upset and saying something hurtful, and that rings true if you feel any ounce of regret. It happened and you can鈥檛 change it. Sure, you might鈥檝e had some awesome times and genuinely have love for that person, but if they continuously make you doubt your worth, intellect, choices, values, invade your privacy, and lash out at you for being somebody other than who they want you to be, let them go. You don鈥檛 even owe them an explanation or a goodbye. Don鈥檛 apologize when it isn鈥檛 your fault. Don鈥檛 apologize for mistakes that you didn鈥檛 make. Don鈥檛 waste time reflecting on shit that just isn鈥檛 worth it. This world is full of people who you will love and who will love you. Don鈥檛 settle. You lose part of yourself when you do.鈥
And then he nods to the crowd and returns to his seat. An older woman takes his place and introduces a passage from her own novel.
鈥淟essons in love hurt.鈥 She says. 鈥淚f there was a class for love, nobody would turn up. We鈥檙e not lab rats and we鈥檇 all prefer to learn without pain. I don鈥檛 ever remember feeling like I鈥檇 spend life alone after a math class, do you?鈥澛
Despite Jungkook being the most famous author here, he doesn鈥檛 get up to speak at all during the night. All he does is listen to the others and clap once they finish reciting their bit. When the event ends and all the rich people have shaken all the other rich people鈥檚 hands, he offers to take you somewhere where they serve a lot more than champagne, and you accept without a hesitating thought.
He drives a black camaro and it smells exactly like his aftershave. You don鈥檛 bother to ask him where he鈥檚 taking you because you trust that he鈥檒l show you a good time. He drives for fifteen minutes down a busy road before turning a corner and continuing down a narrow driveway toward a federal colonial house. The driveway widens five times it鈥檚 previous size, making room for at-least twenty decent sized vehicles. He parks among nine other cars and walks toward the large front door with your hand in his; just in case you trip in the dark with those heels on.
Dim, alternating colors of light emit from each of the windows; floor to ceiling on the first floor, and half the size on the second. A huge lawn surrounds the property and is dimly illuminated by outdoor solar lights that are impaled into the soil. Loud, electropop music booms from the walls of the building. You can practically see them shaking in tune with the bass.
鈥淲here is this?鈥 You ask over the volume. Bunches of balloons are fastened around an assortment of topiary bay trees.
鈥淎 happy house.鈥 He lets himself in like he鈥檚 been here one hundred times before. He has. This is the one place that he won鈥檛 ever outgrow. People do every type of drug here, party for three days in a row, and have boatloads of sex. The police don鈥檛 bother intervening because too many celebrities are fond of this place and come often. If offered enough money, even the law can turn a blind eye. 鈥淵ou get very happy here, if you know what I mean.鈥
The air is thicker inside the building and more difficult to breathe in. It doesn鈥檛 feel like a home at all. You can smell weed, sweat, sex, and alcohol. The flickering lights illuminate parts of people鈥檚 faces and bodies. They鈥檙e chatting quietly, touching each-other through and beneath their clothing, smoking cigarettes, and exchanging saliva in the hallway. Some have multicolored hair, streaks of neon paint smeared on their face, missing shirts, cocaine melted into their upper lip, and a light sheen of sweat adorning their skin.
Jungkook takes no notice. He guides you past the bodies in the hallway and toward what looks like a pumped-up, party-haven living room. Two couches sit opposite from one another and in-between a table that鈥檚 littered with empty glasses and glow sticks. It鈥檚 hard to see much else.
鈥淚 was wondering when I鈥檇 see you again.鈥 An older woman comes out of nowhere and engulfs Jungkook in a tight hug. She鈥檚 wearing a turquoise jumpsuit, lots of jewellery on her wrists and fingers, and bright pink lipstick. The flickering lights make it difficult to make out the true dimensions of her face, but you can tell that she鈥檚 very beautiful. She has yellow neon paint smeared down her neck and arms.
鈥淗uifang, Y/N.鈥 Jungkook takes the joint that she offers him and lights it between his lips. The smoke rises to the ceiling and changes color in tune with the lights. 鈥淪he鈥檚 designing my parent鈥檚 old people home.鈥
The woman steps forward and you expect her reach for a hug, but she cups your face and presses a hard kiss against your lips instead. You鈥檙e wide eyed when she pulls away, but her smile doesn鈥檛 falter. This is definitely a happy house.
鈥淪he鈥檚 very friendly.. Ever since the divorce.鈥 Jungkook鈥檚 eyes sparkle in the light as he laughs. It鈥檚 a playful gesture that Huifang returns by nudging his arm.
鈥淲ow.. Yeah.鈥 You pat your lips and check your fingers for her bright pink lipstick.
Somewhere along the flashing lines, Jungkook vanishes beneath the lights and Huifang pulls you down on the the nearest couch. You鈥檝e never been so bewildered in your life. There鈥檚 so much going on that you don鈥檛 understand, but the three glasses of champagne that you had previously are doing their bit at calming your nerves.
鈥淵ou鈥檙e free here.鈥 She says. 鈥淵ou can do anything around these people; take every kind of drug, have sex on the tables, commit fraud in the hallway. Nobody fucking cares here and I love living this way.鈥
She points a manicured finger toward two people sat on a dining table chair. Balloons are tied to the legs of the nearby table and confetti litters the floor. A woman, about the same age as Huifang, has the straps of her dress at her hips. She鈥檚 hungrily kissing a man whose lap she鈥檚 occupied. The flickering lights make what their doing seem slightly more private, but they鈥檙e still definitely having sex. There are other people slumped against the wall, some are on the couch, some are cutting up cocaine on the table, some are walking past the couch and into the back garden, where sex is also definitely being had. It all seems very normal here. It鈥檚 like a frat party on steroids and Viagra.
鈥淵ou and I are from the same spaceship. I can tell.鈥 Huifang says, but doesn鈥檛 elaborate until she lights a cigarette between her lips and takes a long drag. 鈥淎mbitious as hell when shown a little faith.鈥
鈥淚 wasn鈥檛 always like this.鈥 She gestures to her styled hair and the expensive rings on her fingers. 鈥淚 was dirt poor when I had my son and couldn鈥檛 even afford to send him to school with lunch like all the other kids. Selfish, right? I got pregnant when I knew I couldn鈥檛 take of my own kid. And then it got even harder; I couldn鈥檛 afford to pay for his bus tickets when the school fees starting increasing. Something to do with expensive development in the area. That鈥檚 when I knew I was in real shit. I thought about pulling him out and teaching him a thing or two around the dinner table, but what the hell do I know? I dropped out of high school to raise him. I couldn鈥檛 teach him half the things a decent school could. All I could do was work unstable jobs.鈥
In the time it takes her to preface her story, her cigarette burns out completely. She takes a new cigarette from the pocket of her turquoise jumpsuit and lights it between her small, pink lips. 鈥淎nyways..鈥 She says with a cloud of smoke chasing each syllable. The lights make her dark eyes look like they鈥檙e shifting colors.
鈥淚 met him during my shift at a bar when I was thirty-two and he was twenty-one. I couldn鈥檛 believe how smart and handsome he was. He spoke like he knew the answers to everything.鈥 She doesn鈥檛 point to any man, but you know for certain that she鈥檚 referring to Jungkook. 鈥淗e was interested in my life, so I told him everything. I told him how my parents would frown at me for living how I lived. They were rich, but I didn鈥檛 want to live off money I didn鈥檛 earn. They didn鈥檛 understand and scolded me for being selfish. My son wasn鈥檛 ever a depressed or spoiled child and he knew the value of money from a very early age. I guess that鈥檚 one thing I could teach him.鈥
鈥淗e wrote about me, you know?鈥 She admits. 鈥淚t鈥檚 a complete autobiography, really. He鈥檚 a talented writer, always describing things that others wouldn鈥檛 have thought to. And he gave me 100% of the profits he made from it. I refused at first, but he insisted that I deserved it.鈥
You鈥檙e so engulfed in her story that you don鈥檛 notice when Jungkook takes a seat next to you until his fingers push your hair away from your neck. His hand is smeared in pink neon paint, which is now glowing in a section of your hair. In his other hand is a clear drink. He offers it to you and you smell it; vodka and lemonade. Classy.
鈥淗aving fun?鈥 He leans close to your neck so you can hear him over the booming music. 鈥淪he鈥檚 funny, isn鈥檛 she?鈥
鈥淵ou could say that.鈥
He watches as you take a leisurely sip of your drink. Your lips are slightly wet and glisten beneath the flashing lights. 鈥淐an I ask you something?鈥
You give him a playful look, the same one you鈥檝e been giving him most of the night, and he responds by placing a hand on your thigh. The silk is smooth against his palm, but so is your skin as he reaches underneath the skirt of your dress. Huifang isn鈥檛 sitting next to you when you look for her.
鈥淲hat鈥檚 the worst thing you鈥檝e done?鈥 Jungkook coos against your neck as his fingers dance against your skin. They inch higher and higher as each second passes. The music grows louder.
You鈥檝e had plenty of sex with ex-boyfriends at questionable places, but you haven鈥檛 been touched so publicly before, nor have you been so aroused that you鈥檇 even allow somebody鈥檚 hand to reach any further than your knee.
Your heart slams against your rib cage and you swallow hard. You can鈥檛 find the strength to recite your response in anything other than a quiet whisper. You鈥檙e no stranger to sex, but you feel like a virgin again. 鈥淭he worst?鈥
He can鈥檛 hear you. His hand vanishes beneath your dress, now delving beneath the fabric of your panties and running against your wet skin. You sigh at his touch.
The music and chatter has dimmed around you and the only thing your ears listen for is his voice. 鈥淭he naughtiest.鈥
Completely void of shame, he eases two fingers into your pussy until his palm is flush against your clit. You instinctively reach for his inner thigh and dig your nails into the fabric of his pants. He moves, slowly pumping his fingers and rubbing his palm firmly against your clit. You鈥檙e hazy and light-headed, completely drunk on his touch.
He takes your earlobe between his teeth before pressing a gentle kiss against the sore skin. 鈥淚 think I can guess.鈥
You bite back a moan into a whimper that only he hears. Your pussy aches around his fingers and you instinctively push your hips closer toward his touch. He presses a hard kiss against your neck and drags his paint-covered hand from your neck down to your breasts. A trail of neon pink paint vanishes beneath your bra, where he has your nipple between his fingers.
Arousal drools down his skin as he increases the speed of his fingers. Your hips move on their own, circling and following the rhythm of his fingers. A fire grows between your thighs and you have to really, really focus to not drop your drink on the floor and smash the glass.
鈥淭hat鈥檚 pretty naughty.鈥 You can hear the amusement in his voice.
That鈥檚 the worst thing you鈥檝e ever done.
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On Saturday, you work yourself to the bone. Jungkook crosses your mind when you鈥檙e alone in your bedroom, but you fall asleep before you can do anything about it. On Sunday, though, you just can鈥檛 fall asleep. The thought of his touch and the insanely perverted thing you did in that house full of people lingers in your mind. Things like that would usually repulse you, but you can鈥檛 help but ache for it again.
Shamelessly, you touch yourself. You run the tip of your vibrator up and down your pussy, spreading your lips and slicking up the toy. You picture the shower scene you had read in his novel; the hand-print on the woman鈥檚 thigh, the slapping sounds of wet sex, and the heavy water flowing from the faucet. You picture his fingers rubbing hard against your clit and easing deep into you, just how he had done on Friday night. You picture the dimples in his lower back as he dips in-between your thighs, his wide shoulders, toned abdomen, his voice in your ear. 鈥
A whine falls from your mouth as you delve deeper into your imagination. His sex, his moans, the furrow in his eyebrows when he concentrates on fucking you well, the kisses that he likes to press against your neck. Your back arches off the bed as you draw yourself closer to your climax. You can barely contain yourself. Moans and gasps fill your bedroom. You grasp at the sheets and think of him when you come.
Jungkook sleeps with two women and writes more of his novel; the one inspired by you. His writers block is well and truly being replaced with something far more productive.
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From Monday to Friday, David Woods invites you into his office before you reach your desk in the morning and before you step outside at the end of each day, demanding updates on the rich couple you鈥檙e working for. They may be Jungkook鈥檚 parents, but they鈥檙e your clients. You鈥檙e smart enough to know that it鈥檚 always best to leave personal-life far, far away from work-life.
鈥淲ell?鈥 Woods always begins with.
鈥淲ell what?鈥 You always finish with. 鈥淭hey鈥檙e happy with how things are progressing.鈥
Every second of every day, you feel Woods鈥 ghost looming over your shoulder and yelling 鈥榙on鈥檛 fuck this up! make me look good and make me lots of money! more, more, more money!鈥
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Sunday is supposed to be the day that you can dedicate to yourself and to your peace of mind, but you find it increasingly hard to wind down. No matter how delicious your cocktail is, how warm the summers night is, or how pretty the pool looks as the water glistens beneath the moonlight, you just can鈥檛 seem to settle your thoughts.
鈥淩ough day?鈥 A familiar voice calls from his second story home. You don鈥檛 need to lift your head to know that Jungkook is hanging out of his window with a glass of whiskey in hand and a handsome smile on his face.
鈥淵ou have no idea.鈥 You call back, making no effort to meet his gaze. You鈥檙e wearing a short summery dress and he likes the look of it.
鈥淲ell.鈥 He lifts his glass like he鈥檚 making a toast to God himself. 鈥淚鈥檇 like to have an idea.鈥澛
He invites you over and you hesitantly accept the glass of red wine he pours for you. A gin and tonic would鈥檝e been nice, but he鈥檚 keen on you tasting this exclusive bottle of wine. You take a tiny sip and are pleasantly surprised. It鈥檚 not vinegary like all the other wines you鈥檝e tasted. It鈥檚 floral and soft on your throat.
You tell him everything about your ordeals at work; from the first time you met your boss, to the time he told you not to wear a particular color because it 鈥榳ashes you out鈥, and now to his constant breathing down your neck. You want to leave and create your own business as soon as you can, but you can鈥檛 leave a client before construction work begins. You鈥檒l look like a fucking idiot.
It feels good to vent and it feels even better to vent to someone who holds zero judgement toward you. The conversation shifts and you ask about Huifang. He tells you that her son recently received a scholarship for university.
鈥淲hat鈥檚 your favorite color?鈥 Jungkook asks as he refills your wine glass for the third time that night.
鈥淲hy do you ask?鈥
He鈥檚 amused at your sudden defensiveness. Is it that bad? 鈥淭rying to get to know you.鈥
鈥淚 don鈥檛 have one.鈥 You say without giving it a single thought. It鈥檚 such a simple question, but you don鈥檛 want to answer it. There鈥檚 something much more intimate about telling somebody your favorite color than, for example, drawing them a labelled diagram of your vagina and asshole. You don鈥檛 want to be that kind of intimate. Not now.
鈥淔ine.鈥 He says, smile not faltering. 鈥淢ine鈥檚 blue.鈥
You decide to ask him a question of your own; one that you鈥檝e been meaning to ask since that night at the bar. 鈥淣othing in this world bothers you, does it?鈥
鈥淭hings bother me.鈥 He admits. 鈥淏ut I see no point in hanging onto things that I can鈥檛 change.鈥
When midnight strikes, you announce your departure. You pick up the bottle of red wine and make a rightful request. 鈥淢ind if I take this? It鈥檚 better than I thought.鈥
鈥淗elp yourself.鈥
You leave and he rolls himself a tight joint. His personal phone rings from the kitchen counter and he picks up after five rings.
鈥淵es?鈥 He asks, wholly uninterested.
鈥淚t鈥檚 been a while, hasn鈥檛 it?鈥 A pretty female voice murmurs through the receiver. 鈥淚鈥檓 a few hours behind, so I鈥檓 sorry for calling you so late at night.鈥
His joint hangs loosely from the side of his mouth, the filter growing slightly damp. It crosses his mind that this woman behind the phone may be his first love, but that thought leaves his mind as quickly as it comes. He changed his phone number multiple times to avoid a handful of others, so how could it be? 鈥淲ho is this?鈥
鈥淵ou forgot me already?鈥 Her laugh rings in his ears like a high school bell. It is her. Only she has that laugh. It鈥檚 beautiful, but also sort of villainous. 鈥淗ow long has it been? three years?鈥
鈥淚 don鈥檛 keep track of time anymore.鈥
鈥淏ecause you鈥檙e so rich, right? Nothing really matters to you anymore. You can do whatever you want.鈥 He can picture her rolling her eyes so clearly in his mind. That was something she often did when she disapproved. 鈥淢oney is a nice feeling.鈥
He doesn鈥檛 say anything, too taken aback by the exact same person who used him up like a favorite lipstick three years back. He doesn鈥檛 understand why she called him.
鈥淚 read your novel, by the way. The one about me.鈥 She cuts the silence with a softer tone. 鈥淵ou made me look a lot better than I鈥檝e been. Why?鈥
He lights the tip of the joint with an old, silver lighter and inhales the smoke deeply into his lungs. The smoke chases his response and then vanishes into the air. 鈥淣o hard feelings, right? We agreed on that.鈥
鈥淒id you mean it?鈥 She switches the topic at the very moment he notices the lights to your bedroom flick on. 鈥淲hen you said you鈥檇 always love me? Wait for me?鈥
鈥淚 meant it then.鈥 He admits, his vision and mind softening. He checked out of the conversation just moments before. 鈥淏ut that was then.鈥
And then he hangs up, eyes on the gentle light emitting from your home. Unbeknownst to him, his heart isn鈥檛 stuck in the radio waves that momentarily connected him to his past, it鈥檚 in that bottle of wine you took, in your hands, in his future.
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You work like you always do. Jungkook crosses your mind, but it鈥檚 far too often for your liking. It concerns you how he easily he can creep into your mind while you鈥檙e sitting at your desk, waiting in line for a coffee, or driving home. You always look at his house before pulling up to your own. This isn鈥檛 seeming like a no-strings-attached arrangement anymore and that bothers you.
Jungkook is presented with countless opportunities, but he doesn鈥檛 sleep with anyone during the time spent away from you. He touches himself to the thought of you a few times; a clear picture of your face in his mind as he runs his fingers over his skin. He can鈥檛 help it, but he doesn鈥檛 quite know why. He wonders what you get up to at work and if your boss has backed off yet. He hates wondering.
You don鈥檛 speak for almost three weeks and that irks him. He writes a lot of his novel in that time, but it鈥檚 not enough to ease his mind. He wants to see you, to listen to you ramble about your life, to see that bashful smile. He calls you on a Tuesday night, but you don鈥檛 answer. He calls you on a Friday night and you answer after six rings.
鈥淲here have you been?鈥
鈥淲orking.鈥 You hate the effect that his voice has on you. 鈥淲here have you been?鈥
鈥淲orking. Wanna hang out?鈥 He asks because he wants to touch you and you agree because you want to touch him, too.
For a change, he knocks on your door and you have sex in your house. The sex is just as good and dirty as it had been the last time, maybe even better; he pulls your hair, pushes his fingers in your mouth, and slaps your ass as he fucks you from behind. He makes you come twice, makes you say his name, and ties your wrists with your own panties. You lick his cock from the base to the tip and coat his skin with your saliva. You hollow your cheeks, swirl your tongue, and run your tongue along his slit, and he fucks your throat until tears prick at the corner of your eyes. The both of you let completely loose and crumble beneath each-other鈥檚 touch, but when all is said and done, you immediately start searching for your clothes.
鈥淎re you avoiding me?鈥 He asks as he watches you step back into your panties. He鈥檚 laying back on your bed, naked, with a hand resting under his head.
This is where he had his heart broken for the first time; not with his dick out, although, that does come to mind whenever he reminisces, but after being avoided for a period of time. He remembers what his ex said to him; 鈥業鈥檓 moving away. Away from this fucking city. I鈥檒l call you.鈥 And then he let her. He let her glance at him only once, get on that flight, and leave his heart on the runway. But he鈥檚 not a total idiot. He picked it up and shoved it back into his chest where it should鈥檝e stayed and where healing only comes with time. Even after publishing his first novel, he still felt alone. Money, fame, and sex isn鈥檛 everything. He was missing a kind of company where he was allowed to be flawed. And then he met you. You let him say the wrong things, drink too much on a night out, have messy and imperfect sex, and express dissatisfaction even toward his wealthy lifestyle.
You hesitate before answering. Have you been avoiding him? You couldn鈥檛 say. You鈥檝e definitely been running from thoughts of him. 鈥淣o, why?鈥
鈥淒on鈥檛 know. Maybe you鈥檙e not.鈥 He doesn鈥檛 pull his eyes away from your frantic movements. 鈥淚 like spending time with you, so it sucks that I can鈥檛 see you more often.鈥
To you, he鈥檚 just another contact in your phone book. To him, you鈥檙e just company that he鈥檚 very fond of. That鈥檚 what you鈥檝e convinced yourselves, at-least. Maybe you were both raised the same way; taught to not put yourself in risky situations unless they鈥檒l bring you success and fortune. Emotions are messy and complicated, and feelings of heartbreak aren鈥檛 worth the trouble. Sex is fun, but falling in-love isn鈥檛. You go from occasionally thinking about a person, to becoming a vessel for their entire existence. You鈥檒l no longer put yourself first and that can be a dangerous thing. After sex, you can just get up and leave. But, when you鈥檙e in-love, it stays with you no matter how far you run.
鈥淚鈥檝e just been busy.鈥 You say. It鈥檚 not a lie. 鈥淵ou know how it gets.鈥
鈥淵eah, I do.鈥 He grins at you and you feel a huge wave of guilt wash over you. Why is he such a nice fucking guy? Why do you never want to see that smile leave his face?
You can鈥檛 hold it in much longer, so you just let it all out. You need to make sense of this. 鈥淭his is just a friendship, right? We鈥檙e clearly friends, but then there鈥檚 all of this sex. Really good sex, don鈥檛 get me wrong..鈥
Jungkook knows that he has love for you, but he鈥檚 not in-love with you. He could be, though, and that鈥檚 something that intrigues him. If you would just look into his eyes a little differently and let him see past the shades of your iris鈥, he knows that he could fall in-love. Seeing you stand in front of him, now, with nothing on but panties and his shirt makes him wonder. He鈥檚 seen what鈥檚 beneath, but he hasn鈥檛 seen much of what鈥檚 even deeper. You don鈥檛 talk when you don鈥檛 want to. You don鈥檛 let yourself be wholly vulnerable around him.
鈥淲hy wouldn鈥檛 we be friends?鈥 He realizes how that sounds as soon as he says it. You鈥檙e just trying to draw the lines and he鈥檚 really fucking awful at coloring within them.
鈥淥kay. Let鈥檚 agree on friends.. Just to be clear.鈥 You hold out your hand like you鈥檙e offering him a life-changing deal. It may not be life-changing, but it鈥檚 definitely a one-way deal. How can he refuse? If he does, he鈥檒l lose you completely. If he agrees, he鈥檒l lose you in the way he wants you, but you鈥檒l still be around.
This has happened before, something similar at-least. He should鈥檝e seen it coming, but he gets so lost in your eyes and lost in the way your voice envelopes all of his senses. This is how his life will continue to be; others will do great things and he will be the messenger. Willingly, of course. There鈥檚 something quite intriguing about being the pawn in another person鈥檚 self-discovery plan. Besides, he鈥檚 not leaving empty handed; he gets another plot for his next novel. He gets to feel whatever pain he feels and he鈥檒l make millions out of it. People will do just about anything to succeed in this world, whether it be playing the devil or the fool. Both warrant profit and a status of some kind.聽
He wants to ask if you鈥檙e sure, but who is he to question your choices? He doesn鈥檛 know what goes on in your head, what鈥檚 best for you, or how you truly feel about him. Some may say that he deserves to know, but he doesn鈥檛. Nobody in this world is entitled to your thoughts, your body, or your time, no matter what they鈥檝e done for you.
His expression shifts to one of amusement 鈥 like he鈥檚 saying聽鈥榳ell played鈥 鈥 as he takes your hand and shakes on it. You鈥檙e one hell of a woman, the most intriguing one he鈥檚 even met. There are layers to you that are never-ending, depths that are too dark for him to see in. And, until you hand him a torch bright enough, he鈥檒l appreciate the things that you do decide to show him. 鈥淔riends, whatever you want.鈥
No matter how much it hurts, nobody can force what isn鈥檛 meant to be. Maybe time will change the story, but for now, everything is how it鈥檚 supposed to be. He won鈥檛 force any of his feelings onto you and that鈥檚 what will make him a good friend. You鈥檒l just look at each-other, exactly how you鈥檙e doing right now, with tight lips. You鈥檒l share the warmth of each-other鈥檚 palms and bathe in the silence until somebody picks up their pride and makes the easier decision.
Just because two people love each-other, even in the most platonic way, it doesn鈥檛 mean that they鈥檙e meant to be together. For some, pain is pleasure. For others, pain is pain, and they have a habit of letting it go along with the person who sparked the feeling. Life is a cycle of giving and聽receiving pain, but it鈥檚 also a cycle of giving and receiving love. Without pain, nobody would know love, and vice versa.聽
But, before he can pull his eyes away from yours and be the one to leave, to make that easy decision, you give him that very look; the look that makes him fall in-love with you.
鈥淧urple.鈥 You say, holding onto his hand like it鈥檚 keeping you afloat. You feel like you might lose him forever if you let go, like you might drown in the most painful way. You don鈥檛 want him to leave. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 my favorite color.鈥
He doesn鈥檛 say a word, far too afraid of missing one of yours.
鈥淣ot a hickey-colored purple, more like a lilac.鈥 Your eyes are wide and desperate. To be friends isn鈥檛 what you want, even if it鈥檚 what you said. You know that you鈥檒l never feel what he makes you feel with any other person. Maybe he鈥檒l break your heart into a million pieces, or maybe you鈥檒l break his, but you wouldn鈥檛 want anyone else to do it. You鈥檒l never trust somebody like you trust him and that鈥檚 important to you. 鈥淚 didn鈥檛 like wine until you poured me some, daises spark up my allergies, my parents have been separated for nine years, but can鈥檛 be bothered to divide their assets, so, technically, they鈥檙e still married. My friends and I have a Sex and the City marathon every Christmas..鈥
What happens that same night is unlike anything either of you have ever experienced before. Shut off from others and believing that you are the only two people awake in this big, messy world right now, you allow yourselves to fall completely, deeply, and unconditionally in-love with each-other. There鈥檚 nowhere else that you鈥檇 rather be than in his arms, sharing what seems like pointless things about yourself; your experience in college, what you were like when you were a kid, your favorite foods, your favorite music, your worst habits. You laugh, you cry, you run your fingers through his hair and kiss him tenderly. You tell him that you love him because you know that you do, and he tells you that he loves you because it鈥檚 impossible for him not to.
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You succeed in your own studio because that鈥檚 what you put your mind, body, and soul towards. You rarely question your identity, femininity, and self-worth, but when you do, you take a step back and take a long look at the empire you鈥檝e amassed for yourself. You cry when you need to, you scream at the ocean when things bottle up, you have the filthiest sex with Jungkook and let him kiss every inch of your skin when you want to be touched, and you allow yourself to be wholly vulnerable with the people that love you. You take a look at the kind friends you鈥檝e made, the supportive clients, investors, and even those who despise you in silence.
And, on a sunny Tuesday afternoon, you take a good look at a newspaper article displayed behind the window of a news agency: David Woods, former CEO of Woods Architecture Studio, is under fire for subjecting his employees to bizarre company policies, underpaying, and failing to provide adequate training and feedback opportunities to female employees.
The article displayed on the following newspaper makes you smile just as wide: Jeon Jungkook, author and new-found owner of a whiskey distillery, sold more than one million copies of his new novel in the first seven days, and has achieved the title of Best Selling Author for the third year in a row.
You might be thinking to yourself: did he ever write that odd, sex-filled erotica novel about me? The answer is yes. You just read it.
Thanks for reading!
taglist 鈥 @zeharilisharaban @ayumimegami @philostuff @carolsummerlove @piaesthetic @viokook @bangtan-serendipity @kookie-monsteur @codeinebelle @jeon-ggukkie @prdshobi @kookoo-kachoo @goldenlilyz @chiminies-noona @callmeyourstarrynight @minbinwhore @jiminxjimout @rjsmochii @waves-and-woods @dayjeons @hip-hop-phile @preciouschimine聽@kookiesdoe @min-nicoleee @jungc0ck @kuuuuroo @boraength @vantesday @shrimpmsg @bbydoejk @syazkook @bts-junseagull @tae165 @bangtanforeverxxx7 @cupidguk鈥 @lilacrosebud鈥 @lovrboyjk鈥 @busansonenonly @marcoazz2
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screnwriter2 months ago
a shit ton of angsty prompts
kissing your lover鈥檚 forehead as they鈥檙e dying in your arms
being forced to watch the love of your life move on with someone else, you鈥檝e gathered enough courage to tell them you want to be with them, only to catch them holding hands with someone else聽
our family won鈥檛 approve of our relationship but we have to stick together, until one day you question if the relationship is even worth all this secrecy and i can鈥檛 believe that you鈥檇 doubt us even for a second
i鈥檓 finally ready to be with you, but you鈥檝e finally moved on from me, and i鈥檓 too late
we can鈥檛 be together but let鈥檚 make the most of the night before we have to go our separate ways, maybe watch the stars as we talk about how we would have gotten married, how many kids we would have had, if the odds had been in our favor
coming home to find your lover cheating on you, throwing all their things out the window and cursing them out of your life, wondering how they could do this to you聽鈥樷檡ou can鈥檛 claim to love someone, and then go and do what you just did.鈥欌櫬
being forced to kill your lover, because only one of you are going to survive, and your lover insists they couldn鈥檛 live in this life without you聽鈥樷檍ust promise me you鈥檒l be happy. promise me you will be.鈥欌櫬
it鈥檚 been months since we broke up and i just found one of your old sweatshirts in my wardrobe and it鈥檚 making me miss you聽
we haven鈥檛 seen each other in years but reunite at a mutual friend鈥檚 wedding, things ended badly between us and we both know it鈥檚 better to avoid each other but of course we鈥檙e seated at the same table, opposite each other聽
we鈥檙e broken up, you鈥檙e over at my house to pick some of your stuff up, and neither of us know how to act, so i just let you inside, you grab your things, and leave as quickly as you came
you鈥檙e over at my house to pick some of your stuff up, and as you load the last of your things into your car, you head back to my front door to say goodbye, and somehow... we wind up in bed聽
being forced to kill your lover, but you can鈥檛 do it, so they take your hand, and help you press the knife into their chest, while the antagonist watches your every move, making sure neither of you try to run聽
having to watch your lover die, as you鈥檙e restrained by the antagonist, unable to fight your way out of their grip, yet your eyes are glued on your lover鈥檚聽
having to say goodbye to your lover, who鈥檚 moving across the world, kissing them goodbye one last time before they board the plane. during your last kiss, your lover says they didn鈥檛 think you would make it to the airport but聽鈥樷檌 couldn鈥檛 let you leave without saying goodbye.鈥欌櫬
two character鈥檚 dying together, laying outside in the cold, rain, holding hands聽
a love triangle in which, lover #2 recognizes how toxic lover #1 is for the main character聽鈥樷檕ne of you will end up killing the other. whether that鈥檚 physically or emotionally, one of you will end up killing the other. there鈥檚 no dimension in this world where the two of you end up happy.鈥欌
accidentally catching your ex or the person you鈥檙e in love with getting frisky with someone else, and having to pretend like it doesn鈥檛 bother you
going to your lover鈥檚 house to apologize for something you did, but instead of being let in, you get the door slammed in your face聽鈥樷榳hy are you here?鈥欌 鈥樷榠鈥檓 here because i love you, and because i want to make things right.鈥欌 鈥樷榳ell, i don鈥檛 want you here, so go away.鈥欌
one character, with trust issues, gets drunk one night and spills how insecure they are in the relationship聽鈥樷檡ou don鈥檛. you don鈥檛 love me. you only love me when it鈥檚 beneficial.鈥欌 or the partner is caught cheating and the character drops those words
your lover telling you that they don鈥檛 love you anymore, or that they鈥檝e found someone else, and as you pack your things, you find a photo of the two of you together, from a time when you were happily in love
unrequited love, in which i just poured my heart out to you, telling you i love you and you said that you don鈥檛 feel the same way, and then you leave, and i鈥檓 standing here, not sure what to do, i can鈥檛 even cry that鈥檚 how shocked and heartbroken i am
鈥樷榶ou鈥檙e the worst thing that has ever happened to me. no, listen to me. you鈥檝e destroyed me.鈥欌樎
a break up in which, one person doesn鈥檛 have any feelings for the other anymore, while the other one is still head over heels in love with them 鈥樷檅ut that doesn鈥檛 mean that our love wasn鈥檛 real. doesn鈥檛 mean that you didn鈥檛 love me enough, or that you weren鈥檛 loved. you were. you鈥檒l always be.鈥欌櫬犫樷檍ust not in the way i love you.鈥欌櫬犫樷檔o.鈥欌櫬
promising your lover that you鈥檒l make it home in time for your anniversary, but something comes up and you鈥檙e late, which screws up all your plans for the evening, and instead of celebrating your anniversary, your lover goes to bed, and barely utters one word to you the next morning
it鈥檚 toxic, and we鈥檙e not good for each other, and聽鈥樷檌 love you so much it鈥檚 killing me.鈥欌
begging your lover to open the door so you can talk things through聽鈥樷檌 know you鈥檙e in there. [character], please, open up.鈥欌 but as they won鈥檛,聽鈥樷檃t least let me say goodbye.鈥欌櫬
a character using their last bit of strength to kiss you goodbye, before they close their eyes for the last time聽
two characters are about to kiss, but pulls away last second when one character says聽鈥樷檛his isn鈥檛 right.鈥欌 and the other replies with聽鈥樷檡ou wouldn鈥檛 be here if it wasn鈥檛.鈥欌櫬
鈥樷檡ou said you wouldn鈥檛 break my heart, and then that鈥檚 exactly what you did.鈥欌櫬
鈥樷檌 don鈥檛 want to listen to a single word coming out of your mouth.鈥欌
鈥樷榳e can鈥檛 be together. it鈥檚 too dangerous. you understand that, right?鈥欌
i might make a part two
update: part two can be found here
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tizzymcwizzya month ago
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hhaahaaaa,,,, more angst,,,,,,,,, i desperately need to draw some fluff,, this hurts famsquad,,,
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also some detail shots cause i put way too much effort into chat's boots
this is partially inspired by this ladynoir angst comic that saber made a while ago,, i just want them to hug and then keep hugging, okay?
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