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#give me women beating the shit out of men in any genre
stilesb0 · 5 months
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My Katsuki Bakugou Headcanons!
let’s start of simple.
• a lot of us headcanon Bakugou as Deaf\half Deaf due to his quirk, and im all for it, but I also believe that Mitsuki had Bakugou learn sign language at a young age, worried that he would eventually lose hearing.
• no one can convince me otherwise, this man is a raging bisexual. He honestly doesn’t care about dating but he’s totally attracted to men, women and those in between.
• His bestfriend is Kirishima, but im pretty sure that’s Canon.
• he absolutely hates himself for how he treated Izuku.
• he smells like cinnamon…I just- I can’t, he has to smell like Cinnamon.
• I Don’t know why but I fully believe that Bakugou knows how to braid. Like, he’s able to Plait, Dutch braid, French braid, everything.
• for his S\O, he’ll always call them ‘Dumbass’, even if it’s in a harsh tone of voice he means it affectionately.
• THIS MAN WEARS EYE LINER. YOU CAN NOT TELL ME OTHER WISE.
• he has piercings. He does. Lip, tongue, nose, eyebrow, ears. They’re all pierced, some are removed occasionally.
• he loves reading. All genres.
• he can play guitar but prefers drums.
• total germaphobe.
• we all now this dude loves his spicy foods.
• he’d beat the shit out of anyone, ANYONE, if they purposely Deadnamed, Used the wrong pronouns for someone. It honestly doesn’t even matter who they are, it doesn’t matter if he knows them or not, he’ll defend the person with his life when it comes to things like that.
• he makes little booms from his palms when he’s anxious.
• I believe that he loves cuddles when sleeping, when he’s tired that’s when he’s soft and quiet.
• …he slept with an Almight plushie until he was ten\Eleven.
• he loves to watch movies\TV shows in bed, it has to be in bed. He’ll sit on a couch and blankly stare at a TV and have no idea what is happening because the couch is so uncomfortable.
• if his S\O or a close friend as long hair and is sitting in-front of him then he won’t be able to help himself, he’ll subconsciously start braiding. (Am I thinking of giving Bakugou a little sister Oc…yes TT^TT)
• he’ll show respect until disrespected. He believes in respect is earned, it doesn’t matter if it’s his elder or not.
• he absolutely loves teenage mutant ninja turtles 2012 (I’m not reflecting…IM NOT!)
• ^ his favourite characters Are Raphael and Casey, you can not convince me otherwise.
• he goes all out on training, I believe that on weekends, specifically Saturdays, he will train from 6 am to 7 pm.
• …he loves watermelon, I don’t know why, he just does.
<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>
More headcanons to come, any idea on who’s next?
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kamii-2 · 8 months
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Can you write daryl x daughter!reader(adopted) and she has never expressed interest in any guys(and the group and others tease her all the time with carl or any other guys around) one day on a run daryl catches her looking at a magazine that has women with bikinis or lingerie and maybe another time he catches her being all smily with other girls, until he walks in on her and enid making out is when he puts it together. And the next day reader comes to him and comes out and hes just super supportive?🫶🏾
hi anon and tysm for requesting!! i didn’t do one of the things you wanted in the story because if i did, it would be super long (im so sorry). anyway i hope you enjoy!!
warnings: inappropriate magazines, lingerie, bikinis, and making out
season: 6
genre: tbh idek 😭 i guess fluff and angst?
——————
growing up you never were attracted to men. you never talked about boys in any other way but platonically and you never read or watched anything sexual about them. you were the odd one out with all of your friends before and during the apocalypse, they talked about boys and how they wanted to get married and shit like that while you just sat there awkwardly. you don’t know why you don’t like men like every girl, except tara, does. sometimes you wish you did, you felt like an outcast to everyone in your group and Alexandria.
nobody knows about you liking girls except carl, you two have been friends since the beginning of the apocalypse. you did everything together, like go on runs, read comics, etc. since you guys are so close, everyone has assumed you two liked each other but you (obviously) don’t. you’ve done EVERYTHING to make them stop, but it never works. you guys have stayed apart from eachother to see if it would work but it failed because you guys got bored of it after the first couple hours, you’ve tried giving speeches on how you guys don’t like each other but they still don’t listen, so after a while you two just gave up.
-small time skip-
you and carl were sitting on his bed reading comics, then tara walks in, “hey lovebirds-“ she started but you and carl quickly said “we aren’t together.” she rolled her eyes and said “rick and daryl said get your stuff and meet them at the gate, they’re taking you guys on a run.” she closed the door and walked away. “well, let’s get ready i guess” you say while getting off his bed and leaving to go to your room.
you grabbed your gun, knife, and bag full of necessities. you walked out of the house and went to the car by the gate where daryl, rick, and carl were standing, waiting for you. “hurry up y/n!” daryl yelled. “i’m trying!” you said back while starting to jog. once you got in the car, rick started to play some weird country type music, but you ignored it and looked out the window as you all drove to your destination.
once you got and you all got out, you started to plan. “okay so carl and y/n you take the right side and me and daryl will take the left, if you see anything of use, grab it.” rick instructed everyone. when you walked in you went to the first aisle on the right and look at all the shelves for anything to use back home.
while walking down the aisle, you seen a box on the shelf. you picked it up and set it on the ground then sat next to it while opening it up. inside it had atleast 5 playboy magazines. you picked all of them up and looked at he covers of them in shock. you were curious so you put all but one back and opened it up to the first page which you immediately seen a girl in lingerie, your eyes went wide and you flipped to the next page and seen another lady but in a bikini this time. before you could flip again, daryl turned the corner and seen you and the magazines, “y/n what are you reading?!” he said in shock.
you quickly closed the magazine and stood up. “so.. uhm, i-i..” you stuttered out while looking at your adoptive dad. your heart was beating super hard and fast. you were silent and looking everywhere but his face. “why were you reading a playboy magazine?” he asked you calmly, you didn’t know how to reply so you stayed quiet. “y/n you aren’t in trouble, just tell me why.” he said again, you took one shakey breath then said, “i found it in this box,” you pushed the box to him with your foot, “and i got curious from the cover so i opened one.” you admitted. daryl narrowed his eyes at you but still believed you. “okay.. we’ll find some other things then come to the entrance.” he said while walking away, “okay.” you said, waiting for him to get far enough, then you proceeded to shove two playboy magazines in your bag.
after about 10 minutes you went to the door where everyone else was. all you found was food and bandages. “okay, let’s go.” rick said as he opened the door, walking out to the car. the rest of you followed behind him. after reaching the car you all got in and drove back home. carl peeked over at your bag on the ground and seen the magazines peeking out, “hey uh y/n, look in your bag” he said in a whisper while nodding his head to your bag. the magazines were sticking out and you shoved them so far in your bag they probably ripped, “if you tell anyone about this i will suffocate you in your sleep.” you whispered back while pointing at him. he nodded his head and turned away trying to not laugh.
once you guys got back you got out the car and ran into the house and straight into your room. you stashed the magazines in a box in your closet then buried it in random things.
-another time skip-
you and enid were sitting in your bed silently. you were just staring at the wall and enid was reading a comic, “wanna watch a movie?” you ask enid. “sure, which movie?” she said while turning to you, “we could watch Coraline.” you suggested while getting up to find the movie, “sure” enid said while putting the comic up.
once you found the movie you put it in your dvd player that daryl gave you as a gift a couple months ago. the movie started to play and you went to go sit down. enid had her eyes in you the whole time, watching every movement you made. you noticed she was staring and asked “what?” as you sat next to her. she started to slowly lean in and so did you. both of your lips connected and you straddled her lap.
she slipped her tongue in your mouth and let her hands roam your body. your make out session was cut short whenever daryl opened the door. you flew off of her and daryl just looked shocked and closed your door and left. “oh my god enid. this is not how i wanted to come out to my dad.” you said while covering your whole face with your hands. “it’s okay.” she said while hugging you, “what if he doesn��t support me?” you said about to start crying. “why wouldn’t he support you?” she questioned you, “his brother was homophobic and i don’t know if he is too” you said, tears falling down your face. enid wiped your tears and hugged you tighter, “why don’t you go and talk to him about it?” she asked. “i’m too scared” you responded while wiping your tears. “tell him tomorrow, it will give you some time to think about what to say.” she suggested, “okay, thank you” you said to her while giving her a little peck on the cheek. “i’m gonna go home, it’s getting a little late.” she said while getting up. you both said bye and you went to sleep.
-the next day-
you woke up anxious about telling your dad but you had a feeling it will go well. after you got ready, you walked outside to the front porch and seen your dad. a wave of nervousness washed over you, “hey dad, can we talk?” you said while hesitantly sitting down. “yea, what’s wrong” daryl said while looking at you. “so as you can see from yesterdays events, i like girls.” you said trying to stay calm, he stared at you with a blank face. you got scared about what he might say, “why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he asked. his response took you by surprise.
“i thought you wouldn’t support me.” you admitted to him, “why wouldn’t i?” he wondered. “to be honest, i don’t know” you responded, to which he chuckled at. “well just know i’ll support you no matter what.” he said while smiling and hugging you. “thank you dad, i love you.” you said while hugging back, “i love you too.”
—————
this story took so long to write but i love it so much!! i hope you guys like the story!
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i-carian · 3 years
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The Librarians | Gunpowder Milkshake (2021) there is little joy in life for me, and little terror in the grave. i've lived the parting hour to see of one i would have died to save.
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subbykboys · 3 years
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new to this | taeyong
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↳ pairing : virgin!taeyong x reader
Genre ➞ pure smut oof
Warnings ➞ sub!taeyong, corruption kink, begging, mild degrading, handjob, fingering (m. receiving), public-ish(?), mild choking, running into walls
Word Count ➞ 8.3k
requested by @ninachocoo
posted ; 3.08.21
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Hot. God, it was so hot. 
Then again, summer in your part of town always was. But this heat— this heat was different. It surrounded you, pulling perspiration from your pores and clinging to you persistently. It spilled down your throat, filling your lungs with every deep inhale. It robbed you of any and all of your energy, leaving you too tired to rouse yourself from where you lay on the cool tile floor of your kitchen in front of the open fridge (the absolute coldest spot you could find in your entire house). 
You didn’t cope very well in warm weather, if that wasn’t obvious. 
And, at the cost of your poor housemate’s sanity, you always found new and creative ways to cope with the excruciating rise in temperature, 
“Y/n a few of my— how many times do I have to tell you to stop doing that?!” You couldn’t bring yourself to so much as flinch as the fridge door was abruptly slammed shut, only managing to pull a whining complaint from the back of your throat as your only source of cool air was ever so rudely ripped away. 
“Fuck you, Mark. It’s too fucking hot to worry about the stupid electricity bill.” You huffed, peeling your eyes open just long enough to shoot an icy glare in the direction of the scowling brunette. 
He crossed his arms over his chest stubbornly, lower lip jutting out. “I think you forget that it’s a combination of both of our money going into paying them, so I think that I have a right to worry about how much is coming out of my pocket because you think that laying in front of an open fridge is a good way to ‘beat the heat’.” 
“Offer me a better solution, I’m open to suggestions.” You sighed tiredly. 
He only rolled his eyes. 
“Oh! I’ve got one,” you exclaimed suddenly, clapping your hands together as a gasp of excitement flew from your lips, “How about I just strip down and walk around butt ass naked? That should do the trick! Oh… but little Mark would like that a little too much, wouldn’t he?” You offered him a taunting pout, feigning sympathy as you glanced down unabashedly towards his crotch. 
Instinctively, his hands flew to cover himself as his cheeks throbbed a devastatingly obvious shade of red, bright enough to rival even the ripest of tomatoes. “Y–you—” 
Your lips curled with an amused smirk, but it faltered at the sound of thundering laughter coming from behind your flustered housemate. Your eyes followed the sound, finding its source in a group of about five or so men crowding up the foyer. Brows lifting in mild surprise, you shifted your attention back to an even more humiliated looking Mark. 
“You brought company.” An apology hung at the tip of your tongue. You really tried to keep your pg-13 teasing to a minimum around other people, especially knowing how susceptible Mark could be to his own embarrassment. 
“Hey Mark, I thought you said your roommate was a raging asshole with the sex drive of a teenaged boy on viagra? She seems pretty cool to me! And hot.” One of the taller boys chimed, a massive dopey grin plastered across his face. 
You turned to Mark slowly, brows raised. But he wouldn’t meet your eyes, head lowered. He wasn’t good at hiding his guilt. 
Welp. No apology for ole Marky boy today. 
“Please, allow me to properly introduce myself to our company.” Mark's eyebrows jumped all the way to his hairline as you pushed yourself off the floor and tossed an arm around his shoulder. “My name is (y/n), but I suppose Mark's asshole roommate with the sex drive of a teenage boy on viagra could work, too.” 
The look you shot him out of the corner of your eye had him shrinking in on himself, regret shining in his big brown eyes. But, you ruffled his hair, a silent reassurance that you weren’t all that torn up about the comment, especially considering it was hard to deny the layer of truth that lingered within it. 
You’d probably subjected Mark to more than his fair share of sleepless nights while you were up into the early morning giving the man (or woman) of the night the experience of a lifetime. A few scathing comments to close friends was more than understandable when looked upon in that light. Besides, you were never good at holding a grudge against your sweet, awkward, puppy-eyed housemate. 
The tall one that had spoken before chimed in eagerly, “I’m Yukhei, but my friends call me Lucas. Xuxi works, too. Or papi if you're feeling especially— ow!” Lucas yelped loudly as a hand connected to the back of a head with a sharp smack. You watched in amusement as another tall, charming looking man tugged him back, shooting him a warning glare before turning his attention to you. 
“Ignore him. He has a bad habit of forgetting his manners around attractive women. My name's Johnny, it’s great to finally meet you.” The sweet, disarming smile he offered you had any reservations melting away, and you easily returned the gesture before he proceeded with introductions. “This Haechan, Jaehyun, Doyoung, and— Taeyong?” 
Johnny pivoted around, brief confusion settling across his face before he spotted whoever he’d been looking for. Reaching behind Lucas, he grabbed someone's arm, tugging them into your line of sight. 
“And this is Taeyong!” He concluded with a grin, slapping a large hand down on the shorter boy’s shoulder. Taeyong dipped his head shyly, not meeting your eyes as he murmured a soft greeting that you were just barely able to catch. Soft tufts of dirty blonde hair fell over large brown eyes as he bowed politely, the air of meekness unmistakable. 
Oh, he’s cute. 
Your lips curled into an impish smirk. “Hi, Taeyong.” 
A faint blush darkened his cheeks and you caught a hint of a smile upturning the corners of his mouth. 
Really cute. 
Mark knew you well enough to see the gears beginning to turn in your head and coughed loudly when your stare lingered longer than necessary.
“O-kay, now that you’re all acquainted…” he stepped in swiftly, opting to intervene before you could get any wise ideas about his friend. “We have got a group project to work on and it would be extremely helpful if you’d refrain from providing any distractions. I already have a hard enough time trying to get them to focus for longer than five minutes as is.”
“Aww but I wanna hang out with your hot roommate, Mark.” Lucas whined loudly, practically throwing himself across Mark’s shoulders as the cutest pout you’ve probably ever seen fell across his lips. “She’s got a way nicer ass than any of you guys.” 
Doyoung sighed, his face screwing in second hand embarrassment for his friend’s shameless behavior. “Lucas, please.” 
“Have some dignity, man.” Haechan huffed additionally and you grinned in amusement as he grabbed the collar of Lucas’s shirt and began tugging him towards the living room. 
“Don’t worry, Mark. I’ll stay out of the way. I would hate to hinder your geek fest.” You teased, wrinkling your nose as you stepped past him. 
“Thank you, (y/n). I really— wait, Geek f– it’s a project worth thirty percent of our final grade!” 
“To-may-to, to-mah-to.” You waved a dismissive hand over your shoulder, before pausing briefly. Spinning on your heels, you turned back to face 
the cute boy, who visibly jolted the moment your attention landed on him. “It was very nice meeting you, Taeyong.” 
“Y- you, too.” He stuttered sweetly and you had to fight the overwhelming urge to reach over and pinch those adorable pink cheeks. Either pair. 
With one last sultry smile, and a wink just to fuck with Mark a little, you sauntered back into your bedroom. Miraculously, you were no longer concerned with the previously unbearable heat plaguing your apartment. Now, you had something —or rather, someone— far more interesting to occupy your mind. 
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Taeyong was having a difficult time focusing, which was pretty out of ordinary. He had barely gotten anything done with his assigned part of the project, less than half a page filled out with what little information he managed to collect. Luckily, none of the other guys seemed to notice, too distracted by their own inabilities to focus to take notice of his. Otherwise he would have to concoct some lie. But he wasn’t good at lying. He was a terrible liar, in fact. So he would probably just end up blurting out the truth which was you. You were the reason he couldn’t focus. You with your mischievous eyes and your pretty smile and intoxicating laugh. Mark’s asshole roommate with the sex drive of a teenage boy on viagra. 
He’d seen pictures of you before. But they didn’t do you any justice. In pictures, you were pretty. In real life, you were beautiful, charming, witty, sexy, and you winked at him. Girls don’t wink at him. Not ever. But you had. You’d winked and smiled at him and he wasn’t sure if you were just teasing him because he flustered easily or if there was a chance it meant something a little more than that. 
… he secretly hoped it meant something a little more than that. 
But he shouldn’t be thinking about you right now. He should be thinking about finishing his research. Not your eyes. Not your smile. Not your voice of the way you purred his name and those shivers rushed down his spine and he could have sworn something twitched— okay. That’s enough. He really needed to splash some water in his face, cool down a little before his mind wandered to places it definitely should not. 
“Ah— Mark?” 
The younger boy lifted his head, brows raising. “’Sup?” 
“Where’s the bathroom?” 
He perked, tipping his chin forward. “Oh, it’s to the right of the k— shit, wait. That toilet’s busted. Um, just use the one in my room. It’s at the end of the hall.” 
“Thanks,” Taeyong pushed himself up with a soft grunt, nearly tripping over Yukhei’s long legs as he maneuvered himself around the cluttered coffee table, “I’ll be right back.” 
None of the other guys took much notice of how quickly he rushed out of the room, much to Taeyong’s relief. He let out a low breath the moment he turned the corner and found himself in a vacant hallway, but that relief was short lived. 
Mark had only said that his room was at the end of the hall. But, there were two doors at the end of the hall. Meaning one of them could possibly lead to your room. And you were in your room. Which meant if he walked through the wrong door on accident… he could walk in on you. Oh god. Heat rushed into his cheeks at the mere thought of such a humiliating occurrence. For a moment, he debated turning on his heels and returning to the living room. 
But, he wasn’t ready to go back to studying just yet. He was still feeling flushed and antsy and needed another moment or two to himself. Plus… he was actually starting to need to pee a little. Damn him and his tiny bladder.
Hesitating, he gently knocked on the door on the right side of the hall then waited ten seconds. No response. Just to be extra certain, he knocked twice more before finally turning the knob. Cautiously, he peeked his head inside. The black out curtains were drawn tight so the room was dark, too dark to make out anything defining outside of the vague shape of a bed and dresser tucked into the far corner. It took a few minutes of stumbling blindly through the inky blackness, tripping over clothes and extension wires until he found what he hoped to be the bathroom door. 
Without too much of a second thought, he opened the door. 
Then he froze. 
He thought it was Mark’s room. He really did. He thought he was tripping over Mark’s clothes and Mark’s wires. Though, he probably should have noticed the light coming out from beneath the bathroom door, indicating that someone might be inside. Or maybe he did but ignored it because– because maybe Mark just left the light on. That could have happened. That totally could have happened. 
But it didn’t. 
Because it wasn’t Mark’s room. Those weren’t his clothes or his wires and he didn’t leave the light on. 
He realized this all too late of course. Because now he was staring at you. You who was wet and naked and… wet and naked. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He could only stare, dumbstruck, mind short circuiting as billowing steam curled around the shape of your body like an iridescent veil, beautiful skin glistening under the soft golden light. Your head was tipped back, lips slightly parted, hands soothing your slick hair out of your face as the hot water cascading down the swells of your 
breasts and over the curves of your shoulders.
It was like watching something out of a pornographic shampoo commercial. 
“Oh—” it was somewhere between a whine and gasp, strangled and broken by the time it escaped his trembling lips. It was so quiet, you shouldn’t have been able to hear it over the hiss of water. So it took him off guard when your eyes opened and flicked in his direction. 
He flinched, body jolting backwards like it intended to make a break for it, but it was like your stare locked him into place. His brain was screaming at him to do something; to move, to  turn away, close his eyes, apologize, bash his head against the freaking wall, literally anything but stand there staring at you with his mouth open like a complete idiot. But he couldn’t. 
The corner of your mouth curled, forming into a downright devilish smirk that sent hot tendrils of desire spiraling through his veins. Then you quirked a brow and it was like a burst of electricity bringing him back to life. His hands flew up from where they’d been frozen at his sides, slapping so hard over his eyes that he yelped in shock at the sting. 
“Ohmygod I- I am so sorry! I am so—” he whirled around, spewing high pitched apologies as he scrambled for the door. Only, his eyes were closed so instead of bolting out the door he face planted into the wall next to the door. “Ow!” 
Your low laughter rippled through the small bathroom and red hot embarrassment raced up his neck and into his face. He could only whimper out one finally strained apology as he clutched his throbbing nose and stumbled back into the darkness of your bedroom, slamming the door sharply behind him. 
By the time he’d managed to scramble back into the hall, Taeyong felt like he was on fire. His heart was beating wildly in his chest and he was certain if he dared to look in a mirror he’d be the equivalent of a tomato. 
Humiliation gripped at his throat, squeezing painfully around his airway every time he recalled the previous events. He’d never be able to face you again. Not after that train wreck. Not ever. Groaning distraughtly, he sank against the wall, silently wishing that the floor would just swallow him up and put an end to his suffering.
But, there was something worse than the embarrassment. Something hotter and harder, throbbing shamelessly in the confines of his suddenly far too jeans. He saw you naked— wet and naked, looking like a freaking goddess beneath the stream of hot water, soap suds still clinging to your skin. He had never seen a woman like that before. Not in person, at least. And none as beautiful as you. 
Biting his lip, he squeezed his legs together, trying his best to will away his progressively hardening erection. That, of course, did not work. And it didn’t help in the slightest that every time he so much as blinked, the image of you in the shower came rushing to the forefront of his mind, still fresh and vivid and devastating. 
Oh god. There was no was no way he could go back to working on the project now. If he thought he was being unproductive before— he probably wouldn’t be able to get a single legible word written with the image of you and your body burned into the back of his eyelids. 
He was doomed. 
And he still needed to pee. 
Damnit. 
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It was about nine at night when the low voices transformed into booming laughter, the walls practically vibrating under the barrage of stomping feet. It didn’t take a genius to deduce that they’d finished up on their project— either that or they mutually reached the end of their attention spans. 
Regardless, you were bored of remaining cooped up in your bedroom merely for the sake of your roommate’s econ grade and needed to stretch your legs a bit. Not to mention you were beginning to crave something greasy and unhealthy. You were almost certain the group of college boys lounging in your living room wouldn’t be opposed to some pizza, fries, and milkshakes from your favorite delivery place. 
“I don’t know about you boys but I’m starving!” You sang brightly as you all but skipped into the room. All eyes swung to you, wide and stunned as they watched you waltz over to where Mark sat in the love seat and throw yourself into his lap like it was the most normal thing in the world. He grunted under your weight, lip curling in annoyance but wrapped his arms securely around your stomach nonetheless. You pretended not to notice the lingering eyes of one particular boy, meticulously curled into the farthest corner of the couch. “Anyone down to order?” 
“Ugh please!” Yukhei exclaimed, throwing his head back dramatically. “I am dying of hunger.” 
The others were eager to voice their own agreement and you turned to Mark with an expectant smile. “Rubio’s?” He asked, already reaching for his phone. 
“Read my mind.” You hummed, pinching his cheek until he hissed and swatted you away. 
It was nothing short of chaos trying to get everyone’s orders, multiple overlapping voices making it hard to discern exactly who was asking for what, but somehow Mark managed to place all of the requests with only a handful of difficulties. Well, all but one. 
“Taeyong.” 
The boy’s head jerked up so fast at the sound of his name that you were surprised you hadn’t heard something crack. Up until then he’d been sitting quietly with his knees to his chest, staring at his feet, pointedly avoiding looking in your general direction. He could only hold your gaze for a few tense seconds before his cheeks flamed and he dropped his eyes. 
“I– uh– y- yes?” He coughed, blinking hard. 
You tilted your head, offering him an innocent smile. “Is there anything you’d like to eat?” You couldn’t stop yourself from adding an unnecessarily suggestive pitch to the question, words dancing wickedly across your tongue. 
Taeyong swallowed and pulled his knees tighter to his chest. “I– I’ll just have some of the- the pizza.” The words tumbled clumsily out of his mouth and your grin only widened as he became more and more flustered under the heat of your persistent stare. 
“Perfect. Then we can share.” 
The poor boy nearly choked on air when you abruptly pushed yourself off of Mark and sauntered over to where he sat, squeezing in between him and an eager Yukhei, who was more than happy to make room for you. His entire body went rigid, brief panic shooting across his features as you made yourself comfortable. It was tight with Jaehyun, Lucas, Taeyong and now you all squished onto the couch, so you were practically flush against him, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. You pretended not to notice that he was holding his breath. 
“Thirty minutes.” Mark announced, shutting off his phone and shoving it back into his pocket. 
“What should we do while we wait?” Jaehyun asked, ignoring Yukhei as he whined about how he’d be dead of starvation before the food even arrived. 
“Movie?” Haechan suggested. 
You perked. “I know a good one.” 
“No— no.” Mark cut in quickly, pointing a finger with the intention to reprimand in your direction. “Every time you pick a movie it’s either fucked up or really fucked up. So no.” 
“Don’t be a pussy, Mark.” You huffed, wrinkling your nose at him. “Just because you don’t like horror movies doesn’t mean your friends don’t.” 
“I, for one, love a good horror movie!” Yukhei remarked, a smug grin breaking across his lips as he shot a flirtatious wink in your direction. 
Haechan scoffed. “Bullshit! You couldn’t sleep alone for a week after we watched The Shining. And that wasn’t even scary!” 
“There was a tidal wave of blood.” He grumbled defensively, crossing his arms over his chest as he slumped, lower lip jutting out dramatically.
“No tidal wave of blood is this one, promise.” You snickered, snatching the remote from the cluttered coffee table and switching on the television. It only took a few minutes of browsing through Netflix before you finally located the movie you’d saved to your watch list a few weeks ago but had never gotten the chance to watch. 
Marked hopped up to flick off the lights as you pressed play, any excited or nervous murmurs coming to a halt as the opening credits rolled across the screen. Beside you, Taeyong tensed, squeezing his legs even tighter to his chest. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, not missing the nervous way he gnawed at his lower lip even in the darkness. 
“Not good with horror movies?” You hummed, nudging his knee. He flinched in surprise, eyes shooting over to meet yours before he quickly diverted his attention back to the screen. 
“No, not– not really.” He admitted weakly, clearing his throat. 
A playful smirk twirled onto your lips and you subtly leaned into him, whispering near his ear, “you can hold my hand if you get scared.” 
A fierce blush consumed his cheeks, illuminated by the soft grey light of the television. “I– I’ll be okay.” He coughed when his voice cracked and you chuckled under your breath, opting to cut the poor boy some slack… for now. 
The movie progressed with the usual eerie start before transitioning into something lighter, though the low hum of anticipation-building music never ceased. Even if at some point it became rather repetitive, you thoroughly enjoyed a good horror movie. Most of the time, they failed to meet expectations and you left feeling rather disappointed that your stomach hadn’t leapt into your throat any point throughout the film. However, every once in a while, you were pleasantly surprised. 
Now, was not one of those times. 
Boredom quickly settled over you as the plot developed, revealing itself to be almost identical to a number of horror movies you’d watched in the past. You slumped back in your seat, a subtle scowl staining your lips. But then… inspiration. Devious, unquestionably self indulgent inspiration that risked putting a certain someone in a possibly very awkward (but also very delightful) position. 
The slow slide of your eyes from the television over to the boy seated at your left revealed that not everyone found the movie to be boring and repetitive. Taeyong was practically trembling. He had both of his hands over his face, wide, uncertain eyes peeking out timidly from between his index and middle fingers. 
You had to sink your teeth into your lip in order to subdue the large grin threatening to break across your face. 
Fuck, he’s too adorable. 
Unable to resist, you allowed a curious hand to wander towards his leg. With a brush so subtle it could’ve been mistaken for a breeze, you traced a finger over the seam of his pants. But, with his senses on high alert, it wasn’t a sensation he missed. He jolted violently, head swinging in your direction. There was fear in his eyes, but it quickly melted into relief else once he realized it was you and not some demon. 
Then his eyes drifted to where your finger lingered, hovering over his clothed thigh, and the relief transformed into something else entirely. Something hot and shameful and desperate, something he tried to hide behind frantically fluttering eyelids and quivering lips. But it was unmistakable. 
You lifted your brows, a silent question swirling in your gaze. He swallowed, breath coming out in quick, shallow huffs as the unnameable emotion thickened inside of him, then he nudged his leg shyly towards you. The air you didn’t realize you were holding in your lungs rushed out in one quick exhale, a subtle smirk curling onto your lips as excitement swirled in your gut. Taeyong sucked his lower lip into his mouth as your open palm landed boldly on his lower thigh, fingers pressing gently into the clothed muscle just above his knee. 
For a few minutes, it remained there, not moving any lower or any high, simply resting on his leg and he found himself relaxing beneath your touch. The heat of your hand was a welcome –comforting, even– distraction from the horror movie that had progressed to the point in the plot where the reckless characters put themselves directly into the line of danger instead of taking the intelligent path that would help them avoid it all together. You could feel the tension returning to Taeyong’s muscles as suspense building music poured from the surround sound speakers. 
In a two sided attempt to both comfort and tease, you began gently massaging his thigh. His breath audibly hitched, gaze straying from the screen once more in favor of watching the slow, deliberate motion of your fingers squeezing around his leg. That alone was enough to set his long neglected desire to flames. It burned within him, hot and dangerous, turning his face a dark, flattering crimson. 
It was too much. He’d never been touched like this before. You weren’t even close to his crotch and he could still feel the distinctive hardening beneath the zipper of his jeans which were growing tighter and tighter with every passing moment. At this rate, he’d make a mess of himself before the movie even reached its climax. 
The mere thought of coming untouched was enough to make his head feel dizzy, a mixture of humiliation and heady lust licking at his nerves. 
He couldn’t believe he was feeling this way, in a room full of his friends no less. If one of them were to look over, even through darkness, it would be impossible to miss your hand laid across his lap or the feverish blush coating his face, illuminated by the dull light of the tv. 
Then, your hand shifted higher. It was a minute movement, couldn’t have been more than an inch or two. But it had his pulse spiking in his veins nonetheless, blood rushing downward. You gripped gently at the inside of his slim thigh, thumb tracing slow, calculated circles into the rough material of his jeans. He trembled beneath the teasing ministrations, jaw clenched to fight back the urge to moan as your curious touch wandered upwards once more. 
“Is this alright?” 
The question came unexpectedly, a sudden rush of warm breath hitting the curve of his throat. He sucked his lips into his mouth, shivering faintly at the low, rough sound of your voice, just quiet enough that none of the other men in the room could make it out. 
He offered a sharp, jerky nod, desperately heaving in deep breath through his nose. The corner of your mouth curled. 
“God you're shaking. Are you that sensitive? Or do you just get off on getting felt up in front of all your friends? How naughty.” You chuckled tauntingly, words borderline malicious. 
“I– I don’t— I’m not—” he swallowed, shaking his head frantically in denial of your words, despite the flames they ignited inside of him. 
“I think you are.” You purred, tracing your index finger lightly over his prominent bulge, eliciting a strangled moan from his trembling lips. He was fortunate enough that at the very moment the sound escaped, some ditzy bimbo began screaming her lungs out in the movie. Still, he slapped a hand over his offending lips, looking around frantically to see if anyone had heard his slip up. Luckily enough, it seemed they hadn’t. 
This was payback, he realized abruptly, this was payback for walking in on you showering. 
But even if it was— 
It felt too damn good. 
His head tipped back, hand surging to cover his burning face and stifle his whimpers as you suddenly gripped firmly at his clothed length. A low, appreciative hum thrummed through your chest as you felt him twitch, delighting in just how responsive he was to your touch. His thighs squeezed together, hips shuddering upwards as you mapped him out. 
The urge to set your teeth upon his neck was almost overwhelming, but you resisted only because it might draw some attention from the room’s other, currently oblivious, occupants. You doubted Yukhei would miss it, even if he was desperately hiding his eyes behind those astoundingly massive hands. 
But shit was it tempting. 
His pretty porcelain skin would look so good painted in varying shades of pink and red. So sweet and pure… you wanted to taint him. 
He couldn’t stop moving now, squirming and quivering in place. He was unraveling right before your eyes, and you were devouring it. What a sight… 
Warmth stirred in your belly, and you rolled your palm down. He jolted violently, then in the next second he was up on his feet. It happened so quickly that you nearly fell over, just barely catching yourself from falling into the spot he previously occupied. Yukhei shrieked in shock, throwing himself directly into Jaehyun’s lap. 
“Fuck, Taeyong! You almost gave me a heart attack!” Haechan shrilled, clutching a pillow against his chest. Instead of responding, Taeyong jerked forward, the movement sharp and robotic, like his body wasn’t quite caught up to his brain. 
“What are you doing?” Doyoung asked, squinting at him through the darkness. “And why do you look so—” 
“B- B- Bathroom!” Taeyong squeaked out abruptly. You could only watch with wide eyes and gaping lips as he proceeded to run out of the living room like his ass was on fire. 
“Movie must’ve freaked him out.” Johnny muttered. 
“It’s not even that bad.” Yukhei scoffed in a voice too high pitched for his words to sound believable, grunting when Jaehyun shoved him off of his lap. Noisy banter was quick ensue. Noisy and distracting enough for you to make a quick and silent escape without catching any of the other boys’ attention. 
“Taeyong?” You called softly, worry churning in your gut that you overstepped or upset him. “Tae, I’m sorry if I—” you gasped, words cutting off in your throat as a hand found your wrist and you were quickly tugged around the corner and into the unlit hallway. 
The motion was so unexpected you ended up tripping over your own feet, having to slam a hand against the wall to steady yourself. But it was only when you felt a rush of quick, warm breath against your face that you realized the position you’d gotten yourself into. Taeyong was standing in front of you, face flushed a feverish shade of red, faint perspiration glistening on his skin, and he was standing with his spine flush against the wall, effectively caged in by your body. And he was looking at you. 
Really looking at you. 
With the kind of eyes that had something tightening deliciously in the pit of your stomach, chills of excitement ricocheting through your veins. 
“Tae?” His name was less than a breath on your lips, laced with an unspoken question. He sucked his lower lip into his mouth, fluttering gaze dancing across your face. 
“I almost…” he swallowed, shivering voice tapering off as he became overwhelmed by the proximity. He could smell your shampoo, a subtle, smoky-vanilla kind of scent that made his head feel dizzy. “I almost c- came.” 
The corner of your mouth swirled, both amused and charmed by the way he whispered the word, tone so innocent and shy that the filthy meaning behind it almost became misconstrued in your head. 
“Do you want to come, Taeyong?” You asked quietly, jutting a knee forward to press between his thighs. He gasped, trembling lips silently caressing the shape of your name as his hands shot forward, clutching desperately onto the sides of your shirt. A shy nod was all he could muster, the words feeling far too dirty to say aloud. But you weren’t satisfied. 
“Say it.” You murmured, nose brushing against his. His breath hitched at the command, warmth flushing through his veins beneath the staggering heat of your dark, hooded gaze. “If you want it, say it. If you don’t, tell me now.” 
“I want it!” He said quickly, only to flush and shrink in on himself, taken aback by his own outburst. Licking his lips, he repeated himself in a much softer voice, “I– I want it.” 
You let out a low hum, curving a gentle hand around his jaw. “Can I kiss you?” 
A shock ran through his body, his wide eyes snapping down to trace to soft lines of your mouth. “Yes.” He breathed, suddenly desperate for a taste of your lips. You didn’t deny him. 
The first brush of your lips against his is light, delicate… teasing. It made his knees tremble, fierce anticipation and wild desire running rampant through him. He opened up for you like a goddamn flower in bloom, melting sweetly when you applied even the slightest bit more pressure. His mouth was soft and warm, his kiss shy. And there was something ever so endearing about the way he clutched at your top like it was the only thing keeping him upright. 
You kept the pace deliberately slow, relishing in the soft moans that fluttered from his chest as you sucked his lower lip into your mouth, gently sinking your teeth into the sensitive flesh. He was wracked by a violent full body shiver when you licked over the seam of his lip. 
God he’s adorable. 
His strong reactions made you wonder if he’d ever been kissed like this before. Or, perhaps, this was a new experience entirely. 
“Taeyong.” He whimpered when you abruptly broke away from the kiss, but you ignored it. “Are you a virgin?” 
His eyes widened, a deep red flooding his cheeks. Then, he nodded, gaze dropping to the floor as the tips of his ears darkened. 
Wicked excitement curled in your gut, heat licking at your veins at the thought of being the first to corrupt such a sweet… innocent… 
“Have you ever been touched before?” 
He shook his head, chest pressing against your with every jagged inhale he drew into his lungs. 
You dipped a hand between your bodies, trailing teasingly down his stomach. “Would you like to be touched?” Your voice had dropped at least an octave, a low, rasping whisper that nearly made him keen. 
“Yes.” A devious grin settled across your lips at the quickness of his reply. Didn’t even need to think that one over, huh? 
You slid your hand over his crotch, feeling his hips buck uncontrollably when you squeezed. “Just looking at you,” you began, toying with his zipper, “I never would’ve guessed what a little slut you are.” 
“I- I’m not a slut.” He whimpered, digging his fingers into your waist. 
“Aren’t you, though?” You popped the button of his jeans. “I mean, take a good look at yourself, Yongie; letting yourself get felt up and teased by your best friend’s roommate while they’re just in the next room over. Seems pretty slutty to me.” 
Taeyong couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped his chest at the degrading word, his cock twitching within the confines of his boxers. Slipping a finger beneath the elastic, you tugged it away from his skin, letting out a playful coo when his weeping pink tip peeked out. The blush on his face intensified tenfold, both of his hands dropping down instinctively to cover himself. But you were faster, snatching his wrists and pinning them against the wall on either side of his head. 
“Don’t even think about it.” 
Shivering, he offered a compliant nod. 
“Good boy.” 
He barely had time to form a reaction to the praise before he felt you around him, stroking and caressing. The responding moan that burst from his lips was loud— too loud. You were quick to cover his gaping mouth, successfully muffling the series of succeeding gasps and whimpers. 
“Careful, sweetheart,” you clicked your tongue, watching the way his eyes fluttered and rolled as you tightened your grip around his cock, “you wouldn’t want your hyungs to find out what a little slut you’re being, now would you? Mark was so kind, inviting you into his home… How do you think he’d feel if he were to see you taking advantage of his hospitality, getting your pretty little cock played with by his roommate? How shameless...” 
Taeyong whimpered, and you felt the gentle press of his lips against your palm, followed by a meek flick of his tongue. He was looking at you now, really looking at you, with the kind of pathetic, wanting eyes that never failed to make your skin burn in excitement. You wondered if you could make him cry, overwhelm him with pleasure to the point where he couldn’t keep his emotions at bay. The desire to ruin him was almost unbearable. 
Swirling your thumb over his tip, you slotted a leg between his, pressing up against him from underneath. He nearly keened at the pressure, hips rolling greedily over your thigh, simultaneously pumping his cock into your closed fist. Heaven, this must be heaven. Honestly, you hadn’t expected him to succumb to his desires so readily, with such… enthusiasm. But this Taeyong surprised you at every turn. You’d thought he’d be shy, reserved, hesitant to give in, but here he was, riding your thigh and fucking your hand like his life depended on it, his muffled moans pulsing beneath your palm. 
It’d be a flat out lie to say you weren’t beyond turned on. 
There was a slick warmth building between your thighs, soaking into the fabric of your underwear, and tight knots in your stomach, threatening to burst at any given moment. The knowledge that less than thirty feet away, your roommate and all his friends were gathered and one stray moan from the crumbling man before you could give away all the filthy things you were doing to him stroked the lustful flames blazing through your blood. One glimpse into those hooded, glassy brown eyes told you he was suffering from a similar burn. 
“Turn around.” You demanded, somewhat breathless as you tore your hands off of him. A low whimper escaped past trembling lips at the loss of stimulation, a shiver rippling down his spine as his hard, abandoned cock swung through empty air. Regardless, he was quick to comply, spinning himself around and pressing his palms flat against the wall. You hummed a praise, pleased with his eager compliance, rewarding him with your touch. He gasped, forced to sink his teeth into his lip to stifle his whimpers as your hands slipped over his body: one returning to stroke his dick while the other pushed beneath the material of his top, venturing up to his chest where your fingers set to toying with his sensitive nipples. 
“(y/n)—” he moaned your name desperately, rocking his body back against yours as overwhelming pleasure pulsed through his veins. 
“Easy, sweetheart,” you chuckled darkly, splaying a steadying palm across his hips as they began grinding back into yours, “you sound like you're about to burst.” 
He moaned, shuddering when you caressed his sensitive tip, and an idea struck you. 
“Can you do something for me, Tae?” You asked, voice a low, rasping against the shell of his ear. “Can you suck?” 
Any short lived confusion dissipated from his mind when he felt your fingers nudging at the soft flesh of his lips. A deep blush flooded into his cheeks, but his mouth opened nonetheless, shyly taking your digits inside. 
“There you go…” you purred, feeling his tongue lick delicately at the pads of your middle and ring finger. He sucked, and you lowered your head to press slow, encouraging kisses laced with whispered praises to the juncture of his throat. You felt the soft vibrations of his muffled moans quivering through your knuckles and against your lips. He was shaking, the stimulation to his cock causing violent tremors to wrack his body. He wasn’t far off from release, you could tell as much by the way he was twitching and the slow increase in volume of his sounds. 
But you weren’t finished yet. 
Not by a long shot. 
You pulled your fingers from his mouth, the suction of his lips giving with a lewd, wet pop. A filthy sound coming from such innocent lips. 
Leaning forward, you nipped gently at the shell of his red tinted ear, hand releasing his dick in favor of venturing beneath the hem of his pants. You heard his breath hitched and offered quietly, “Tell me if you want me to stop.” 
Taeyong nodded in understanding, but offered no resistance as you pushed the thick denim down over the soft curve of his ass. His shoulders jumped, a gasp shooting from his lips when you slid a saliva soaked finger between his cheeks, coming to the abrupt realization of what your intentions were. 
“O– oh—” 
“Is this alright?” 
He swallowed, glancing back at you from over his shoulder. “I– I’ve never…” 
You soothed a hand down the front of his thigh, “it’s okay if you don’t want to.” 
There was no judgement in your tone, rather a gentleness to the reassurance that put his buzzing nerves at ease. “That’s not it,” he shook his head, gnawing at the corner of his lip as a soft pink crept across his cheeks, “j– just…” 
“Just?” 
Taeyong drew in a deep, trembling breath. Your furrowed brows shot to your hairline, heat twisting in your gut as he suddenly bent himself over, sticking his ass out, practically fucking presenting himself to you. “B- be gentle…” he whispered shyly, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow. 
Steam would surely start coming out of your nose if your temperature rose any further. This is fucking ridiculous. How was it possible for a man to be so cute yet so sexy all at once? This couldn’t be good for your health… 
Smirking deviously, you settled a palm between his shoulder blades, pressing down ever so slightly and watching as he delicately arched his spine. “I’m always gentle.” 
A hiccuping moan rushed from his chest at the first careful press of your finger, his brows furrowing deeply as his muscles tightened in response to the foreign stretch. 
“Relax, sweetheart.” You reminded lightly, settling soothing kisses across his shoulder. He drew in a series of deep breaths, allowing himself to adjust to the sensation of having something inside of him while melting into the tender caress of your cool lips across his feverish skin. You felt the slow dissipation of tension, felt the way he melted beneath you. “There you go…” you cooed, easing into him until your knuckle before allowing him a few moments to adjust. 
He was panting, forehead thudding softly against the wall as his hips trembled, a strange but not unpleasant feeling sparking to life inside of him. 
“Oh…” it was a barely audible sound, soft and breathless of shuddering lips. But you didn’t miss it, didn’t miss the way his shoulders drooped, his walls tight relaxing ever so faintly around the intruding digit. The corner of your mouth curled upwards in a salacious smirk, and you curled your finger experimentally. 
His reaction was instantaneous, a moan of surprise entwined with unexpected pleasure rushing from his flush throat. He glanced back at you from over his shoulder, eyes wide and trembling, hazy with an emotion you immediately recognized as pure, unfiltered lust. Your grin widened, almost triumphant as you whispered, “feel that?” 
He nodded rapidly, a gasp of breath wracking his chest. “Yes,” his hands were curling into fists where they were braced against the plaster wall. 
“Wanna feel it again?” 
The sound he let out was a combination of several things, keening and desperate for the sensation he’d never before experienced. “Please. Please.” 
It was impossible to say anything but yes when he begged like that. 
You rewarded him by stretching him out around a second finger, his knees nearly giving out when you thrust them in as deep as they would go. He was an absolute mess, forced to slap a quivering hand over his gaping mouth when his teeth proved insufficient at keeping his sounds in. You were enjoying yourself perhaps a little too much, enjoying watching him slowly crumble, enjoying watching his innocence shatter into tiny irreparable pieces on the floor beside glistening drops of precum. He was just too irresistible… 
“You’re about to come, aren’t you?” He was nodding before you even finished the question, muffled moans and sobs escaping through his fingers as he fucked himself back onto yours. You curve a hand around the shape of his jaw, tugging his head back at an angle that surely causes a strain in his neck, and slot your lips into his. Shoving your tongue down his throat proves a far more efficient means of keeping him quiet. 
But when you curled your fingers inside of him, subsequently stroking that sensitive bundle of nerves, even your mouth wasn’t enough to stifle the shriek of pleasure that burst from his throat. You were hoping the screams you heard emulating from the other room were enough to drown it out. 
“Keep your voice down.” You all but snarled, curling a hand around his throat. 
“I- I can’t— oh god, it feels so g- good.” He babbled, voice strained from the sheer effort of trying to keep himself from crying out in bliss. “I’m g- gonna come— I’m gonna c- come—” the sound of him choking on his words, gasping for breath around the added resistance of your restricting hold was even hotter than you imagined it would be. 
“Gone on, sweetheart. Let me see you make a mess of yourself.” You kissed the shell of his ear, deciding then to have mercy and offer his pathetic, weeping cock a helping hand. He was finished the moment your fingers grazed his tip, struck with an orgasm so powerful it had his knees buckling beneath the weight of his quivering body. 
His jaw when slack, unleashing every pent up sound he’d managed to keep bottled up thus far. They came rushing out of him too quickly to stop, not that you made much of an effort. You were enjoying the way he was moaning your name like it was his saving grace far too much to care whether or not the other boys were hearing. In fact, the thought of them hearing their sweet, innocent Taeyong whimpering like a bitch in heat, moaning your name, gave you an unexpected rush of delight. 
You didn’t stop fucking your fingers into his tight little hole until you were certain you’d milked him for all he was worth, until he was reduced to little more than a trembling, whimpering mess against your chest, barely able to keep himself upright. 
“Oh my g- god.” He murmured shakily, head falling back to rest on your shoulder. 
A low chuckle slid from your lips as you gently released his spent cock, simultaneously pulling out of him. He winced faintly, whining weakly at the unpleasant emptiness that ensued. 
“That felt pretty good didn’t it?” You teased. 
He bit his lip, humming airily as he melted into your hold. 
“You’re a good boy, aren’t you, Taeyong?” Your words danced over the curve of his throat, flooding his senses with the fluttering implication. Blushing, he nodded, a shy bob of his head that caused the sweat soaked fringes of his bangs to fall over his eyes, clinging delicately to his pretty eyelashes. “Words?” 
“I—” he swallowed, gaze flitting as his face reddened further, “I’m a g- good boy.” 
You mouth curled deviously. Holding your come covered hand up to his panting mouth, you whispered against the shell of his ear, “good boys clean up their mess.” 
His breath hitched, wide eyes jumping over to meet yours. You held his gaze boldly, cocking an expectant brow. Then, ever so lightly, his tongue dipped out from between red bitten lips, kitten licking his come from your fingertips. You could’ve come right then and there, watching him shyly lap his own release from your hand. Honestly you would’ve been happy to stay like that all night, his tongue tracing the lines of your palm, caressing your knuckles… 
But then the doorbell rang, and someone cleared their throat in the other room. 
“Uh… foods here.” 
Taeyong leapt away from you with a gasp, flushing deeply as his hands flew to tuck himself back into his jeans. 
“D- do you think they—” his voice cracked and he coughed as crimson crept up his neck. 
You smirked, not in the least bit ashamed. 
“Oh, definitely.”
A/N; well i dropped off the face of the earth, sorry about that loves. but i think you’ll be happy to know that i have a number of wip sitting in drafts, should i tease the banners? 
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xjoonchildx · 4 years
Text
greedy | myg x reader | chapter one: you like milkshakes?
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summary: being a loner has never bothered yoongi until now.  until you.
pairing: yoongi x reader
genre: mafia AU, pining, eventual smut
rating: 18+
word count: 4.3K
notes: confession, i am struggling these days with my insane attraction to min yoongi.  this guy has it all.  looks and talent and mystery and sweetness -- he’s the total package. so i really wanted to give him a story in this AU that i’ve come to love so much and i truly hope you guys enjoy it.  
i also hope you guys know how much i appreciate every single one of you. i see your reblogs and comments and likes and i try to answer every one because it truly makes my day.  you guys make my day.
i could not post this fic without shouting out the amazing @hobi-gif because honestly, if hope didn’t read it, did i even write it? and i’m sending major love to three people who are such a source of laughter and support for me, @ladyartemesia​ @ppersonna @taetaewonderland. you guys keep me in stitches.
this fic is a continuation of the Guarded Series but can be read as a standalone piece! Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05
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Yoongi had fucked up.
He’d misread the massive man’s approach, tracking him in one direction when the guy was actually headed in another.  That’s how the asshole managed to catch Yoongi off guard with one meaty fist to the face. 
It didn’t matter that it was hundreds of pounds of fat -- not muscle -- behind that punch.  It was wielding more than enough momentum to blow up the side of Yoongi’s face like a bomb. 
That’s the night he landed in the ER at Songdo at nearly two in the morning, pressing gauze to his bleeding face.  
That’s the night he found himself chuckling inside an empty exam room, reading triage paperwork that made him sound like some kind of war hero instead of just an idiot who got caught looking the wrong way.
That’s the night he met you.
“Rough evening, Mister Yun?” 
Yoongi had looked up from the floor just as you’d breezed into the room, tablet in hand.  That moment marked the second time he’d been caught off guard that night.
“That looks like it hurts,” you’d murmured sympathetically, eyes raking over the bloody mess on his face.  Your gaze was clinical -- professional -- as you assessed his grossly swollen eye and the half dozen bleeding cuts that surrounded it.  
But then you’d stopped looking at him -- and stepped back to really look at him.  
Yoongi had taken one look at your enormous, dark eyes and your soft, sweet face and he was dumbstruck.  He’d blinked back at you with the only eye that could still move.  
“You’re a doctor?”
“Nope,” you’d replied casually, turning to reach for a pair of latex gloves. “I’m a janitor. But I’ve always wanted to give this medicine thing a try. You don’t mind, right?”  
Your eyes had sparkled then, bright with humor -- and Yoongi couldn’t help but grin despite the pain pulsing from the left side of his face.
“Here’s the deal, Mister Yun,” you’d said, pulling on your gloves.  “I’m a resident.  And I’m more than qualified to handle the -- situation -- on your face, but if you feel more comfortable waiting for the attending, I’m happy to step back.  Good luck seeing him before sunrise, though.”
“Nah,” Yoongi had chuckled.  “I think I’ll take my chances with you.”
“Good call.”
You’d leaned in close after that, gloved fingers firm under his chin as you turned his face from side to side.  You’d smelled fucking amazing.  The light, fresh scent that lingered on your skin sure as hell beat the disinfectant odor in this place.
“What happened to you tonight, Mister Yun?”
“It’s a funny story, actually.”
“Oh, great,” you’d said dryly.  “‘Cause it turns out, I love funny stories.”
Yoongi had flinched when you’d peeled the gauze back, exposing the angry wounds to the air.  But he’d forced himself to sit dutifully still as you got to work cleaning the caked blood off his face and eye.
“Thing is, I work for the circus,” he’d started, hissing under his breath when you swiped across an open cut above his eye.  “One of the elephants got rowdy while we were practicing a number tonight and just kicked me right in the face.”
You’d stopped dabbing at his eye then, one brow raised and a cynical slant to your mouth.
Yoongi liked that you knew he was full of shit right away. 
He liked that you’d played along anyway.
“God, I hate when that happens,” you’d said with feigned outrage, cutting your eyes at him as you dropped a piece of bloody gauze on the tray at his side.  
“I know, right?”
That’s when Yoongi had won a real smile from you, wide and genuine.  That's when Yoongi made the mistake of looking at you for just a moment too long.  
He knew it by the way your smile fell away as you cleared your throat and turned your focus back to his damaged face.
“Well, I have good news for you Mister Yun,” you’d said after a while, eyes scanning the freshly cleaned wounds.  You’d run your gloved fingers gently over one particularly deep slash over his eye and Yoongi felt a shudder run up his back.  “I’m pretty sure you’re going to live.”
“Well, that is good news.”
There was that smile again.  
It seemed like no time at all before you had him all patched up -- cuts sanitized and sealed with skin adhesive; swollen eye cleaned and medicated.  Yoongi had felt a strange kind of disappointment as he’d watched you gather your supplies, pull your gloves off and drop them in the trash can near the door.
“You’re all set, Mister Yun,” you’d murmured. “Watch out for those elephants, okay? I’d hate for them to ruin a perfectly nice face.”
Then you were gone.
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Thing is -- Kim Namjoon is a rules guy.
It doesn’t matter that he runs a criminal organization -- or that the men in his employ are gangsters in custom ties and suits.  He expects dirty work done clean because that’s what sets the Gajog apart.
Rotate hospitals.  Use fake names.  Pay in cash.
All of those protocols are in place to keep any one of the Gajog from drawing unwanted attention.  Truthfully, Namjoon’s operations usually run so neatly his men rarely have to seek treatment for anything beyond the occasional black eye or broken bone.  That’s why he’d rather trust his men to legitimate doctors in legitimate hospitals than hand them over to some back-alley hack.
Thing is -- shit has gotten a lot more heated of late.  
An audit of the Gajog books has turned up millions in missing won, stolen over time by street-level guys all over the city.  Yoongi and Hoseok are the ones on the front lines, tasked with confronting those men -- getting them to pay and getting them back in line.
Sometimes they play ball.  Sometimes they don’t.
Tonight is one of those nights.
Yoongi knew the moment they arrived at the crumbling warehouse in the Nowon district that shit was probably going to get messy.  Their contact was fucked up -- sloppy drunk -- and belligerent from the jump.
After that, everything was a blur.
At some point during the scuffle, Yoongi heard his hand crunch under the heavy weight of the man’s steel-toed boot. The pain was still flaring hot from his knuckles when Hoseok finally took the guy down.  
Right now Yoongi should be at Asan or Gachon or any of the other half-dozen hospitals in the city.  He should have dragged his tired ass and bloody hand across town because those are the rules.
But instead -- for the second time in a month -- he’s sitting under the sickly fluorescent lights in an empty exam room at Songdo at nearly three in the morning.
Hoping to see you. 
*************************
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Yoongi is gingerly flexing his aching fingers when a light knock sounds at the door.
It was a long shot that you’d be here tonight -- and an even longer shot that you’d be the one treating him. But when the door to the exam room opens, it’s you on the other side.
Yoongi’s pulse picks up in response.
“Sorry to keep you waiting tonight Mister -- ”  you stop dead in your tracks, eyes wide on his before darting back down the tablet in your hand.  You scan the screen slowly then look back up, gaze critical.
“ -- Mister Woo.”
“Yeah, sure,” Yoongi replies casually.  “It’s no problem.”
You approach him slowly then, disbelief etched into your delicate features and Yoongi takes in every detail.
It’s like he’d forgotten how pretty you are since the last time he saw you.
You’re nothing like the flashy women who like to hang around the usual Gajog haunts.  You’re the kind of pretty that doesn’t cost hundreds of thousands of won a month to maintain.  The kind of pretty that doesn’t come off at the end of the night. 
Yoongi swallows thickly as you eye him, lips parted like you’re about to fire off a hundred different questions.  But you don’t.  
You play along.  
Again.
“Right.  Let’s get to it then, Mister Woo,” you say carefully, slipping on your gloves.  “What happened to your hand?”
“Well, you see, I’m a hot air balloon operator.”  
His mouth quirks into a smile and your eyes flash in response.  
“Wind was nuts today and the basket came down on my hand.  I think I might have broken something.”
“Hmm,” you murmur.  “Hot air balloon operator, huh?”
Yoongi winces when you take his hand between your gloved ones, gently applying pressure to each knuckle.
“Yeah.”
“That’s an interesting way to make a living, Mister Woo.”
Yoongi chokes down a groan when you press against one particularly sore spot.  You back off the pressure, turning to make a note on your chart.
“Well, I’m an interesting guy,” he whispers.  
You look up at him then, dark eyes focused and intense.  
“That you are.”
You’re looking at Yoongi like you can see inside him and the scrutiny makes him squirm.  He lowers his eyes to the floor and keeps quiet while you clean his hand and apply ointment to his cuts.
“Mister Woo, it looks like most of these are surface abrasions, but the knuckles concern me.  I’m going to have to send you for an X-ray.”
“Yeah, okay.  It hurts like hell.”
“I bet it does,” you say quietly, typing into your tablet.  “Someone is going to come and take you back when they’re ready.  I have to go check on some other patients, but I’ll be back when we have some images to go over.”
“Sure,” Yoongi breathes.
You take another long look at him before standing to leave and Yoongi wonders for a moment if he’s made a mistake. Maybe he’s misread you like he misread that brawler who caught him with the nasty punch all those weeks ago.  
You could be off to flag a security guard.  Or leaving to call the police.
He really should have just followed protocol.
Yoongi sits in the quiet of that exam room waiting -- ready -- for trouble that never comes.  Because when a knock finally sounds at the door, it’s not the Korean National Police.  
It’s the X-ray technician.
Maybe he didn’t misread you after all.
*********************
It takes hours for you to come back.
“Mixed news tonight, Mister Woo,” you say upon your return.  “You have hairline fractures in three of your knuckles, which explains the pain.  Unfortunately, that means I’m not going to be able to do much for you beyond wrapping your hand.”
Yoongi nods.  “Got it.”
“And you should probably lay off the ballooning for a while,” you say under your breath as you lay out your bandages.  “Just a suggestion.”
“Good idea,” Yoongi chuckles.  “Safety first.”
You fix him with another one of those long, indecipherable looks before getting to work on his hand.  But you don’t say anything and the longer the silence stretches on, the antsier Yoongi feels.
“So…” he exhales, clearing his throat, “... you like milkshakes?”
“Everyone likes milkshakes,” you return evenly.  You don’t take your eyes off his hand or the flexible material you’re carefully wrapping around his sore knuckles. 
“Lactose intolerant people don’t like milkshakes.”
“Lactose intolerant people like milkshakes as much as the rest of us,” you argue.  “They just can’t tolerate them.”
“What are you, some kind of doctor?”
Your lips quirk with the threat of a laugh you manage to suppress but Yoongi catches the expression before it disappears.  You seem to relax after that.  He does, too.
“Dijeoteu has the best milkshakes in the city.  Ever been there?”
“Can’t say that I have,” you admit, taping off a bandage.  
“It’s not far from here.  Open twenty-four hours.  I hang out there sometimes.”
“So you’re a milkshake-drinking hot-air balloon enthusiast,” you murmur, inspecting your handiwork closely.  “Anything else I should know about you, Mister Woo?’
Yoongi scratches the back of his neck with his free hand.
“Not really.  That about covers it.”
You hum thoughtfully under your breath as you finish wrapping the bruised knuckles.
“All done.  How does it feel?”
“Better,” Yoongi admits.  “Thanks.”
You gaze at him then, thoughtful -- expression soft with something that looks almost like concern.  Yoongi drops his gaze down to his bandaged hand.
This is the part where you’ve finished -- the part where you leave.  
This is the part where he should say something to you but he has no idea what or how.
“I would say come back soon, but this is a hospital and that seems wildly inappropriate,” you announce, voice breaking clear through his stupor.
You turn back to him just as you’re walking towards the door, and for a moment Yoongi thinks you’re going to give in and ask him any one of the dozens of questions that must be swirling around your mind.
But you don’t.
“Try to take care of that hand, Mister Woo.”
Yoongi nods.
“Thanks, Doc.”
**********************
YOU
Doctor Lee is on his Houdini shit tonight, apparently.
The ER is packed -- waiting room crowded with crabby patients -- and you are, once again, running yourself ragged to get to every last one.  Lee is, once again, nowhere to be found.
“Page him again,” you call out as you pass the charge nurse outside an exam room.  
A quick scan of your tablet confirms the toddler behind this magic door has been vomiting all night.  You shut your eyes and wish a slow, violent death on your absent attending.  Vomit is the single worst phenomenon in medicine.
“I’ve paged him three times,” Nurse Ko calls back.
“Page him again,” you repeat, forcing a smile and pushing into the room.
Thirty minutes and one change of scrubs later you are checking charts on the next patient in line.  You pat the pocket of your new scrubs and realize you’ve left a half-eaten energy bar around here somewhere.  
No chance you’ll get that back.
Lee picks this moment to reappear, back from doing God knows what.  He strolls down the hallway like a man with nothing on his to-do list.
“You paged for me?” he inquires casually.
“A few times, actually,” you mutter.  “I’m getting killed out here.”
“Relax,” Lee purrs, condescension dripping from his tone.  “We’ll get it done.”
You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from firing back the half-dozen nasty responses that spring to mind. There is no we when it comes to Doctor Lee.  He’s always been flighty and inconsistent, but these days he’s practically a missing person.  You’re still not sure how hospital management hasn’t figured out that he’s making his resident run the overnight ER.
“There’s a guy down the hall who says he swallowed a magnet,” you say, waving a hand in that direction.  “If you can pick him up I can get to this head trauma.”
Lee sighs like it’s a major inconvenience that you’ve asked him to do his job.
“Yeah, I’ll grab it.”
***********************
It’s nearly four in the morning by the time you have a chance to catch your breath.
You walk out to scan the waiting area and to your relief, there are only a handful of patients yet to be seen.  Then your eyes land on one young man -- slumped into a chair in an oversized coat, hat pulled low over his eyes.
You freeze.  
The man in the chair must feel your stare from across the room because he straightens, giving you a better look at the face hidden under the brim of his hat.  You let go of a breath you don’t realize you’ve been holding.
It’s not him.  
It’s not the mysterious man with the fake names and the bogus stories and the insanely handsome face. You shake your head as you look back down at your tablet, silently chastising yourself for even entertaining the thought.  
You shouldn’t still be thinking about this guy and you know it.
But it’s driving you nuts that you can’t figure him out.
He’s never tried to play you for pills and that seems to be the only thing people lie about these days. But if his problem isn’t drugs it’s certainly something because no one lands in the hospital that many times, with that many phoney stories unless they’re up to no good.
So you ignore the nonsensical disappointment you feel when the guy in that chair is not the guy. 
Because deep down you know he’s either in trouble -- or he is trouble.
***********************
Your pager goes off for a second time and you silence the alert, tossing it onto a nearby blanket.
It’s not like you’re hiding out in here -- not really. 
It’s just that you’ve already had one patient cough up blood on your sneakers and another swing at you when you refused to give him narcotics, so this night is off to a spectacularly bad start.
Besides, Doctor Lee could use a taste of his own medicine.  
This week has been the worst, by far.  You’ve been seeing at least three patients to his every one and you’re exhausted.  If there’s any justice, he’s walking into the exam room where the infant with explosive diarrhea is waiting to be seen -- you check your watch -- right about now.
The door to the linen closet cracks open and you groan, hiding your face in your hands.
“What, you thought I didn’t know about your little hiding place?”  Nurse Ko asks with a grin.  “I find everyone’s hiding place, eventually.”
“Haven’t found Lee’s yet,” you gripe. 
“Yeah, well he’s sneakier,” she laughs.  “Here, I brought you something.”  
She tosses a granola bar at you and it lands in your lap.  
“Thanks,” you sigh, ripping it open.  You take a bite and Ko leans against the doorframe.
“I don’t page you for my health, you know.”
“I know,” you whine around a mouthful of dried oats.  “I just needed five minutes.”
“Well, I’ve got a guy out here who says he’ll only see you.  Doesn’t want Doctor Lee and says he’ll wait as long as it takes.”
A piece of the granola bar lodges in your throat and you cough around it, spluttering while Ko looks on, amused.  She waits for you to collect yourself.
“Is he -- ”
“ -- hot? Yes. Very,” Ko smiles.  
Your cheeks flame with embarrassment at both the observation and the fact that it’s coming from a woman in her sixties.
“I was going to say young,” you grumble, standing and dusting your hands off with a towel.
“That, too.  Come to think of it, I know I’ve seen him here before.  You have some kind of admirer, jagiya?”
You flush.
**************************
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“Good evening, Mister Kim.”
You hope the air of nonchalance you affect when you enter the exam room is enough to mask your jitters.  
Your mystery patient looks back at you with those dark eyes and a half-smirk that makes your heart trip in your chest.  You take a steadying breath as you look down at your tablet.
Get it together, girl.
“What brings you in tonight?” you inquire lightly.  “Sword-swallowing accident?  Lose a fist fight with a bear?”
Your mysterious patient chuckles under his breath.  
“Where would you get a couple of outlandish ideas like that, Doc?”
You look up at him just as the teasing smirk on his face becomes a full smile and heat blooms in your chest and face.  You force yourself to tear your gaze away.
“I dislocated my shoulder.  Did you know I work air traffic control at Incheon?”
You shake your head with amused weariness as you make notes on your tablet.
“Crazy night.  One of the planes nearly slid off the runway and I threw my shoulder out trying to get it back on track.”
“Did you save it?”
“Saved it and all 227 people on board.”
“Bravo, Mister Kim.” 
“Just doing my job,” he shrugs.  
You set your tablet down on the exam table with a thump, eyeing him as you reach for a pair of gloves.
“The charge nurse says you asked for me.”
“I did,” he admits.  “You never told me what your favorite kind of milkshake is.”
You cock your head to the side as you look at him.  
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mister Kim,” you murmur, feigning ignorance. “According to my records this is the first time I’ve ever seen you.”
“Oh, yeah.  Right,” he chuckles.  
“You need some help getting undressed?”
“Yeah,” he admits, slipping one arm out of his leather jacket.  You lean in to help him pull the other side off, compelling yourself to ignore the way he smells like soap and sweat and man when you’re this close.
“It’s strawberry.”
You blurt the words out, anxious to give your brain a task that doesn’t involve analyzing this man’s smell.  Something about the mischievous twist to his mouth tells you he knows you’re flustered by his nearness.  
“I would have guessed chocolate,” he muses, reaching one hand down to grab the hem of his shirt. He drags it up his abdomen and you will your eyes to stay on his face -- refusing to give him any indication that you have more than a clinical interest in what lies underneath.
“Everyone likes chocolate,” you argue, taking over when he can’t get the shirt up any higher.  You push it over his head and carefully work it off his shoulder.  “I don’t want to be like everyone else.”
“Mission accomplished, Doc.”
He gazes at you then -- chest bare and eyes sharp beneath those inky lashes --  and you feel a bolt of awareness run the length of your spine. You pray the heat you suddenly feel all over your body is not manifesting in damning spots of color on your face.  
You remind yourself to get back to work. 
He sucks a breath between his teeth when you press gently against the inflamed muscle and tissue.
“My shoulder’s been shit for years,” he confesses.  “I screwed it up when I was a kid and it hasn’t been the same since.”
“So this happens to you from time to time?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, then I’m going to have to refer you for an MRI,” you say, and he groans when you press into his shoulder again.  “There could be a lot of scar tissue in here, but I won’t be able to know what’s going on until we get some clear scans.”
Your eyes flick back to his.  
Every word that’s ever come out of this man’s mouth is a lie -- but there’s something that feels honest about the way he’s looking at you right now.  Something that makes you feel seasick, unsteady.
“Turn to the side for me,” you say quietly, and the thin paper that lines the exam table rustles as he complies.  The relief you feel when he pivots away from you with those eyes and that look is whole-bodied.  
“For now, the best I can do is probably pop -- “
Your words trail off as your eyes lock on a wound that sits just a few inches from his spine, just above the line of his jeans.  The edges are white and soft with age -- the area long-healed -- but the trauma is unmistakable.  
Textbook.  
The anger you feel as you stare at the wound doesn’t make any sense.  
But you feel it anyway.
“Is it still inside of you, or did they pull it out?”
“What -- ”
“-- The bullet Mister Kim,” you interrupt sharply.  “If it’s still in you, I promise it will come out the second they load you into an MRI machine.  The hard way.”
The muscles of his back flex as he stiffens.  Tension bleeds into the lines of his body and into his voice when he finally speaks.
“It’s out.”
Neither of you says another word.
The room feels hollow now, painfully quiet without talk of elephants or hot air balloons or milkshakes.  The two of you work together silently to crack his abused shoulder back into place.  Somehow he manages to endure that pain without making a sound.
In the end, it’s you that has to speak first.
“That should hold you for now,” you say tightly, standing to toss your gloves in the trash.   You grab your tablet to make notes.
“You mad at me, Doc?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” you mutter, fingers flying over your screen.  “I don’t even know you.”
“Then why does it feel like you’re mad at me?”
You tear your eyes away from the screen to find his.  
There’s no teasing or humor there anymore.  He looks boyish and unsure like this, peering back at you with somber eyes from beneath long black bangs that have fallen into his face.
“No more stories, no more bullshit.  Tell me who you are.”
The words are out of your mouth before you can think better of them -- before you can consider how stupid it is to interrogate a complete stranger with a now confirmed history of violence.  Before you can consider that you have no right to the anger that now streaks white-hot through your veins.
“I can’t,” he breathes quietly.  “I’m sorry.”
You shake your head in disgust.
“Are you dangerous?”
Before he even speaks, you get your answer.  You get it in the way color erupts across the bridge of his nose and cheeks.  The way he looks away from you and down to his hands.
“I guess that depends on who you ask,” he whispers.
“I’m asking you,” you fire back.
He doesn’t answer.
You stand there for what feels like an eternity, waiting for him to say something in his defense. Waiting for him to pull another gag and tell just one more ridiculous story.  But the seconds tick by and he says nothing.
“A nurse is going to come by with a sling. She’ll help you get dressed, too,” you say tightly, walking to the door.
You don’t know why your heart feels like it seizes in your chest when you turn to give him one more look.
“Take care of yourself, Mister Kim,” you say quietly.  “And don’t come back.”
*****************************
Glossary:
Dijeoteu: dessert
Jagiya: sweetie, sweetheart
*****************************
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rightsockjin · 3 years
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Summary: Your best friend of your near entire life has been a total asshat to you ever since you started to casually date which didn't seem super fair to you since he did the exact same thing and you were nothing but supportive! It just sucks that you two are growing apart over a coping mechanism that you adopted to distract yourself from your overwhelming crush on said idiot. If only he knew. Wait- did you say that OUT LOUD?
Rating: M (What isn't on this blog?)
Genre: Maybe a little angst? Smut for sure tho.
Word count: 8003
Warnings: Thongs, sex, lewd thoughts, erections, physical pushing, raw dogging, cream pie, mentions of giving head, a looooooottt of swearing, mentions of slut shaming. Oh right- oppa kink and little splashes of korean as well.
yeo-chin= girlfriend
nam-chin= boyfriend
halmoni= grandma
apa=to hurt
aya=expression to express pain equivalent to 'ow'
Author’s note: HI EVERYONE! We are somewhat back!! So sorry for the long wait for content. Things have been insane and we’ve been working on a much- much longer fic for this blog which will involve all of the boys! It’s a long story but this hit me like a truck yesterday and it was initially meant to be a reaction but I couldn’t stop writing… so it’s 7k and the other boys will get their own version of this prompt “best friend is jealous of the attention you give to guys” thing. Starting once again with the one and only Yoongi! Hope y’all enjoy:)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“You know it’s funny, I don’t remember asking,” Yoongi said virulently, his attention centered solely on his phone as he scrolled through instagram... or twitter... or maybe it was tinder. Your heart sank. You had been excited that this guy- Woojin- had given you attention. He was good looking by a lot of standards and it had boosted your confidence significantly. Of course, you wanted to share that excitement with your best friend. Rejecting someone that good looking always made you feel really powerful and attractive but you had barely shown him Woojin’s picture and commented on how attractive he was before your so called best friend had brushed you off and went back to his solitude and avoidance.
You had noticed that something was off for a while now but hadn’t commented on anything to avoid any conflicts but this was ridiculous. You had constantly listened to the stories of how girls would trickle in like water for him. He seemed to be going out with someone new every two weeks.
It wasn’t fair that you had to put up with his annoying descriptions of how beautiful these girls were while you sat and gave him your undivided attention as your heart slowly chipped and broke with each new conquest of his. Especially when each girl was so different from who you were. At first, you thought that maybe you were annoyed by this simply because it was hurtful to think he didn’t at least think you were pretty. It wasn’t long after that that you realized that it hurt you when he went out with women who were your polar opposite because it meant that he would never date you.
This had been shocking in itself. You had known Yoongi for your entire life, or at least a good portion of it, and you had always seen him as a brother. Your oppa in the least sexual or boyfriend-y form possible, but when you looked at him now… he was looking a lot more like well- an oppa.
Your mouth opened and closed like a fish. His words stung more than you would like to admit. Whenever Yoongi got this snippy, you liked to equal him in snip and double him in sass, never showing how vulnerable his disinterest made you feel, but this time, it felt like he had punched you in the chest with all his force and told you you were ugly to boot.
You didn’t want to cry in front of him either. He’d make fun of you. Last time you had cried, he’d awkwardly pat you on the head and quickly changed the very serious topic of your parents' relationship with yours to something totally different and not even a little relevant to helping you feel better. Given, that had been years ago and he’d never been very good at comforting you nor had he so much as expressed his support of you. Not since that one time when you had broken your wrist and he’d promptly pushed the girl who had been the culprit off the swing set thus getting himself suspended for a week and a half when you were both in elementary school.
But this… this was just cruel. It was ugly. It made you look at your “best friend” in a light that was not so shiny and pristine. He’d changed so much since then. He’d pulled away from you since then and you hadn’t even noticed. Or maybe you had and had just ignored it. Maybe you’d hoped if you didn’t mention it, that it would go away and he would come back full force with one of his dumb dances and pretty smiles. Maybe you hoped he’d realize soon what you had realized in your early twenties.
You loved him. And not the brotherly love that you had always had for him, no, you, Y/N, were very much in love with your best friend. Which made this whole situation so much worse.
When you said nothing, Yoongi briefly glanced up at you from his seemingly important phone conversation with most likely another of his soon to be dates only to look back down.
“What? Cat got your tongue? No snippy rebuttal? You’re not gonna chew me out for being mean to you again?”
His face was illuminated by the blue lights of his screen; he had it at the near darkest setting and his eyes were squinted to see it better. Something that had always annoyed you because you knew it was only hurting his vision.
You swallowed the lump in your throat. When that didn’t help, you cleared it, accidentally catching his attention. He clicked his phone off and looked over at you as if ready to argue but something in your face must have given away your inner turmoil because his hard features softened and his lips fell slightly open.
“Are you crying?”
No. Of course you weren’t crying. You never cried. Not ever. But then your cheeks were wet and the onslaught of emotion seemed to burst. How far had you fallen for this indefinitely cold man that his sarcasm made you fall in hysterics? Far it seemed. Too far.
You angrily wiped the tears away from your burning skin and crossed your arms over your chest. The hoodie you had stolen from him earlier that day felt like sandpaper against your skin as opposed to the comfort you’d initially felt when slipping over your head and smelling the fresh scent of his cologne clinging to it.
You felt him shift on the couch to face you fully, out of the corner of your eye, you could see his features had turned worried, alarmed even but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him nor care. Too little too late.
“Hey, Y/N, I’m sorry.”
The words hung in the still air like a wrong note played in a symphony. It made your head spin and ache.
You didn’t dare speak. It would only give away how truly hurt you were by his words and actions. You didn’t want to be around him anymore.
Abruptly, you stood up and yanked the hoodie from your body. The tank you had on pulled up slightly showing the skin of your belly. It was lopsided, you noted when you looked down and saw that one side was pulled over and under your bra and the other was too high on your chest but you didn’t really care.
Yoongi watched you with conflict evident in his eyes, if only you would turn to see. He hadn’t meant to offend you. He’d only been trying to keep you at arms length. You had also been going out with multiple guys, telling him how good looking and tall they all were. Most of these men were also built like rocks and he himself was toned at best. Contrary to what you thought, Yoongi had come to the realization that he’d been in love with you since you were kids. He did not tolerate when anyone made you feel like shit, and, being a very mature kid, he’d told his mother quite early on that he would marry you someday. Of course, she’d only chastised him and told him that he couldn’t possibly know what love was nor could he force you to marry him, but he was adamant.
He’d stopped telling her about it after that though, and instead of telling you how he felt, he’d opted instead to watch over you and make sure nothing happened. So when in high school, you had started to date and it had not been him whom you had chosen, he’d made sure to keep the sorry excuse of a man you had chosen in line. That was… until the incident.
Yoongi would never forgive himself for not being there. For not stopping the bastard who thought he owned you. He’d never forgive the idiot either and if you hadn’t stopped him, he would have killed him with his bare fists then stuffed his own socks in his mouth.
It was then that Yoongi realized that you deserved better than him, and at the same time, no one was worthy of you. It was a strange dynamic. He’d never once approved of your dates, but had decided to start dating other women because, let's face it, he was a guy and he’d like to have children someday but not even in his wildest dreams could he think that you would ever settle for him. Someone who’d failed you as your self imposed protector.
Not that you knew any of that. You didn’t know that Yoongi often teamed up with your other best friend, your girl best friend to scope out your dates once you’d left. You’d almost caught them once as well and it had been by pure luck and the hair of a very out of place clown that both of them had escaped your wrath that night. You also didn’t notice that after you had fully broken up with that first asshole, he’d threatened to beat him to a pulp if he so much as breathed in your direction once more and later, he’d threatened ‘asshole’ two and three with the same things.
But then your dates had gotten taller and stronger and much harder to intimidate. He’d once made the mistake of threatening a casual date that you’d set up who was at least a solid half foot taller than him and he’d been laughed out of the restaurant only to find out later that the jerk had forced a kiss on you.
No, Yoongi’s days as your protector had dwindled and left him feeling half of the man he’d already thought he was and so his only defense, his only way to keep you safe- though now that he was watching tears well in your eyes he wondered what logic he’d used to justify this behavior- was to be the asshole himself and teach you how to deal with them on a first hand basis.
He hated himself for making you cry. He hated that you looked so dejected and hurt and like you never wanted to speak another word to him again. He hated that your shoulders slumped and that your pretty eyelashes were coated in wet tears and it was all on him.
“You know what,” you finally managed to say with some semblance of calm under the storm that was brewing in the irises he’d so loved, “I think we’ve grown apart a little too much. Maybe we should just- cut our losses and,” you heaved a deep breath, trying to keep yourself calm, “stop seeing each other.”
Were you breaking up with him? How were you even going to break up with him if you weren’t even dating? Yoongi’s heart sank into the pit of his stomach. He had tunnel vision. All he could see was you and the way that you seemed to pull yourself up from the ground, rebuilding before his eyes.
“Stop see-what? Are you demented?”
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Was that all he was capable of being? Wrong. Incorrect. Inexact. Erroneous. Mistaken. He was plain stupid for the words he’d let slip but there was no taking them back now.
You let your eyes widen as you wiped more of your furiously falling tears from your skin. You turned to face him, your shirt fixed and covering you exactly how it should and your features set and intentional.
“What’s the point? You clearly don’t want to be around me anymore and I’m tired of being berated every time I mention a guy. You’re the most unsupportive friend I have and that’s because I’ve known you the longest. If you don’t want to be my friend just say so instead of slut shaming me and bullying me every chance you get you asshat.”
“Asshat,” he chuckled, crossing his sleeve-covered arms over his toned chest, “real clever, Y/N. Is that all you got, kid? You never were one for words were you? Why don’t you just sock me instead?”
Oh you were considering it. He seemed so unbothered by the prospect of losing you that you realized maybe you had already lost him and hadn’t realized. You had dealt with your fair share of jerks in your life, but you had always counted on Yoongi to be your hope. He’d shown you that there were men in the world that seemed to care about women. Men who could love you even when you felt unlovable, unworthy, but here he was, proving to you once again that all men were the same evil and vile creatures, incapable of love or kindness if they weren’t getting their dicks wet.
“You’d like that wouldn’t you? Then you could go around saying that I’m a crazy bitch. You know what? Fuck you Min Yoongi. I hope you get well and royally fucked.” You yelled, grabbing the tote bag you’d brought over from your apartment and stomping to the door.
“Fuck you too,” he yelled, following you to the door. He caught you at the landing strip, prying on your chunky sneakers with a bit of difficulty, your house slippers, the ones he’d bought you, lay haphazardly nearby.
“And fuck all of those asshole guys you keep bringing home. Better yet, I hope you don’t fuck them.”
You turned your head up to look at him, confusion and disgust written all over your face.
“What the fuck do my dates had to do with what a fucking jerk you are?”
Choosing to ignore your question, he focused instead on your insult, “A jerk, am I? Well you’re a bitch. How do you like that?”
He didn’t know why he was insulting you. He didn’t think you were actually a bitch, but the anger on your face made him feel better.
It was followed by near instant regret as you drew yourself up to your full height and looked at him with pure venom in your gaze.
“I’m a bitch?”
“Yeah,” he breathed, trying to keep his shoulders square, but you were scary when angry and he’d never fared well in fights with you.
“I’m the bitch?”
“You heard me!”
You balled your fists at your sides, your eyebrows connected in the center and your breathing was heavy. He knew better than to use the B-word.
“You’re a piece of shit.” It was low but your voice carried and hit all of the bones in his body before it hit his heart and burrowed deep in the wounds he’d stitched up but pulled open multiple times over the years that pertain only to you.
“You are a sorry excuse of a man,” you growled, pushing him by the chest. Somewhere in the back of your mind you noted that it felt really firm and stronger than before.
“You’re an ass, Min Yoongi,” you continued, giving him another push so that he stumbled slightly back into the living room of his apartment once again.
“You low life,” another push, closer to the couch, “weak minded,” you shoved him, he sidestepped the glass coffee table where your untouched coffee mugs still rested, probably cold by now, “son of a bitch, fucking baby, involved sorry excuse of a man-” He fell onto the cough. Your vision was red.
“You already used that insult.” Was all he said as you stood over him, your chest heaved with the exertion of trying to keep yourself from slapping the now blank expression from his face.
A slew of incomprehensible noises escaped from your lips as words completely left your brain. Damn him. Damn this idiot of a man that you were in love with. He could go to hell for all you cared and you hoped that the devil himself ripped his testicles off and served them on a platter with some kimchi and fried rice.
“Okay first of all- ow,” The asshole said, pulling you back to reality and not your fictitious rework where Yoongi was now sitting at the end of a long table being force fed his own balls, “And second…”
You held your breath. Fear ran down your spine. You hadn’t meant to say that out loud-
“You-you’re in love with me?”
Well… he got his wish, you were royally fucked. Instantly, you tried to back track. Your mind kept replaying in your head what you had said and tried to correct itself but you couldn’t think of anything that could possibly absolve you.
“Like a brother,” you said finally, your voice shaky and thin.
Yoongi only blinked up at you. What you said was bullshit and he knew it. You knew it too.
“You’re in love with me… like a brother?”
“Oppa,” you clarified as if that would somehow make more sense, and it did kind of, but it didn’t absolve you at all. In fact, this only made a smile tug at his lips, his pearly teeth suddenly on display, blinding. You fought the smile that threatened to pull at yours too. It was always hard because his smile was so contagious.
Yoongi stood. He was less than an inch away from your own body. You felt small, meek. You’d misstepped this big game of chess you seemed to be playing. He was going to make fun of you. He’d never let you live it down. You liked him.
“You like me,” as if he had read your mind, he echoed your thoughts, or maybe you had spoken that out loud as well.
“No I don’t,” you argued, taking a step back just so you could have some space to breathe.
“Oh yeah you do,” Yoongi argued, his smile so wide you were sure it would hurt the muscles in his cheeks
“No,” you said again, not really thinking anything you said at this point would convince him otherwise. The son of a bitch was stubborn.
“Admit it,” he said, closing the distance between you again, his neck craned down to look directly at your face.
“I don’t like you!” You tried to take another step back but the coffee table knocked your feet out from under you. You fell onto it knocking Yoongi’s mug of coffee over. The black decaf liquid seeped into your shorts.
Yoongi’s rusty laugh was pried from his throat as he watched your face contort. He was having the time of his life, it seemed. Good for him.
“Stop laughing at me,” you groaned, your cheeks red. You were practically sweating from how feverish you felt.
It was like you hadn’t spoken. Your shorts were wet and made you feel sticky. In a fit of anger, like a child throwing a tantrum, you unbuttoned the denim and ripped them from your legs. This shut Yoongi up instantly. With the soiled fabric, you cleaned up the liquid before it fell onto the light grey carpet.
Yoongi stilled as his eyes traveled up and down your long legs.The way you were twisting, he could see the back of your left thigh up to where it met your ass- your bare ass. You were wearing a thong.
God help him, he was rapidly getting hard. He forced his eyes away from you, his walls being pulled back up at seeing you naked. Well partially so. He pushed his hands into his oversized hoodie and made sure that it covered his front. The last thing he needed was for you to see.
But then you turned and pulled your legs together, your thighs squishing attractively. What he wouldn’t give to be choked by those thighs.
“Let me wash those for you,” he said tightly, pulling a hand from his hoodie to take the soiled shorts, the hem of the fabric pulled up enough for you to see exactly what he’d been trying to hide.
Yoongi had a hard on. You weren’t sure why exactly you were surprised. You were attractive, that much you knew, but you never really expected for your best friend to see you in that way. In fact, you were pretty sure that you’d been in your underwear in front of him before and he hadn’t even given you a second glance, but there was the evidence. And God was there a lot of evidence.
Slowly, you handed him the shorts. His hand grabbed them tightly, avoiding touching any part of your hand with his. Then, after a slight pause, he turned on his heels and walked towards the kitchen to put the shorts into the washer.
You’d called him oppa. You rarely called him oppa and it had hypersensitized him to the word coming from your lips. Other girls called him oppa sometimes and it had no effect on him but there he was, stiff as a board and it had something to do with you calling him oppa and your state of undress. Fuck. He was fucked. So fucked.
At least he wished he could be… But no. He pushed those thoughts from his head as he threw in some nice scented soaps into the wash and clicked it to life. He shut his eyes, trying to think of anything that would drain the blood from his member- halmeoni maybe?- but your voluptuous ass kept intruding, giving his halmeoni some nice curves that messed with her wrinkled face. He shook his head once more and decided he’d just have to hide his boner until it went away, or go beat one out in the restroom really quick.
He grabbed a pair of his clean sweat pants from the drying rack to give to you, just so you would be comfortable, he told himself, not because the thought of your naked butt in them made him unspeakably horny.
But when he got back to the living room, what he found was not you, covering yourself with a pillow like he’d expected, but you, only in your thong- fuck did it have to be a thong?- and your bra. Your shirt was nowhere to be seen.
“Fuck me,” he groaned, burring his head in his hands and turning away from you.
“I mean, if you ask nicely enough that can be arranged,” you answered rather boldly. There was no way for him to know that you were quaking in fear for his rejection.
Yoongi’s dick twitched in his sweats.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he said under his breath as his heart beat faster. He felt like he was having a whole heart attack. He patted his chest, hoping to calm it down knowing it was useless.
Should he go for it? You had just admitted accidentally that you did have feelings for him and you were clearly propositioning him. Should he just-
He turned around, back to face you, determination paining his expression. Still on the coffee table, your legs were spread open, only covered by the thin sliver of fabric that your thong allotted. You were a little cold, but all of that melted away when you saw the way that Yoongi’s eyes roamed your exposed body, then stopped abruptly to meet your own.
He was in front of you in seconds, his longer legs carried him farther and faster than you had anticipated. Then he was pulling you to stand. You wobbled on your legs but one of his arms found its way around your waist. His free hand came up and held your jaw with two fingers on either side of your face, squishing your lips together slightly. His hot, heavy member pressed against your stomach through his sweats. He was so close that you could smell the coffee on his breath and the fading smell of his cologne you loved so much. All you wanted was to grind against him but you were held too tightly.
“You never know when to shut up do you?” But he didn’t let you answer. He crashed his soft lips onto yours, his hold on your jaw ached but you didn’t care. There was a passion in his kiss that you hadn’t expected, subtly dwindling to something more like tenderness, and the kiss continued. His lips dragged against yours delicately, pinching your top one with both of his. Small breaths came out of his nose, whistling softly against your cheek. You timed your breaths with his, high on the feeling of finally being kissed, coveted by him. Was it real? Was this actually happening?
Your brain suddenly caught up with your body. The rightness that came with the way he was kissing you, like he couldn’t get enough of you, like he needed you to properly breathe, was like nothing you could have imagined.
The hand on your waist was drawing small circles where the elastic of your thong rested, his index finger casually hooked onto and under pulling lightly. You pressed yourself tighter than he had you against his erection. He groaned, his mouth opening and his tongue suddenly darting out to taste. He pulled your jaw open, granting himself entrance and exploring your mouth.
You moaned, a sound so sensuous and wanton that Yoongi felt that he could cum just from those sounds alone. He wanted more. He wanted you to sing his praises as he fucked into you and caressed your chest. He wanted you to drool around his cock and to have your sweet mouth wrapped tight around it. He wanted to feel you gag at his girth and he wanted to pull at your hair. But most of all, he wanted to kiss you, just like how he was at that moment. He wanted to kiss you until he’d taken your soul from your body and replaced it with his own. He wanted to kiss you until he could erase every trace of all of the men who’d hurt you and made you doubt that you were worthy and wanted. Yoongi wanted to kiss his love into you no matter how long he had to do it. If he was locked in a room with you for months, so be it.
But your hand had found its way between your bodies and was slowly coming down to his hips. Suddenly, he realized what he was doing and panicked. He hadn’t gotten your consent. He hadn’t asked you if it was okay for him to kiss you or to hook his fingers on your thong. As stupid as it sounded, even to Yoongi himself, he needed to make sure that you wanted this to happen, even as your hand had found the outline of his cock and you had started to trace the outline of it over the fabric-
“Tell me to stop,” he gasped, ripping himself away from you. The hand around your waist was now on your shoulder to keep you at enough distance so that his brain could function and wasn’t clouded by the horniness he was feeling.
“Wha…?” You slurred, your eyes were glazed over and your body was completely relaxed.
“Tell me to stop,” he repeated, fighting his every instinct to push your mouth open and have you suck on his thumb before he pushed you onto your knees to suck him off, “and I will.”
His eyelids were heavy and he was sweating slightly. He was so hard that it hurt and the circles you were drawing on his penis were not helping at keeping him at bay. He knew if he looked down, there would be a stain of precum on his sweats.
“I don’t want you to stop,” you whispered, leaning in and kissing his jaw before you nibbled and kissed down his taught neck.
“Fuck.”
“I want you to fuck me.” You licked a thick swipe up his jugular, “I want you.”
“Then admit it,” Yoongi heard himself say. He was just as surprised as you were to hear those words from his lips, “admit that you like me.”
You pulled away then, dropping both your arms in exasperation, “Are you fucking kidding me? I’m in my underwear, stroking your cock and you want me to stroke your ego too? Un-fucking-believeable. You’re a dumb ass.”
You rolled your eyes and flicked his forehead.
“Aya, apa~” he groaned, rubbing his head, the dynamic that you were used to suddenly restored.
“Yeah? Great! I’m glad that it hurt! I hope it hurts really bad you jerk. Then maybe you’ll understand what it was like for me to listen to you go on and on about all the girls you went out with every fucking week. In fact-”
“Aya! What the fuck? Stop flicking me,” he nearly screamed, clutching the tip of his nose.
“Make me.”
Big mistake. Yoongi didn’t take your dare lightly. His eyes darkened then he leaned down and picked you up. You squeaked, wrapping your legs around his waist as he walked you to his room. His hands cupped your butt fairly comfortably, like this was something you did often. He kicked the door open and threw you on the bed.
“You think I wasn’t hurt as well?” He asked, clasping a hand around your neck and lightly pressing his fingers against your skin.
“You think I like knowing that everywhere we go, men are watching you, coveting you the way I do? You think it isn’t torture when you go out and I don’t hear from you until the next day?”
He pushed you up against his pillow. The duvet was already all messed up under your body. He was between your legs, pressing himself into your core. Fuck, you wanted him. You wanted him all the way inside you. He wanted nothing more than to do the same but he had to make sure you knew first.
“You think it was easy being in love with you when you wanted nothing from me but friendship?”
Your eyes softened. Yoongi was in love with you too? When?
“Since we were kids,” he answered. Again you had spoken without meaning to. “I always knew it was you, Y/N. It was only ever you.”
But something wasn’t adding up. You fought your rising feelings of elation. You wanted to understand what he was saying. If he had liked you since you were kids then why had he never asked you out? Why become the serial dater he’d become? But he’d never had a girlfriend, you reminded yourself. He’d only ever “dated” and then dropped these women. You always assumed he was screwing them all.
Yoongi became sheepish then. “I uh… I did have sex with some of them but-” and the hurt in your eyes would be enough to kill him,” it was only at the start. I thought that if i had sex with other people I’d stop chasing after you. But it didn’t work… I haven’t slept with anyone since junior year of college.”
Your eyes widened. “College?”
He nodded, his pale cheeks blushing prettily.
“They just...were never you… and then I thought if I pushed you away that would help but that only made us estranged and-”
You pushed yourself up and shut him up with a kiss. He was over thinking and you could talk about all that later.
“You’re an idiot,” you started and he rolled his eyes, “but if you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to do it myself.”
Yoongi’s eyes rolled into his head and he thrust lightly into your wet center.
“Talk after?”
“As long as you want,” you agreed, already pushing at his sweats. Yoongi sat up and pulled his hoodie and shirt off in one fell swoop, then, at the speed of lightning, pulled off his sweats, leaving him in his boxers.
After a moment of hesitation, he pulled his boxers off as well and then he was naked before you. Your mouth went dry. He was big. You could tell just by looking at him that he would stretch you good and you wanted so badly for him to pin you down and have his way with you.
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”
“Really? Cause that would be really helpful on days when I’m home alone-”
“Wha-no!”
You chuckled and lay down on your back, making sure that your legs were spread wide for him to have his fill. Like a moth to a flame, he was between your thighs, his tongue licking at the wet fabric.
He moaned against your covered lips, sucking up the arousal that clung to your underwear.
“Fuck, Yoongi yes,” you said without meaning to say much at all. You unclasped your bra and threw it somewhere in the room. You could look for it later. This caught his attention. He thrust his naked dick into the mattress, needing some sort of stimulation.
“Damn it… fuck, if I wasn’t so desperate to be inside you, I swear I could get you off with just my mouth all day, Y/N.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you waved off, gesturing for him to come up to your face, he did so without question, “Hurry up, I’m dying. Please.”
“Are you begging?” Yoongi’s lips curled lightly, teasingly,
“Do you want to get your dick wet or not?” He kissed the wrinkle between your eyebrows lightly.
“Yeah, can I take these off?” he hooked a finger on the elastic of your thong, pulling it a little higher than he probably should have. It was an old pair. You heard rather than saw the stitching on it pull apart and then the thing was hanging limply from Yoongi’s fingers, his expression shocked.
“Yoongi!”
“What? I didn’t do it on purpose!”
“For fuck’s sake! That was my favorite thong!”
“Well, clearly it was cheap,” he countered, throwing it across the room somewhere too.
You groaned, shifting slightly under him. His dick nuzzled between your wet lips. His mouth dropped open and a pleasured grunt escaped his lips.
“Fuck, Y/N,” he rut against your wetness, hitting your clit lightly, far too lightly, “you are so wet. God, this should be illegal.”
“Y-Yoongi… more,” he reached down between you two and found your sensitive nub without much hassle. It was like he knew your body already. Your body twitched under him and he circled the bundle of nerves for a couple of seconds. The noises falling from your lips were heaven on earth and Yoongi realized you were his new favorite song.
He gave your clit one rough stroke, ripping a small gasp from your throat. He gathered some of your slick with two practiced fingers and brought it up to eye level. It caught the low light of his room from the window, the smell enough to threaten to send him over the edge.
“Jesus Christ that’s hot.” Then he smeared it all over his penis and gave himself two rough pumps.
“Can I-”
“Yes.”
“You don’t even know what I’m asking-”
“Don’t care. Just do it. Yes.” You said angrily, pulling him closer and closer, his toned chest flush against yours.
“Have you been working out?” You asked, breaking the intense way he was staring into your eyes, his smile pulled wide over his gums.
He shrugged but clearly was glad that you’d noticed, “Namjoon and Jungkook convinced me to join them in the gym. It’s no big deal.”
“But your arms,” you complimented, squeezing his bicep. He flexed it lightly for you. You blushed when you realized exactly what you were doing.
“It’s just a little muscle,” he commented offhandedly.
The conversation lulled, he smiled down at you, and you up at him. He kissed the tip of your nose.
“So can I put it i-”
“I already said yes.”
“In your ass?”
“Ew no!”
Yoongi laughed loudly, “see this is why you can’t say yes to something without knowing what you’re agreeing to.”
“Shut up and put it in the right hole,” you groaned, then for good measure, “oppa.” It was a joke. You thought it was a joke, but something lit up in his pupils as two measly syllables rolled off your tongue and hit his eardrums. You felt his skin prickle under your touch and his member twitched against your folds.
Like a deer caught in headlights, you looked up at the handsome man. His eyes had narrowed as well as darkened. He looked absolutely ravenous and you wanted him to eat you up.
“Say that again.” He commanded as he pushed the head of his massive, and now that you could properly feel it, you knew that you had been right, cock at the entrance of your lower lips.
“O-oppa?” you questioned, astounded that the simple word that he’d no doubt heard his whole life had this effect on him.
“That’s right yeo-chin,” he growled, his voice gruff and harsh as he pushed lightly into you. His dick opened you painfully, perfectly.
“Yeo-chin?” You ask through the explosion of pleasure between your thighs.
“Is that okay?” He asked, suddenly looking really vulnerable and scared. You reached up, stroking his cheek lightly with your knuckles.
“Oh honey,” you trailed off, bumping his nose against yours before you pulled back abruptly, “If you want me to be your girlfriend, you have to ask me properly.”
Yoongi sighed, his smile telling you he expected as much and wasn’t hurt, “Talk after?” He asked again.
“As much as you want,” you reiterated.
And then he was pushing into you once again, surprising you because you could have sworn you had been full before but inch after inch, he pushed into your awaiting hole, filling all the emptiness you’d felt your whole life until his balls tapped your ass softly.
His face was contorted in pure ecstasy. At least from your perspective. Yoongi, in all truth, was trying his hardest not to blow his load into you already. He couldn’t believe his luck. He was inside you. He’d waited his whole life for this and he was finally inside you.
You wiped a bead of sweat from his temple and playfully licked his lips. He grunted against you, holding himself up by the forearms. Suddenly, he was really grateful that he had started to work out and that Jungkook had him doing three minute planks for fun. He’d have to thank him later, even if he did complain a whole lot.
“Can-can I move?” Yoongi gasped. Your walls fluttered around his member as if welcoming it home with soft caresses. You were so warm, maybe hot, he wasn’t sure, but you were tight and wet and all the good things in the world.
You only breathed, feeling so unbelievably full. It felt like he had pushed in all the way to your throat. You were no size queen, really, you weren’t, but if this is what they were going on about, you understood.
“Y/N,” he panted, his body begging him to move, “please.”
“Are-are you begging?” You giggled mirroring what he’d asked you before.
“Yes.” Without hesitation, he admitted, “Please… please…”
Well fuck. How could you say no? You nodded fervently, all mirth erased from your expression as he pulled out slowly, your juices squelched as your lower muscles tried to keep him in.
“Gah- ash-Y/N… you’re so tight.”
You only moaned in response, the head of his cock was still in you, stretching you to the point you didn’t think anyone could fully make you feel this way again.
“You’re so big,” you complimented scratching at his back. His muscles rippled under your touch.
He pushed back in, still torturously slow. It felt like you were being split in half. You felt like Olaf in the first frozen movie after he got stabbed by an icicle.
“Yoongi,” you gasped as he pulled out again at the same speed, his face screwed up in concentration.
“Oppa,” he growled into your ear, kissing roughly at your skin.
“Oppa,” you agreed, though it wasn’t your favorite word, he seemed to be getting of fairly
well so you let it slide, “move faster.”
“You sure?” He asked.
You nodded, knowing it was probably going to hurt but you wanted to feel him and you wanted him to cum.
“Yes.”
He didn’t need to be told again; he drew back, once again leaving only the mushroom tip inside you once again, and then he thrust. Hard. You nearly choked as he pumped himself over and over again hitting the nerves in your vagina. The slap of skin against yours was loud in the empty room, only accompanied by your moans and his pants and grunts. Your names mixed in every once in a while, your lips kissing any and all the skin that you could possibly reach. He licked at your lips and sucked bruises onto your neck, your chest. He wanted to mark all of you. He wanted to make sure you knew who you belonged to… as soon as he asked you right after he finished up.
This idea itself spurred him on, to thrust faster, deeper. He wanted to finish and make sure that you finished too, not quickly but soon. He wanted to talk. He wanted to make sure that you were in the same place.
So he reached between you both again, his fingers blindly found your clitoris and began to rub abstract shapes into it. Your back arched off the bed, your hair and boobs bounced with each thrust, his balls slapping against your ass. You were seeing white, your mouth wide open in a silent ‘o’. You were so close. So so close.
“Come, Yeo-chin,” he whispered against your temple, and though you weren’t technically his, the title sent you over the edge along with his fingers and the deep thrusts that hit your cervix.
“Oppa,” you groaned, your face screwed up.
That did it for Yoongi. His fingers on your clit stuttered along with his hips. His thrusts became erratic and he hit the sides of your walls. You squeezed around him as he over stimulated you through your orgasm.
“One more time… say it one more time,” he begged.
You complied, whispering it into his ear, it was cut slightly by a particularly pleasurable thrust. Yoongi felt pure euphoria fill his blood as his hips paused, then buried deep into your hole. Ropes of hot cum shot into you, filling you.
Yoongi panted heavily over you, his head resting on your shoulder as he struggled to keep himself up. You were breathing heavily as well, your nipples brushed against his chest. You were sensitive. You hissed.
“You can lay down,” the words had barely left your lips before he had let his weight settle on top of you. A smile crossed your face as his hands tangled in your hair and stroked it lightly. You wrapped him up in a hug, wanting him to stay like this for a while. It was nice to feel him so close.
After a couple of minutes of both of you just recovering and your breathing getting much harder, like a wrestler, you tapped Yoongi twice.
“I’m out,” you joked, “can’t breathe.”
With what looked like a lot of effort, he pushed himself up and off you, pulling out of your suddenly. The cum inside of your vagina gushed out.
You made a face as you felt it drip onto his sheets. Yoongi watched it ooze out of you, not really caring where it was going. He looked mesmerized. He reached out as if to swipe at the cum on your lower lips but you grabbed his wrist before he could.
“We talk now,” you sighed, a bit calmer than before but still a bit worried.
“Now?” He looked so vulnerable again, like he was a scared child. He lay on his side, resting his head on his elbow. He looked down at you, waiting for you to take the reins, the way you always did but this time, you didn’t know where to begin.
Yoongi cleared his throat looking around uncomfortably. When you said nothing, his mind had started to race.
“So… do you… want to be my girlfriend, or are we friends with benefits level right now? Ow!”
You’d smacked his shoulder, not hard at all but he was dramatic and you knew that. He frowned at you, his lips tempting you into another kiss that could lead to something more once again. You were already feeling a little turned on again just looking at the results of his recent gym trips.
“So no to yeo-chin then?”
“Yoongi!”
“Don’t you mean Oppa?”
You smiled up at him, a teasing glint in your gaze, “I didn’t know you had an oppa kink. This whole time, I was right to refuse to call you oppa. I knew you looked way too happy whenever I called you that!”
Yoongi scrunched his nose and looked away, “I don’t! It’s just… when you say it.” He admitted waving a hand as if to bat away your inquisitive and teasing stare.
Not really knowing how to answer that, you chose instead to answer his previous question.
“Nam-chin,” you ran a finger down the center of his pecks, tracing all the light visible muscles that made you want to get off on just riding his chest. Yoongi tensed under your touch. He seemed frozen.
“Did you just call me nam-chin?” You, for once, were not embarrassed. You smiled brightly, happy that the title finally had a head to sit on.
“Is that okay?”
Yoongi pulled you close, his arms wrapped tightly around you, his heart beat erratically in his chest, singing to yours. To its credit, your heart synced and harmonized almost instantly. He smelled like pure sex and fresh water. He buried your face into his bare skin, listening to his song. After all these years, after all the tiptoeing and fear, you were finally where you belonged.
“Of course it is,” he paused, kissing the top of your head a couple of times, “yeo-chin.” This time, the word made a shiver roll down your spine. Arousal began to pool between your sticky thighs once more and if the third leg on your stomach was anything to go by, he was as well.
“Can- can we take a shower?” you asked him, biting your lips and pushing your chest against his suggestively.
He smirked, his mouth watered at the thought of taking you in the shower. He could almost hear your moans echoing in his wet room as he sat you down and ate you out until the water ran cold. Easy clean up even.
“Yes.” he breathed, connecting his lips to yours. You kissed for a while, your lips meshing together lovingly. Yoongi was a good kisser, you realized. He was a good lay as well. And he was cute to boot. Suddenly, he pulled away and picked you up bridal style and walked you to his restroom. He once again kicked the door open to avoid using his hands and walked you through, but this time instead of throwing you down, he set you on the toilet, him on his knees between your pushed open legs.
“I hope you don’t have any plans,” he said, kissing up your thighs and pulling you close to the edge, “because I have all the time in the world and I’m really, really thirsty.”
He ran two fingers over your abused center, collecting his cum and your new arousal. Sure, there were still a lot of things to talk about between you two. Yoongi still wasn’t sure if you fully understood the depth of his feelings nor was he sure if you simply liked him and the slip of the L-word was nothing more than that. A slip. But like he’d said, he had all the time in the world to ask and all the time to make sure he earned you and your trust. He would do anything he could to prove it and some day he would be.
But for now, he was royally fucked by the sinful sounds that escaped your pretty lips and he wanted nothing more than to just enjoy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Masterlist -in case you want to read more....
I hope yall enjoyed it and that this is a good come back after our roast session from permission to dance:)
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xpeachesncream · 3 years
Text
bands | five
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[ series masterlist ]
summary: jeon jungkook has it all: the looks, the fame, the money, the women. being considered the sexiest man in the industry, he finds no complaints about the way his life is going nor does he find any reason to apologize for the way he approaches it. he is a force to be reckoned with - until he meets you.
pairing: stripper!reader x idol!jjk
genre: (18+) strip club/nightlife au, post grad au | fluff, angst, smut
words: 3.2k
warnings: cussing, mature language/implied sexual content, implied nudity/nudity (at the nightclub), teasing, sprinkle of breast touching, alcohol consumption, pole dancing, straddling/lap dances, slight degradation/implied degradation, rough handling, flashback scene
note: took a stab at this jungkook one shot + wips are updated!
tags: @brightcolorsoffendme @min-nicoleee @eggbutnotyolk @ra-mun-e @miinoongi@ephemeralkookie @ppeachyttae @thebeebi @bluesharksandfish @kooafraid @liriaus​ @thisartemisnevermisses​ @ggukkieland​ @preciouschimine​ @sunniejinnie​ (please message me if you would like to be added to the taglist!)
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'Do better' is exactly what Jungkook does, because he wants you, and he wants you bad. He thought he had you wrapped around his finger, when in fact, you had him wrapped around yours and he was crumbling by the minute. It's a little entertaining to you, seeing his name pop on your phone throughout the day with texts like:
[jungkook]: have a good day today, pretty lady.
[jungkook]: :)
[jungkook]: can't stop thinking about you and how good you looked last night.
[jungkook]: hope you aren't overworking yourself.
[jungkook]: can i call you tonight?
You would chuckle every single time, seeing him weak for you. You weren't gonna lie - you were fucking weak for him too, cause lord, who wouldn't be with Jungkook? The only difference is that you were just the stronger one between the both of you.
Ha, ain't shit but a hairflip. You for sure got this from your mama.
"To the club for Yoongi hyung's birthday!" Taehyung yells after they finish rehearsals for the next set of performances scheduled to happen in the next week and filming some content for Youtube.
"To the club-club!" Namjoon responds, throwing his hat back on.
"Excited to see some pretty girls shaking their ass and titties in my face." Yoongi lets out a cocky laugh.
"No private show?"
"No, hell no. I want 'em all." Yoongi smirks. "Jungkookie is the only one who loves his private shows."
"Yeah, yeah." Jungkook brushes it off with a chuckle.
"Are we finally gonna figure out who she is tonight?"
"Nope. She's not working tonight. Good try." He feels relieved saying that because to be honest, he's feeling completely and utterly selfish with you. He didn't wanna share, not with the guys. Hell no.
Except he's gonna have to tonight and he has yet to learn that.
» FLASHBACK
Jimin had just solidified the plans with Yoongi a couple of hours ago, learning that he wanted to head to the strip club for his birthday. And yeah, everyone has their own favorites. Everyone has their own agenda coming to the club. But, Yoongi says he wants to shut down the club for the evening so all 7 of them can enjoy the general floor together.
So, Jimin makes it a goal to grant Yoongi's wishes, but he also has another thing on his mind.
He had been picking up on Jungkook's little habits lately, even though he was notorious for always being on his phone and for barely paying attention to the environment around him. Jimin just knew he had it bad for you, miss new girl, simply by how his mood would change whenever he looked at his phone. How he was always at the club. How he always got shy and beat around the bush whenever you were brought up.
He just knew.
And to be honest, he was concerned. Moreso for Jungkook and his safety. Jungkook and his feelings. Things didn't sit right for him, and he worried that you were only out for his money. For his fame. For the attention. For all the wrong things. And he didn't like that shit one bit. He wasn't gonna let anyone take advantage of his little brother like that, he wouldn't give anybody the chance.
He wants to figure out who exactly you were. He wants to find out what you're all about. He wants to finally meet you face to face.
"Mr. Park Jimin!" Mr. Bigs says with a loud laugh. Jimin gives him a small smile as he tugs the brim of his hat down and approaches him. "How can I help you?"
"Yoongi's birthday is coming up at the end of the week, is it possible to shut the club down so the rest of the guys can enjoy the general stage together?" He pulls out an envelope and hands it to Mr.Bigs, his smile getting bigger the more he counts all the dollar bills inside.
"Whatever works for my boys." He laughs.
"Thanks." Jimin chuckles. "Uh, one more thing - if it's not too much of a bother, could I request a specific dancer to be out on the floor that night?"
"Yeah, of course you can. Who's the lady we're thinking of?"
"Whoever Jungkook's lady is." Mr. Bigs laughs so more and nods.
"Ah, I'm assuming he wants her there, huh? He really loves watching that young lady, but hey, whatever works and makes ya'll happy right?"
"Yeah, I suppose he does. I'd like to keep the request between us though." Jimin lies.
"Don't you worry about it. I'll make sure Phoenix is there that night. I'll have all of this covered so Mr. Min Yoongi has a fantastic birthday." He winks.
"Thanks, sir. We'll see you then." Jimin nods his head before heading out. Mr. Bigs waits until Jimin is out the door before pulling out his phone to give you a call.
"Hello?"
"You need to be here Friday, special request."
"From who? Can't I just take the—"
"Stop questioning me little girl, you hear me? Your ass better be here on Friday or else I'm taking a chunk out of your fucking tips and check." He abruptly ends the call.
» END FLASHBACK
And so the infamous Bangtan Sonyeondan boys are dressed, whipping out their cleanest, black attires from their closets. They take a couple of shots back to back before they're loading into their cars to be driven to the strip club. The club is empty, except for a few body guards, bar staff and the dancers.
"Oh shit, we get our own private show? Like actually?" Yoongi says, stepping into the empty club that was more than ready for the boys' arrival. There were topless dancers waiting alongside the stage with trays filled with different drinks and shots.
"Happy birthday, hyung." Jimin says, playfully massaging his shoulder.
"God, this is such a good way to end the day." Namjoon takes a shot from one of the beautiful ladies near the general stage. He smirks at her as he eyes her up and down, licking his lips when he realizes how fucking skimpy the bikini bottom she has on actually is. "Sheesh."
"Boys!" Mr. Bigs' deep voice comes from the other end of the club as he approaches them. "Please, enjoy and help yourself to whatever you like. Happy Birthday, Mr. Min Yoongi." He winks.
"Thank you, sir!" Yoongi yells as he grabs another shot from the tray. The rest of the boys follow suit, taking more drinks and eyeing the ladies around them, but Jungkook helps himself to a seat in the front of the general stage.
"Someone misses his private lady." Hobi jokes, causing him to shake his head.
"Whatever, as long as I don't have to share her with you guys." He spits out. "What's yours is mine and what's mine is mine." Jungkook finishes jokingly with his infamous line. It seems like a full house of dancers tonight, either on the sidelines or now entering the general stage. Jungkook rests his foot on his knee, ready to get the night started so he can enjoy, but also hurry on home afterwards to try and hear your voice.
But you were in the back room of the club.
No one really knew what was going on outside unless you had been outside already. Mr. Bigs gave you all a pep talk saying each and every single one of you needed to be on your best behavior, especially out on the floor. Bigs and his men refused to name the special guests just so none of you would psych yourselves out and mess up. You didn't know you were soon going to be catering to the BTS boys together, and Jungkook didn't know you were going to be one of the main dancers on stage either. His eyes were glazing over the rest of the girls on stage because they weren't you, to be honest. I mean, hell. It's always nice to be around topless, beautiful women. But he had gotten so used to seeing you. Your face. Your body. Touching you. Smelling your strawberry scent.
Jimin situates himself next to Jungkook, the rest of the group aligning themselves along the seats in front of the stage. He eyes Jungkook, taking note of how uninterested and bored he was - so bored that he even caught him trying to hide his yawn. Maybe he was just tired, as with everyone else, but that just meant his special lady friend wasn't out yet.
"You three, up. Now." Bigs says, coming into the backroom from the floor, pointing his finger towards the curtains. "Phoenix, remember. Don't throw no stupid ass attitude out there, playing hard to get like you're some kind of queen." He scoffs in disgust before dismissing the three of you. You roll your eyes, already highly irritated being there since it was originally your day off and no one wanted to give you answers as to why you needed to be there. Mr. Bigs had almost all the dancers out here to tonight, why the fuck would he need you?
The lights are off for a quick second before they dimly shine onto the stage, the music playing loudly in the background. You step onto the stage, your eyes instantly landing on the man front and center.
Jungkook.
You swallow the lump in your throat seeing the rest of the boy band around him, already smirking and licking their lips at the sight of you and the two other dancers on the stage. Jungkook adjusts himself in his seat, fixing his jacket as he sits upright to lean forward onto his knees. His eyes are glued onto you, almost like he's confused as to why you're here right now.
Why you're giving him and his boys a show.
Jimin catches Jungkook's slight uneasiness, his gaze following Jungkook's onto the stage. His eyes were set on you, the pretty lady swirling her body around the silver pole in the middle of the stage.
"She's fucking beautiful." Yoongi says, immediately getting up and reaching into the inner breast pocket of his jacket to pull out some bills. He stands in the front, almost blocking Jungkook's view of you. He catches Yoongi placing a couple of hundreds under the bottom portion of your fishnet bodysuit. The bodysuit that captured your curves so perfectly - thighs thick and full, ass cheeks popping out of the thong portion, your titties and pussy very visible through the fishnet material. God, you were a fucking beauty. Jungkook watches as you squat in front of Yoongi, bouncing up and down before you get up scandalously and shake your ass in front of his eyes. "Ohhhh shit." Yoongi bites onto his bottom lip as he laughs and tucks more bills near your thigh.
"It's his birthday!" Hobi yells, causing you to smirk at Yoongi and grab his hand to let him feel up on your breast. Jungkook shifts in his seat, a little envious of how Yoongi was able to touch you in that way before he was able to. Like fuck? Could it be my birthday too? Could it be my birthday everyday? He was never gonna let this one go. He continues to watch as you push Yoongi back onto his chair and give him a birthday lapdance.
"Happy birthday." You say softly in his ear before getting back up on the stage to do some tricks on the pole.
One, two: Turn upside down.
Three, four: Wrap them legs around.
Five, six: Treat the pole like a slip and slide.
Seven, eight: Flip back up and slide back down.
"Damn, it's my birthday over here too." Jin says tapping his lap and tossing a roll of bills near you before looking over at Taehyung. He's also throwing bills onto the stage, but he's focused on the other main lady off to the side. Still doesn't mean he isn't throwing bills your way either, cause he is every chance he gets to look over at you.
"Like what you see?" Jimin jokes with Jungkook.
"Yeah." Is all he says as he's approaching you. He gives you this look, which you don't understand what it means, but you didn't have the time to decipher it right at this moment. You watch Jungkook closely, his mouth pressed tightly together as his eyes are still scanning your entire body before he brings them back up to meet your eyes. You crawl towards him seductively, your fingers lightly brushing down his neck before you gently tug on his jacket. He doesn't say anything as he tucks bills near your titties, giving you one last look before sitting back down in his seat.
The main show comes to an end pretty quickly afterwards, other dancers making their way to the poles if they wanted or kept serving the boys whatever they needed. You hop off the stage, collecting your bills and folding them tightly together, tucking it deep on the side of your breast to keep it hidden. You head outside to get some air because what the fuck just even happened? You weren't expecting that whatsoever, even though you knew better than that. You should have always thought there would be a chance you'd have to do what you just did. You should have always been prepared.
"Lil mama, you looked good dancing up there in that tiny ass suit you got on." One of the men in Bigs' crew said as they lingered outside the backroom door, smoking cigarettes. "What do you say? Wanna come home with me so I can help get that off?" He smirks, approaching you.
"I'm only out here to get some air, please don't come up to me with all that bullshit." You spit out, causing the guy to furrow his brows at you.
"This one's got a little fire in her." He laughs, coming closer to you. "Whatchu gonna do if I don't take no for an answer, miss thang?" He grips your wrist tightly. You try to break free, but after tonight, you were too fucking tired to even deal with his stupid shit. "Oh, she's weak now?" He grips tighter, making you wince as you try to pry him off. He brings you closer, his face inches away from yours - so close you can smell the smoke and alcohol mixed together, coming off of his breath. Suddenly, you hear someone clear their throat behind them, their attention going from you to the individual. "Oh shit, it's Jeon Jungkook." You watch as the man lets you go, Jungkook standing there with his hands in his pockets and jaw clenched. He doesn't say anything besides nod to acknowledge them. "Big fan, dude."
"The fuck? I had my private show scheduled with Phoenix almost 10 minutes ago. You guys have been holding her up?" Jungkook is obviously throwing on an angry act because you didn't have any private shows booked tonight.
"Shit, my bad. I didn't know—"
"You didn't know cause you were too busy being a jackass?"
"Mr. Jeon, no disrespect here. I'm sorry I took time away from your show. Please, take whatever time you need with her - on me." He says, his friends silently standing by as they throw their cigarettes and go back inside.
"Yeah, it should be on you for fucking wasting my time." Jungkook doesn't say anything else, but he does glare at him until he's almost tripping over himself making his way back inside the club. "You okay?" Jungkook asks, coming closer.
"Yeah. Thanks." You rub your hand up and down your arm, the cold air nipping at your skin.
"I thought you said you weren't working tonight."
"I wasn't supposed to. Bigs just told me I was requested to be here tonight." You raise your eyebrow. "Wait, how did you not know? I thought it was—"
"You thought it was me that requested for you?" He chuckles. "Funny that you think I'd share you with the guys."
"Sooo?"
"I don't know." He shrugs. "Maybe he just wanted his best dancers to be here."
"Hm." You slightly smirk at the compliment. "Best dancers, huh?" He rolls his eyes and playfully sighs.
"Yeah, don't milk it." A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips.
"You gonna be here all night?"
"Possibly since it's Yoongi's birthday." You nod. He stays silent as he looks at you for a bit, his head slightly cocked to the side.
"So does he get a pass for tonight?" Jungkook chuckles and shakes his head.
"Only cause it's his birthday."
"Mm, not even because he's your senior or anything of the sort?"
"Nah." He smiles a bit. "Not at all. I hope you know I'll never forget it."
"Please, I didn't know Jeon Jungkook was a drama actor, too. What can't he do?" You sarcastically say.
"Okay, say whatever you want." He kicks the dust below his shoes as he lightly chuckles with you. It's silent again, but it's a calming silence. There's no awkward vibes or anything of that matter. You begin to rub your arms again, the cold nipping at your skin harshly. "You should get back inside, it's freezing." He watches you shiver in front of him. He isn't sure if he should hand you his jacket, even if he does want to help you out in the slightest bit, but he figures he shouldn't since you still needed to finish your shift.
"Okay." Your expression softens. "See you in there?" He silently nods, watching your hips sway back and forth until you're deeper in the club. The night doesn't end for everyone until a little bit past 2, close to 3am. You're hauling your tired ass back home, Kai struggling and barely making it alive as soon as you walk through your front door.
"Jesus fuck, thank god." He shuts the TV off and covers his entire body with the blankets.
"Kai, I told you that you didn't have to wait."
"Well until you're out of the club, this is my life now." Why was everyone so dramatic tonight? You chuckle to yourself.
"Okay, if you say so. Night bubba."
"Night." He yawns. In about 2 seconds, he's back to snoring loudly, causing you to laugh to yourself as you get ready for bed.
[jungkook] 3:14am: home?
[y/n] 3:17am: yes. you?
Maybe Kai didn't have to stay up for you after all.
[jungkook] 3:23am: yeah.
[jungkook] 3:24am: i'm assuming you had a really long day today so sleep well, Y/N. can i call you tomorow?
[y/n] 3:20am: you can, i don't know if i'll answer though. :) goodnight jungkook.
And so Jungkook smiles to himself before grabbing a water and heading back to his dorm room. He was slowly getting used to your sarcasm and attitude, being that he has never had to deal with someone being this way towards him. It was fun, and new.
"So was your lady actually there tonight?" Taehyung asks with Jimin sitting next to him.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" Jungkook scrunches his nose before turning on his heel to walk away.
"Wow, Jungkookie is being selfish. Namjoon hyung go scold him." Namjoon laughs.
"Jungkookie don't be selfish." Joon says nonchalantly just to keep Taehyung happy.
"Yeah, yeah." He shuts himself in his room to get ready for bed. Jimin silently sits next to Taehyung as they relive the night's events before going to bed. He had seen you and Jungkook talking outside, which only solidifies his assumption.
And he was onto you.
youtube
i'm good on that pussy shit; i don't want what i can get, i want someone with secrets that nobody, nobody, nobody knows
track six: gangsta - kehlani
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dropsofletters · 3 years
Text
the beat of a love rhyme [jww]
— summary: up-driven music, blasting parties, glasses of champagne clanking in between drags of smoke—the seventies are wild, but she’s at the peak of her career. part of one of the most popular funk bands of this decade, their vocalist at that, with a fulfilling relationship, rows of people screaming her name…life is good.
until it isn’t.
her band decides to split and she’s left as a solo artist. the only thing she has left is jeon wonwoo, her manager, and the connection that has grown in between them in endless years of accompaniment.
as it turns out, he’s all she needs—saccharine sweet, paradoxical, elegant, kind. much different from the world she had once prided herself for being part of.
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— title: the beat of a love rhyme — pairing: jeon wonwoo x reader  — genre: funk band!au ; manager!au ; friends to lovers!au ; 1970’s!au  — type: fluff ; suggestive ; drama ; angst  — word count: 13,740
She once saw the world she had constructed fall down to her feet. Watched betrayal collide against the strong walls of her universe, tumbling it down, masking it in shadows and dust. For once, while standing in the studio, sporting enigmatic and outstanding clothing and a smirk that slowly dissipates, she doesn’t feel like herself. Stardom tastes nothing like the saccharine-sweet dessert she had once thought of it to be.
Music is one of those things—everyone loves it, adores to sensationalize the artists that they listen to on the radio and that they attend concerts of, but they don’t think about how wrong it is. Managers that are manipulators, magazines that are stalkers, drug dealers that are leeches looking to destroy them and earn their money while at it. Of course, how to forget?…band members that leave the group because a lead vocalist is, well, fucking stupid.
They all start the same. The Beatles. Kiss. They are friends that get in a group together and then, they’re no longer as good of friends as they were in the beginning. One person wants to write certain kind of music, another one is too lost in between someone’s legs to even care, then…there’s what her friends are doing.
The Moonlit Dolls are a funk hit. Ask magazines, newspapers, even that one housemaid that lives next to you and bumps her hips and head to the beat of their songs. It happened in 72, when one roll of a song made it to the radio and soon after, they found a manager. Youthful, nervous, just trying to prove his boss right about his sense of music.
That’s Wonwoo, outside the booth that contains the seven women of the funk band that once consisted of friends that drank beers together and decided to make a group. Perform dancing and singing to their heart’s content, with pianos, trumpets, and a whole lot of shiny dresses. She was the lead woman, and now?
“We’re kicking you out of The Moonlit Dolls.” Sunshine, the pianist, says with one hand spread on top of her waist. Her hair is puffy, tight curls accompanied by tinted sunglasses and a body-tight dress, orange under the golden lights.
She scoffs after hearing it the second time. “Yeah, right.” Tugging at the oversized jacket, belonging to her baseball player boyfriend, that rests over her shoulders, a smile appears on her features. “I am The Moonlit Dolls, Sunshine. You ask anyone and the only person they’re going to care about is me.”
Prickling with harsh words will give her a benefit in this fight. Kiara, the chorist and bass player, gasps from her spot. Sunshine is all sex dreams and radiant smirks. Kiara is ignited cigarettes and broken wings. “You can’t say that…”
“Calm down, Ki.” Sunshine says, extending her hand towards the smaller, weaker woman. “I’m not letting this bitch keep the group.”
Why is no one talking? She asks herself. There are two producers and her manager, Wonwoo, outside. Everyone else had decided to switch managers when they reached stardom in 75 with their single “One More Song”, but she had kept to his side.
“It’s my group. I was the one with the idea.” She utters, fixing the microphone and putting on her headphones “So stop whining about and trying to be a leader when I need you to do your job and play the piano, as you should.”
“We’re tired of being your little backup girls.”
She raises her eyebrows at that, bitter as bitter can be. “Maybe, if you worked on some good publicity, you wouldn’t be my backup girls.”
Scandal after scandal had cladded the group, and while being the leader, she had to stand every question and tidying wave. Men in music do it all the time—being in threesomes, being improper outside, doing drugs, smoking cigarettes, screaming to paparazzi but have a group of women singing and playing funk music do it and it’s a fucking headline. And the worst kind.
Her girls just loved a bit of irrelevant, awestriking fun…and she was the one to protect them.
Look how that turned out.
Star, their drummer, screams a bit louder than the rest. She’s a mood-maker, even in the worst sense of the word. “And you’re a good example?!”
“Mention one scandal from me.” The vocalist says, shrugging her shoulders when she spares a glance towards Wonwoo. The man hovers over the sound booth, thick eyebrows perpetually placed in a frown, as if studying the situation.
Star sighs dreamily. “I don’t know, maybe that you’ve fucked the entirety of the country’s baseball team.”
Looking over her shoulders, anger is swallowed down by the lump on her throat. It hurts. The six women that had been there for her these past few years now have turned against her, and even worse, they think of her as some kind of monster. Have someone to lose and you’ll cry them once every blue moon. Imagine having six.
“Oh baby,” She feigns a moan, battling her eyelashes in the process to bring a smirk over her features. “I like men with big baseball bats. Thick. Long. Know what to do with them…is that what you wanted to hear? Is your little businessman boyfriend too little in that department for you?”
“Cock-thirsty bitch.” Star cusses, moving forward as she tightens her fists.
Instead, she chuckles. “Does that make your betraying-bitch ways any better?”
Blood boiling, ears tinged in heat, she doesn’t pay much attention to what she says until she feels Star’s long nails piercing through her scalp, holding onto her hair and tugging at it as shrieks leave her lips. Fighting with them, even physically, would have never crossed her head but hey…
If she’s going to end up having a scandal, she better go all the way with it.
Her hands settle on Star’s slim arms, moving her around and pushing her against the drums, tussled to the ground by her force. Star pulls her down, pushing her body to the ground to tug at more of her hair and just when she’s grabbing onto the woman’s face, fingers digging onto her cheeks, she feels the pressure on her head dissipating, but not leaving her without a headache.
The next thing she sees is a pair of worried brown eyes staring down at her, the golden lights of the ceiling a halo around Wonwoo’s brown hair, soft strands cascading down his face when he wraps his fingers around hers and puts her up, behind his suit-cladded body.
“Stop it.” He says, never one raising his voice. Star doesn’t look any better, tears cladding her vision as she stares back at her. “Do you think it’s fair for her to just tell her now that you’re leaving her out of the group? You’re going to destroy her career.”
“It has always been about her!” Sunshine says, far stronger than Star in her poise. “She’s the one writing, composing, singing, presenting. If she’s so good, she’ll do well…but we can’t be The Moonlit Dolls and the bitch that stands above everyone. This isn’t what a group is about—”
“What is it about?” Her voice lowers, getting away from Wonwoo’s shadow, bottom lip trembling to try to keep strong. But she can’t. She’s losing her group and her sisters. Though, they don’t consider her family anymore. “Talking about me? Judging me? Making decisions without including me? Is it about envy? If you really love someone, you’ll want to see them succeed, not push them to the ground to step on them.”
Sunshine pulls her sunglasses down, rolling her eyes in the process. Silence eats the atmosphere when she says: “You did that to us for years.”
“…Well, not anymore.” Her shaking fingertips wrap around Wonwoo’s, interlocking their hands together to keep sane. The only person that is left of the beginning of it all…and now, she’ll have to start again. “You’ve got it. Be the Moonlit Dolls. I couldn’t give less of a shit. I hope you’re happy.”
“Wait, no—” Wonwoo says, tugging at her. “It’s not fair. We can talk about the contract with them. I’m—”
“I don’t want to work with them anymore.” Her voice is soft, odd for a frontwoman, but when looking into her manager’s eyes, she wants to find solace…peace… “Please, let’s just go home.”
It doesn’t take much more than a nod from him and a tug of her hand to get out of that fucking studio.
###
One rule before getting on a stage or even doing a presentation at school. You don’t think of everyone naked; much less do you take deep breaths. You just of how comforting it will be to come back home to the person that supports you through it all. Now, that’s how she has gotten through stardom.
The beaming lights of the city cast down on her face, shadows highlighting the tears that stream down her face. The sleeve of her sweater, bathed in a citrusy scent, rubs at her tired eyes for the umpteenth time when Wonwoo finally says something.
“They didn’t deserve you.”
Maybe, Wonwoo is the person she wants to make proud, whom she wants to return to, even when they are just friends. A manager on the rising, trying to get his job going, in 1972, when he found a group of women in some bar. At the time, Wonwoo was a lot more youthful, peppering around nineteen-year-old and not technically her manager. An intern? Sure. The man in the small lettering of books when remembering The Moonlit Dolls? Of course. But Wonwoo only got to be her manager five years later. This year, actually.
Now, he’s different from how she remembered him. Wonwoo was a lot shyer, music-loving, sporting graphic t-shirts and carrying CD’s in his backpack just in case. His features were sweeter, of course, less of a frown and more of a curve to his cat-like lips, but Wonwoo has pampered himself well enough. A gray suit covers his tall and slim body on most occasions, tied to his waist to utmost perfection, with his hair smooth against his scalp and sleeked back, with one strand that always escapes it, and of course, he leaves the CD’s in his newer, far better car now.
Sighing, she rests her head against her seat, staring at his profile as the mansions and beaming lights let her know they are nearing her house. “Who are we lying to, Wonwoo?” She asks, voice raspy. “All my shit is getting out now. They’re not the type to keep their lips pursed and all the songs I composed are going to stay with her. I know Sunshine—”
“They’re copyrighted. They can’t do that.” Wonwoo’s voice, warm like a day at the pool in summer, makes her chuckle softly, not even parting her lips to do so.
“Copyrighted under The Moonlit Doll’s name.”
“Then…” Wonwoo trails, fingers skimming over the wheel professionally. Looking at him from the side, Wonwoo doesn’t look half bad. Maybe, that’s why her boyfriend is always over-the-top jealous about her manager. “We can turn you into a solo artist. Elton John did it. John Lennon did it. Hell, every single one of The Beatles decided a solo was good. Even Ringo.”
“Elton is Elton. I’m me.”
“More of a reason. You’re enough—”
“Woo.” She cuts off, leaning over to his side of the car, head resting on his shoulder to seek for the comfort of him. “It’s not about the music. It’s about the fact that those women, my sisters, my girls, decided to just cut ties with me.”
Wonwoo’s breath ghosts over her forehead for a second when he looks over his shoulder to park in her garage. His arm extends behind her seat, the warmth of him seeping through his suit. “So, you can only rise from this. It will hurt for a while, and I’ll give you enough time to heal all you need, but you can’t consider them your sisters. Not after what they did to you. Not how they talked to you, either.”
With that, he parks the car, but she doesn’t move her face away from her spot next to him. He’s the only thing she has left of her old life, before the big mansion, chef, workers, studio albums and stardom.
He calls her name softly, and she hums.
“You don’t consider them your sisters, do you?”
“The kind of sisters that you hope never get written in your father’s will. Yeah. That kind of sisters.”
Her manager chuckles at that, soft and tender. “I’ll support you through everything.” With that, he opens the door to the driver’s seat. “But I need you to sleep the sadness off and for god’s sake, to stop crying. They’re not worth the tears. Sure, it hurts…but this happens. Every group falls down.”
Lumping against the seat, her fingers clumsily hook on the door to open it. “Then, why are they so popular?”
“People love friendships.” He says, and when she turns to look at the side and get out of the car, he’s already holding his hand out for her to take. She does, eyes connected to his as he speaks. “And they love groups of people they can choose from. You know, ‘my favorite was totally Sunshine because she’s hot’ and that’s all there is. Sex sells, but friendship does, too.”
“I have to stay with sex, then.” The door closes behind her, coldness seeping through her legs when she walks towards her spacious mansion. Eight rooms, ten bathrooms, enormous living rooms and parties, and she still doesn’t feel a thing for this place. It’s not home.
“It’s not necessary when you have talent.”
“Tell that to the talented women in this industry that are only paid attention to if their nipples peak through their shirts.”
“…We’ll do anything to make you shine for who you are.”
“I, no longer, have a ‘we’.” She doesn’t tip-toe around the subject, turning around and walking backwards when talking to Wonwoo. “I’m alone! I’m fucking alone and I don’t know what to do. I’m not used to being alone!”
Wonwoo sighs. “How many people does it take to make a ‘we’?”
The question has her frowning. “I don’t know—”
“It’s logic. You do know. The least amount of people you need to make a ‘we’ is…”
His voice trails when her back connects against the entrance of her mansion. “Two.”
“And did I leave you?”
“No.”
“Then, we’re a team. We’ll always be a team.” Wonwoo conquers, his hands coming in contact with her shoulders when he pulls her to the side slightly. “So, I’m staying here tonight and make sure you don’t party until ninety percent of your body becomes alcohol.”
A smile tugs at the edge of her lips. Well, maybe she’s as trashy as her ex-bandmates said. “People like you are always so responsible, aren’t they?”
Wonwoo opens the door with the copies of her keys he has with him, turning on the lights and greeting one of the maids by the entrance. “Tell me you wouldn’t have done it.”
She chuckles. “Oh, I would’ve smoked a cigarette out of someone’s ass right now with how shitty I’m feeling.”
Never would she have thought that would make Wonwoo grin. “That’s a pun?”
Her eyes look up to remember what she said before laughing at her words. “I’ve never eaten ass, but maybe the factor of shit possibly coming out could be the reason why I’ll never try it.”
Something in his eyes is dulcet. You see, silence has its own taste, and there, with her nose clogged up from so much crying and lips burning from so much biting, she basks on the way Wonwoo smiles and watches her when he extends his hand and pats her head. “You’re something else.”
Out of all the times she has heard it, this one feels nice—sincere. “That’s the only thing I have ever been.”
“Go to sleep. I’ll stay down here and arrange a few things.”
“My career?”
“Maybe.” Wonwoo shrugs, taking off her boyfriend’s jacket from her shoulders and placing it neatly on the couch. “Go sleep those tears off.”
Saluting him, she winks at him as a goodbye. “On it, dad.”
Wonwoo closes his eyes tightly, a chuckle ripping through his vocal chords. “Don’t call me that.”
“I won’t…dad.”
She hears him groan as she goes up the endless set of curved, marble-toned stairs and that alone makes her feel like maybe, not everything is fucked.
###
Rule number one of life. Never say never.
Never say everything.
Never say fine.
Just, don’t say shit.
Wonwoo has stayed in her place for the past three days, asking her chefs to make her complete meals, making sure that she—at least—ties her hair away from her face as she relishes on her sadness. Lets it broom and breathe out as she sips on her coffee and reads the newspaper. Two days ago, a man died when swallowing a bone, just yesterday, they talked about the feminist movement and today, she’s in the headlines when she scalds her tongue with coffee.
“Wonwoo!” She shouts out, loud and clear, enough to rip her vocal cords. Anyone who listened to her would have thought two things. One, Wonwoo is her child and she’s trying to scold him to bits and pieces or she’s Wonwoo fan, and hence, absolutely crazy enough to scream his name like that.
It’s not always that the man she loves decides to speak nonsense in the newspaper.
Or rather, break up with her through an article.
THE DEVIL IN A SHORT SKIRT – Why the King of Baseball, Jae Kim, decided to break all ties with most famous female funk singer?
For once, she didn’t know she had broken ties with Jae. Two days ago, to be exact, he was cooing on the cellphone, whispering sweet and dirty nothings of how much he missed her, how he craved to touch her skin, how he had thought of all the sins possible with her in mind. That’s not love, but it’s stardom—Hollywood bleeding the perfection that everyone envies.
Now, when Wonwoo appears in the pristine kitchen, breathing heavily as he had ran all the way through the mansion, she’s reading the article. His picture is there, enough reason to show he had actually been interviewed. Jae throws his head back in laughter, thick and muscular thighs parted with his skillful fingers wrapped around a glass of champagne. His long brown hair is pushed away from his face, his chiseled face, squared jaw and thick lips parted in sweet laughter.
“It was crazy, man.” He said, according to the reporter, with a frown of his lips. “I’d be scared of her, much like the girls were. She was too strong. Too receptive. She tied me up to the bed one night and left me there until the morning. I’m not too perfect but damn...I couldn’t hold on.”
God!
Speak of a fucking bastard!
He was the one tying people up, if she is sure of something.
The rest of the article objectified her, to bits and pieces, enough to throw the newspaper across the kitchen, watching the papers fall apart as a dulling scream leaves her lips, coffee splattering across the walls when she splashes it away from her cup.
“Fuck!”
How could the man that she loved treat her in such a way? Spoke about things that he should have never talked about—bragged about how it was like to bang the hottest member of a girl group, of a funk band. Talked about her consumptions, her supposed addictions, spoke of her as a pair of tits and an ass that he touched and claimed as his but he couldn’t hold onto because a body was a thing…but certainty, confidence, ambition? Oh, that’s too fucking much.
That’s a woman. He wants a maid.
He wants a hole to fuck.
Her hands cover her eyes when she hears Wonwoo speaking, a curse leaving his lips. “This fucker. I told you not to get with him—”
One year back, when Wonwoo was totally right about dating her ex boyfriend’s best friend, Jae Kim, and also another baseball player. Maybe The Dolls weren’t so wrong when they said she had a thing for men like that.
“I know.” She speaks softly.
“Let me call the publicity team and just talk about this. We need to make a conference and throw him to the ground. He doesn’t deserve to talk such obsenities—”
Instead, she extends her hand, waving her fingertips. “Give me the car keys.”
Wonwoo looks into her eyes, studying her, more put together than herself. Did she even take a shower yesterday? She’s not sure. “Why?”
“Wonwoo, I said—”
“I’m not letting you drive anywhere alone.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he keeps his voice poised and she does her best not to stomp her foot like a child. “You want to talk with Jae.”
Maybe, he knows her a bit too much. “He said—”
“Stupid things.” Wonwoo waves the newspaper in the air. “He said things that should have been kept in between two people and he doesn’t deserve words. He deserves—”
“Oh, I know what he deserves.” She waves her fingers again. “So, you either let me go or I’m walking all my way there.”
“Are you going to kill him?”
With a sigh, she tilts her head to the side. “Wonwoo, do you think I would kill someone?”
Her manager blinks a few seconds before chuckling. “No, but I’d support you if that’s what you were trying to do.” He says, throwing the newspaper to the island. “What’s the plan?”
“You let me drive, and you don’t say a thing.”
“…For the first time in my life, I don’t want to stay silent because I don’t know what you’re planning.”
Though, the coldness of the car keys rests against her hands, with enough quickness for her to go to the living room and take Jae’s signed baseball bat in between her fingers, swinging it once and twice before resting it against her shoulder.
“I’m planning to be the kind of woman he’s scared of.”
Wonwoo raises his eyebrows at that. “We’re not killing him.”
“I’m not planning on killing him.” She looks at the bat in between her fingers. “I could get this up his ass, but he’s not in his mansion. He’s somewhere in the country, bragging about how he had me in his sheets so…I’ll do the second best thing.”
The manager sighs deeply, rubbing his temples in the process. “Tell me this will be therapeutic.”
“Oh, this is a before and after.” She whispers, walking over to the door. “You’re about to see the birth of a new woman.”
Jae Kim is one proud son of a bitch. Tall, handsome, with a dimple on his left cheek and an ass to die for. He’s everything she ever thought she wanted—with not enough spice, but with a smile that could make up for his lack of words. Then, he spoke too much and without caring if paparazzi trailed after her, she went over to his house.
They want to see the devil? They’ll get it. Not in a short skirt, not being banged into oblivion in Jae’s car like he had said, but banging his car instead.
The same one that he had spoken about in that infamous magazine.
Wonwoo rushes out of the car when she swings the baseball bat in the air and smashes Jae’s car’s windows. One. Two. Three and then, four. Each and every single one falling to pieces in shreds of glass against her slipper-covered feet.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Wonwoo questions, standing by her side and sheltering her of any sight of paparazzi.
“Destroying the car that he relished about fucking me in.”
Though a small smile appears on his face, Wonwoo clears his throat before it could fully show his thoughts. “While I think he deserves it, this is bad publicity.”
“Woo, one thing,” She says, swinging the bat and hitting the passenger’s door in the process. “You lose all your friends that feel like your family and they out to the world that they’re going to continue to be a group while you’re left alone and the man you love suddenly uncovers that all he thought about you is that you were a vagina with legs that he only stayed with because it feels good, amazing, spectacular to just fuck someone people want to be with…and you have to act well. Because people want you to be perfect. That’s all you are to them. A board to judge, compare to others and…” Hitting one of the lights, the apples of her cheeks lift up. “Fuck that. I don’t need that. The good girl of funk died today.”
Instead of judging her or leaving her alone, she feels Wonwoo’s fingers sliding through the baseball bat before testing the waters and moving it around his palm, rotating it to catch the best hit. “Why do you have his bat?”
“That’s the bat he used for winning on his latest baseball season.” She replies, looking inside her car and getting out the sharpie she uses for signing autographs. “So, I’m ruining it, just like he destroyed my dreams of love.”
The man stays silent when he swings for the first time, destroying the remaining glass at the front as a shaky smile takes over his features. “What are you writing?”
“Just a message for the paps.” She leans over the hood of the car, hair done a mess, t-shirt oversized on her body and accompanied by basketball shorts, leaving everything to the imagination. Completely different from how she was with The Moonlit Dolls. “If they want my response, I’ll give it to them.”
The sharpie writes over the yellow hood of the car, Wonwoo reading the message out loud as she scribbles it down in neat letters. “Rot in hell, trashbag. P.D, you weren’t that good at playing…me or baseball, I don’t know anymore. ”
With that, she throws the baseball bat inside the car, resting her hands in her waist and looking at the mess she’d done.
“Wonwoo?”
The wind whisks against their bodies. Wonwoo, polished. She, on the brink of crying. But she won’t anymore—she’s tired of it.
“Yes?”
“Take me home, please.” She breathes out. “I need to start writing songs for that asshole.”
###
Think of your favorite album. All time favorite. The kind that you’ll cry and bang your head with when you turn fifty and you just need to remember what it was like to be young. And there it is, the nostalgia. The ‘it’ factor that people love and adore.
It takes months to make a great album, but for her, it has never taken this long.
Two months of staring at her ceiling, trying to return to the persona that she had crafted. The lover girl of funk, who sang into a microphone about the sincere, soft love she had for her now ex-boyfriend. For the guy with the bat that swung at her heart, destroyed her career momentarily, and whined like a bitch to the media when she destroyed his car.
One of the many cars he has, at least. He’s filthy rich.
But love songs aren’t as easy to write anymore. Leave it to the ballad lovers and the people who still believe in romance, but she is not one of them. In most occasions, she just goes back and forth, greets her workers around the house, talks to them for a few minutes that turn into hours and then, she uses the excuse of going back to writing. She tries to rhyme something with ‘boy’ and it just ends there.
She’s not in love with music anymore.
The strings of her guitar become lonely, plucked and exchanged for a piano. And there, seated in front of the endless rows of keys, she can’t think of anything either. The same thing happens over and over again, roaming around the house like a ghost only to meet with her manager at the end of the night. On the rare occasion, someone wants an interview…but given that the press coverage given by newspapers and magazines had died down after The Moonlit Dolls came out with their album as six, she’s left wth silence.
Until today.
Wonwoo is a routinary man. He likes his coffee lukewarm. He enjoys the same kind of music he did when she met him. He wears scales of grays, blacks and whites, and they’re always the same shade. His hair never follows after his instructions with that one strand that always stands out on his forehead, so it’s not surprising when he enters her mansion at eight thirty-seven in the night.
With her legs extended on the armrest of her leather couch, she jots down on her notebook, not caring that her short red silky robe had fallen off one shoulder, the lace of her bra barely peeking through when she sends a smile his way.
Pink is not Wonwoo’s shade. Not until today, when his cheeks blare in said color and he puts his hands on top of his eyes.
“Shit, fuck. I’m sorry.” He turns around, stealing a chuckle from her when she sits up on the couch. Wonwoo believes in the rhymes in gentlemanly words still, and she doesn’t know why. Maybe, he’s the only thing left of real men in this world. “I—I didn’t know you weren’t decent…or…can you just tie your robe properly?”
Loud laughter leaves her lips when she fixes the robe around her body. “Sorry. I was just immersed in writing.”
That makes him drop his hands, though the perfect view of his tinted-red ears becomes the least of her worries when he widens his eyes. “You? You’re writing?”
Shrugging her shoulders, she stands up from the couch. “I think I have the title song of my next album.”
Wonwoo nears her when she sits in front of her piano, an angel in the way his eyes twinkle. “Oh, for your solo?”
“I don’t have a group anymore,” She breathes out, turning her face to the side and looking at his features from up close. The scent of champagne clings to her, dizzy in the way her eyes crinkle and her lips purse. “So, it’s my solo. I’m completely alone in this world, so the least I can do is fight in it.”
Taking the seat next to her, he says: “You’re not alone.”
She sighs at those words. “Woo,” She instructs. “Why have you never been in love?”
He raises an eyebrow, silent for a second, before answering: “Who told you I haven’t?”
“You’ve never talked about it.”
“I don’t work with you to talk about me.”
“But you tell me everything.” The singer elongates in a whine. “How much you love your mom, how your hands tremble sometimes, how your stomach hurts when you eat certain foods. That one trip you had when you were a child and how you wish you could go back to your peaceful place…” Her voice becomes quieter. “I just assumed you’ve never fallen in love…or that you’re just not interested in dating.”
One of his index fingers presses to a piano key before chuckling. Soft, tender, with his thin lips wrapping around his perfectly sculpted teeth. “I have. Tons of times.”
“Tons?”
“Like four? I don’t know.” Wonwoo shrugs. “Love is easy to feel. Hate? Even easier. It’s the hold-out that I can’t deal with. There’s always something that ends it all.”
Resting her cheek against the piano, she breathes out the insecurities that had wrapped inside her body. “I think the same way.”
Wonwoo shakes his head at that. “No.” He denies. “You’re too loveable to believe that.”
Rolling her eyes, she straightens her back. “What says that about me? The short skirts? The upbeat songs? The dating scandals? The money? The hits?” Finally, she reaches a peak, hovering her fingertips over the keys. “I want to be loved for who I am when I’m at my worst, when I can’t even get up and out of the bed. I want to be loved with my insecurities, when they take the best of me and make me lose all judgement, all rationality…” She stops. “And that won’t happen. I won’t be loved for who I was, so what’s the point in pretending to be the pretty, sensual, coquettish ex-doll?”
“What do you mean?” Wonwoo questions, voice raspy, worry bleeding on his tone.
“I don’t need men looking up my skirt, people paying to hear the love songs I write about men that never deserved me.” Continuing, she presses down on the keys, a melodramatic tune starting it all. It’s a new beginning. “I don’t want love, Wonwoo, because it’s all I’ve given the media and look how they’ve paid me. I want power, irony, hate, I want to have a voice so strong people like me will start to think that it’s okay to be alone. That we rise when we don’t depend on others.”
In typical funk fashion, the beat picks up and Wonwoo smiles at the melody. “How’s the song called?”
“Still working on the lyrics.” She says. “It starts off slow, the rain after that moment where life seems not to have a continuation and then, it picks up. People want a show? They’ll have it. But they won’t have the real me anymore.”
Wonwoo closes his eyes, shoulders swinging to the beat as a cat-like smirk takes oves his face. “Who are we getting?”
“I want a wig.” She says, earning sweet laughter from her manager. “And a suit. I’m tired of skirts. I want suits of all colors, bright, tight, loose. I want people to judge me for my dancing skills, my singing, not how sexy they think I am.”
“What color? The wig. What color should it be?” He questions, his gaze burning on the side of her face when she continues playing.
Recalling the shade of his pretty cheeks, she turns to him. “Pink.”
He repeats: “Pink?”
“The brightest pink you can find.”
“Okay,” Wonwoo tilts his head to the side, taking the notebook on top of the piano in between his hands and reading the lyrics. “Wait, why is called ‘I Died’?”
“Because the past few months have felt like that. Like I’ve actually died.” She conquers, shrugging in the process and haltering the song. “But I’m ready to be born again and under my own terms.”
“We’re still going with funk?”
“It’s my soul. I can’t leave funk.” She confesses. “But we’re working on an album and next month, we’re releasing it.”
Wonwoo shakes his head. “Oh no, I’m not about to overwork you.”
“Consider it this way,” Smirking, like she always does, ready to bite the bullet that life brings at her, she rests her chin on his shoulder, staring up at him. “I’m overworking you, sweetie.”
###
Wonwoo was once young and stupid. Think about it this way—what nineteen-year-old guy packs a diamond ring on his pocket, bought in the cheapest price he could find, to confess to the woman he loved since he was fourteen that the only person he saw himself with was her? Even if they weren’t together, to begin with, and she had given him all the signs of ‘I’m into anyone but you’?
That would be nineteen-year-old Jeon Wonwoo. Dumb. Stupid. A reader, but the words he figured out in books definitely did not give him more life-knowledge.
While entering backstage to the concert of the singer he represents, he remembers why he didn’t become Mr. Denied that night. He met her. Seated in that old, raunchy bar, he watched as the woman he loved—Joohyun—got off the stage, her long hair swinging on her curved back, each juncture of her clothing with her body almost making him salive until he saw her.
In a short dress, a little bit drunk, jumping up to the microphone and apologizing for the interruption but introducing themselves as The Moonlit Dolls. Seven women together, just having fun, trying to make whatever they were work.
Joohyun was talented—sulky, tender voice and moving hips that had any man to her mercy, but she didn’t have much to her apart from that. Sang Frank Sinatra on the rare ocassion, but could never write, never perform, never compose. The Moonlit Dolls had just that, and while his boss had initially denied Joohyun when he tried to get her a contract, he had a gut feeling that The Moonlit Dolls were right up his alley.
What did he do? He got them to accompany him on the next Monday to his office, and the young intern that was Jeon Wonwoo got his first recognition for finding a hidden gem.
He pulls the curtains that separate the stage to the back, and what he sees is adorable. It warms his heart in every possible way, feeling as though he’s back to when he was nineteen and he had completely forgotten about his unplanned future with Joohyun just to hear her sing. This time around, she’s not wearing her short and tight skirts and the lights of the stage cast down on the bright pink wig that rests above her shoulders. Though, her vocals never falter and her chorists accompany her with as much excitement as her smile plasters for the public to see.
His old boss, a man that now represents The Moonlit Dolls, had asked him a simple question when the group departed her. “Why do you stay with her?” He asked, with his belly shaking with every word he said, his thick moustache rubbed in between his fingers.
At the time, he only answered: “Because she’s my friend.” Though, now that he thinks about it, seeing her there, she bleeds every portion of music. Raw. Enigmatic. Beautiful.
Wonwoo always had a thing for music.
But—
“Jeon Wonwoo,” A dulcet, saccharine-sweet voice speaks over his shoulder and he turns around to see a much shorter woman. Ali, the stylist behind this new change in funk, smiles up at him while she cradles her notebook to her chest. She’s maybe two years older than him, with a rounded face, big brown eyes and her hair almost always tied in two braids. Cute, really. “Didn’t think I’d see you here today.”
“It’s the first concert. I had to be here.” Though, he was trying to calm down the paparazzi outside. Some celebrities had attended and they were trying to see who was the singer’s next love affair. He crosses his arms cross his chest, taut muscles contracting under the suit before he smiles down at her. “The wig is cuter than I thought it would be.”
“It’s a challenge.” Ali says, looking over his shoulder to stare at the woman dancing on stage, feet keeping up with every word she said. “But she makes everything work. Besides, I’d love to be the one behind this new era of funk with her styling.”
“The suit is gorgeous.”
“Thank you. Had to contact a few people to get it perfectly styled, but she rocks it.” Ali’s voice trails at that moment, a smile taking over her rounded cheeks when she swings back and forth on the sole of her feet. “Wonwoo?”
The man hums, quirking an eyebrow in the process. “Yes?”
“You haven’t called me again.”
Wonwoo doesn’t do relationships often. Not because he doesn’t believe in them, but because he doesn’t have time. Try to explain to someone who wants undivided attention that your utmost priority is your client, who is coincidentially a woman that a lot of people desire, very famous, filthy rich, and who is broken down to tears because of everyone around her leaving her but you. You, Jeon Wonwoo. It’s difficult—so, Wonwoo resorts to the easiest thing, a fling or two with close friends and a promise to call again.
He normally does. With how crazy the world is and how little he knows about strangers when having sex, he would much rather have it with people he knows. Someone whom he recognizes he has a connection with.
Six months ago, Ali was it. She practically put candles up when he went over to his apartment and it felt nice, to be treasured and worshipped for once. To be the center of attention, but each time it happened, he scavanged out of the bed and went over to his client’s mansion.
To check up on her. To make sure she was eating right. To just hear her speak, talk about everything and nothing at the same time.
He doesn’t do that with the people he sleeps with and Ali’s speeches are interesting, though not groundbreaking.
He bites his bottom lip, hissing in the process. “Sorry, I was coaching every city we were going to attend to and I stayed over at the mansion a little too much in the process. I—I haven’t really been alone…”
“Wonwoo.” Ali stops him, placing one hand on top of his chest. “Listen, I look like I’m not the type but I’m the kind of woman that says it like it is. I like you, and I’m sure you liked me when we were together because…it seemed like it. You’re not my first, I know how an interested man looks like.” She whispers, long eyelashes fluttering against her wide eyes. “But if you love her, if you love someone else, I can’t be with you—”
I’ve loved tons of people, he told her months ago when she wrote the song she’s closing this concert with.
But how could he love her? The thought had never crossed his brain. Adoration, yes, of course. He doesn’t think he could ever fully let go of her, but loving the singer that had never looked twice his way?
“I don’t love her like that.”
Ali chuckles. “I believe you,” She says. “But anyone would think otherwise. You’re glued to her hip all the time.”
“She’s my client.” Wonwoo proves with a swat of his hand. “I have to be by her side.”
The shorter woman inspects his features, calculating each of his movements before humming. “You sure?”
Smiling, he says: “Or I could just prove to you how little in love I’m with her.” Though, the words leave his lips and they don’t sound quite right to his ears, much less when he hears the melody of a saddened tune, the start of the song that watched her rise again.
He tries his best not to turn around, but his eyes waver towards where she is sitting, playing the piano with utmost conviction.
“I’m alright with that.” Ali says, trailing her hand down to his abdomen before letting go of him. “Call me next time you’re alone, will you?”
Though, the nod he gives is only to stop the conversation, turning around when Ali is gone to look at the woman on stage. The beam on her features is brighter than ever, but he knows better than to trust it. Tears and frowns gather in the worst of days, and he’s not sure if he’s ready to leave her alone just yet.
###
“”Haven’t seen these in a while.”
With his fingers palming around her hair, she looks over her shoulder to capture the glimpse of the man she knows a little too well. Wonwoo looks like he had just woken up from a nap, not quite used to the jetlag of being in a tour bus with her just yet. Years will pass by and still sleep will ride over him in tidal waves, clashing him to the bed and leaving him petrified.
For the past two months of touring, she has been a new persona. Pink hair, eccentric high notes, suits that cover what had once been the reason why she earned so much money—she took the reigns of her life based on what the headlines said. Wrote songs about betrayal, overconfidence, loneliness, ego…and they became hits.
The radio won’t stop talking about her pink locks, swinging hips and hateful words. And that’s what she wanted, until the lights dimmed and she was back in her tour bus, staring out the window to the cars passing by in silence. None of them would stop if they just knew the real her. The romanticist that feels a bit broken.
“I feel the same way sometimes.” Shivering, she rubs over her arms, connecting her gaze to the road once again when she feels Wonwoo sitting with her on the red leather seat. A brown sweater covers most of his body, accompanied by baggy pajama pants. “The character is starting to take over me and when I’m not as confident as I am on stage, it feels…weird.”
Wonwoo rubs at his left eye, sighing deeply when he says: “I don’t want you to become her, the woman on stage, permanently.”
She chuckles. “First time I’ve heard a man say that.” Her voice lowers, resting her cheek against the couch as she looks into his eyes. “Why?”
“You’re fantastic as you are.”
That’s her cue to let out the least lady-like snort. “Oh yeah, what screams fantastic about me?” She asks, turning around to sit properly and not get dizzy by looking at the road for too long. “My waving feelings? My grounding insecurities? The fact that I can’t fully voice out how I feel unless I do it in a symphony?” The words leave her a bit too quickly, and Wonwoo’s lips curl when he shakes his head.
“Try again.” Wonwoo indicates. “There’s good in you.”
Bringing her knees up to her chest, she rests her chin in between them. “I guess.” A mumble leaves her. “But I don’t see it…” Her voice trails. “My sister once told me there is someone for anyone. That person that will love my flaws as much as I hate them…but they always leave after getting a taste.” She says, eyes twinkling with indemn sadness. “Sometimes, I wonder if whoever created the world forgot to create someone for me. Decided that I wasn’t worthy of a fairytale and—”
Her manager back at her, his hand coming up to her cheek and rubbing over the skin. “Do you know you have a mole here?” His thumb touches, softly, almost like a kiss against her face. She closes her eyes tightly, humming in acknowledgement. “I always thought it added something else to your face. It didn’t make you uglier and it didn’t make you prettier. It just made you…you. If the night sky wasn’t tainted by stars, would it be half as sensationalized as it is now?”
She opens her eyes then, leaning into his warm touch. Craving. Needing. Wonwoo feels a thousand times more necessary these days—and she knows she could probably live without him, but she doesn’t want to. They could give her the most perfect man to have as a manager and she still wouldn’t take him…because they are not Wonwoo.
“Maybe, my personality has a thousand moles.”
“All of us have flaws. Some better than others.” Wonwoo whispers, tracing the strands of her hair and tucking them behind her ear. Since when have his brown eyes become her axis, the reason why her anxiousness doesn’t creep up on her? “Maybe, if you loved yourself with as much strength as you loved the people that broke you, you wouldn’t be having these issues.”
Pressing a chaste kiss to his palm, she breathes out a warm gush of oxygen. “I wonder if someone will love you with the strength you deserve to be loved with, Woo.”
A small smile takes over his features. “I sure hope it happens one day.” He confesses.
The singer, however, is more observant than she lets anyone believe. “Maybe Ali is on the way there.”
Wonwoo shakes his head, laughing. “Absolutely not.”
“Oh, come on, Woo. You’re totally getting it on with her.”
Though, she would never understand why his cheeks blare with her but at the mention of having sex with her stylist, he doesn’t react. “…How are you so sure?”
“One, you two got awfully close at the tour and I know when two people are fucking.” She replies, placing her hand on his thigh when she leans forward, as if sharing a secret. “Why her?”
Wonwoo rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling. “I’m not talking about this with you.”
A whine rips from her throat. “You knew everything about Jae and I!”
“Because the motherfucker got out of your room with his dick out. I didn’t decide to know about you two and your rendezvouses.”
Sighing, she whispers. “True.” Still, her finger pokes his side. “Well, an eye for an eye. Tell me—”
At the repetition of the last two words, incessant, he sighs.
“She’s just there, okay?” His voice is soft in the mellow night. “It’s not the truest romance. We just help each other not feel as lonely. I don’t have the time to have anyone when…”
Her eyes widen, looking up and down his features when she completes his sentence: “When you have me.”
“That’s not what I mean—”
“You’re…God, you’re always taking care of me. That’s why…”
Grasping her face in between his hands, Wonwoo speaks a tad quicker than usual. “I choose to wake up every morning and spend every possible time with you. Not because I’m your manager, but because you’re the best person I have ever met and I adore you to bits and pieces. Me being with you has nothing to do with you.”
Before nonsense could drape from her lips like a shower of insecurities, Wonwoo interrupts her with a kiss on her cheek.
“Now, let’s go to sleep and stop overthinking. You’re giving me a headache and I don’t have to listen to your thoughts all the time.”
Cackling, her fingers interlock with his, dragged somewhere on the tour bus to take a nap…or have a good night of sleep, for the first time in a while.
###
“Maybe, it’s time you move on, you know?”
When Wonwoo was nine years old, he asked his dad what love was. He said it was a long time. His mom, on the other hand, gave him more of a dreamy answer. She plastered a smile on her face and changed what his father had said initially—she mumbled, while scrubbing on the dirty plates of shared dinner, that love was patience. He never asked again, for Wonwoo thought he would never get to understand it fully.
But Ali doesn’t feel like love. Not with her eccentric baby blue dress and the lights of the club bathing over her body. Not with the way she brings her beer up to her lips after taking a puff of a cigarette. Instead, she dangles her legs off the seat she’s perched on, staring at his client and friend as she talks to a tall, blonde man while dancing, a smile forever taking over her face when in public.
Wonwoo stops holding her waist to pull away, leaving his drink to the side to quirk an eyebrow. These parties are not his thing—he hates club as much as a forty-year-old man who just wants to go home does, but he has to attend them from time to time. It’s publicity for his client and connections with other artists come from this in most occasions. Ali just decided to tag along, something about the killer look she put on their shared client that she just had to see.
“What are you talking about?” He questions, but when he takes a sip of his drink, his hands placed on his lap, he studies the person they are talking about and indeed, if looks could kill, this one would take him straight to the grave. A yellow bodysuit covers her body, the wide pants making her hips stand out, just the tiniest bit of skin, enough for imagination, showcased around her chest but the diamond necklace around her neck spoke of expensiveness.
“You know,” Ali says, jutting her chin out. “She’s earned far more as a solo this past year than she did in The Moonlit Dolls and it’s obvious every manager in the game wants her now.”
Wonwoo chuckles. “She wouldn’t trade me.” If he’s certain of one thing it is that they’re here to ride or die in this long road that is success. He will stand by her side until his last breath lets him—
Ali shakes her head, fingertips scattering across the collar of his shirt, her index finger toying around his collarbone. “Babe—”
“Wonwoo.” He corrects, looking at her from behind his rounded glasses. “I told you not to make this too personal.”
The stylist rolls her big eyes. “All I’m saying, Wonwoo, is that she’s talking to Ahn Seojun right now. The son of one of the biggest managers in the game—”
His teeth tighten under the force of his jaw when he stands up from his seat. “I don’t care. I’m sure she won’t—”
“What’s with this blind trust you have with her, Wonwoo?” Ali questions, tipsy when she gets up from her seat, eyes blaring with anger. He stops on his tracks, turning around to look at her, her scent repulsive in tainted alcohol. “She’s no angel, let me tell you.”
“No one is.” He replies, voice vacant of any extra feelings. “I know she wouldn’t leave me for Ahn Seojun or whoever his father is.”
Ali pushes at his chest, a huff leaving her lips. “Get it through your head. What you have with her is not normal! This is not the relationship a manager has with his client!”
Shaking his head in the process, venom bites at his words, but respectfulness is always kept in what he says. “And you shouldn’t care—”
“Wonwoo, I fucking love you, alright?!” The older woman screams at the top of her lungs, tears cradling her vision when she drops the bottle to the side, pieces scattering across the floor. “And all you fucking do, all y—you’ve managed to do all along is love her. I’m sure you’re with her—”
The man in question raises his eyebrows, taking her by the shoulders to stop her from hitting his chest any longer. Well, that’s trouble. Maybe, it wasn’t such a good idea to get involved with someone from the same staff team as himself.
“I’m not.”
“Look me in the eyes, Wonwoo!” Ali exclaims, voice ragged. “Look me in the eyes and tell me it has never crossed your head that you could be in love with her.”
Three seconds of silence follow after his words.
The darkened walls and moody atmosphere of the club becomes more interesting, eyes wandering as he thinks of all the years he had spent with her. When awakening to the sight of her, smiling down at him and asking him to join her for breakfast, had he thought of love? When seeing her in her robe, ready to work on a new album, had he thought of love? When listening to her pleas of forgetting her past, when growing up was harder than even thinking about the future, mixed with the tears of memories she could never get rid of, had he fallen in love?
He’s not sure. He told her once, a little bit over a year ago, that he had fallen in love a bunch of times…but they had never quite felt like this.
“Wonwoo?” Ali’s voice wavers when she questions him again, but Wonwoo simply purses his lips together, a tight line made out of them.
Love is the patience of knowing she would never be his, but for him to wait forever until he saw her happy. Truly contented. That’s what love is.
And he’ll die one day, most likely, telling his children or grandchildren that he had fallen in love with someone once and he never could say it, but that he did his best to have her live her truest love story. With someone who isn’t her manager, of course.
“I am not in love with her.” Wonwoo lies, fixing the coat over his shoulders. “But you’re fired, Ali. I can’t have you create drama between my client and myself.”
The curses that follow after him when he turns around and goes look for her won’t haunt him forever, but they do that night.
###
A gush of air is stolen from her lungs when the new stylists wrap a corset around her waist over her suit, the lacey white material contrasting against the beige walls backtage. She’s about to perform for a show, and they love seeing better—perfect bodies, sculpted smiles, kicking off with an enchanting lifestyle. No one realizes that celebrities are not truly what they show.
“I can’t believe she said that.” The pink wig had been exchanged for a lukewarm blonde, her eyes elongated by thick eyeliner, the shortest stylist fixing the tie around her neck, the dark gray suit matching his own. Anyone would think she inspired herself off him.  
Little does Wonwoo know that she did.
“Woo,” She starts. “I would never, ever, think of replacing you with anyone. Much less whoever that Ahn guy is. We were just talking about Queen’s latest album because it was a banger. Can’t blame me for being a bit jealous of Freddie thinking about it before I did—”
“I know you’d never replace me.” Wonwoo conquers, pushing himself away from the wall to get closer to her. The stylists move away when he nears her, his hands resting on her shoulders when she fixes her lipstick, thumb rubbing sightly to make the pink a bit duller. “I’m sorry I made you lose your stylist.”
“You should be sorry about the new stylists wanting me to wear a corset.” She jokes, placing both hands on her chest. “The ladies look good, but I’m afraid I could split in half if I reach a high note with my chest voice.”
The man by her side, with long hair in the styles of The Beatles in Yellow Submarine, widens his eyes when he gasps. “Shit, guys, we forgot about the boots!”
The woman by the tie gasps. “No way!”
“Where are they?” Someone else says.
“They’re in the car. They were too heavy to bring them all the way here. Sorry!”
The singer raises her eyebrows at that. “What do you mean too heavy? I have to dance with those—”
But the stylists don’t listen to her, rushing out of their places to get to that goddamned car. Instead, she chuckles at Wonwoo’s reflection, turning around to interlock their hands together. Typical nature of two friends, right?
“You look beautiful, but this is not you.”
“That’s what people like.” She replies, eyelashes fluttering when she looks up and down his face before humming. “I’m sorry I had you break things off with Ali. I just—Well, you decided it. How could she have thought that you were in love with me?”
Wonwoo becomes silent for a second before a broken smile appears on his features. Maybe, he feels uncomfortable about the situation? After all, he has always been a bit closed up about relationships. At least, that’s what she thinks.
“I would be fucking lucky, Woo.” She says, turning around and bending over the vanity to run her fingers over her mascara-coated lashes, not missing the blush that takes over his features. “A handsome, capable, loving, caring, intelligent and sweet man deciding that I’m worthy of love? His love? I’d die on the spot.”
Wonwoo chuckles at her words, juvenile in its approach, when he rests one hand on the small of her back. “You’ll get him one day.”
“He better hurry, then.” Her answer comes quickly, turning around until her chest is pressed to Wonwoo’s, his eyes lost in something she can’t quite pinpoint. “I’m a romanticist, man. I just…I just need a man who knows that he wants me with so much force that he’ll do anything to make me feel loved. And let me love him back, of course, I’m not as egotistical—”
Anyone who looked at Jeon Wonwoo in all his glory—covered in a suit, with glasses and his hair pushed back, would have never thought of him to be the type to be surprising. Though, when his lips melt against her own in the sweetest of touch, capturing her breath when he closes his eyes delicately and lets his body cover her own, her back digging onto the edge of the vanity, she feels a part of her dying. Dying in the best sense of the word, like how it feels when someone goes to sleep and they disconnect for a while.
Wonwoo tastes like the coffee he had earlier this afternoon, with the stain of his heart dragging across the way his lips softly part and breathe out utmost adoration. Her eyes close when her hands relax against his chest, devoring the feeling of being unique for once. Of having someone, that person, even for just a second. He’s soft, albeit a bit lazy, delicate in the way he approaches the kiss and molds his hand against the small of her back, abdomen flushed against hers.
When she seeks for more of him, he pulls away, his eyes crinkling under the weight of his smile when he says.
“I hope you find someone who loves you like that someday.”
Though, his cheeks blare in all shades of pink when he pulls away, fixing his tie when trying to leave.
“Wonwoo?”
“Yes.”
Before she could tell him anything else, the stylists come back with the huge—just not to say humongous—shoes.
And Wonwoo leaves without listening to what she wanted to say.
I hope that someone who loves me like that is you.
###
All she can think about while seated next to the host show, perpetuated in a beige suit with his bald head shining under the harsh lights of the studio, is the man that stands somewhere behind the cameras and that had kissed the tenderness of romance back into her heart.
So, she crosses one leg over the other various times, tries to laugh a little harder and opts to make everyone believe in the public, both at home and present there, that she’s lurking for her fans, taking in the love that they’ve gifted her after being away for so long.
The vinyl version of her album rests against the wood of the desk that keeps the host away from her, laughter leaving his lips when he points at it with his extended palm. Finally, she stops looking at Wonwoo, whose eyes are trained in the scenery with a soft smile on his face and instead, she tries to think of something else.
Why would Wonwoo kiss her? It’s not like…it’s not like he was interested in her, right?
“This is a big blow for The Moonlit Dolls, ain’t it?” The host asks, looking down at his notes with the eye of a reporter. “Seven times a million seller and on the top list of songs to play on the radio months after its release. How do you feel about it?”
“It’s…stellar. I feel like I’m over the moon.” She replies, voice sultry, aspiring to sound humble even whens he knows her tears and pain is plasterd on that album. “I couldn’t have done it without my fans.”
“Did you know The Dolls’ latest album only sold twenty thousand copies?” The host looks up and her heart gets caught up in her throat. Those are the people she once trusted and sure, she would have loved to see them fail on the first few months of grieving their friendship…but they were talented. Sunshine, now the composer, had continued down the sexy and romantic vibe of The Dolls. “Critics called it a failed try to make music for housewives that want to be sexy after twenty years of marriage.”
She hisses, her smile long forgotten. “They’re talented. I have nothing to say about them.”
The host, however, listened to her album in its entirety. “Nothing to worry about. Your album said enough.” Laughter coming from the public, the man fixes the burgundy tie around his neck. “Why isn’t Jae in the album?”
There it is. She spares one look towards Wonwoo and she sees his smile faltering, his Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows harshly.
“I’m sorry, who?” Sarcasm drips from her voice when she fakes a smirk, leaning one elbow on the armrest of her chair before pointing at the public. “I want these people with me to feel empowered. We can feel complete without someone by our sides. That’s my message. I may not have pulled it through in the past, but it’s what I stand for now.”
It’s not half a lie, but part of her wondered if she would ever find love. Maybe, it’s closer than she had imagined.
“I agree. I agree…” Though, show hosts are known to be pushy. “But you dated Jae Kim for three years. You two were practically the new Yoko and John. What happened?”
She shrugs. “He’s…” Her voice trails, figuring out if she should say the truth or spit out irrelevant lies. “He’s not the subject of my inspiration, that’s it. I just like to separate my job from my romantic life.”
“He doesn’t do that.” The host says, fixing the glasses that rest on the bridge of his nose when he puts her album down. “He dedicated his latest homerun to you, you know?”
That doesn’t do anything to help her situation, and what she wants to do at that moment is stand up and tell Wonwoo that the kiss meant something. That Jae Kim himself, the man that broke her heart, could come over tonight and she wouldn’t even look his way.
“That’s good.” She says, trying to keep her stardom intact. People don’t like a bit of sass. “I think I’d rather be known as something else than Jae Kim’s inspiration behind a homerun.”
The host clears his throat, a smile on his face. “Would you ever go back to him?”
It’s her time to laugh, but when she looks towards Wonwoo, he’s already taking off somewhere else. Shit. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t believe in second chances.”
“But all your songs were once about him.” The host curls his hand in the air, as if stating the obvious. Her eyes divert towards him once again. “Is it, maybe, that the ex-doll has found a Ken for herself?”
This interview is going horrid. This is the moment she realizes that no matter how hard she has worked for the past year, she will always be known for something. A sex symbol that hung around Jae Kim and sported short skirts. This alone makes the corset around her waist constraint her from breathing properly when she shakes her head.
“I’d be lucky to have someone else.” She whispers, looking towards the public before squinting her eyes. “…But that’s never possible. You’re either successful or in love, and when I choose to have both, it ends up plastered on the media. Consumed as if I’m a product.” Leaning back on her seat, she connects her gaze with the host’s. “You see, I’d love to love someone, but I’m unable to. How can I promise someone happiness in the world I live in, when I’m my saddest ever since I started being a celebrity?” Her voice departs a little, broken, when she plasters a smile on her face and chuckles lightly. “So, I’m free as a bird as of now, and not returning to the past.”
Though Wonwoo hadn’t listened, she wished he would have. For, she would love to have him by her side, but she didn’t want to taint him, break him quite like the media did for her.
###
One month passes by without the kiss being spoken about, but the tension is unbearable.
Sure, Wonwoo should have never tried to kiss her. He was irresponsible, if not unprofessional, or all kinds of wrong adjectives when he had decided to lay his lips on her, caress her skin with his own, want to do nothing more than to unleash her realest self away from the corset, over the vanity and kiss her until her lips were swollen. He would have, maybe, taken her out for dinner later and hoped to lay by her side by the end of the night, with each breath of her own mingling with him.
But he couldn’t. He knows he can’t. Not when he promised to be her manager, with a contract and all, and wanted her to succeed. What would anyone think of him if they saw her with her in front of a camera? Or even worse, what would the media think? She had gone from successful, rich men with snarky tongues and scandalous sex lives to the tamest man she could find.
His pencil taps against his agenda, seated on the passenger’s seat as he reads their schedule for today.
“We don’t have much else to do.” He states, the black, sleek car they find themselves in matching his dark suit. He stares up, studying her profile when he spits out: “The studio has been scheduled for tonight. You can record anything you want until two, and then, we’re off to sleep.”
Though, she doesn’t seem to be listening, her natural hair tied behind her back, sporting baggy clothing when she lifts herself off the seat the slightest to look through the review mirror. “Shit.” She grits through her teeth, sitting straighter and picking up the pace of the car.
“What’s going on?” Suddenly, she’s rushing through the streets, her eyes widened and her jaw tightened in hatred.
“Someone is following us. The paps.”
“What?” Wonwoo has never been in this position. He’s always the one sneaking her away from the paparazzi, not the man caught with her on camera. “Are you sure?”
A short, sarcastic laugh leaves her at that. “I’ve been in this business for long enough to differentiate a normal car from a paparazzi’s.” Though, she’s rushing through the streets, moving away from their normal road towards the studio to lose them. “I don’t want them to capture you in camera.”
That brings a pang to his chest. Of course, she didn’t mind it when it was Jae Kim or one of her love affairs. Not when she’s in parties or drinking to her heart’s content. That kiss meant nothing to her, perhaps embarrassed her beyond a tainted friendship. “It doesn’t matter. People know I’m your manager either way—”
“I don’t want them to talk about you, Woo.” The nickname drops from her tongue sweetly, looking through the review mirror and giving another harsh turn. “I don’t need them to ruin the only good thing left in my life. I don’t want anyone judging you or comparing you to the past because—”
“Why would it matter?” A bitter tone follows his statement. “I’m nothing special. If they talk about me, they will forget about me as well—”
“Goddamn it,” She curses, harshness in her voice when she tries to voice out her concerns. “Wonwoo, listen to me!”
“I just don’t get you!” His voice rises as well, losing his poised tone. “All celebrities are accompanied by their manager!”
“But you’re not just a manager to me anymore, stupid ass!” She conquers, his voice growing tinier when he hears her argument. She manages to lose them with one more turn, not a fit farther away from the city than they were at the beginning, but he can only concentrate on the way the street lights cast down on her face, shadows merged with beauty. “I—I…The night you kissed me, all I could think about is how I don’t see you the same way, Woo. I’ve never been kissed like that.”
His lips remain sealed for a few seconds, before a grin appears on his face. “Whoever didn’t kiss you like you deserved was crazy.”
“I don’t want people to know about you because I want to make things right.” With that, she parks the car, tall trees and shadowed spots keeping them hidden from the eyes of the world. They’re just two people who no one cares about at that moment. “It’s not about the kiss, but it’s about the person, Wonwoo. I want to be able to have you for myself and I would rot in hell with jealousy whenever I saw you with Ali. I want to be able to feel love and give love to you and only you, because you’re the only person I have known and the only one who has wanted to get to know me.” She turns towards him, fingertips spread on the steering wheel as she speaks. “I don’t need a love story, but I want one with you. Because if there is someone in this world that could be my person, that one created for me, it’s you.”
Emotions wash over him so fast he can’t mention them when crossing his head. Love. Adoration. Patience. Resolution. It’s when his eyes look down at her face, at her lips, the clothing that clads her and differentiates her from the persona she is on stage, does he realize that he was never in love with music…or her music. He wasn’t in love with the rhymes or the love songs.
He was in love with her.
If he had to tell this story to his grandchildren, he wouldn’t know who gave the first step and connected their lips. Her hands fist the edge of his jacket, not caring about the uncomfortableness of the cramped car, kissing him with tenderness and patience, but with that air of necessity that comes with the slow movement of her lips. His hands tangle on her hair, tilting her head to the side as he does what he did a month ago…and God, how he missed it.
He doesn’t know how he spent thirty-one days not doing this, not craving for this.
It’s then he realizes that he hasn’t been in love a bunch of times. Or well, he has—he has fallen in love with her in numerous occasions, like a fool would, dragging his hands down to her waist and bringing her over to his lap as he plants seeds of small kisses across her lips, her cheeks, her neck, her collarbone, a shaky breath leaving her when she rests her hands on each side of his face and pleas—
“Please, Woo. Tell me you’ll give us a try.”
###
1972.
“D—Do you think I ask her to go out with me?”
When he recalls the story of how he found The Moonlit Dolls, he almost always forgets Jeonghan was there. For, the man was wasted, as in, he couldn’t even think straight when he looked up from his position on the table and connected his gaze with the singer he had just met tonight, dancing to her will with an enormous grin on her face.
Wonwoo is there for Joohyun—a lover boy through and through, and he knows Jeonghan is the type to get who he wants when he wants it. With his long black hair tucked behind his ears, his stench of whiskey and his intelligent smirk, Jeonghan could try it with the vocalist and see what ensues, but his stomach twists, turns, in a way that comes with a bit of egotistical nature.
Sure, he’s not going to have anything with her. He’s certain of it, but she’s too pretty for Jeonghan. Too unique.
“I don’t think you should.” Wonwoo says, crossing his arms across his chest. “I think she’s way out of your league.”
Jeonghan scoffs at that, long fingers rubbing at his pink, blushed face before asking: “And who’s a good match for her? You?”
With a sip of his beer and a tilt of his head, Wonwoo studies the woman on stage. No. She’s too impossible. A client is more of what he sees in her. “Only in my dreams.” He replies then, a smile taking over his features when Jeonghan swings him by the shoulder.
“You want her for yourself!”
He chuckles. “I totally do not.” But, he stands up before Jeonghan could—not that it is that difficult, his friend is as shit-faced as he could get—. “I just want to be her manager, that’s all.”
Jeonghan takes the last few droplets of his whiskey down his throat before chuckling dryly. “Give it time. You’ll be head over heels for her.”
And that was the night they met.
###
“It’s still surreal at times, you know.”
Laying next to Wonwoo, with his nimble fingers tracing the curve of her shoulder, his arm weighted down by her back as they look up at the ceiling of her bedroom, his naked torso underneath her cheek while she plays with the outline of his ribcage by his side, never once stopping her train of thought.
His chuckle reaches her face, shaking her slightly when he rests a kiss on top of her head, albeit a bit too short. “What does?”
Though, when she interlocks her bare legs with his, looking up into his brown eyes, she only lets out a soft smile, innocence an irony to the situation they had found themselves in minutes earlier. “That I have a secret boyfriend and it’s you. Out of all people.”
Wonwoo quirks one of his sculpted eyebrows, asking: “Would you want it to be someone else?”
Hovering her face over his, she pecks his lips once before shaking her head softly. “I wouldn’t want anyone else but you.” Though, when she lays back on his chest, his heart still picking up its pace even after four months of dating, she questions: “Does it bother you?”
“What do you mean?”
“That you’re kept a secret.” She mumbles, turning around to rest a kiss on his sternum before resting her chin on top of his hard chest.
Wonwoo has to think about it for a moment. Sure, he had always been the kind of man women would introduce to their parents, whom people made plans with on the long run, but he doesn’t mind it. If anything, he would be petrified if he happened to be caught by the cameras.
So his thumb reaches for her chin, lifting her face up the slightest to part his lips and let his tongue softly caress her bottom lip. He delves into the feeling of her, closing his eyes softly and daydreaming about their future when she relaxes against him.
With one hand resting on her back, and the other sparcing across the mole he adored on her face, he says: “I don’t mind being your secret as long as I’m yours.”
###
WOMEN IN MUSIC – Why the most famous funk singer decided to never date again, and how it worked to her favor in her career.
The eighties are crazy, Wonwoo has figured out. Headlines are better for women, at least, but journalists are still very superficial in what consists of getting to know an artist. With a deep brown suit resting over his body and his hair resting under his earlobes after he had decided to let it grow, he watches his fiancé pose for the cover of her third album.
I Chose You, the album was titled, though no one knew about it yet. The blurring sunshine and pink skies behind her were gorgeous as she sported another styling change, not as reckless and seductive as her initiative in music; and he couldn’t be prouder. There, with the sand bathing his stylish and elegant shoes, he sits back and reads the newspaper. About his girl. Claiming that her last love and the man that broke her heart was none other than Jae Kim.
Her heart’s alright, if anyone is wondering.
But what surprises him is how his new assistant takes the newspaper in between her hands, the tall and slender woman reading over the article with studious and small eyes before gasping lightly.
“Shit,” Hana curses, her bleached and long blonde hair cascading down her back and moving with the wind as Wonwoo studies the celebrity that poses naturally in front of the cameras. “I wonder what it takes to get someone like her to cave in…”
The sun masks the faint smile on his face, his hair moved by the wind when he crosses one leg over the other. For once, he feels tranquil, much more when she connects her gaze with his and sends a smile his way.
“I think it takes bravery.” He confesses, though he’s sure Hana and none of their team know about their relationship. They have kept it a secret, through and through. “She’s too much of a woman for most men.”
Hana nods along to what he says, looking down at the article. “And do you think she’ll find someone someday?”
Maybe it’s crazy, but Wonwoo doesn’t think they found each other. He likes to believe all roads would have led them to meet. “Give it time.” He shrugs. “I’m sure someone will come.”
Though, the laughter that threatens to slip his lips doesn’t leave him, he loves the irony in what they are.
Two people who asked each other where their destined soul was, not noticing that they were meant to be.
Or, alternatively, Wonwoo wanted to ask her out that night at the bar when he met her and Jeonghan was about to do it, but bravery never came his way.
Patience brought him all the power to finally kiss her, though silent in his approach, still getting the best outcome.
PLAYLIST: leave the door open – bruno mars ; adore you – harry styles ; lmly – jackson wang ; hold up – beyonce ; maniac – conan gray ; i hear a symphony – cody fry ; japanese denim – daniel caesar ; vienna – billy joel ; someone you loved – lewis capaldi
318 notes · View notes
yoonpobs · 3 years
Text
difficult | myg
pairing: min yoongi x oc
genre: fluff, mini angst, super cute, mutual pining
words: 3, 812
summary: you're difficult and yoongi just wants you
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“I can’t believe it,” Jimin whistles. Taehyung mirrors his sentiment but with a look of disbelief.
“Me neither. But here we are.” Taehyung states matter-of-factly.
You were silent, not because you had nothing to say—but because you couldn’t believe it either. How did you allow yourself to fall into this trap? A trap you’ve spent your entire life training to avoid. And you would consider yourself someone that was dedicated to their craft and you truly were. But you were still susceptible to guilty pleasures and you just found your match.
“Why is no one stopping me? Why isn’t anyone telling me to get a grip of myself?” You cry.
Jimin looks at you sympathetically even if he knows that you hated being pitied. Taehyung at least avoids your gaze but the tell-tale signs of a frown appear on his face when you see the furrow of his brows.
“You know … you’re allowed to feel this way, right?” Jimin says carefully and you were more annoyed with the fact that he was walking on eggshells with you when you’ve long passed that stage of prudent navigation around each other. And you knew exactly why he sounded the way he did.
“I’m not. I’m supposed to be an impenetrable fortress that cannot be shaken by anything let alone anyone. I am an unyielding, resolute woman that refuses to be tied down by society’s narratives.” You say all at once.
Jimin and Taehyung blink at you. They expected this—but it still surprised them that you vocalised their thoughts.
Jimin clears his throat.
“Let me rephrase that,” He says sternly, “You’re allowed to feel, period.”
You shake your head because you’ve fallen too far—too hard. And you needed to get a grip of yourself because you didn’t work hard perfecting the flawless expression of bitchiness and temptation to be taken seriously amongst a Board of Directors filled with men. People like you couldn’t afford to feel.
Especially when the world never feels for you. For women.
“Do you hear yourself Jimin?” You exasperate as you throw your hands in the air in frustration.
“____—” Taehyung attempts to reason with you, but as always, you never let him get a word in. He knows you don’t mean any malice because you’ve built your walls so high that you think everyone is out to get you—but he just cares about you. He wishes you’d let him.
“No. You don’t understand guys. People like me? We—I—can’t afford to slack off. Not now and not anytime soon. I hear you guys and I wish I could understand where you’re coming from but frankly, I won’t ever be able to. You have the liberty of picking your battles because this world is yours. I had to fight my battles on my own to claim this world as my own and I’m nowhere near deserving of that role yet. I can’t feel.”
Their eyes soften at you and you avoid their gazes. You didn’t want their pity, and you didn’t want to sit in a tight office with their stares so heavy on your own.
“You deserve to be happy,” Taehyung says sadly.
You don’t respond, but you hear the chairs in front of your desk move against the hardwood floor. Then, you hear the opening and closing of your doors and you’re finally alone. Like how you do best.
You don’t allow another thought as insignificant as the one that threatens to overtake you to pass through your mind as you quickly tend to your pending projects.
The name of a certain man lingers very vaguely, though.
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It annoys yet terrifies you how much you needed to consciously play your cards just right when you step into another board meeting. You thrived when you spoke at the podium, and no man—even the most bigoted—could deny that you were a born leader. But that didn’t mean that they liked that fact. In fact, most of them despised the idea that a woman as young as you was even allowed in the same room as they were. You wished you could yell at them, cry and shout until they understood that you were deserving.
You couldn’t, for very obvious reasons. But until you could—you needed to be smart.
“Mr Lee, with all due respect—liquifying the compartment company will not bring us the projected profit that you’ve pitched in the previous meeting.”
You’re level-headed and cool when you attempt to reason with the older and very stubborn man. He was old, and stubborn, which was never good news for you.
Mr Lee, the Chairman’s younger brother, simply scoffs at you, and you try your best not to let your eye twitch.
“What? Do you have a bachelor’s degree in business?” He sneers.
You blink.
“I have a double Masters in Business Administration and Finance.”
Mr Lee stiffens, and you briefly see Seokjin, the fellow nephew of Mr Kim, holding back his snorts at your declaration.
“I am qualified to be making this statement, and if you don’t believe in just words—which you really shouldn’t—here are the documents and projections from my end.” You distribute the analysis you took upon yourself to complete over the weekend and worked overtime to finish it as you handed it around the table.
Mr Kim, the Chairman, who was a far better man than everyone else in the Board of Directors, offers you an impressed smile as he flips through your booklet while you stand straight with your shoulders rolled back. A stance you often took to show that you knew your shit.
“This is very … meticulous. Great work as always, ___.” Mr Kim compliments you.
You don’t let it show on your face but you’re pleased with the way Mr Lee grumbles under his breath like a petulant child.
“Very well. We’ll keep the compartment company as it is,” Mr Kim declares and everyone else in the room shuffles to collect their belongings as the meeting comes to an end, “Meeting adjourned.”
+
“You’re absolutely badass,” Jin whistles at you as you walk side-by-side, your folders snug against your chest.
You hide your smile but acknowledge it regardless.
“And you were … there. As usual.”
He snorts and you know he gets where you’re coming from. Jin was simply present at the meeting but he wasn’t actually present. His heart had no place in the business world but instead in a world filled with fine dining and diverse cuisines as he worked up a storm in the kitchen. But as every father—who is the Chairman of a country’s largest exporter—he had pushed that dream onto Jin from a young age.
But Jin was Jin, and you knew Mr Kim simply kept him here for the sake of it; fully aware of his son’s aspirations and determination of becoming a chef.
“You should just take my position. You’re so good at business talk—I didn’t understand half the shit you were saying the entire time.” He says.
You shrug.
“I mean, that’s the goal. But let’s just see for now,” You hum as you reach your office, and you still when you see the person waiting for you inside.
Jin takes a peek over your shoulder and spots the same person who has you looking so tense. He whistles at you as he stuffs his right hand in his pocket while offering you a consoling pat on your shoulder with his left before he stalks off.
“Good luck!” He calls out, and you internally groan at the oncoming interaction.
You brace yourself and put on a brave face as you step into your office, doors clicking, signalling your guest to turn around at the insinuation of your presence.
“Mr Min, what can I help you with?” You don’t look at him when you place your belongings on your table and you nearly miss his scoff with the way you attempt to busy yourself with any mindless activity that you can find on your desk.
“Mr Min? Not Yoongi anymore?”
You ignore his bitter tone and look at him with a reserved stare, raising an eyebrow as if to question his statement.
“Are we not co-workers?” You reply coolly and he scoffs much louder for you to hear.
“Co-workers … yeah,” He shrugs, leaning forward, “Do you usually kiss your co-workers?”
You are still at the sudden declaration and nearly drop the pen that was in your grip. He’s suddenly inches closer to you despite the relative distance of your desk between the both of you. You try to ignore the heat of his body, but it’s entirely too suffocating for you to pretend like he isn’t there.
“Don’t give me that nonsense,” You wave him off and you steady your voice because you weren’t ready for him to see you break. You allowed yourself too much space to be vulnerable and you needed to stop.
He sits back into the chair and folds his arms across his chest with a raised eyebrow.
“Yeah, this is not what we’re going to do.” He says, suddenly much firmer than he was a moment ago.
“I’m sorry?” You ask, clearly confused.
“None of this detached, emotionless attitude with me. I see through this facade and it’s not cute. You’re going to speak to me like an adult and address the very obvious feelings you have for me, and likewise. You’re not allowed to deflect like you always do because I expect you to be honest with me because you’re clearly not being honest to yourself.”
You blink up at him and your heart starts beating more rapidly within your chest as it betrays your stoic appearance.
Maybe that was why you fell for Yoongi in the first place. He didn’t tolerate you. Specifically, the shit that you pull on him. You were well aware you were a stubborn, hard-headed bitch that could be emotionally reserved 99% of the time when you interacted with others. And sometimes your bitchiness was uncalled for, but most people were too terrified to say anything about it to your face.
Yoongi?
He had no problems letting you know what he expected from you and how he thought of you from the beginning. It should’ve irked you. Based on your strict line of principles that you upheld—a man projecting his own thoughts of you that he had in his head, directly to you, should’ve been dehumanising, disrespectful even. But you never got that from Yoongi. He was brutally honest. And you appreciate honesty.
But sometimes it made you squirm.
“I … sorry, what? Are you insane? I don’t have feelings for you.” You narrow your eyes at him and hope you sound convincing enough.
But you knew Yoongi well enough to know that he saw through your blatant lie.
“I said: don’t deflect. You’re deflecting.” He scolds.
“You’re being unnecessarily distasteful right now,” You roll your eyes.
“Am I? Or am I just telling you the truth that you’ve been trying to deny for the past week that you’ve been cowardly avoiding me?” He’s calm when he makes the accusation. And it wasn’t even an accusation because it was the plain truth.
You burn, both in anger and in humiliation.
“What do you know about me Yoongi? Aren’t I just the company’s hot-headed bitch?” You snap, remembering the first words you heard from Yoongi.
“You are a hot-headed bitch, and I know you’re scared of admitting that you have feelings for me because you think feeling makes you weak.”
You ignore the fact that he admitted that you were a bitch, but Yoongi wasn’t the type to lie, nor was he the type to kiss ass. And you hated that he was still brutally honest, even when speaking about a topic so … intimate.
“Look, I don’t know where you’re getting this information from but you need to leave.” You stand up to walk towards the door so you could open it for him but he grabs your wrist before you make it there.
He turns you around to look at him. Properly look at him, that is. You’ve been avoiding direct eye contact with him because as good of a front you’ve worked on to put in front of him, you were human. And as a human, you were bound to have a weakness.
“You don’t get to walk away from me—this conversation—because you hate confrontation,” He frowns at you and you turn away to avoid his heavy gaze.
“Yoongi, can we not do this?” You sigh.
He chuckles dryly, using his right hand to nudge your face to look at him. It should’ve been demeaning, but you felt nothing like you were disrespected. You hated to admit it but you liked it. You liked it a lot more than you’d admit to anyone.
“No. We’re doing this. You’re going to address your feelings for me and actually work for what you want—and that’s clearly this,” He gestures between the two of you and you glare up at him.
“I told you! I don’t have any feelings for you.” You snarl at him, teeth bared like an animal but he just laughs at you like you were pathetic. You hated how small you felt in his presence but yet you were still whole.
“You don’t kiss a person you don’t have feelings for—you don’t hold someone you don’t have feelings for like they’re your safe space. You don’t have feelings for me? That’s funny because you did all of those things and you’ve never once complained when I reciprocated.”
You fumble with your words as the tip of your ears burn a bright red, which Yoongi easily catches.
“You don’t turn into a tomato if I was lying to you. You’re not like that, right? You’re self-assured. Ms-I’m-An-Impenetrable-Fortress,” He mocks.
“S-Stop acting as if you know me, Yoongi. You don’t and you never will.” You struggle against his grip on your wrist but he simply tugs you closer until your faces are inches apart.
“I don’t?” He scoffs, “Then tell me, why do I know that you confide Jimin and Taehyung for advice but never take it anyway because you’re too damn stubborn?”
You were about to retort but he’s quicker with his response.
“Then tell me, why do I know that you walk with your head held high into meetings but exit with your tail tucked between your legs because you’re afraid of sounding too dumb, too incompetent?”
You freeze.
“Then tell me, why do I know that you pull away from people not because you’re repulsed by them but because you’re afraid of forming actual bonds in the fear of being abandoned?”
You internally curse when you fear your eyes burning, and the lump in your throat becoming too much to bear.
“Then tell me, ___, why do I know you feel the same way about me but you’re too scared of looking dependent to do anything about it?” He whispers the last part when he pulls you tight against his chest.
You don’t fight him anymore, and you relax into the firm expanse of his chest and it terrifies you that it feels so much like home. A warm space you find comfort in.
You don’t even realise the first tear escapes your eyes until you feel Yoongi’s dress shirt turn slightly damp under the skin of your cheek. You’re mortified when you realise you’re crying and you attempt to pull away but his hands find their way around your waist to hold you tight.
“Don’t,” He whispers, “Don’t pull away from me.”
“Yoongi … I-I can’t,” You stutter, voice shaky.
He wipes a thumb on your cheek to wipe away the continuous stream of tears that you don’t bother hiding from him anymore.
“I worked my ass off to be taken seriously here and—and … if I get a boyfriend they’re going to think that I’m reliant, I’m weak, dependent on a man.” You ramble, but he just listens to your nonsensical statement as he rubs soothing circles on your head.
“I want you to rely on me, to depend on me. Stop thinking that you need to fight your battles alone. I’m here—I’ll be here. I’ve always been here but you need to let me be there for you.” He says softly.
You peer up at him with swollen eyes and he thinks you look beautiful. You always were beautiful. When you were commanding a meeting; when you were focused when you were angry; when you were laughing, and when you were sad. He was in for all of it.
“But ... the Board of Directors—”
He shushes you with a light kiss to the corner of your lip and you feel your stale heart flutter.
“I’m not here to be your saviour. I’m here to be your equal. I want to help you as much as you’ll help me. And believe me when I say you’ve helped me. The Board of Directors? Relationship or no relationship, they’ll be the same bigots that unfortunately dictate the policies in this company. The only person that has the ability to change anything in this situation is you ___.”
You feel your resolve breaking but you should’ve known that you’ve never had any resolve when it came to Yoongi. You were always weak around him. And maybe you needed to start accepting the fact that you were allowed to feel weak, to feel dependent on someone.
“What if you leave me.” You whine.
He snorts before rubbing a thumb between your furrowed brows.
“Then I leave. But we don’t know what’s going to happen if we don’t try,” He says and you realise how close he’s gotten to you to the point you feel his breath on your lips.
“That’s not comforting to hear the slightest,” You complain.
“And nothing about a relationship is easy. But I’m willing to be with you. I’ve always been ready—it’s you that needs to make the decision, ___.”
You finally lock eyes with him and you see nothing but sincerity. Yoongi could be crass, and often mistaken as a dick. But he was just honourable. He wouldn’t lie to anyone or sugarcoat the difficult truth. In fact, he never made you feel inferior to him even when he was straightforward. He never treated you differently because you were terrifying—but he treated you how he would with anyone else. And that was comforting. While everyone else walked on eggshells with you, he was fearless with his declarations.
Even now.
“I like you. I have no qualms in admitting it. And I’ll say it over and over again until you believe me,”
You don’t reply but kiss him. And there are no explosive fireworks, and time still flows—but it feels familiar. It feels like a territory that you’ve known all along, a little rough around the edges with the time spent away, but a place you can allude to comfort.
He responds by licking into the seam of your mouth as you allow his tongue to lick behind your teeth, a small whine caught in the back of your throat as you card your fingers through his hair. The hands-on your waist presses you tighter, flush against his body.
He pulls away first, resting his forehead on your own.
“I need to hear you say it. None of this tip-toeing anymore.”
You offer him a small smile.
“I-I …”
He watches you stutter with a hooded gaze but nothing about his stare makes you feel pressured. It was more comforting than anything, and the way he still held onto you like you mattered—but weren’t fragile—allowed you some semblance of peace in retaining your identity. This arbitrary idea of what you thought you were and how people perceived you. It was difficult to unlearn an idea that felt very personal to you after years of mastering its art.
You’re still unsure of how to react but you’re so sure of how you feel.
“I like you. I-I want to try.” You wail.
He’s alarmed by the sudden change in tone from your end and at the way you tug at the collars of his shirt. Not aggressively, but a little desperate. Not in the way that’d make him scrunch his nose in distaste but in a way that told him that this was you being vulnerable. Being open.
He wipes at your cheeks with dried tears and looks at you so honestly that it scares you. But in a way, you were fearless because you were terrified of everything. Mostly of disappointing others who held you to such a high standard, but it was a valid fear regardless.
“I’m not some fragile woman that you need to fix and I want you to understand that,” You pull yourself together and tell him sternly. He listens because Yoongi has never been presumptuous.
“I’m my own person and I won’t change the way I act to be with you—and if you’re looking for a cute … dainty, soft girlfriend then…” You whisper, “That’s not me. I’m tough. I’m a bitch and I’m stubborn. Our arguments are going to suck because I have a response for literally everything so—!”
He shushes your rambling with a finger to your lips and a raised eyebrow. You pout at him under his finger and he finds you adorable. He decides to not say anything to preserve his head—but soon. He’ll tell you soon.
“Are you done?”
You huff under his finger but he looks at you fondly.
“I’m not one for normality. I don’t care about what you think I’m into because I know that I’m into you. I’m in this, ___. Stop thinking that I deserve some idealistic image of a woman that you have in your head. I want you, and I thought me coming here to speak to you about your feelings was a clear testament to that.”
You try to hide your blush but you fail.
“And stop being so conscious of how you act around me. Be tough. Be independent. But don’t be afraid to be cute and vulnerable too, okay? I like you in all ways that you decide to present yourself in. Just … trust me. Trust this.”
“Okay.” You nod.
He grins at you.
“Does that mean I can hold your hand on the way to work?” He teases.
You avoid his eyes and look to the side, but the slight curve of your lip gives your answer to that question away.
“I guess …” You mutter.
He hugs you closer and squeezes you until your feet leave the ground. He tackles you with kisses all over your face and you can’t help but giggle. You feel happy. You feel secure.
“Cutie.”
You deliver a smack to his chest but he just laughs.
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333 notes · View notes
hypmic-writings · 3 years
Note
Hiiii can i pls request for mtc going to a club, like what would they do in a club, would they have a one night drunk, etc hcs plsss
━━ ∘◦ ☆ ◦∘ ━━
Pairing: Samatoki Aohitsugi x reader; Juto Iruma x reader; Riou Busujima x reader
Genre: General
Warnings: Mentions of sex and alcohol
A/N: Wait, this one was so fun to do haha it took me forever to imagine Riou going to a club because for some reason it was just hilarious to me! I added in some headcanons of Y/N being with them at the club, along with some general ones. Anyways, I hope this is along the lines of what you wanted! Threw it under the cut because it got long. Enjoy~
⋘ ──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──── ⋙
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Samatoki Aohitsugi
Samatoki usually goes clubbing either with Juto and Riou, or with some of his fellow Yakuza members
usually when he goes with his gang, the clubs know exactly who they are and they're seated in a VIP lounge, free of charge
but Samatoki actually thinks that's kind of boring because he can smoke and drink all he wants but very few people ever actually approach him
so most of the time, he prefers to go out with other friends or with Juto and Riou, even though they never stick together
Samatoki is almost always leaning up against the bar with a cigarette, watching people dance and drinking until he feels lighter
while he usually pretends to be stoic and cool, once the alcohol hits, he becomes more talkative
he'll only dance when someone pulls him on the dancefloor, which usually happens pretty quickly
if you go to a club with him, he's going to be extremely protective of you, eyeing other men and making sure nobody harasses you
his arm is around your waist the whole night and he absolutely grinds on you in the sexiest way
most of the time you guys have to leave the bar early because you get so wrapped up in each other that you can't keep your hands to yourselves
"God you look so sexy when you dance like that"
"Toki...people are watching..."
"Do I look like I give a shit about them?"
I have a headcanon that he hyperfixates when he's drunk, so if he's dancing with someone, his entire focus will be on them
he's definitely the type to get messy and make out with someone on the dancefloor or grind up on them smugly
somehow, Samatoki always ends up back at the bar and I can imagine him losing track of time just from drinking and dancing
and then when the club closes he just hangs around outside sharing a smoke with some people, chatting and just passing the time until he sobers up a bit
Samatoki is the type to beat up any guys that look like they're harassing women and he feels no remorse (Juto and Riou have had to hold him back multiple times)
he definitely has one night stands from time to time, but he's always good at making sure the other person knows it's casual
and when he takes someone home, he usually does it early in the night so that neither of them are so drunk that they can't consent
usually though, he just walks home, unless he can get Juto or Riou to call him a cab/ride
at the end of his clubbing nights, he always goes home and puts out a glass of water and medicine because he knows he's going to be in a world of pain the next day
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Juto Iruma
Juto knows his way around almost every club that he goes to
as soon as he's in the door, he's immediately walking towards the VIP section and plopping down on the rouge couches, leaning back and surveying the dance floor
he's always dressed impeccable and definitely turns heads when he walks into the club
he definitely spends more than he should on multiple bottles of bubbly, inviting people he thinks are interesting to join him
he has 100% invited Samatoki and Riou to a club, then gone off to the VIP section and told them that they're not worthy of joining him
Riou doesn't really care but Samatoki gets so pissed off and Juto thinks that's hilarious
he definitely hits on all of the women in the club, especially after drinking a few glasses of champagne
although Juto drinks quite frequently, he still doesn't have the highest tolerance in the world
usually he's pretty good about monitoring it, but sometimes he ends up going overboard
when he gets bored of sitting around and talking to people, he'll go dance for a bit, pulling along any of the women he's been talking to
his dancing is always sensual and hot, but he never grinds up on anyone without making sure they're okay with it first
in fact, I can imagine him hating the guys who bother women at clubs and touch them without permission
he thinks they're lowlife scum, and when he's drunk, he likes to make that opinion very well known
he and Samatoki have absolutely bonded while drunkenly beating up men that were harassing people
"You know...you're not so bad, shitty cop" *punches harasser*
"I promise I won't threaten to arrest you ever again...tonight..." *kicks harasser*
he's also definitely been cheered on while arresting creepy men at a club for sexual harassment after they make women uncomfortable
one time Juto drunkenly bought a round for everyone at the bar and the next day he was horrified at his bank statement
he takes people home whenever he feels like he wants to have a one night stand, and he doesn't drink that much on those days
he's always up front about the fact that it's casual, and he'll always make sure they're sober to consent
if you're at the club with him, you're the only one he's looking at
which is good because he's loyal but bad because now all of his grinding and dirty talk and teasing is entirely directed at you
clubbing nights with Juto go hard and they always end up messy in the early hours in the morning after drinking and dancing all night
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Riou Busujima
Riou got dragged to the club by Juto and Samatoki and he's just...so confused
for a while, he just sort of stands around, looking at all the people on the dance floor and kind of in awe at how many people can fit in one tiny club
when Juto gets him his first drink, Riou feels nothing, just shrugging and standing off to the side, swaying to the music
after a couple more drinks though, Riou begins to feel it, and starts dancing which shocks everyone because he's surprisingly good??
I can imagine him overestimating his tolerance since he thinks he's big he can drink as much as he wants and then he gets drunk, but he's not sloppy, he just gets happy and giggly
which annoys Samatoki but Juto finds it hilarious
if he's at a bar instead of a club, I can imagine Riou heading straight for the pool table and the darts
one time he got kicked out because people thought he was cheating but he's just really good
and the more he drinks, the better he gets, especially at darts
I don't think he would make out with people or take any home for the night, but he'll definitely dance with people
I headcanon that Riou doesn't talk a lot though since he doesn't want to shout over the music, so it's mainly just dancing and nodding and shrugging
since he's so big, sometimes he'll walk in between people if he sees any guys trying to harass women
and the guys take one look at him and just slink away
one time he ripped his shirt off when it was too hot in a club and the bouncers didn't even kick him out because everyone was just staring at his muscles like ._.
if you're at the club with him, he's definitely going to want to dance with you and drink with you
he loves going with you rather than alone because he always ends up feeling much more comfortable
the club is one of the only time Riou will initiate PDA, running his hands along your arms and resting them on your waist as you dance
"Riou, where are your hands right now?! Are you trying to flirt with me?"
"...maybe..."
when you laugh, he actually blushes a little and says that he didn't want to lose track of you
but you both know that drunk!Riou just ends up getting more handsy and happy
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
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angellesword · 3 years
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MAGIC SHOP | JJK (06)
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Description: You and Jungkook were best friends who were in love with each other. What would happen when Soojin, your half sister who you’re trying to impress, told you she’s in love with Jungkook too?
Alternatively:
“Would you believe me if I said that I was scared of everything too?”
Genre: childhood best friends to lovers, family drama, angst, fluff, idiots to lovers, pining, slice of life au.
Pairing: Architect!Jungkook x Architect!Reader
Word Count: 3.8k
Warnings: mention of sexist behavior, (old men being trash) forced marriage.
SERIES: CHAPTER 5 | CHAPTER 7
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Jungkook never imagined that he would be spending his Monday with a bunch of men he didn't like.
"I'm sorry for dragging you into this..." Taemin smiled apologetically at Jungkook, but he didn't seem apologetic at all. It was as though your father planned all of this to happen.
Taemin didn't even ask Jungkook if he wanted to be a part of this. The head architect was actually surprised when right after he dropped you off to work this morning, he was escorted by Taemin's bodyguards to the parking lot, saying that your father needed to talk to him.
"No worries, as long as I'm still getting paid today. My hourly rate is not a joke, you know..."
Taemin laughed. This time his smile didn't seem fake, like he truly appreciated Jungkook's assurance.
"I can double your pay today. It's Monday after all."
Jungkook nodded because he was pleased. The double pay was just a bonus. The fact that he got to spend the day away from the construction site was already a breath of relief.
Mondays were the busiest time of the week for Jungkook. This was why he didn't understand why Taemin and some shareholders of Castle decided to play golf today.
They just mingled at the party last Saturday. Wasn't it enough? What more did they need to talk about?
"Architect Jeon! Come play with us!" When one of the shareholders called Jungkook's attention, he realized that the party was indeed not enough time to talk about business.
This was an extension of that party. Jungkook just wasn't sure why he was suddenly included. Was it because he got to talk to Mr. Wang last week? The latter was a prospective investor after all.
Maybe these men wanted to know what Jungkook thought about Mr. Wang. Admittedly, he was the only one who got to talk to the older man. Mr. Wang was hard to read. They were surprised that he spared the head architect some time.
Perhaps this wasn't about Mr. Wang at all. Maybe Taemin and the shareholders just wanted to know Jungkook's secret and charm.
"Be right there," Jungkook nodded at them before turning to look at Taemin.
"Let's join them?"
Your father nodded as well, standing up and grabbing his golf club.
Jungkook enjoyed golf. He was a decent player. He was told that this game somehow revealed the personality of a businessperson. He usually met with different clients so he figured that it's best if he could at least get an idea how people in this industry acted.
This was Jungkook's first time to play golf with Taemin and the shareholders though. He normally played this with his business clients.
"Congratulations again for closing that deal with Mrs. Lee, Architect Jeon..." Shareholder Kang said while scanning the course map.
"Ah," Jungkook momentarily stopped setting up his swing upon hearing that. He stood up straight, scratching the back of his head while smiling awkwardly at the older man.
"Thanks, but it won't be possible without Architect Soojin. It's her team's idea after all..."
Mr. Kang snickered, causing Jungkook to raise his brow.
"Why? Did I say something funny?"
"Not really." Mr. Yoo was the one who answered Jungkook's question. "But we feel like you are the sole reason why Mrs. Lee accepted the proposal."
The other shareholders hummed in agreement, smiling. Jungkook did not find this amusing though. In fact, Mr. Yoo's take only caused your best friend to raise his brow even higher.
"I don't understand. It is not my idea. I'm barely assisting Architect Kim and her team."
Jungkook's tone was edgy. He wanted these men to realize that their belief was bull. However they continued to justify that they were right and he was wrong.
"You're too humble for your own good, head architect." Mr. Song teased, knees slightly bended as he leaned forward at his hips.
"Ms. Kim Soojin's idea is..." He paused to look for the best way to describe the project.
"Unrealistic, unconvincing, shallow." Mr. Lim supplied.
Mr. Han laughed mockingly.
"In short, her idea is lame."
"Exactly. It's better to file for bankruptcy if all the architects in Castle are like that." Mr. Yoo playfully swung the gold club, waiting for his turn.
Shareholder Song was taking so long in hitting the ball.
"I mean, come on!" Mr. Kang groaned. "A luxury spa? Who wants that when there are saunas everywhere? Hell, I'm a millionaire but I'll choose a public bathhouse. It's cheaper."
Mr. Han shrugged off.
"Me too. I'm just glad you're part of the project, Architect Jeon. You can fix Ms. Kim's lapses."
Mr. Lim agreed.
"It's also a good thing that Mrs. Lee is stupid enough to agree with the proposal. Ah, women..." He shook his head. "They have big ass and tits but they lack this!"
The men cackled when Mr. Lim pointed at his brain, implying that women had small brains.
Jungkook was starting to think that the double pay wasn't worth it if it meant he had to spend time with these imbeciles. Would it even be enough to cover the medical expenses he would incur if he beat the shit out of them?
"That true! Have you seen Ms. Kim's ass? Taemin!" Mr. Song turned to look at Soojin's father.
"I just have to say this, man. Your daughter is so sexy, especially when she's wearing those tight skirts. Damn!" Mr. Song continued, twisting his shoulder to bring the club all the way up. "Tell her I'm willing to buy all skirts for her—"
Jungkook couldn't take it anymore.
"Shut your mouth." He barked at Mr. Song, but his eyes were focused on Taemin, wondering why he was quiet when his own daughter was being treated like shit.
Jungkook thought that his threat was taken seriously by them. They actually stopped laughing, some of them even cleared their throat like they regretted opening their mouth in the first place.
Mr. Song didn't say anything for a while either. He just swung his golf club, finally hitting the ball.
It went straight to the hole.
The men cheered, but Mr. Song wasn't smiling, just glaring daggers at Jungkook. The latter didn't feel intimidated at all.
If Soojin's father wouldn't do right by her, then Jungkook would. He couldn't just stand here and let this sexist piece of shit blabber.
"What?" Jungkook squared his jaw, inhaling. Mr. Song was standing too close to him, almost hitting his chest.
Mr. Song's jaw clenched. Jungkook readied himself to throw a punch, but he was surprised when the older man chuckled loudly.
"Good, good, little Jeon!" He patted Jungkook's shoulders, the smile on his lips was still apparent.
"You know how to defend your woman, huh?"
Jungkook parted his mouth to speak. He wanted to tell Mr. Song that Soojin wasn't his woman. She was her own person. He also wanted to say that he would defend any woman who was being harassed by someone like him.
He wasn't able to do it though. Mr. Song cut him off.
"See, this is the attitude of a true king." He patted Jungkook's shoulder again before turning to Soojin's father.
"Am I right, Taemin? Architect Jeon is fit to be the next chairman of Castle..."
"Yes." Taemin smiled tightly. The other men approved, saying that Jungkook had their votes when it was time to elect for the next chairman. Kim Taemin wasn't getting any younger. Sooner or later, he had to give up his position.
"Architect Jeon will surely be my successor."
"Sir." Jungkook said pointedly, flickering his irises at Taemin. What the fuck was he talking about? He was not the successor. It was Soojin.
"Oh, look at the time!" Taemin beamed, glancing at his Rolex and purposely ignoring his adopted son. "It's getting late, isn't it? Shall we have lunch together?"
"Ah, right." Mr. Lee caressed his stomach. "Diabetic men are not allowed to skip meals."
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Lunch with Taemin and the shareholders was torture. Jungkook didn't know how many times he had to stop himself from punching these men.
Seriously. He couldn't count how many times they talked shit about women and people who weren't as wealthy as them.
They also complained about literally everything. Mr. Yoo smacked the head of one of the waiters for getting his order wrong.
"I said I want a well done steak! Not this garbage!" Mr. Yoo stabbed the medium well steak with a fork, causing the poor waiter to flinch.
"Ah. We should've eaten at home! You dogs should try my wife's steak. Hell, she's really perfect in my kitchen."
Jungkook wanted to say something, but Taemin subtly shook his head, silently telling the younger that it's not worth it.
But it is. Jungkook was dying to say. Keeping quiet implied that he was okay with this even when he was not.
"Let it go. We'll talk about it later." Taemin assured Jungkook when the latter looked like he was on the verge of walking away.
This was the longest hours of his life. He couldn't stand up, couldn't take a break from listening to them. These men took their time, just mocking people while drinking coffee and blowing cigarette smoke.
Jungkook stole a glance at his wrist watch. It was already 4:42pm. Shit. He was supposed to pick you up at five o'clock. Guess he should just rain check on that dinner date he promised you tonight, huh?
He was about to send you a text message when he realized that he left his phone inside his car, his car that was in the parking lot of Castle. Damn it.
Jungkook wished he could just head home and kiss you, however it wasn't going to happen anytime soon.
"Where are we going?" He asked Taemin who took a left turn, direction away from the office.
The shareholders called it a day, saying they had to head home and sleep.
"You'll see," Taemin didn't reveal much, causing Jungkook to get more annoyed.
"No. Tell me." He was having none of it. Jungkook was exhausted. He didn't understand why Taemin had to drive and send his bodyguards home.
The older man didn't like talking when he was driving, saying he had to 'focus," because safety was their first priority.
Jungkook was pretty sure this was only an excuse. Perhaps Taemin didn't know how to explain his behavior when he was with the shareholders. He probably knew that he sucked for not defending Soojin and for lying about Jungkook being his successor.
"I'll tell you when we get there."
For the nth time, Jungkook wasn't able to do anything. He gave up. There was no point in arguing with Taemin because he would only be met with silence or dismissal.
Fortunately Jungkook and Taemin arrived at their destination before the former lost his patience.
The drive wasn't long, distance-wise, but the traffic jam in Seoul was getting worse.
"We're here." Taemin announced, stopping the car right in front of the columbarium where the urn of Jungkook's father was stored.
Jungkook's creased his forehead
"Why are we here?"
"I miss him." Taemin simply shrugged, getting out of the car and heading straight to the building.
Jungkook followed him. He visited his father as often as he could. He was sure the flowers he brought not more than a week ago hadn't wilted yet. Still, he felt bad that he came here today empty handed.
Taemin brought a flower though. It was a piece of orange geiger that he probably plucked at the golf course.
The flora was already crushed because Taemin kept it in the pocket of his slacks. It didn't stop him from putting it right beside Jong-in's urn.
"He hates the color orange." Jungkook reminded, snorting as he stared at the polaroid film placed against the urn.
It was a picture of him and Jong-in when he won first place in Taekwondo. He was only ten years old that time. You were the one who took the photograph, supporting him all the way.
"He hates cowards too." Jungkook added.
"I know, me too..." Taemin was also staring at the photograph. "That's why I hate myself."
Jungkook balled his hand into a fist.
"Then why be one?" He almost snarled at your father. "Why did you let those men say those...stupid things to Soojin? Why let them get away with it?"
Jungkook was fuming. The frustration he felt was too much that he couldn't hide it anymore. Tears brimmed his eyes.
It pained him to hear them talk about Soojin like that. He didn't love her in a romantic way, but she was his family. He treated Soojin like his little sister.
"Your father..." Taemin spoke after a short while. He still couldn't face Jungkook.
"Your father loved Castle. He poured his time and energy in the company. I am aware that you know this too. You sometimes joked about it, right? You asked him if he loved Castle more than he loved you..." Taemin smiled.
Jungkook couldn't help it. He giggled as well. Yeah. Those were the good old days. Jungkook could never forget the face his father would make whenever he asked that question.
"When he was still alive, he would always say that he wants me to take good care of you and the company if ever something happens to him."
Jungkook's smile immediately turned into a scowl. It had been many years since his father passed away, yet this was still a sore topic for him.
"That's what I'm doing right now, Jungkook-ah. Those filthy men are the lifeblood of our company. We have to be careful around them."
Jungkook shook his head.
"Does that mean we have to keep silent even if what they're doing is wrong?"
"Yes." Taemin didn't even bat an eyelash. Those men had big shares in the company, they were part of the board of directors too.
"Business is a game. You can't win if you don't have resources. Better build an army rather than collecting enemies."
"What's the point of building an army if they can't respect you?" Jungkook scoffed.
"People will only respect you if you don't go against them. You will never be respected if you don't have power." Taemin retorted. "So stay in power, Architect Jeon. That's when you'll be able to really control people."
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Jungkook attempted to ponder about what Taemin told him. The older man was his mentor for years. Admittedly, he had learned a lot from Taemin. What happened today was probably the only lesson he didn't like and understand.
"Can you drop me off at the office, uncle? I left my car there..." Jungkook blurted out, heart beating fast upon realizing that he hadn't called you all day.
It was already 6:22pm. Did you wait for him? Did you call him? Were you mad? God. You're probably pissed at him.
"I'll ask my secretary to take care of it. We need to go home. Family dinner. Everyone's waiting for us."
"Everyone?" Jungkook hiccupped. Did it mean that you would be there too?
"Yes. My children and my wife. All of us."
Jungkook simply nodded, choosing to conserve his energy because he knew he still needed to apologize to you. Maybe this would also be the perfect opportunity to finally tell Soojin what he felt for her.
They arrived at the mansion at exactly seven pm. The house was usually quiet, but tonight was different.
Everyone seemed to be in a hurry, causing Jungkook to think if he had missed something. Was today someone's birthday?
"Are we celebrating something?" This was what Jungkook said the moment he took a step inside the dining area.
There was a feast.
Taemin was right. Every member of the family was present. Jungkook's eyes shifted to you, like it was natural for him to find you whenever, wherever.
You were not looking at him though. Your eyes were trained on your empty plate.
"Are you kidding me, Jungkook? It's your engagement—" Taehyung who was seated on your right, tried to speak, however he was cut off by Sin-ae.
"You two are right on time! Come! Sit!" Sin-ae grinned nervously, helping to remove her husband's coat.
Soojin tried to do the same with Jungkook.
"I got it..." Jungkook stopped Soojin from latching on his arm, his eyes were still focused on you.
He wanted to ask if you were alright. You seemed down and you hadn't spared him a single glance.
"Sit beside me, JK," Soojin still managed to hold onto his biceps, pulling him to sit right across from you.
"What are we celebrating again?" Jungkook was talking to Taehyung but his gaze was still on you.
Your youngest brother turned to Jungkook, a playful smirk was plastered on his lips. He looked amused.
"Why don't you ask my lovely sister Soojin?" Taehyung was munching a piece of pickled radish. "Or my mom? I'm sure they'll be happy to tell you since it looks like you don't have any idea what's happening..."
"Let's just enjoy our food first, shall we, huh, Kim Taehyung?" Sin-ae gritted her teeth, giving her youngest son a pointed look.
Jungkook shrugged. He wasn't that interested anyway. He only went here because you were here. He wanted to apologize to you.
It was clear to him now that you were pissed. You liked shrimps, but hated peeling them so he did it for you. Using his chopsticks, he picked up the two shrimps and transferred it to your plate.
Instead of thanking him or smiling at him, you just pushed the seafood to the corner of your plate, like you didn't want to eat them.
"You're awfully sweet to her, aren't you, JK?" Namjoon who was sitting on your left, voiced out, noticing how Jungkook treated you.
Your flinched, heart skipping a beat.
"You just gave her shrimps." Namjoon said again when Jungkook just creased his forehead.
"Ah. She likes shrimps." He shrugged, failing to notice that the act was a big deal. He had done this many times already. Jungkook always peeled shrimps for you ever since you two were kids.
"Careful there. Soojin might get jealous."
"Why would you get jealous?" Jungkook asked your sister directly. "We're not dating."
Seokjin and Taehyung choked. Namjoon dropped his fork. Sin-ae was flustered while both Soojin and his father sighed: the former in exasperation while the latter did it in exhaustion.
You remained silent despite the fact that everyone seemed surprised because of what Jungkook said.
"What?" The head architect raised a brow, confused. "You're all acting weird."
Except you, but Jungkook already knew you were damn good at hiding your emotions.
No one was aware that you were shocked and confused too. Why was Jungkook acting like he had no idea what was happening?
Could it be because....it's the truth? Was he really clueless?
Your assumption was confirmed when Taemin awkwardly cleared his throat, shifting his attention to your best friend.
"Remember when I told you earlier that you're going to be my successor?"
Jungkook raised his head slightly.
"Well...it's the truth. You're going to be the chairman of Castle after marrying my daughter—" Taemin gulped. "—Soojin."
"No." Jungkook stated, so fast he didn't even blink.
"Jungkook—"
"I said no." Jungkook's voice was full of authority, his eyes were dark, jaw and fist clenching.
"But we have already announced it publicly." Sin-ae mumbled. She didn't realize that Jungkook would react this way. He was always so kind, sweet, and level headed.
He was different tonight. Truthfully, he looked terrifying as he glowered at Taemin.
"I get it now," Jungkook cackled, wetting his lower lip. "Meeting with the shareholders and bringing me to the columbarium? These were all part of your plan."
Huh. He was so stupid to fall for your father's trap. Taemin didn't give two shits about his 'promise' to Jong-in. He was only doing all of this for his own interest.
"You need me to marry Soojin because it's what the shareholders want, right?"
Taemin didn't deny Jungkook's accusation.
"They will withdraw their shares in the company if Soojin becomes the chairperson. They want a man to be in power, Jeon."
"Then let them go. It's their loss."
"You know very well that it's not. Our empire will fall without them."
"Then let the empire fall." Jungkook threw the napkin on his plate. He was done. He lost his appetite. "I don't care. I'm not marrying Soojin."
He said it with finality that Soojin couldn't help but gasp.
"Yah, Jeon Jungkook!" Her fist landed on top of the table. "Does the idea of marrying me so bad that you're willing to let our company fall, huh?"
"Yes." Jungkook didn't hesitate. "It's bad because I don't love you like that, Soojin. I can't love you the way you want me to."
"Nobody said you two need to love each other." Seokjin took part in the conversation. He only said this because he and his wife didn't marry for love. It was for business too.
"Then why get married? I don't believe in marriage for convenience. I will only do it for love." Jungkook switched his gaze at you the moment he said the word 'love'
He was surprised to see you already staring at him. You looked away when he caught you though.
"So sappy, JK." Taehyung teased. "Why? Do you love someone else?"
"I do." Jungkook was very honest and it was starting to annoy you. You wondered if he ever processed his thoughts first. It looked like he just kept saying things that entered his mind.
"Who is she?" Soojin demanded. She wanted to scream.
Jungkook looked like he was about to say something without thinking again, but before he could do that, you interfered.
"Oh no!" Your eyes dilated, elbowing the glass of champagne and letting the sticky drink stained your dress.
"Oh, for God's sake!" Sin-ae rolled her eyes, snapping at you. "You're so clumsy! You're ruining our night!"
"Eomma..." Taehyung warned. He was about to grab a napkin so he could hand it to you, but Jungkook was already on his feet, going near you.
"Are you okay?" He leaned closer to you, dabbing the napkin onto your dress.
You took advantage of his close proximity.
"Don't say anything about us. Please." You whispered and then you slightly pushed him away.
"I'm okay. Thanks, Jungkook." You stood up quickly, almost stumbling in doing so. Fortunately your best friend managed to grab your wrist.
"Careful..." He said softly, hands grabbing your waist.
You pushed him away again, trembling.
"I-I'll just change." You didn't wait for their approval.
You just left with your heart still beating fast.
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innuendostudios · 3 years
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Thoughts on: Criterion's Neo-Noir Collection
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I have written up all 26 films* in the Criterion Channel's Neo-Noir Collection.
Legend: rw - rewatch; a movie I had seen before going through the collection dnrw - did not rewatch; if a movie met two criteria (a. I had seen it within the last 18 months, b. I actively dislike it) I wrote it up from memory.
* in September, Brick leaves the Criterion Channel and is replaced in the collection with Michael Mann's Thief. May add it to the list when that happens.
Note: These are very "what was on my mind after watching." No effort has been made to avoid spoilers, nor to make the plot clear for anyone who hasn't seen the movies in question. Decide for yourself if that's interesting to you.
Cotton Comes to Harlem I feel utterly unequipped to asses this movie. This and Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song the following year are regularly cited as the progenitors of the blaxploitation genre. (This is arguably unfair, since both were made by Black men and dealt much more substantively with race than the white-directed films that followed them.) Its heroes are a couple of Black cops who are treated with suspicion both by their white colleagues and by the Black community they're meant to police. I'm not 100% clear on whether they're the good guys? I mean, I think they are. But the community's suspicion of them seems, I dunno... well-founded? They are working for The Man. And there's interesting discussion to the had there - is the the problem that the law is carried out by racists, or is the law itself racist? Can Black cops make anything better? But it feels like the film stacks the deck in Gravedigger and Coffin Ed's favor; the local Black church is run by a conman, the Back-to-Africa movement is, itself, a con, and the local Black Power movement is treated as an obstacle. Black cops really are the only force for justice here. Movie portrays Harlem itself as a warm, thriving, cultured community, but the people that make up that community are disloyal and easily fooled. Felt, to me, like the message was "just because they're cops doesn't mean they don't have Black soul," which, nowadays, we would call copaganda. But, then, do I know what I'm talking about? Do I know how much this played into or off of or against stereotypes from 1970? Was this a radical departure I don't have the context to appreciate? Is there substance I'm too white and too many decades removed to pick up on? Am I wildly overthinking this? I dunno. Seems like everyone involved was having a lot of fun, at least. That bit is contagious.
Across 110th Street And here's the other side of the "race film" equation. Another movie set in Harlem with a Black cop pulled between the police, the criminals, and the public, but this time the film is made by white people. I like it both more and less. Pro: this time the difficult position of Black cop who's treated with suspicion by both white cops and Black Harlemites is interrogated. Con: the Black cop has basically no personality other than "honest cop." Pro: the racism of the police force is explicit and systemic, as opposed to comically ineffectual. Con: the movie is shaped around a racist white cop who beats the shit out of Black people but slowly forms a bond with his Black partner. Pro: the Black criminal at the heart of the movie talks openly about how the white world has stacked the deck against him, and he's soulful and relateable. Con: so of course he dies in the end, because the only way privileged people know to sympathetize with minorities is to make them tragic (see also: The Boys in the Band, Philadelphia, and Brokeback Mountain for gay men). Additional con: this time Harlem is portrayed as a hellhole. Barely any of the community is even seen. At least the shot at the end, where the criminal realizes he's going to die and throws the bag of money off a roof and into a playground so the Black kids can pick it up before the cops reclaim it was powerful. But overall... yech. Cotton Comes to Harlem felt like it wasn't for me; this feels like it was 100% for me and I respect it less for that.
The Long Goodbye (rw) The shaggiest dog. Like much Altman, more compelling than good, but very compelling. Raymond Chandler's story is now set in the 1970's, but Philip Marlowe is the same Philip Marlowe of the 1930's. I get the sense there was always something inherently sad about Marlowe. Classic noir always portrayed its detectives as strong-willed men living on the border between the straightlaced world and its seedy underbelly, crossing back and forth freely but belonging to neither. But Chandler stresses the loneliness of it - or, at least, the people who've adapted Chandler do. Marlowe is a decent man in an indecent world, sorting things out, refusing to profit from misery, but unable to set anything truly right. Being a man out of step is here literalized by putting him forty years from the era where he belongs. His hardboiled internal monologue is now the incessant mutterings of the weird guy across the street who never stops smoking. Like I said: compelling! Kael's observation was spot on: everyone in the movie knows more about the mystery than he does, but he's the only one who cares. The mystery is pretty threadbare - Marlowe doesn't detect so much as end up in places and have people explain things to him. But I've seen it two or three times now, and it does linger.
Chinatown (rw) I confess I've always been impressed by Chinatown more than I've liked it. Its story structure is impeccable, its atmosphere is gorgeous, its noirish fatalism is raw and real, its deconstruction of the noir hero is well-observed, and it's full of clever detective tricks (the pocket watches, the tail light, the ruler). I've just never connected with it. Maybe it's a little too perfectly crafted. (I feel similar about Miller's Crossing.) And I've always been ambivalent about the ending. In Towne's original ending, Evelyn shoots Noah Cross dead and get arrested, and neither she nor Jake can tell the truth of why she did it, so she goes to jail for murder and her daughter is in the wind. Polansky proposed the ending that exists now, where Evelyn just dies, Cross wins, and Jake walks away devastated. It communicates the same thing: Jake's attempt to get smart and play all the sides off each other instead of just helping Evelyn escape blows up in his face at the expense of the woman he cares about and any sense of real justice. And it does this more dramatically and efficiently than Towne's original ending. But it also treats Evelyn as narratively disposable, and hands the daughter over to the man who raped Evelyn and murdered her husband. It makes the women suffer more to punch up the ending. But can I honestly say that Towne's ending is the better one? It is thematically equal, dramatically inferior, but would distract me less. Not sure what the calculus comes out to there. Maybe there should be a third option. Anyway! A perfect little contraption. Belongs under a glass dome.
Night Moves (rw) Ah yeah, the good shit. This is my quintessential 70's noir. This is three movies in a row about detectives. Thing is, the classic era wasn't as chockablock with hardboiled detectives as we think; most of those movies starred criminals, cops, and boring dudes seduced to the darkness by a pair of legs. Gumshoes just left the strongest impressions. (The genre is said to begin with Maltese Falcon and end with Touch of Evil, after all.) So when the post-Code 70's decided to pick the genre back up while picking it apart, it makes sense that they went for the 'tecs first. The Long Goodbye dragged the 30's detective into the 70's, and Chinatown went back to the 30's with a 70's sensibility. But Night Moves was about detecting in the Watergate era, and how that changed the archetype. Harry Moseby is the detective so obsessed with finding the truth that he might just ruin his life looking for it, like the straight story will somehow fix everything that's broken, like it'll bring back a murdered teenager and repair his marriage and give him a reason to forgive the woman who fucked him just to distract him from some smuggling. When he's got time to kill, he takes out a little, magnetic chess set and recreates a famous old game, where three knight moves (get it?) would have led to a beautiful checkmate had the player just seen it. He keeps going, self-destructing, because he can't stand the idea that the perfect move is there if he can just find it. And, no matter how much we see it destroy him, we, the audience, want him to keep going; we expect a satisfying resolution to the mystery. That's what we need from a detective picture; one character flat-out compares Harry to Sam Spade. But what if the truth is just... Watergate? Just some prick ruining things for selfish reasons? Nothing grand, nothing satisfying. Nothing could be more noir, or more neo-, than that.
Farewell, My Lovely Sometimes the only thing that makes a noir neo- is that it's in color and all the blood, tits, and racism from the books they're based on get put back in. This second stab at Chandler is competant but not much more than that. Mitchum works as Philip Marlowe, but Chandler's dialogue feels off here, like lines that worked on the page don't work aloud, even though they did when Bogie said them. I'll chalk it up to workmanlike but uninspired direction. (Dang this looks bland so soon after Chinatown.) Moose Malloy is a great character, and perfectly cast. (Wasn't sure at first, but it's true.) Some other interesting cats show up and vanish - the tough brothel madam based on Brenda Allen comes to mind, though she's treated with oddly more disdain than most of the other hoods and is dispatched quicker. In general, the more overt racism and misogyny doesn't seem to do anything except make the movie "edgier" than earlier attempts at the same material, and it reads kinda try-hard. But it mostly holds together. *shrug*
The Killing of a Chinese Bookie (dnrw) Didn't care for this at all. Can't tell if the script was treated as a jumping-off point or if the dialogue is 100% improvised, but it just drags on forever and is never that interesting. Keeps treating us to scenes from the strip club like they're the opera scenes in Amadeus, and, whatever, I don't expect burlesque to be Mozart, but Cosmo keeps saying they're an artful, classy joint, and I keep waiting for the show to be more than cheap, lazy camp. How do you make gratuitious nudity boring? Mind you, none of this is bad as a rule - I love digressions and can enjoy good sleaze, and it's clear the filmmakers care about what they're making. They just did not sell it in a way I wanted to buy. Can't remember what edit I watched; I hope it was the 135 minute one, because I cannot imagine there being a longer edit out there.
The American Friend (dnrw) It's weird that this is Patricia Highsmith, right? That Dennis Hopper is playing Tom Ripley? In a cowboy hat? I gather that Minghella's version wasn't true to the source, but I do love that movie, and this is a long, long way from that. This Mr. Ripley isn't even particularly talented! Anyway, this has one really great sequence, where a regular guy has been coerced by crooks into murdering someone on a train platform, and, when the moment comes to shoot, he doesn't. And what follows is a prolonged sequence of an amateur trying to surreptitiously tail a guy across a train station and onto another train, and all the while you're not sure... is he going to do it? is he going to chicken out? is he going to do it so badly he gets caught? It's hard not to put yourself in the protagonist's shoes, wondering how you would handle the situation, whether you could do it, whether you could act on impulse before your conscience could catch up with you. It drags on a long while and this time it's a good thing. Didn't much like the rest of the movie, it's shapeless and often kind of corny, and the central plot hook is contrived. (It's also very weird that this is the only Wim Wenders I've seen.) But, hey, I got one excellent sequence, not gonna complain.
The Big Sleep Unlike the 1946 film, I can follow the plot of this Big Sleep. But, also unlike the 1946 version, this one isn't any damn fun. Mitchum is back as Marlowe (this is three Marlowes in five years, btw), and this time it's set in the 70's and in England, for some reason. I don't find this offensive, but neither do I see what it accomplishes? Most of the cast is still American. (Hi Jimmy!) Still holds together, but even less well than Farewell, My Lovely. But I do find it interesting that the neo-noir era keeps returning to Chandler while it's pretty much left Hammet behind (inasmuch as someone whose genes are spread wide through the whole genre can be left behind). Spade and the Continental Op, straightshooting tough guys who come out on top in the end, seem antiquated in the (post-)modern era. But Marlowe's goodness being out of sync with the world around him only seems more poignant the further you take him from his own time. Nowadays you can really only do Hammett as pastiche, but I sense that you could still play Chandler straight.
Eyes of Laura Mars The most De Palma movie I've seen not made by De Palma, complete with POV shots, paranormal hoodoo, and fixation with sex, death, and whether images of such are art or exploitation (or both). Laura Mars takes photographs of naked women in violent tableux, and has gotten quite famous doing so, but is it damaging to women? The movie has more than a superficial engagement with this topic, but only slightly more than superficial. Kept imagining a movie that is about 30% less serial killer story and 30% more art conversations. (But, then, I have an art degree and have never murdered anyone, so.) Like, museums are full of Biblical paintings full of nude women and slaughter, sometimes both at once, and they're called masterpieces. Most all of them were painted by men on commission from other men. Now Laura Mars makes similar images in modern trappings, and has models made of flesh and blood rather than paint, and it's scandalous? Why is it only controversial once women are getting paid for it? On the other hand, is this just the master's tools? Is she subverting or challenging the male gaze, or just profiting off of it? Or is a woman profiting off of it, itself, a subversion? Is it subversive enough to account for how it commodifies female bodies? These questions are pretty clearly relevant to the movie itself, and the movies in general, especially after the fall of the Hays Code when people were really unrestrained with the blood and boobies. And, heck, the lead is played by the star of Bonnie and Clyde! All this is to say: I wish the movie were as interested in these questions as I am. What's there is a mildly diverting B-picture. There's one great bit where Laura's seeing through the killer's eyes (that's the hook, she gets visions from the murderer's POV; no, this is never explained) and he's RIGHT BEHIND HER, so there's a chase where she charges across an empty room only able to see her own fleeing self from ten feet behind. That was pretty great! And her first kiss with the detective (because you could see a mile away that the detective and the woman he's supposed to protect are gonna fall in love) is immediately followed by the two freaking out about how nonsensical it is for them to fall in love with each other, because she's literally mourning multiple deaths and he's being wildly unprofessional, and then they go back to making out. That bit was great, too. The rest... enh.
The Onion Field What starts off as a seemingly not-that-noirish cops-vs-crooks procedural turns into an agonizingly protracted look at the legal system, with the ultimate argument that the very idea of the law ever resulting in justice is a lie. Hoo! I have to say, I'm impressed. There's a scene where a lawyer - whom I'm not sure is even named, he's like the seventh of thirteen we've met - literally quits the law over how long this court case about two guys shooting a cop has taken. He says the cop who was murdered has been forgotten, his partner has never gotten to move on because the case has lasted eight years, nothing has been accomplished, and they should let the two criminals walk and jail all the judges and lawyers instead. It's awesome! The script is loaded with digressions and unnecessary details, just the way I like it. Can't say I'm impressed with the execution. Nothing is wrong, exactly, but the performances all seem a tad melodramatic or a tad uninspired. Camerawork is, again, purely functional. It's no masterpiece. But that second half worked for me. (And it's Ted Danson's first movie! He did great.)
Body Heat (rw) Let's say up front that this is a handsomely-made movie. Probably the best looking thing on the list since Night Moves. Nothing I've seen better captures the swelter of an East Coast heatwave, or the lusty feeling of being too hot to bang and going at it regardless. Kathleen Turner sells the hell out of a femme fatale. There are a lot of good lines and good performances (Ted Danson is back and having the time of his life). I want to get all that out of the way, because this is a movie heavily modeled after Double Indemnity, and I wanted to discuss its merits before I get into why inviting that comparison doesn't help the movie out. In a lot of ways, it's the same rules as the Robert Mitchum Marlowe movies - do Double Indemnity but amp up the sex and violence. And, to a degree it works. (At least, the sex does, dunno that Double Indemnity was crying out for explosions.) But the plot is amped as well, and gets downright silly. Yeah, Mrs. Dietrichson seduces Walter Neff so he'll off her husband, but Neff clocks that pretty early and goes along with it anyway. Everything beyond that is two people keeping too big a secret and slowly turning on each other. But here? For the twists to work Matty has to be, from frame one, playing four-dimensional chess on the order of Senator Palpatine, and its about as plausible. (Exactly how did she know, after she rebuffed Ned, he would figure out her local bar and go looking for her at the exact hour she was there?) It's already kind of weird to be using the spider woman trope in 1981, but to make her MORE sexually conniving and mercenary than she was in the 40's is... not great. As lurid trash, it's pretty fun for a while, but some noir stuff can't just be updated, it needs to be subverted or it doesn't justify its existence.
Blow Out Brian De Palma has two categories of movie: he's got his mainstream, director-for-hire fare, where his voice is either reigned in or indulged in isolated sequences that don't always jive with the rest fo the film, and then there's his Brian De Palma movies. My mistake, it seems, is having seen several for-hires from throughout his career - The Untouchables (fine enough), Carlito's Way (ditto, but less), Mission: Impossible (enh) - but had only seen De Palma-ass movies from his late period (Femme Fatale and The Black Dahlia, both of which I think are garbage). All this to say: Blow Out was my first classic-era De Palma, and holy fucking shit dudes. This was (with caveats) my absolute and entire jam. I said I could enjoy good sleaze, and this is good friggin' sleaze. (Though far short of De Palma at his sleaziest, mercifully.) The splitscreens, the diopter shots, the canted angles, how does he make so many shlocky things work?! John Travolta's sound tech goes out to get fresh wind fx for the movie he's working on, and we get this wonderful sequence of visuals following sounds as he turns his attention and his microphone to various noises - a couple on a walk, a frog, an owl, a buzzing street lamp. Later, as he listens back to the footage, the same sequence plays again, but this time from his POV; we're seeing his memory as guided by the same sequence of sounds, now recreated with different shots, as he moves his pencil in the air mimicking the microphone. When he mixes and edits sounds, we hear the literal soundtrack of the movie we are watching get mixed and edited by the person on screen. And as he tries to unravel a murder mystery, he uses what's at hand: magnetic tape, flatbed editors, an animation camera to turn still photos from the crime scene into a film and sync it with the audio he recorded; it's forensics using only the tools of the editing room. As someone who's spent some time in college editing rooms, this is a hoot and a half. Loses a bit of steam as it goes on and the film nerd stuff gives way to a more traditional thriller, but rallies for a sound-tech-centered final setpiece, which steadily builds to such madcap heights you can feel the air thinning, before oddly cutting its own tension and then trying to build it back up again. It doesn't work as well the second time. But then, that shot right after the climax? Damn. Conflicted on how the movie treats the female lead. I get why feminist film theorists are so divided on De Palma. His stuff is full of things feminists (rightly) criticize, full of women getting naked when they're not getting stabbed, but he also clearly finds women fascinating and has them do empowered and unexpected things, and there are many feminist reads of his movies. Call it a mixed bag. But even when he's doing tropey shit, he explores the tropes in unexpected ways. Definitely the best movie so far that I hadn't already seen.
Cutter's Way (rw) Alex Cutter is pitched to us as an obnoxious-but-sympathetic son of a bitch, and, you know, two out of three ain't bad. Watched this during my 2020 neo-noir kick and considered skipping it this time because I really didn't enjoy it. Found it a little more compelling this go around, while being reminded of why my feelings were room temp before. Thematically, I'm onboard: it's about a guy, Cutter, getting it in his head that he's found a murderer and needs to bring him to justice, and his friend, Bone, who intermittently helps him because he feels bad that Cutter lost his arm, leg, and eye in Nam and he also feels guilty for being in love with Cutter's wife. The question of whether the guy they're trying to bring down actually did it is intentionally undefined, and arguably unimportant; they've got personal reasons to see this through. Postmodern and noirish, fixated with the inability to ever fully know the truth of anything, but starring people so broken by society that they're desperate for certainty. (Pretty obvious parallels to Vietnam.) Cutter's a drunk and kind of an asshole, but understandably so. Bone's shiftlessness is the other response to a lack of meaning in the world, to the point where making a decision, any decision, feels like character growth, even if it's maybe killing a guy whose guilt is entirely theoretical. So, yeah, I'm down with all of this! A- in outline form. It's just that Cutter is so uninterestingly unpleasant and no one else on screen is compelling enough to make up for it. His drunken windups are tedious and his sanctimonious speeches about what the war was like are, well, true and accurate but also obviously manipulative. It's two hours with two miserable people, and I think Cutter's constant chatter is supposed to be the comic relief but it's a little too accurate to drunken rambling, which isn't funny if you're not also drunk. He's just tedious, irritating, and periodically racist. Pass.
Blood Simple (rw) I'm pretty cool on the Coens - there are things I've liked, even loved, in every Coen film I've seen, but I always come away dissatisfied. For a while, I kept going to their movies because I was sure eventually I'd love one without qualification. No Country for Old Men came close, the first two acts being master classes in sustained tension. But then the third act is all about denying closure: the protagonist is murdered offscreen, the villain's motives are never explained, and it ends with an existentialist speech about the unfathomable cruelty of the world. And it just doesn't land for me. The archness of the Coen's dialogue, the fussiness of their set design, the kinda-intimate, kinda-awkward, kinda-funny closeness of the camera's singles, it cannot sell me on a devastating meditation about meaninglessness. It's only ever sold me on the Coens' own cleverness. And that archness, that distancing, has typified every one of their movies I've come close to loving. Which is a long-ass preamble to saying, holy heck, I was not prepared for their very first movie to be the one I'd been looking for! I watched it last year and it remains true on rewatch: Blood Simple works like gangbusters. It's kind of Double Indemnity (again) but played as a comedy of errors, minus the comedy: two people romantically involved feeling their trust unravel after a murder. And I think the first thing that works for me is that utter lack of comedy. It's loaded with the Coens' trademark ironies - mostly dramatic in this case - but it's all played straight. Unlike the usual lead/femme fatale relationship, where distrust brews as the movie goes on, the audience knows the two main characters can trust each other. There are no secret duplicitous motives waiting to be revealed. The audience also know why they don't trust each other. (And it's all communicated wordlessly, btw: a character enters a scene and we know, based on the information that character has, how it looks to them and what suspicions it would arouse, even as we know the truth of it). The second thing that works is, weirdly, that the characters aren't very interesting?! Ray and Abby have almost no characterization. Outside of a general likability, they are blank slates. This is a weakness in most films, but, given the agonizingly long, wordless sequences where they dispose of bodies or hide from gunfire, you're left thinking not "what will Ray/Abby do in this scenario," because Ray and Abby are relatively elemental and undefined, but "what would I do in this scenario?" Which creates an exquisite tension but also, weirdly, creates more empathy than I feel for the Coens' usual cast of personalities. It's supposed to work the other way around! Truly enjoyable throughout but absolutely wonderful in the suspenseful-as-hell climax. Good shit right here.
Body Double The thing about erotic thrillers is everything that matters is in the name. Is it thrilling? Is it erotic? Good; all else is secondary. De Palma set out to make the most lurid, voyeuristic, horny, violent, shocking, steamy movie he could come up with, and its success was not strictly dependent on the lead's acting ability or the verisimilitude of the plot. But what are we, the modern audience, to make of it once 37 years have passed and, by today's standards, the eroticism is quite tame and the twists are no longer shocking? Then we're left with a nonsensical riff on Vertigo, a specularization of women that is very hard to justify, and lead actor made of pulped wood. De Palma's obsessions don't cohere into anything more this time; the bits stolen from Hitchcock aren't repurposed to new ends, it really is just Hitch with more tits and less brains. (I mean, I still haven't seen Vertigo, but I feel 100% confident in that statement.) The diopter shots and rear-projections this time look cheap (literally so, apparently; this had 1/3 the budget of Blow Out). There are some mildly interesting setpieces, but nothing compared to Travolta's auditory reconstructions or car chase where he tries to tail a subway train from street level even if it means driving through a frickin parade like an inverted French Connection, goddamn Blow Out was a good movie! Anyway. Melanie Griffith seems to be having fun, at least. I guess I had a little as well, but it was, at best, diverting, and a real letdown.
The Hit Surprised by how much I enjoyed this one. Terrance Stamp flips on the mob and spends ten years living a life of ease in Spain, waiting for the day they find and kill him. Movie kicks off when they do find him, and what follows is a ramshackle road movie as John Hurt and a young Tim Roth attempt to drive him to Paris so they can shoot him in front of his old boss. Stamp is magnetic. He's spent a decade reading philosophy and seems utterly prepared for death, so he spends the trip humming, philosophizing, and being friendly with his captors when he's not winding them up. It remains unclear to the end whether the discord he sews between Roth and Hurt is part of some larger plan of escape or just for shits and giggles. There's also a decent amount of plot for a movie that's not terribly plot-driven - just about every part of the kidnapping has tiny hitches the kidnappers aren't prepared for, and each has film-long repercussions, drawing the cops closer and somehow sticking Laura del Sol in their backseat. The ongoing questions are when Stamp will die, whether del Sol will die, and whether Roth will be able to pull the trigger. In the end, it's actually a meditation on ethics and mortality, but in a quiet and often funny way. It's not going to go down as one of my new favs, but it was a nice way to spend a couple hours.
Trouble in Mind (dnrw) I fucking hated this movie. It's been many months since I watched it, do I remember what I hated most? Was it the bit where a couple of country bumpkins who've come to the city walk into a diner and Mr. Bumpkin clocks that the one Black guy in the back as obviously a criminal despite never having seen him before? Was it the part where Kris Kristofferson won't stop hounding Mrs. Bumpkin no matter how many times she demands to be left alone, and it's played as romantic because obviously he knows what she needs better than she does? Or is it the part where Mr. Bumpkin reluctantly takes a job from the Obvious Criminal (who is, in fact, a criminal, and the only named Black character in the movie if I remember correctly, draw your own conclusions) and, within a week, has become a full-blown hood, which is exemplified by a lot, like, a lot of queer-coding? The answer to all three questions is yes. It's also fucking boring. Even out-of-drag Divine's performance as the villain can't save it.
Manhunter 'sfine? I've still never seen Silence of the Lambs, nor any of the Hopkins Lecter movies, nor, indeed, any full episode of the show. So the unheimlich others get seeing Brian Cox play Hannibal didn't come into play. Cox does a good job with him, but he's barely there. Shame, cuz he's the most interesting part of the movie. Honestly, there's a lot of interesting stuff that's barely there. Will Graham being a guy who gets into the heads of serial killers is explored well enough, and Mann knows how to direct a police procedural such that it's both contemplative and propulsive. But all the other themes it points at? Will's fear that he understands murderers a little too well? Hannibal trying to nudge him towards becoming one? Whatever dance Hannibal and Tooth Fairy are doing? What Tooth Fairy's deal is, anyway? (Why does he wear fake teeth and bite things? Why is he fixated on the red dragon? Does the bit where he says "Francis is gone forever" mean he has DID?) None of it goes anywhere or amounts to anything. I mean, it's certainly more interesting with this stuff than without, but it has that feel of a book that's been pared of its interesting bits to fit the runtime (or, alternately, pulp that's been sloppily elevated). I still haven't made my mind up on Mann's cold, precise camera work, but at least it gives me something to look at. It's fine! This is fine.
Mona Lisa (rw) Gave this one another shot. Bob Hoskins is wonderful as a hood out of his depth in classy places, quick to anger but just as quick to let anger go (the opening sequence where he's screaming on his ex-wife's doorstep, hurling trash cans at her house, and one minute later thrilled to see his old car, is pretty nice). And Cathy Tyson's working girl is a subtler kind of fascinating, exuding a mixture of coldness and kindness. It's just... this is ultimately a story about how heartbreaking it is when the girl you like is gay, right? It's Weezer's Pink Triangle: The Movie. It's not homophobic, exactly - Simone isn't demonized for being a lesbian - but it's still, like, "man, this straight white guy's pain is so much more interesting than the Black queer sex worker's." And when he's yelling "you woulda done it!" at the end, I can't tell if we're supposed to agree with him. Seems pretty clear that she wouldn'ta done it, at least not without there being some reveal about her character that doesn't happen, but I don't think the ending works if we don't agree with him, so... I'm like 70% sure the movie does Simone dirty there. For the first half, their growing relationship feels genuine and natural, and, honestly, the story being about a real bond that unfortunately means different things to each party could work if it didn't end with a gun and a sock in the jaw. Shape feels jagged as well; what feels like the end of the second act or so turns out to be the climax. And some of the symbolism is... well, ok, Simone gives George money to buy more appropriate clothes for hanging out in high end hotels, and he gets a tan leather jacket and a Hawaiian shirt, and their first proper bonding moment is when she takes him out for actual clothes. For the rest of the movie he is rocking double-breasted suits (not sure I agree with the striped tie, but it was the eighties, whaddya gonna do?). Then, in the second half, she sends him off looking for her old streetwalker friend, and now he looks completely out of place in the strip clubs and bordellos. So far so good. But then they have this run-in where her old pimp pulls a knife and cuts George's arm, so, with his nice shirt torn and it not safe going home (I guess?) he starts wearing the Hawaiian shirt again. So around the time he's starting to realize he doesn't really belong in Simone's world or the lowlife world he came from anymore, he's running around with the classy double-breasted suit jacket over the garish Hawaiian shirt, and, yeah, bit on the nose guys. Anyway, it has good bits, I just feel like a movie that asks me to feel for the guy punching a gay, Black woman in the face needs to work harder to earn it. Bit of wasted talent.
The Bedroom Window Starts well. Man starts an affair with his boss' wife, their first night together she witnesses an attempted murder from his window, she worries going to the police will reveal the affair to her husband, so the man reports her testimony to the cops claiming he's the one who saw it. Young Isabelle Huppert is the perfect woman for a guy to risk his career on a crush over, and Young Steve Guttenberg is the perfect balance of affability and amorality. And it flows great - picks just the right media to res. So then he's talking to the cops, telling them what she told him, and they ask questions he forgot to ask her - was the perp's jacket a blazer or a windbreaker? - and he has to guess. Then he gets called into the police lineup, and one guy matches her description really well, but is it just because he's wearing his red hair the way she described it? He can't be sure, doesn't finger any of them. He finds out the cops were pretty certain about one of the guys, so he follows the one he thinks it was around, looking for more evidence, and another girl is attacked right outside a bar he knows the redhead was at. Now he's certain! But he shows the boss' wife the guy and she's not certain, and she reminds him they don't even know if the guy he followed is the same guy the police suspected! And as he feeds more evidence to the cops, he has to lie more, because he can't exactly say he was tailing the guy around the city. So, I'm all in now. Maybe it's because I'd so recently rewatched Night Moves and Cutter's Way, but this seems like another story about uncertainty. He's really certain about the guy because it fits narratively, and we, the audience, feel the same. But he's not actually a witness, he doesn't have actual evidence, he's fitting bits and pieces together like a conspiracy theorist. He's fixating on what he wants to be true. Sign me up! But then it turns out he's 100% correct about who the killer is but his lies are found out and now the cops think he's the killer and I realize, oh, no, this movie isn't nearly as smart as I thought it was. Egg on my face! What transpires for the remaining half of the runtime is goofy as hell, and someone with shlockier sensibilities could have made a meal of it, but Hanson, despite being a Corman protege, takes this silliness seriously in the all wrong ways. Next!
Homicide (rw? I think I saw most of this on TV one time) Homicide centers around the conflicted loyalties of a Jewish cop. It opens with the Jewish cop and his white gentile partner taking over a case with a Black perp from some Black FBI agents. The media is making a big thing about the racial implications of the mostly white cops chasing down a Black man in a Black neighborhood. And inside of 15 minutes the FBI agent is calling the lead a k*ke and the gentile cop is calling the FBI agent a f****t and there's all kinds of invective for Black people. The film is announcing its intentions out the gate: this movie is about race. But the issue here is David Mamet doesn't care about race as anything other than a dramatic device. He's the Ubisoft of filmmakers, having no coherent perspective on social issues but expecting accolades for even bringing them up. Mamet is Jewish (though lead actor Joe Mantegna definitely is not) but what is his position on the Jewish diaspora? The whole deal is Mantegna gets stuck with a petty homicide case instead of the big one they just pinched from the Feds, where a Jewish candy shop owner gets shot in what looks like a stickup. Her family tries to appeal to his Jewishness to get him to take the case seriously, and, after giving them the brush-off for a long time, finally starts following through out of guilt, finding bits and pieces of what may or may not be a conspiracy, with Zionist gun runners and underground neo-Nazis. But, again: all of these are just dramatic devices. Mantegna's Jewishness (those words will never not sound ridiculous together) has always been a liability for him as a cop (we are told, not shown), and taking the case seriously is a reclamation of identity. The Jews he finds community with sold tommyguns to revolutionaries during the founding of Israel. These Jews end up blackmailing him to get a document from the evidence room. So: what is the film's position on placing stock in one's Jewish identity? What is its position on Israel? What is its opinion on Palestine? Because all three come up! And the answer is: Mamet doesn't care. You can read it a lot of different ways. Someone with more context and more patience than me could probably deduce what the de facto message is, the way Chris Franklin deduced the de facto message of Far Cry V despite the game's efforts not to have one, but I'm not going to. Mantegna's attempt to reconnect with his Jewishness gets his partner killed, gets the guy he was supposed to bring in alive shot dead, gets him possibly permanent injuries, gets him on camera blowing up a store that's a front for white nationalists, and all for nothing because the "clues" he found (pretty much exclusively by coincidence) were unconnected nothings. The problem is either his Jewishness, or his lifelong failure to connect with his Jewishness until late in life. Mamet doesn't give a shit. (Like, Mamet canonically doesn't give a shit: he is on record saying social context is meaningless, characters only exist to serve the plot, and there are no deeper meanings in fiction.) Mamet's ping-pong dialogue is fun, as always, and there are some neat ideas and characters, but it's all in service of a big nothing that needed to be a something to work.
Swoon So much I could talk about, let's keep it to the most interesting bits. Hommes Fatales: a thing about classic noir that it was fascinated by the marginal but had to keep it in the margins. Liberated women, queer-coded killers, Black jazz players, broke thieves; they were the main event, they were what audiences wanted to see, they were what made the movies fun. But the ending always had to reassert straightlaced straight, white, middle-class male society as unshakeable. White supremacist capitalist patriarchy demanded, both ideologically and via the Hays Code, that anyone outside these norms be punished, reformed, or dead by the movie's end. The only way to make them the heroes was to play their deaths for tragedy. It is unsurprising that neo-noir would take the queer-coded villains and make them the protagonists. Implicature: This is the story of Leopold and Loeb, murderers famous for being queer, and what's interesting is how the queerness in the first half exists entirely outside of language. Like, it's kind of amazing for a movie from 1992 to be this gay - we watch Nathan and Dickie kiss, undress, masturbate, fuck; hell, they wear wedding rings when they're alone together. But it's never verbalized. Sex is referred to as "your reward" or "what you wanted" or "best time." Dickie says he's going to have "the girls over," and it turns out "the girls" are a bunch of drag queens, but this is never acknowledged. Nathan at one point lists off a bunch of famous men - Oscar Wild, E.M. Forster, Frederick the Great - but, though the commonality between them is obvious (they were all gay), it's left the the audience to recognize it. When their queerness is finally verbalized in the second half, it's first in the language of pathology - a psychiatrist describing their "perversions" and "misuse" of their "organs" before the court, which has to be cleared of women because it's so inappropriate - and then with slurs from the man who murders Dickie in jail (a murder which is written off with no investigation because the victim is a gay prisoner instead of a L&L's victim, a child of a wealthy family). I don't know if I'd have noticed this if I hadn't read Chip Delany describing his experience as a gay man in the 50's existing almost entirely outside of language, the only language at the time being that of heteronormativity. Murder as Love Story: L&L exchange sex as payment for the other commiting crimes; it's foreplay. Their statements to the police where they disagree over who's to blame is a lover's quarrel. Their sentencing is a marriage. Nathan performs his own funeral rites over Dickie's body after he dies on the operating table. They are, in their way, together til death did they part. This is the relationship they can have. That it does all this without romanticizing the murder itself or valorizing L&L as humans is frankly incredible.
Suture (rw) The pitch: at the funeral for his father, wealthy Vincent Towers meets his long lost half brother Clay Arlington. It is implied Clay is a child from out of wedlock, possibly an affair; no one knows Vincent has a half-brother but him and Clay. Vincent invites Clay out to his fancy-ass home in Arizona. Thing is, Vincent is suspected (correctly) by the police of having murdered his father, and, due to a striking family resemblence, he's brought Clay to his home to fake his own death. He finagles Clay into wearing his clothes and driving his car, and then blows the car up and flees the state, leaving the cops to think him dead. Thing is, Clay survives, but with amnesia. The doctors tell him he's Vincent, and he has no reason to disagree. Any discrepancy in the way he looks is dismissed as the result of reconstructive surgery after the explosion. So Clay Arlington resumes Vincent Towers' life, without knowing Clay Arlington even exists. The twist: Clay and Vincent are both white, but Vincent is played by Michael Harris, a white actor, and Clay is played by Dennis Haysbert, a Black actor. "Ian, if there's just the two of them, how do you know it's not Harris playing a Black character?" Glad you asked! It is most explicitly obvious during a scene where Vincent/Clay's surgeon-cum-girlfriend essentially bringing up phrenology to explain how Vincent/Clay couldn't possibly have murdered his father, describing straight hair, thin lips, and a Greco-Roman nose Haysbert very clearly doesn't have. But, let's be honest: we knew well beforehand that the rich-as-fuck asshole living in a huge, modern house and living it up in Arizona high society was white. Though Clay is, canonically, white, he lives an poor and underprivileged life common to Black men in America. Though the film's title officially refers to the many stitches holding Vincent/Clay's face together after the accident, "suture" is a film theory term, referring to the way a film audience gets wrapped up - sutured - in the world of the movie, choosing to forget the outside world and pretend the story is real. The usage is ironic, because the audience cannot be sutured in; we cannot, and are not expected to, suspend our disbelief that Clay is white. We are deliberately distanced. Consequently this is a movie to be thought about, not to to be felt. It has the shape of a Hitchcockian thriller but it can't evoke the emotions of one. You can see the scaffolding - "ah, yes, this is the part of a thriller where one man hides while another stalks him with a gun, clever." I feel ill-suited to comment on what the filmmakers are saying about race. I could venture a guess about the ending, where the psychiatrist, the only one who knows the truth about Clay, says he can never truly be happy living the lie of being Vincent Towers, while we see photographs of Clay/Vincent seemingly living an extremely happy life: society says white men simply belong at the top more than Black men do, but, if the roles could be reversed, the latter would slot in seamlessly. Maybe??? Of all the movies in this collection, this is the one I'd most want to read an essay on (followed by Swoon).
The Last Seduction (dnrw) No, no, no, I am not rewataching this piece of shit movie.
Brick (rw) Here's my weird contention: Brick is in color and in widescreen, but, besides that? There's nothing neo- about this noir. There's no swearing except "hell." (I always thought Tug said "goddamn" at one point but, no, he's calling The Pin "gothed-up.") There's a lot of discussion of sex, but always through implication, and the only deleted scene is the one that removed ambiguity about what Brendan and Laura get up to after kissing. There's nothing postmodern or subversive - yes, the hook is it's set in high school, but the big twist is that it takes this very seriously. It mines it for jokes, yes, but the drama is authentic. In fact, making the gumshoe a high school student, his jadedness an obvious front, still too young to be as hard as he tries to be, just makes the drama hit harder. Sam Spade if Sam Spade were allowed to cry. I've always found it an interesting counterpoint to The Good German, a movie that fastidiously mimics the aesthetics of classic noir - down to even using period-appropriate sound recording - but is wholly neo- in construction. Brick could get approved by the Hays Code. Its vibe, its plot about a detective playing a bunch of criminals against each other, even its slang ("bulls," "yegg," "flopped") are all taken directly from Hammett. It's not even stealing from noir, it's stealing from what noir stole from! It's a perfect curtain call for the collection: the final film is both the most contemporary and the most classic. It's also - but for the strong case you could make for Night Moves - the best movie on the list. It's even more appropriate for me, personally: this was where it all started for me and noir. I saw this in theaters when it came out and loved it. It was probably my favorite movie for some time. It gave me a taste for pulpy crime movies which I only, years later, realized were neo-noir. This is why I looked into Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang and In Bruges. I've seen it more times than any film on this list, by a factor of at least 3. It's why I will always adore Rian Johnson and Joseph Gordon-Levitt. It's the best-looking half-million-dollar movie I've ever seen. (Indie filmmakers, take fucking notes.) I even did a script analysis of this, and, yes, it follows the formula, but so tightly and with so much style. Did you notice that he says several of the sequence tensions out loud? ("I just want to find her." "Show of hands.") I notice new things each time I see it - this time it was how "brushing Brendan's hair out of his face" is Em's move, making him look more like he does in the flashback, and how Laura does the same to him as she's seducing him, in the moment when he misses Em the hardest. It isn't perfect. It's recreated noir so faithfully that the Innocent Girl dies, the Femme Fatale uses intimacy as a weapon, and none of the women ever appear in a scene together. 1940's gender politics maybe don't need to be revisited. They say be critical of the media you love, and it applies here most of all: it is a real criticism of something I love immensely.
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blackbat05 · 3 years
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You don’t like me when I’m angry (part 2)
Shangqi x Reader
A/N: Part 2 of <You don’t like me when I’m angry> Characters that I came up with are fictional and are not related to real people! I hope the flow is good as well! Did get some ideas from this webtoon, <Unholy Blood> that I was reading and I thought, hey why not right? Again, please enjoy! Hope it did not disappoint🙇🏽‍♀️
Genre: PG 13
Warnings: Maybe just watch out for a bit of detailed descriptions of injuries and the fighting. I tried to insert some themes like coping methods because honestly a superhero life isn’t all unicorns and rainbows - especially when most of them have morals.
‘When all this is over, I’m going to kill you!’ I scream over the bullets that were flying over our heads as we ducked behind the walls for cover. 
‘Why me? It was Katy’s idea!’ Shangqi retorts back, clearly feeling the injustice from the death stare. ‘Ok fine! Kill me all you want after this but we have a big furry problem on hand?’ He takes another shot at the group of henchmen with the rings he had inherited from his father. I slowly loose my vision, as the iris in my eyes turned orange. 
Shangqi sees you transforming into your alter ego and if you weren’t feeling murderous towards the mob boss, it was probably the most beautiful thing he saw. Skin ablaze, he wonders if that was the reason for your high tolerance in general. Meanwhile, more henchmen poured into the tiny hallway like cockroaches. Clearly he and Katy did not think about this in their plan - just how many of them were they?
‘I’ll cover you! Get to Gor before he kills the ambassdor’s family!’ He takes a deep breath, focusing all his energy on the rings to give the strongest blast he could. That was the signal. Breaking out into a sprint, I flew across the bodies that were stacked against each other before coming to a stop at the staircase where Katy was with the ambassador’s wife and child who were both inconsolable 
‘Gor’s got the older kid!’ Katy yelled over the siren from outside. Shit. The police were here. ‘Get them out and help Shangqi, I’ll meet you guys as soon as I can!’ Heck with property damage, a kid’s life was at stake. Charging up as much energy as I could, I broke through the wooden celling, arriving at the rooftop in record time to see Gor dragging the poor kid by the collar. 
‘Stop where you are RIGHT NOW!’ I threw a fireball at his shoulder as a warning. The werewolf stops, turning around menacingly to face me. ‘Let the kid go, they have nothing to do with this.’ 
Minus the kid’s sobbing, the atmosphere was deadly quiet. I didn’t dare to move from my spot least it triggered him. ‘Look, whatever you want, I’m pretty sure the ambassador has it,’ I tried a last ditch attempt reasoning with him, voice strangled in fear. ‘So please, I can stay with you until he gets here. Let the kid go.’ Why I was reasoning with a bloodthirsty werewolf, I had no idea myself.
‘You Avengers…’ Blood was dripping from his fangs. ‘Always so noble. But you see, do you really think that money was all I wanted?’ He pushes the kid over the ledge, cutting their right arm in the process. 
‘NO!’ I ran towards the edge, thinking of the worst. I think of Katy’s words back in the sanctum. More like the Avengers causing an international incident. Instead I see Shangqi carrying the confused kid who was covered in foam - from one of Katy’s trick arrows. The ‘chains’ are no longer holding me back. Gor laughs behind me. Now he’s really done it. 
‘I don’t know why you think this is funny,’ both my fists turned into fire. ‘But that’s ok. I’ll wipe that smirk of your face myself.’ 
The werewolf crazed look tells me that Gor is long gone together with the concept of reality. ‘You should have seen them... ha! The screaming men, women and children... their young blood doesn’t fail to disappoint...’ 
My fist came into contact with his jaw, breaking a few bones along the way. The large figure flies back and slams into the entrance of the staircase. Not giving him a chance to react, my arm replicates a sword on fire. ‘You... you killed children... innocent lives and FOR WHAT!’ I felt my body temperature going past the normal range, heart about to beat out of my chest. ‘I’m going to make you feel what they felt.’ 
Plunging the sword into his chest, the werewolf thrashed around violently, howling in pain. Screams echoing around me, it only made me dig the sword in deeper. ‘You won’t die, you’ll just experience what you did to them but ten times worse. I told you. You won’t like me when I’m angry G-’
‘(Y/N)!’ 
I wanted to stop but this odd thrill told me to continue. Shangqi places a hand on what used to be my forearm, bringing me back to my senses. ‘He killed children.’ My voice came out in nothing more of a whisper. ‘HE KILLED CHILDREN FOR SPORT!’ My rage about to hit the roof.
‘I know and I’ll probably roast him alive if I could too,’ he makes an attempt to soothe my anger. ‘But we’re done here. Please don’t do anything you’ll regret. Please.’ My vision slowly returns to normal as I look into his brown ones, removing the sword from the half conscious Gor. I signaled for Shangqi to give me a few more seconds as I bent down to Gor’s eye level. 
‘Remember my face. Remember my name. Because you won’t like me when I’m angry.’ 
I allowed myself to be led away by Shangqi as the cops started to storm the building. ‘Remind me to never get on your bad side. Like ever.’ He gives me a small smile.
We made our way down to meet Katy at the back alley. ‘I can never get angry at you Shangqi in case if you haven’t noticed yet.’ I put my hood up, walking into the open. ‘Katy on the other hand...’ 
‘THE HELL IS THE MATTER WITH BOTH OF YOU?’ She jabs her finger into my arm. ‘I have to take care of one reckless idiot already I don’t need another one.’ As if forgetting that she was mad at me a few seconds earlier, she launches herself into me, giving me a bear hug. ‘Please don’t do that again,’ she mutters into my shoulder as I patted her head, looking at Shangqi quizzically. Just go along with it, he mouths.
On queue, the golden portal opens with Wong waiting on the other side. He takes a moment to register our disheveled appearances, including the bloodstains on my face.
‘Please just ask the spider kid to do it next time,’ Katy dumps her gear unceremoniously onto the sofa. ‘Nearly tore my ligament trying to fight Gor’s right hand man.’ Again, Wong doesn’t say anything, staring at me as I focused on my hands.
He’s going to tell me I shouldn’t have lost my cool. The gravity of the situation finally had set in. Great, I won’t be able to go on missions with Shangqi and Katy next time. Maybe I should tell- Shangqi’s hands quietly wraps around mine, somehow knowing the chaos that was happening in my brain.
‘Right,’ Wong coughs, breaking the silence. ‘Go home, get some rest, see you back here tomorrow morning.’ The two were about to retort back, but quickly clamped their mouths shut when they saw Wong’s expression. It wasn’t open for negotiation. He creates two separate portals, one for Katy and Shangqi each.
‘(Y/n), a word please.’ Shangqi grips my hand, as if asking if I wanted him to stay. ‘It’s ok, go back and get some rest. I won’t be long.’ He hesitates for a moment, before going back home. ‘Call me.’ And the portal closes.
‘I saw what happened today.’ My eyes widened in surprise. Crap, there was no escaping this one. I bowed my head in shame, ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have lose my cool. It was completely unprofessional of me but please don’t take me off missions with Katy and Shangqi.’
‘Take you off?’ Wong starts to chuckle to my bewilderment. ‘No (y/n), no one is taking you off anything. Maybe you should have kept your anger in check, but no one under your circumstances could have kept their cool. Just take a look at Strange.’ I unknowingly let out a snort.
‘What I do want to tell you is that if you have anything… even if you don’t wish to tell me, you have Shangqi and Katy. Good communication is essential for good teamwork.’
Wong was right. Whatever demons that I had inside of me, I projected them onto Shangqi. Given my abilities, it’s downright dangerous. Who knows what would have happened if he didn’t manage to defuse the situation as quickly as he did. I could have killed him and maybe everyone around the vicinity too.
Wong starts to create a portal back to home. ‘I shall not hold you back any longer (y/n), get some rest and good luck.’ I stepped into the portal, taking a deep breath to prepare myself for what I’m about to do next.
‘(Y/n)! Are you alright?’ Shangqi gets up from his bed while Katy snaps out of her trance. ‘What did Wong ask you? Don’t tell me he chewed you out for what you did back there?’ The questions came in a flurry. I look at their anxious faces, confident that my decision was the right choice.
‘No he didn’t, it’s all good. But maybe I just want to tell you guys something that I’ve been waiting to tell for a while.’
No doubt, it was going to be a long night. But rather than running away from today’s situation, I knew that I had to face it head on. And if it was of any comfort, one thing that I was sure about -
Is that I would never be alone.
A/N: Hoho~ part 2 is done! I have no idea what is that ending but it was the first thing that came to my mind so…😅 I think the whole premise of this two part story is essentially a reminder not to keep things to myself and know that there are loved ones who are supporting and cheering me on. And I don’t know… I think it’s something we could all use in this day and age! Again, thanks for reading both parts and please like and comment if you wish!🥰 More content and possibly different characters will be coming your way soon!
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themaribatpit · 3 years
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Jasonette July Day 20: Then Perish
Written by: The Maribat Pit @jasonette-july-event​ Prompt: Then Perish (Part 1) Rating: M (violence, minor character deaths) A/N: We wanted to finish Jasonette July with a bang.  The second half will be posted tomorrow for the Saturday Challenge.  We’ve appreciated all your comments and kind words, we really do read every one. It genuinely means a lot to us and encourages us to continue writing together.  As a fandom you have been nothing but kind and supportive, and we enjoy bringing you fics great and small with a wide variety of genres, dynamics, and iterations.  Also blame DC fanboy for the memes in this fic. Marinette loved to travel, she had traveled all over the world from New York to Shanghai. Today, she traveled with her parents to Gotham City to visit her parents' friends, whom they had not seen in many years. Sabine was initially afraid to visit Gotham City, due to its crime rate and ever-growing list of criminals. Tom reassured his wife, saying that his big stature would scare any would-be criminal from harming them, that the trip would be short and they would visit Metropolis afterwards. Marinette wore the Ladybug Miraculous, just in case something were to happen. As the family got off the taxi at Park Row, everyone felt something was off. "Park Row really has...changed." Thomas muttered. Sabine held on to both her husband and her daughter, "I think we should leave." she said. Soon shadows began appearing around the corner, then came the yelling, and soon after came the gunshots. Thomas grabbed his wife and daughter and ran to find shelter from a hail of bullets. Marinette looked back to see many civilians, men, women and children caught in the middle of this gang war.  She needed to be a hero, her father could take care of her mother, she needed to save those in danger. She freed herself from her father's grasp and ran behind a corner, she whispered "spots on" and transformed into Ladybug. Diving and flipping across streaking bullets everywhere, she flung her yo-yo to drag any unfortunate bystanders into an abandoned building. While in a building with innocent civilians, she peeked her head out the window to see a monstrous man.  Wearing a blood red helmet and wielding two pistols, he systematically killed everyone before him. His flips and kicks were graceful yet brutal, the cries of pain and pleas for mercy made her shudder. She couldn't fight him, no, she was afraid to. It would be best to find her family, she did all she could and got bystanders to safety. She quietly transformed back into Marinette and went to look for her family. She ran back to where she last saw them, she scoured the streets shouting "Maman! Papa!" hoping that using her French would help her parents find and identify her. She soon ran into the Red Beast, as she began to turn and run back before she saw the two people at his feet. “<No, no no no, please god no.>” she whispered to herself, tears building in her eyes. There lay her parents, in a pool of their blood with bullet holes between their eyes. Marinette dropped to her knees, silently crying. The Red Hood either didn't see her, or chose to spare her and decided to walk away. Marinette ran to her parents, grabbing them both and shaking them. "<Don’t leave me, please don’t leave me>” she wept. Later, she was picked up by the GCPD. They escorted her on the flight back to Paris along with the remains of her parents. When she arrived, she was approached by the Aide Sociale à L'enfance (ASE).  They told her that she'll be staying at a nearby orphanage until after her parents' funeral. Then she would then be sent off to live with her only remaining relative, her Great-Uncle Wang in Shanghai. On the night before the funeral, Marinette was unable to sleep.  She curled her legs to her chest while she sat on the mattress.  She has spent the past few days researching the mysterious Red Hood, crime boss and self-proclaimed Prince of Gotham.  She read article after article of his meteoric rise to power, first conquering Black Mask, then The Penguin. Nightmares plagued her whenever she closed her eyes, she saw the Red Hood tower over her parent's lifeless bodies, covered in their blood. She was worried about being sent off to a foreign country tomorrow evening, while barely even speaking any Mandarin. All the while knowing that once she is on that flight to Shanghai, her parent's killer would without a doubt walk free. Morning comes, yet Marinette still thinks of what she should do. Could she really go to Shanghai to start her life anew, not knowing the language and allowing her parents’ killer to go on unpunished? At the funeral, while standing over her parents’ graves, she remained silent. The priest, ASE agents and her friends all came to pay their respects. Each of her friends approached her to give their sympathies, but she did not listen to a word they said. The Red Hood weighed heavily on her mind, and she made her fateful decision. To run, run and never look back. She had prepared a backpack containing the Miracle box with all the Miraculous, along with a few essential supplies and money. She turned into Multimouse to sneak on board a passenger aircraft to make her way to Gotham City.  Jason knew, better than Batman, that fighting crime sometimes meant getting your hands dirty.  What started as a petty squabble between two rival gangs grew into a bloodbath.  He missed Roy at times like these, Artemis and Bizarro were still missing, but he held out hope that they would one day return to this Earth. A teenage girl with an impressively sturdy yo-yo had burst onto the scene, trying to get civilians to safety.  He was a bit too preoccupied with the battle to get a good look at the girl.  Knowing Bruce, the next time he’d see her, she’d be under his wing.  Sadly, there were two civilians that neither of them could save, a large, burly looking man and a tiny woman.  The person who shot them with frightening accuracy had got away, moments later a teenage girl had arrived on the scene.  There was a brief flash of fear in her eyes when she saw him, and she would have just scurried away if only he hadn’t been at the very spot where her parents lay dead.  The girl was inconsolable as she fell to her knees and wept, pleading with them in French.  Red Hood walked away, thinking it would be best to leave her to grieve.  There wasn’t a whole lot he could say in English that would make her feel any better, never mind in French. He watched from a distance as the GCPD arrived to pick up the pieces, Red Hood watched from the shadows as police officers and an interpreter tried to get the girl’s side of the story.  From what he gathered, the girl’s name was Marinette Dupain-Cheng and her family owned a bakery in Paris.  Her next of kin was a relative in Shanghai, and it sounded like the best option for her would be to go and live there.   The plan was to ship her and her parents’ bodies back to Paris, and let child services take it from there.  He would have probably told her to get as far away from Gotham as possible, away from the clutches of a certain someone who was also orphaned in Crime Alley.  He saw her cradle what looked like a small pink doll to her face as she wept, before he turned and walked away. A week later, Jason had a break in the case.  This was all caused by some low-level members of the Falcone and Maroni families continuing their decades-old battle.  As far as everyone knew, the crime families swiftly executed the men responsible and went about their business.  Two crime families were unable to keep their lackeys in check, and now the people who weren’t lucky enough to be whisked away by Yo-Yo Girl, were now either dead or wishing they were.   He thought back to poor little Marinette, wondering where she was now. Bruce confronted him at the Iceberg lounge shortly after the incident, to which Jason explained that the perp had got away.   He had killed people before, and that wasn’t stopping anytime soon, after all it wasn’t that long ago that he tried to kill the Penguin.  “This may surprise you Bruce, but the Red Hood isn’t the only one who uses guns in Gotham '' he snapped.  There were some lines that even he did not cross, lines that he had drawn for himself. Judging by the accuracy of the gunshots, this was no accident.  Their daughter was probably starting a new life, probably on the other side of the world.  Still, he wished he could have said something to the girl, a simple “Hey, it’s gonna be all right” probably would have sufficed.  Little did he know that Marinette was making her return to Gotham City.  She would have her revenge on the Red Hood, and this time she had nothing to fear and nothing to lose. After her very uncomfortable 10 hour flight from Paris to Gotham City in the cargo hold, Multimouse quietly sneaked out of the crowded airport without alerting anyone. Marinette wandered around Chinatown, thinking of her next step. She was thinking about how she would have to go through the city with a fine tooth comb to search for a lead, likely starting small with his men in the streets.  Before she could put the earrings back in her backpack, Tikki begged her to reconsider what she was doing.  “Please Marinette, you need time to heal, to grieve,” she pleaded, but Marinette didn’t need the powers of healing, luck and creation. If and when she encountered the Red Hood, she wanted to bring him death, misfortune and destruction.  After all, that was exactly what he had brought her.  With a stroke of luck, she overheard someone getting a beatdown.  "You get your ass outta here, this is Red Hood's turf. If you wanna sell that shit, you gotta give the boss his cut."  Marinette whispered "Plagg, claws out" and transformed into Lady Noire, before sneaking up behind one of the Red Hood’s men. He released the person he was beating, and chased him out the alleyway.  She took this opportunity to swing her staff,  hitting the back of his neck and sending him face first into the ground. He immediately tried to stand up, as he stood on wobbly legs he took out his knife from his jacket. "Oh shit, Catwoman?!" he yelled. Lady Noire used her staff to sweep him off his feet and slammed her staff onto his face.  "Where is the Red Hood?" she growled.  "Screw you bitch!" the goon retorted. Lady Noire had a feeling that he wouldn’t tell her the location of the Red Hood, so she decided to try a different approach. "Fine then, why don't you give your boss this simple message…" Before she could finish her sentence, she heard the telltale click of a gun being loaded. She turned around and started spinning her staff, creating a grey shield to deflect the storm of bullets that were being fired at her.  She moved her hands at a rapid pace, and frantically pushed back against the hail of bullets.  As the bullet storm subsided she looked up and saw, up on the fire escape, was the Red Hood with an assault rifle. The Red Hood casually tossed his gun aside and asked "So, what's this message you have for me, Catwoman?" He gracefully did a forward flip and landed in a crouch.  "Wait a minute..." he said, the first thing he noticed was that this person was tiny, 4’11 or maybe 5’ on a good day. Her eyes were a bright acid green with dark slits like a real cat’s pupils.  "You're not Catwoman, you're too short to be her, for one thing.” he remarked “also she usually has a whip instead of a staff, who are you?" Lady Noire gritted her teeth, "You killed my family" she answered with a low growl. "Do you have the slightest idea how little that narrows it down Kitten?" Red Hood's taunts made her snap.  She screamed "YOU TOOK EVERYTHING FROM ME!" The Red Hood stared at her, as he crossed his arms.  "I don't even know who you are, what's your beef with me?" He asked, Lady Noire lunged at the Red Hood with her staff, she swung wildly to try and hit him.  He dodged most of her strikes with ease, “Is that the best you’ve got?  You’re gonna have to try harder than that.”  Where she might have lacked in skill, she made up for in determination.  She wasn’t pulling any punches, he had to give her that.  He caught the staff under his arm, and punched Lady Noire with his free arm.  As he went on the offensive, he slapped her staff aside, and came at her with a series of punches and kicks.   “So, what do you want Kitten? Money? Jewels? A very big ball of string?”  he joked.  “All I want is revenge,” she spluttered. “Get in line Kitten, you’re in the city that runs on vengeance” he retorted. Marinette was lucky that the suit gave her enhanced speed, strength and endurance. She always loved how the Lady Noire suit felt a lot lighter compared to the Ladybug suit. Though she shuddered to imagine what her opponent would do with this power.    He raised his leg to end his combination with a forceful downward kick, Lady Noire raised her staff up to a horizontal block to stop the kick. Upon contact with the kick, the staff split into two, and then Lady Noire launched into her counter attack. She was striking the Red Hood with a flurry of blows with both halves of her staff.  "Escrima sticks too? Looks like we have a Nightwing fan here” he smirked under the mask; this new girl was just full of surprises.  He brought his arms to the sides of his head in a defensive posture, blocking the onslaught of strikes from the escrima sticks.  Red Hood then grabbed Lady Noire by the back of her head, placing her in a Thai clinch. He launched a powerful knee to her face and sent her reeling back. He drew his pistols and fired a torrent of bullets at her. Lady Noire had to dodge, weave and use her staff to deflect incoming bullets. One bullet even grazed her cheek. She then pointed her staff at the Red Hood and extended it with so much force it slammed him against the wall of a nearby building. Without giving him any breathing room, she then retracted the staff. She launched herself towards him and then dropkicked his face straight into the wall. His helmet cracked against the tremendous pressure. "It's now or never” she thought, as she cast Cataclysm and swiped at one half of the Red Hood’s helmet. She saw the helmet dissolve and reveal the target beneath.  She noticed that underneath the helmet he wore a red domino mask, not unlike the one she usually wore.  She would have time to think about how overly dramatic that was later, as she used her other hand to pick up the knife on the ground that the other goon left behind.  She jumped on top of the Red Hood, “Now perish!” she cried out as she thrusted the blade towards the exposed part of his face. Red Hood recovered quickly and caught her hand holding the blade. As the two struggled for the knife, Lady Noire tried to swipe at him with Cataclysm again.  Suddenly, she felt the power of 50,000 volts coursing through her, as the Red Hood activated the taser hidden in his chest piece.  She powered through, running purely on anger, grief and adrenaline. She was only able to struggle for about a minute, before passing out from the pain.  Red Hood flipped Lady Noire’s unconscious body aside, before he took off his helmet to inspect the damage. "The hell?." he pondered, "So, indestructible staff that can do double duty as a shield, and the ability to disintegrate things with one touch. Let's find out who you really are."  He slowly stood up and looked down at her unconscious body. He tried to peel away her domino mask, yet it would not come off. He tugged on the mask, even to the point of lifting the unconscious girl off the ground. He released the mask, and let the body drop with a small thud.  The Red Hood began talking to himself "She either superglued the mask on or it’s something else. Considering all that she can do, I'd say 80% chance it's magic and 20% a lantern. Either way a 100% pain in my ass".  He heard a small beeping noise and gingerly lifted her hand up off the floor.  As it emitted black and green energy, he noticed that she had a ring on.  The beeping came from a small picture of a paw print, which was missing a few pads.  If she was a lantern, that ring was going to run out of charge any moment now.  He took out his phone and called the Iceberg Lounge. He requested that they send for a van to pick him up and his new guest.   He requested that the Su Sisters get her cleaned up and ready. He needed to find out who sent her and who she worked for. He took out the special handcuffs that Batman designed when dealing with metahumans. As he walked towards Lady Noire about to cuff her, he heard some more beeping, followed by a bright light surrounding her.  Her suit and mask disappeared, leaving behind a small girl in pastel pink clothes who was probably no older than 15 or 16.  Her long braid changed back into a couple of shoulder-length pigtails, and she had a pink backpack on her back.  Jason looked inside the bag, there were a few sets of clothes, a wallet and an antique Chinese jewelry box.  He wondered if that ring was just one of many tools in her arsenal.  Jason's eyes widened, he recognised her as the girl he saw a few weeks ago when the turf war in Crime Alley broke out.  "What’s she doing here?" he said to himself aloud, “ Idiot” he muttered. He remembered following the girl and her GCPD escort to make sure she boarded her flight back to Paris.  She was supposed to be with her remaining family. Yet she came back to, no, ran away to Gotham City.  All for revenge.  He checked her wallet and saw the name printed on it, he sighed, this just confirmed that she was the same girl. When she had her revenge, what would she do then?  He wasn’t the undisputed master of thinking things through, but even he thought she was a fool to come back here.  Gotham City didn’t have the best track record dealing with orphans.  He knew this from personal experience, but there was that time where many were rounded up and sent upstate to juvie, for the crime of trying to survive on the streets.  He would have been in the same position, had it not been for his own fateful encounter in Crime Alley. He shuddered to think what her other option would be in a place like Gotham City, becoming a Robin.  Part of the reason he wanted her out of Gotham was so that Bruce wouldn’t get any ideas about taking her in.  When the car arrived, he scooped up the girl in his arms and carried her towards it.  Marinette woke up with her heart beating frantically in her chest, the first thing she saw was a bright light.  She was dead, she had to be, the last thing she remembered was confronting the Red Hood and now he had killed her.  She slowly sat up, she looked down to find that someone had changed her clothes, she was wearing light blue pajamas.  She started to look around, to her left there was a large floor to ceiling window where she could see a city at night with bright twinkling lights.  On the table next to her was the Miracle box, she quickly grabbed the box and looked through it. She gave a sigh of relief when she saw that all the Miraculous she brought with her were still there.   Suddenly, Marinette heard someone clear their throat.  At the foot of the bed, stood a rather large woman who had a bundle of clothes in her hand.  Next to her was a blonde woman with pink highlights who had a tray of food. “Oh good, you’re finally awake” the large woman said gruffly, she set the clothes down on the edge of the bed.  The blonde girl set a tea tray down in front of her, along with a couple of pastries.  Marinette’s heart sank at the sight of the croissants, they reminded her of her parents and their bakery. “Eat up and get dressed, the boss wants to see you later” the blonde woman told her, before skipping to the larger woman’s side.  Just as the two were about to leave, Marinette piped up, “Um, where am I?” she asked, “Who is your boss?” “You’re in the Iceberg Lounge in Gotham City”, the large woman told her gruffly.  “The name’s Suzie, this is one of my sisters, Candy. Our boss is the owner.”  Marinette gave an awkward wave as they left, and Candy returned it with a more cheerful one.    She took a bite out of the croissant, it tasted cold and dry. However, if she was going to defeat the Red Hood, she’d need all her strength. She put Plagg’s ring back in the box and reached for Ladybug’s earrings; she needed a new tactic.  When Tikki appeared in front of her, she also quickly looked around the room before looking back at Marinette with a concerned look on her face. “I couldn’t do it,” Marinette explained “he managed to stop me and I ended up back here”. Tikki’s eyes were sympathetic as Marinette held her closer to her face, “Are you sure you still want to go through with this?” Tikki asked.  “For now, I have to get changed and go upstairs to meet the boss.  Maybe he’s the one who found me after the fight was over” Marinette theorized as she gave Tikki the cookie from the tray.  While Tikki quietly nibbled at it, Marinette stood up and walked over to the edge of the bed.  Inside the small bundle of clothes were a simple white blouse and black skirt. They were a little big, she would probably hem it if she had her sewing machine.    Moments later, a tall woman with dark hair led Marinette into the penthouse, a large room with a desk in the corner.   A tall man in a suit stood with his back towards the door, overlooking the sparkling city skyline.  She slowly stepped inside, looking around the room as she walked towards the man.  “Um hi, who are you?” Marinette asked as she apprehensively walked towards him.  She couldn’t help but feel small in that grand high-ceiling room. “I am the owner of the Iceberg Lounge,” he explained. “I guess the question I should be asking is…” he turned towards her and Marinette saw he had a domino mask over his eyes and a red half mask covering his nose and mouth, “who are you?” He threw something at her and she caught it.  She looked down and saw the Red Hood’s helmet, half of it looked as though someone tried to tear the metal open.  Then she remembered everything she had researched about the Red Hood, and the fight that took place not long after she arrived back in Gotham. “You…” she hissed. To be continued...
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rsgguk · 3 years
Text
true love, almost always — jjk
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↳ aka — 'cause baby you're perfect for me
summary: y/n didn't know much about her soulmate. She knows that he's artistic from the little doodles that appears on her arm. She knows he's athletic from the scrapes that appears on her knees. She also knows that he has pain in the ass friends from the random dick drawings that appears on her forehead
genre: romance, angst, comedy, fluff
word count: 5.8 k
pairings:
Jungkook + reader | soulmates
warnings: so let me tell you, this is probably gonna be a bit inconsistent, I had written most of this during the middle of the night when I had a severe case of the feels. Now this isn't my usual style of writing, most things are in passive form because I'm trying to focus more on how they feel. I’m not sure if I’ll ever go back to this writing style but I had fun generally not worrying on the dialogue.
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Y/n didn't know much about her soulmate. In a system where everything marked on your soulmates skin crosses on yours, she knows from the seemingly many doodles that appears on the plan of her hand that he is an artistic person. She knows from the way her knees would appear scraped at times meant that he was either athletic or desperately clumsy. She knows that by the scar that daunted on her cheek that he got in a ’fight’ with his brother. She also knows from the random dick drawings that appear on her forehead that he has the most chaotic of friends.
Jungkook would like to say he knew a lot about his soulmate. He knows by the way tiny little hearts would appear near his doodles that she wasn't the most artsy person in the world, but she could draw a damn to near perfect heart. He knows by the way that small little freckles would gloss over his skin that she was an outgoing person. He knows by the way that shallow cuts would appear on his arms and fingers that she had an asshole cat. He also knows that by the way tiny reminders would appear on his palm that she had a knack for forgetting things (he also knows that her handwriting might be the cutest thing he'd ever seen, but he may be a little biased).
They're sober to the fact that the other exist by the time they're 11. Jungkook was bored in class and started drawing little clouds, trees, the sun with shades on, the whole package on his arm. And then on the expanse of his palm would appear in large curvy letters, 'can you draw a cat?'.
He thinks back to the day and guesses that he didn't really understand the extremity of the situation back then. Everyone had a soulmate, but it was the first time he'd actually 'talked' to his.
He didn't gasp or scream or shed a tear, only complying with her request and drawing a cute little cat next the tree trunk. He'd think he was hallucinating about the request until he watched as a ribbon was drawn and coloured in the middle of the cat's head.
The next week, he would have a fight with his brother that had ended in him getting a cut on his cheek. He doesn’t worry about it, only locking himself in his room and sulking in his sheets. It’s when a few words appeared on his palm that he finally sat up with a smile on his lips. She would write down if he was okay because a cut had appeared on her cheek.
‘I’m sorry’ he’d write.
‘it’s okay my daddy said I look cool’ she would reply, and his cheeks would flush because his mom had always said that a woman’s face was her pride. Jungkook had never understood it back then, because if he could be covered in dirt after a fun game of soccer, and still be called adorable, why should it matter what a girl’s face looked like?
She’d ask what happened and Jungkook would bite down an embarrassed whine. ’My brother said I played with the computer too much so I threw a pen at him’.
‘did you win?’ She’d ask a second later.
’No it hit the floor and bounced to my face’.
‘and then he laughed at me’
‘your brother sounds stupid’
‘he is stupid’
They didn't talk more than that, they were still young and the whole soulmates thing hadn't made sense yet. Jungkook still drew his doodles on his arm and she'd add little details (mostly hearts) around them, a tiny reminder that she was there.
It was barely considered a means of communication but it had morphed into a sense of comfort for Jungkook. He draws the little doodles, sometimes it was of a cat (He would never admit it but he'd learn how to draw a cat because he knew she liked cats). And each time without fail, she'd draw a tiny ribbon on its head.
And then Jungkook entered high-school and he met his friends. His stupid, chaotic, love them to death friends and his soul mate was still there, drawing little heart across his skin. The boys say its cheesy (as cheesy as it is to the fact that she's literally his soul mate) but he really hadn't given a shit.
He'd considered himself a romantic throughout the years, although he's gotten not a single bit of experience, he cries at the ending of titanic every single time and his ideal way of proposal is during the sunset walking across the shoreline of the beach, nightlights littered in the scenery and him on one knee, asking to marry his one and only soulmate.
He tries his best to keep up a mature kind of facade for his soul mate. Afterall, that was what they were into right? Older and more mature men. Sure, they'd like bad boys too, but honestly Jungkook bruises like a peach. His act of maturity consists of drawing thing with 'deeper meaning'. And yes, maybe a cat surfing on the beach tides has a deeper meaning, you never know.
His act is ruined when one day, he falls asleep during lunch after a long night of overwatch (in which he dominated by the way) and wakes up to Taehyung snickering beside him, looking at him with the largest shit eating grin he’d ever seen. Jungkook would shake his head and roll his eyes, dismissing whatever it was that he did.
Later during class, everyone kept giving him weird looks, and his teacher even laughed at the sight of him. It wasn’t until multiple frowney faces appeared on his arm that he really realized that something was wrong. His heart skipped a beat when he answered back with question marks written along her doodles.
‘there’s a dick drawing on my forehead :(’ she’d rely with the same curvy letters he’d gotten used to. And then there was a sound that had left his mouth. A mix between an angry scream and a surprised gasp with a little bit of an embarrassed groan. He’d then realize he was still in the middle of class and that every one of his classmates were staring at him.
His teacher would give him some sort of look between annoyed and amused, and finally asks ’so you finally realized huh?’. Jungkook would splutter on his words and immediately turn towards Jimin and Taehyung. It was barely a second before Jimin had shook his head and pointed at Taehyung. He would finally lift his hand off his mouth and bursts out laughing for a minute or two before outright choking, tears in his eyes.
That day, Jungkook along with Taehyung and (for some reason) Jimin would be sent to the discipline teacher. Jungkook wouldn’t give a shit about being sent to devil’s incarnate, only silently punching Taehyung’s shoulder and cussing it out at him for making him look like a fool to his soulmate.
When he’s home (after a lecture from his mom, a pat on the back from his dad and a high five from his brother), he locks himself in his bedroom and takes a pen from his bag, writing apologies all over his arm. She’d reply a minute later, saying it was okay.
His fingers would then drum along his arm, his leg jumping up and down, trying to figure out what else to say to her. He’d get up the courage and ask her what was her name. She’d respond with y/n and he’d have a smile riding up his lips, saying her name again and again, realizing that he loved how it felt to say her name.
Then the two of them would keep talking to each other, Jungkook constantly rolling up his sleeve to make some room for more words. They would spend the whole night getting to know each other and filling up a whole decade of silence. When they had run out of room to write, she would go on and ask for his number so they could text instead, and Jungkook would get up to his feet, jumping up and down on his heels. He wouldn’t waste a second to write down his number on the little space he had left.
The next day, he had woken up with an especially good mood. An extra jump on each of his step, a large grin on his face as if he hadn’t gotten into trouble for having a dick drawn on his forehead just the day before. Taehyung would expect a more than pissed of Jungkook, maybe a little bit of pettiness in the mix, but Jungkook shows nothing but adoration for him, even going as far as to buy him the apple juice he knows he loves from the convenience store nearby.
Texting her falls so easily in his routine. One second, he’s hesitant to text her, afraid to show her just how much of a dumbass he could be, another second, he’s called her the fifth time in a day because he swears a baby just gave him a nasty look. They connect quickly. She finds out the reason she suddenly gets eye bags after a full night’s sleep with because her idiot soulmate had spent the whole night screaming at wario for cheating at Mario kart.
Taehyung says it’s sickening to see just how lovey dovey Jungkook was (Jimin says it’s nice to see him so in love, but they both knew he secretly hated it too). The way his eyes light up at the sight of her name appearing on his screen.
He gets in trouble more nowadays though, teachers having caught him talking to his soulmate on his arm, and the most embarrassing time they read out his not-so-failed attempts of flirting off his arm to the whole class. Let’s just say he’d gotten teased for the life of him when it reached his brother’s ears (though he supposes his brother isn’t any better when he would literally be a make shift carpet if his soulmate asked for it). The Jeon boys treat their women like proper queens and won’t settle for anything less.
The first time they video call, Jungkook has fixed his hair for the hundredths time, a comfortable (and new that he bought just for this occasion) sweatshirt hung loosely on his shoulders. She’d asked if it was okay if they could do a video call the day before and Jungkook being as whipped as he was, of course agreed with her, only regretting not to be the one who asked first.
He’s so tense that when his phone starts ringing, he nearly chucks it off to the wall. He forces himself to calm down before setting it up on the table and pressing the green button after taking a deep breath. He looks at the screen and watches as her face appears. His heart almost bursts, because he’s thought of this moment a million times. He’d expect her to be something like a glowing figure, that she’d resemble a star and that her voice would sound like a serenading angel.
She’s nothing like he’d expect. She’s not glowing like an angel. Her camera has bad lighting and he could see a few strands of her hair sticking out. When she says hello, it isn’t like an angel, her voice isn’t smooth, a little raspy. But she still manages to surpass all his expectations, and he realizes she’s so much better than he’d ever imagined. His heart beats faster and faster because she’s only said one word, and Jungkook is already falling for her. She’s not perfect, but she’s perfect for him.
It’s going well, very well. There’s a way that she makes him feel, a way that just brightens up his day, and when they have their video calls and she laughs at one of those lame jokes that he’d gotten from one of his friends, her voice just soothes him, lets him relax into his seat and just watch as her eyes crinkle in joy.
 It starts to become a routine, the video calls are weekly but the texting is daily. Whenever he’s nervous about an upcoming exam, he calls her and just listens to her talk about her day, lets her voice fill his ear and calm his nerves. And then she would get off track and asks why is it that he had called her and he’d brush it off, he called to hear her voice, but he won’t say that because it’s too cheesy and he has a reputation to keep.
It’s during one of his classes that he feels it, a gut wrenching feeling deep in his stomach that has him groaning. It’s a different type of pain, nothing like nausea or a muscle cramp, because he’d always considered himself as a person with a great pain tolerance, but at that moment, he had just felt like curling in a ball and crying. Jimin and Taehyung would take him to the clinic immediately, and he’d just have tears rolling down his cheeks, and he’s sniffling and making these weird choking sounds when he tries to smother down his sobs.
He stays there for a while, the curtains draped closed with Jimin and Taehyung just rubbing his back soothingly. He tries to calm down, but every so and then, a sob bubbles up to his chest and a new wave of tear roll down his cheeks. It stays like that for an hour and the pain in his stomach travels up to his chest. His right arm starts to ache and dizziness starts to seep in his head. He falls asleep in the clinic bed, his whimpers slowing down and his eyes drooping heavily.
When he’s back at home, he doesn’t try to talk to his parents. They’d come visit now and then, giving a few hugs and pats on the back. His brother would come by when Jungkook had calmed down a bit, ruffling his hair and saying ‘it’s going to be okay’. But that’s the thing, there isn’t an ‘it’ to be okay. For all he knew, ‘it’ was all okay, everything was going okay in class, but then there was this rush of emotion that came over him and he’d just double over in pain. There was this burning sensation in his gut, something that hadn’t been building but more of an eruption. And then it would slowly cascade to his chest, and then he’d start crying and crying, choking on his sobs.
He’s in his sheets, listening to the sounds of pans clanging from the downstairs kitchen. His mom was cooking dinner, but he doubted that he’d go down to have some himself. The sound of the washing machine clashing against itself. That old thing was always just waiting to give out. The sound of the TV running from the living room. There was always some sort of game his dad would be watching, cheering on for teams he’d never even heard of. These are all sounds he’d never realized he’d taken comfort into. Such meaningless things that were just always there, a consistency that had always reassured him in some way.
He’d just lays there, listening to his own heartbeat. For the first time in hours, he feels relaxed and his breath relax into a steady pace. His eyes almost drift to sleep, because It's been a long day and Jungkook feels exhausted, but then there’s this loud blaring noise that breaks the silence. He knows what it is, someone had gone up and called him again. It would be the sixth call he’d get from his friends.
Only it turns out that it wasn’t his friends, it wasn’t Jimin, nor Taehyung or even Yoongi. It was her, and it terrified him because he’d always smile at the sight of her name, but there was this raw and intense feeling that had him wanting to decline the call. It terrified him because she’s his soulmate and supposedly the ’love of his life’ but he had wanted nothing more than to hang up the call. And it just stays like that, him wallowing in the fact as his phone had stopped ringing, and then a few seconds pass and her name appears again. His arm would suddenly feel heavy at the weight of the phone in his hand. Slowly, he would finally tap on the green button.
Her voice hits him like a wave. Jungkook doesn’t even have the chance to say anything when her voice starts filling his ears. Her voice is raspy and broken, there’s sniffling and whimpering as she rushes through her words. ’I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry’ she whispers in uneven breathes, and he would have stopped her, to comfort her and ask her why she was crying and that ’it’ was going to be okay. But then there is this sudden realization that hits him that ’it’ wasn’t going to be okay, and he probably wasn’t going to be okay. So, he just sits there as new tears roll down his cheeks.
When she finally speaks, everything just dawns on him. He felt like he was dying because his soulmate had kissed someone, he felt like dying because his soulmate had kissed someone that wasn’t him, he felt like dying because his soulmate’s first kiss wasn’t him, and will never be him. And then all of her other words just go straight through his other ear. He doesn’t hear it when she says that she didn’t want it, or when she says that she didn’t know it was going to happen until it happened, or when she says that she also felt the pain, the suffocating and unrelenting pain, that she also felt like she was dying.
He hears it when she says she loves him.
Jungkook has always one for cheesy romances and tear-jerking speeches. He imagines their first exchanges of ‘I love you’ to be at night, with a sea of stars sunken in the night sky because that was where they would have their first kiss. She would have his jacket that was a little too big for her on her shoulders because the night was breezy and his mom raised him to be a gentle man. Her hands would be in his because she always has cold hands and he always has warm hands.
He would talk about the ‘old times’ like when he had drawn those little cats for her or when he’d waken up to many frowney faces along his arm because his friends yet again drew dicks on his forehead (he should really get some proper sleep). And then he’d try to coax a few tears out of her and end it off with ’I love you’, and because this was Jungkook’s imagination of how things would go, she would also say I love you, and they’d kiss in the night sky.
Jungkook then realizes that nothing he’d imagined will ever go as planned, that they will never have a first kiss, because she’d already had hers with some random asshole, and that they’d never have their first ‘I love you’, because she had already said it through the phone while they were both out of breath and sobbing every drop of tear from their bodies.
He doesn’t realize it, but when he’d finally gotten out of his phase, the call had already ended and his cheeks had become tear stained and his sobs had calmed down to weak whimpers. He realizes that he’d just hung up on her after she’d said she loved him, and he just panics, because she’s going to think he doesn't love her and he should immediately call her and tell her that he loves her, because he does, he loves her like he’d never loved anyone before.
He’d started talking to her in his sophomore years and he was now a senior, and she'd been there in every step of the way. But he just doesn't, he doesn’t tell her he loves her, he doesn’t call her, because he doesn’t trust himself if he does. And she doesn’t call back either.
There are a few times when Jungkook forgets that y/n is his soulmate. He doesn’t know what he’d expect when he doesn’t talk to her in a week. It starts off small. He catches himself dozing off, looking into the distance and zoning out. His friends would ask him if he was okay and he’d reply with ’I’m fine’, even though he knew he wasn't, and that he knew they wouldn’t believe him anyway, because who the hell would be fine yet walk into the classroom with puffy and bloodshot eyes.
And then when class goes on like normal, he’s moving his leg up and down, fingers drumming along the desk, because he swears class had never been this long before. He realizes later that class had always gone on so fast because y/n was always there for him to talk to. He looks back at it as if it had happened years ago, as if he hadn’t talked to her in decades.
The truth is that they haven’t talked in no less than three days, yet he’s been missing her as if he’d gone days without a limb. A piece of him feels missing, torn apart from him and left out to dry. It’s a weird feeling, a suffocating feeling that has him yearning for her, that has him filling his mind with nothing but her. He supposes that was the thing with soulmates, when they were together, it had felt like he was he was over the moon, as if nothing could ever go wrong in his life, but when they were apart, it felt like he was missing a part of himself.
She would nag at him whenever he was bombarding her with doodles on his arm, waiting for her attention so she could drag him from his boredom of class. She’d say ‘you have class’ and he’d say ’I also have a soulmate, and I’d rather pay attention to her’. His friends would tease for it, for flirting and dancing around with her as if it was a game of push and pull, as if she wasn’t his soulmate.
That’s the thing that terrifies him, because as far as he had ever known, having a soulmate was the best feeling in the world. It’s all rainbows and roses, because it had meant that there will always be that one person that just gets you, that just loves you unconditionally for all your flaws and perfections, all your quirks and mishaps. That one person that will always be there for every step of the way. He yearns that, the comfort of knowing there was someone the universe had picked just for him, the missing piece to his puzzle.
And then he meets her, and he realizes just how perfect she is for him.
And then the whole fiasco happens and he realizes just how much it would hurt if he didn’t get his happy ending, because he knows it wasn’t uncommon for soulmates not to work out, usually from the intensity of their emotions for each other.
Having a soulmate had also meant other things. It meant that when you were together, you’d feel the happiest you’d ever be, but if you weren’t, you’d dread every second of your life. You’d feel pain, you’d feel nauseous, you’d feel your body start to crumble. Having a soulmate was almost like a drug, something so addicting that your body starts to dysfunction when you go a day without.
Jungkook still feels it sometimes, when he’s managed to get her out of his mind. There was this sudden jolt of pain that shoot up his chest, causing him to lose focus. And then all he can think about is her, her, her. He wonders if she feels it too, if she misses him too, if she thinks of him too. He realizes how stupid he is, because his phone is right there in front him, and he could end all of this with just one button.
Truth is he’d stopped mulling over the whole kiss thing a while ago, and that he should’ve called her a long time ago, but he was scared, scared of his own emotions, scared of how much he loved her, scared that this whole thing is going to destroy to him.
He wants to talk about this with someone, to anyone, but then it dawns on him that the only person he really wants to talk to about this was his soulmate, and that she was the only person he should be talking to about this. So, he picks up his phone and presses on the name he’d been missing for what felt like decades now.
She answers after no less than a few seconds. She speaks after a second’s hesitation, and her voice is filled with the sort of hope, as if she has done something wrong. Jungkook cuts her off when she starts on her little ramble (a habit he’d learn she had over the years) and apologizes, two words that hits her as hard as a brick. ‘I’m sorry’ he’d say again, and again and again. He says it until he can hear her start crying on the other end of the call. He knows she’s crying in a way that she’s trying to hide it from him, but he’d still hear her weak sniffles and whimpers.
It breaks his heart because he knows he never should’ve hung up on her that day, that he should’ve said that it was never her fault that ‘it’ happened, that he never thought of ‘it’ as her fault, that he was sorry ‘it’ had to happened in the first place
There’s a lot of things he realizes that he should have told her, so he doesn’t give her the time to say anything before he gets everything off his chest. He tells her everything. He tells her that he had never been upset with her, that he was upset with what happened to her. He tells her that he’s scared, no— terrified of how strong his feeling are for her, that the pain he felt that day was never what he’d ever experienced before. He tells her how much he had missed her during his period of stupidity when he decided not to talk to her, that he’d thought of her every second of the day.
And she just swallows in everything he tells her, listening to every word he says without a single interruption. And then they talk, talk, and talk until they shed more tears, because they’d never realized it, but they had always needed this. It’s a bit like clearing the air, speaking up about every and any hesitations they’d have.
They talk until their voices go dry and their eyes droop heavily. It isn’t until then that Jungkook realizes he hadn’t had a good night’s rest in days. Sleeping had always come easy to him, but during the past few days, he would lay down in his bed and just had this queasy and tense feeling.
When they’re nearing the end of the conversation, he knows there’s this one thing he hadn’t said yet, and he knows she’d been waiting for it too, those three simple words that had meant everything to them. He wants to say it, but there’s this one nerve in his stomach that causes his throat to close up when he tries to.
She finally ends the call after hours and hours of talking about their feeling and what they’d miss. Jungkook would again take out his pen, and write the words he’d meant to say in the palm of his hand. I love you.
Jimin shares a look with Taehyung when Jungkook comes to class the next day (he’s always late and it’s definitely not because of his poor excuse of a sleeping schedule), and the next thing he knows, they’re just screaming and hollering before running towards him. Jungkook swears he’s never felt more scared than he was at that moment, with the sight of his two best friends sprinting as if they were about to run them over like the untimely death of Mufasa.
And then they just hug him, stuff him with pats on the back and intense noogies. Jungkook just stands there, accepting it with the most confused expression ever. They go on about how glad they are that he got over whatever it was that had set him in such a sour and glum mood the past week and it puzzles him because he doesn’t remember being that much of a debbie downer.
They prove him otherwise by listing all the reasons he was such a pain to hang out with, because he’d somehow turned into a dictionary of depressing jokes and emo quotes. They end up finishing each other’s sentences, locking eyes when they say the same words and giving each other a bunch of high fives (Jungkook sometimes feels sorry for whoever their soulmates are, because the two of them are so in sync that they were already each other’s soulmate).
They’re interrupted when the teacher finally enters the class and tells everyone (specifically the two of them) to take a seat. They turn to Jungkook one final time and give him a pat in the back because they’re genuinely happy that the kid had no longer seemed so miserable.
Jungkook hadn’t thought hearing ‘I love you’ would change much for him. He’d heard it a dozen times from his parents (never from his brother, but let’s be honest, that’s to be expected) an amount more than you’d expect from Jimin and Taehyung (although Taehyung would say it more to annoy him and it works every single time), three times from Namjoon (which makes him grin more than it should) and once from Yoongi (now that one he wears like a golden medal).
Hearing it from his soulmate hits him in a totally different way. The conversation they had led them to get more comfortable in their relationships, this time acknowledging each other in a more romantic way. The way she says ‘I love you’ during insignificant moments like during a goodnight text or his after his daily ramble on how his friends are a pain in the ass sends him in a sort of high. It makes him giggle and flush and swoon all in the same time. It makes him feel things in a way he never knew he could.
Jungkook would learn that he shouldn’t plan things out as much as he used to, lets himself enjoy the moment for a while. Takes one step at a time, and this time he’s not as terrified to his wits anymore. It turns out when he's not worrying about all of his 'plans', time happens to move so fast.
When he finally sees her, she's got her back turned towards him, she hasn't noticed yet.
Jungkook takes a moment to take it all in. Sparks don’t fly, his hands don’t sweat and his breathing doesn’t pace. There is no nausea or nervousness that bubbles up in his stomach. When he sees her, his heart starts beating faster, but it beats in a way that you see something familiar after a long time, there is this sort of comfortable feeling. There’s a moment of complete peacefulness and serenity when he sees her. He’d never felt more at home.
When she sees him, her knees almost buckle, because he’s there. The boy, the dumbass, her soulmate that she’d been talking to for years now is finally there, and he’s waiting for her, looking for her. Her eyes almost well up in tears and she hates it because she swore to herself, she’d done cried enough times in their relationship, she doesn’t need to add another one to it.
She cries anyways, and she guesses she doesn’t hate it that much after all. Jungkook had managed to overturn all her expectations of their relationship that she’s not surprised that he pulls this either. She’s always known that her forgetfulness would bite her in the ass one day and she guesses she can’t be mad when this happens.
‘4:30 java time café pick up’ and right below on her palm is his handwriting, the handwriting she’s grown to adore and look forward to all these years, is written ’I found you’.
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baepsaesbae · 4 years
Text
Pag Lubog Ng Araw || When the Sun Goes Down
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Pairing— Jeon Jungkook x reader
Genre— SMUT, Angst, Enemies to Lovers au, Delinquent gang au
Warnings— Oral (f receiving), face riding, explicit unprotected sex, somewhat rough sex, fighting (they engage in fisticuffs quite a bit), swearing
Word Count— 2.4k
Summary— The gang leader of an enemy group has been getting on your nerves. This town ain’t big enough for the both of you. 
A/N— Thank you @dollwithluv for requesting! I hope you like it! I got kinda carried away with this one oops. You can still request drabbles up until the end of the August with this post
“Is that all you got, Jeon?” you spat in his face after blocking a powerful kick.
“I’m going easy on you. Just testing out the waters,” Jungkook smirked before landing another blow, knocking you aside.
Now it’s your turn to show off. With your balance regained, you launched forward to unleash a flurry of fast punches and jabs on Jungkook’s torso. That made Jungkook stagger backwards, but it wasn’t nearly close enough to knock him down. And so the scuffle continued. 
You and your gang of girls ruled this town, striking fear into any man who dared looked your way. Or so you thought. Recently, a rowdy group of boys were looking to expand their territory--directly into yours. Of course, you weren’t going down without a fight. Literally.
“You idiots get lost! We’ve been here for ages,” one of your posse members yelled over your skirmish. 
“Why don’t you ladies just move aside? You’ll be under our protection once we take over. You guys can even continue patrolling like you normally would. The only difference is that you’d be flying under our banner, so to speak. That ain’t too bad, right?” one of the boys from Jungkook’s band of delinquents (you believe his name was Seokjin) tried to reason. 
“Over my dead body!” you screamed as you exchanged blows with Jungkook.
“That can be arranged,” Jungkook gritted his teeth. 
“Get em boss!” underlings from both sides cheered. 
10 minutes later, both you and Jungkook were battered and bruised. Jungkook’s lip was busted and your nose was bleeding. Both sides concluded that the match was a draw.
“You’re tougher than I thought,” Jungkook acknowledged.
“I’ll knock your ass to the ground and beat you to a pulp next time,” you threatened with a menacing glare.
“So feisty,” Jungkook chuckled as he spat out blood.
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Back at your gang’s headquarters (an abandoned shack that you refurbished), your friends tended to your wounds. 
“You have no idea how badly I wanted to jump in and smash his skull in,” Nayeon tsked as she bandaged your hands, “But I know you would’ve hung my booty above your fireplace if I meddled.”
“I appreciate the concern. He roughed me up pretty good, but I’m sure he’s licking his wounds right now too. Plus this is a leader to leader thing. You are my girls, and I’m gonna fight for you till the very end,” you gave them a thumbs up with a smug smile.
The girls cheered and applauded for their fearless leader. They know that past your tough exterior, you’re a fiercely loyal kind hearted person. Most of the gals joined your group after you saved them from being harassed or abused by various men. If there’s one thing you hate, it’s misogynists. Or maybe just men in general. 
Both gangs practically tiptoed around each other for the following weeks while their leaders were still recovering. You tried devising plans to run them out of town. Your gang was bigger, so you’d definitely win in an all out war against seven guys. But you quickly brushed that idea aside, not wanting to endanger your crew. 
“We gotta have another showdown,” you concluded during a gang meeting. 
“What?! You got so hurt last time. There’s no way we could let you--”
“Shut up! What ___ says goes. You know that,” Nayeon silenced the complaint. 
“Sunmi, bring this letter to the Bulletproof Boy Scouts. I still can’t believe they named themselves that,” you snickered as you handed her a paper with a formal challenge scribbled on it. 
“Uh, boss, I don’t think we’ll need to send that letter,” someone called out from the back after there was a pounding on the door. 
“Open it,” you commanded.
Standing on the other side of the door was a pretty boy whose smile lit up the room. No one would believe that he’s in a delinquent gang, you barely could. But then again, it seemed like that gang only recruited models with a penchant for violence and mischief. 
“Hey pretty ladies! I’m Jimin. I come on behalf of the leader of the Bangtan Boys. He wants a final showdown. Only him and ___ are allowed in the specified location while they fight. He said the rest of us can brawl outside if we felt like it, but I’ll leave that decision up to the audience. Here’s our official note of challenge,” Jimin handed a crumpled receipt to the nearest girl, “Sorry, that was the only paper we had on hand,” he apologized sheepishly. 
“Sundown two days from now at the vacant warehouse huh? Sounds fine to me. Any rules?” you raised a brow at Jimin after reading the challenge aloud. 
“I dunno. That’s all the boss discussed with us. Figured you two would make it up as you go. In terms of weapons, Jungkook prefers to use his hands,” Jimin answered.
“So practically no rules. I can roll with that. See you boys in two days,” you shooed the messenger away. 
“Are you sure about this? You’re finally starting to recover--”
“Gear up. You’re gonna help me spar,” you interrupted Nayeon. You didn’t have any time to waste before the rematch. 
~The Day of Reckoning~
Your girl gang surrounded the warehouse. They weren’t happy about leaving you alone, but they were ready to keep anyone else from interfering. You tapped your foot impatiently as you waited at the front. 
“Is this heaven? There are angels as far as the eye can see!” one of the boys whistled as soon as they pulled up. 
“I wouldn’t count on that, Tae. These gals would probably stab you in your sleep and steal your wallet or something. Not like you have any money in there anyway,” Jungkook teased.
The group of boys sauntered through the crowd of sneering women until Jungkook stood directly in front of you. 
“Let’s settle this once and for all, you piece of shit. Loser skips town,” you asserted.
“Works for me. I’ll hate to see you go,” Jungkook’s tongue quickly darted to lick the corner of his mouth. The action was meant to be intimidating, but it stirred something inside of you. You tossed the feeling aside; he was the enemy. And you’re about to kick his ass.
The warehouse smelled like mold mixed with wet dogs. It was dark. The only light source was the sun’s rays that shone through cracks and holes in the walls or from the partly torn off ceiling. It was already dwindling. Jungkook loudly slammed the door behind him. You led him to the middle of the building, turning to face him before the fight could start. 
“Hope you enjoyed your time here,” you taunted.
“We did. We like it here better than our own hometown. You sure you don’t wanna just let us take over? I won’t have to ruin that pretty face of yours,” Jungkook offered again. 
“Fuck off Jeon,” you scoffed before throwing the first punch. 
You found yourself locked in a repetitive pattern of offensive and defensive moves. Jungkook’s attacks felt heavier, but you moved even faster. It seemed like both of you had reserved your full strength last time. 
Jungkook’s last punch knocked you off balance. He took the opportunity to knock you to the ground, effectively pinning you under him. He leaned close to your face and smiled maliciously down at you as he assumed that his victory was assured. He was wrong.
You banged your head against his with as much force as you could muster. In a flash, your positions had been switched. Jungkook groaned in agony under you as you tightened your hold on him. 
“Surrender, or I’ll pulverize you,” you threatened.
“Let me tell you something first,” he wheezed.
You reluctantly moved closer to him, but were on guard just in case he tried to headbutt you. 
“Closer,” he demanded.
“No fuck you--”
Jungkook used the last of his strength to repel his upper body towards you to plant a rough kiss on your lips. You looked at him in shock, releasing your grip. Jungkook placed his hand on the back of your neck and pulled you towards him, stopping you just centimeters in front of his lips. 
“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself. I have a thing for strong women,” he whispered. 
You lunged forward and knocked Jungkook flat on his back as you kissed him ferociously. The taste of blood was tinged with desire as the kiss deepened. No one could deny that Jungkook is a handsome boy. Seeing him all beaten up made him even more attractive to you, especially knowing that he’s tough enough to compete with you. 
“You know, I thought you looked cute with a busted lip,” you said when you broke the kiss.
“I’d look even cuter if you busted on my lip,” he winked, “Ride my face, ___. Please,” he added. 
“What? Right now? I’m all sweaty because we’ve been fighting and--”
“I don’t give a shit. Let me taste you. Unless you’re uncomfortable, of course,” Jungkook showed his decent side. 
“In that case,” you say as you slide off your pants.
You kneel above Jungkook’s face, your clothed cunt hovering inches away from his open mouth. 
“Come. Here,” Jungkook roughly pulled you down onto his mouth. 
He licked wide stripes along your panties, soaking them with both his saliva and your arousal. Ripping the measly piece of material off, he dove nose first into your pussy. His tongue explored your folds, making you squirm. He placed a strong grip on your hips to hold you firmly in place. He moved his arm to let his hand rest right above your pussy. 
Without warning, his thumb began to circle your swollen clit. You whimpered at his touch. The pace of his thumb synced up with his tongue as he shallowly dipped it into you. You could feel something ball up within you. No doubt your climax was on a one way express train pummeling towards its final stop. Destination: All over Jungkook’s face. 
“Jeon I--I’m gonna” you shuddered.
“Lay it on me baby,” he said, muffled by your pussy.
A euphoric high took over your body a couple of intense seconds later. You were tingling from your nose down to your toes as you weakly dismounted Jungkook. He licked around his mouth, savoring your cum.
“I guess you’re right, you do look better after I busted all over your lips. And face. Sorry bout the mess,” you laughed. 
“You could let me fuck you if you really wanna make it up to me,” Jungkook suggested as he palmed his groin. 
“Do you fuck as well as you eat pussy?” you inquired as you sat beside him. 
“Only one way to find out. You down?” he propped himself up by his elbows.
“Fuck me senseless, pretty boy,” you requested. 
“Sure thing, except,” Jungkook pushed you onto your back, “I’m on top this time.” 
Jungkook shimmied out of his pants, revealing his already hard dick. It wasn’t too girthy, but it was long. You had a feeling he’d hit all the right places with ease. You were still sopping wet, so Jungkook slid in without a problem. He took his time feeling every inch of you before finally bottoming out. 
Jungkook began to fuck you harder, making your entire body shake with each impact. Your wanton moans mixed with his grunts as he snapped his hips faster. His hand snaked its way from your chest up to your neck. He placed a harsh grip on the sides and smiled down at you with satisfaction. Normally you’d enjoy this, but not today. Not with Jungkook.
A quick jab at his side prompted him to release you and nearly double over. Before he had the chance to cuss you out, you flipped him over, reclaiming your rightful place. You ease yourself back onto his cock, bringing him back to a blissful state. 
You rode him like your life depended on it. Your hips had a mind of their own as they rocked back and forth. Jungkook groaned with pleasure as he rested his hands on your hips. You began to fuck him with a purpose, changing your pace.
“Whatcha doin?” he moaned.
“Spelling my name on your dick. Now it belongs to me,” you answered proudly. 
“Oh fuck, is that so? Are we dating or some shit?”
“Shut up and we’ll figure it out post nut,” you hushed him.
You brought up your knees and squatted over him with your feet on the ground. You bounced up and down and let yourself get lost in the moment. Your carnal voices harmonized and echoed throughout the abandoned warehouse. The sun had finally set, now replaced by the pale moonlight. 
“Baby keep going, just like that. I’m gonna cum. Wait fuck should we be using a con--uuuggghhhh,” Jungkook didn’t get to finish that sentence.
He exploded into you, his warm seed shooting up into you. You bent over to kiss him once more. What was meant to be a quick peck turned into a heated makeout session. 
“Give me a little bit before I can fuck you again,” Jungkook said once the kiss broke. 
“We have more pressing matters to address. Uh, what exactly should we do now? I don’t know if we can really declare a winner or a loser,” you pointed out. 
“I’d say we were both winners today,” Jungkook nodded.
“Interesting…” you thought out loud.
“What?”
“Are you still open to combining forces? Only this time, we’d be on equal footing. We can make a stronger gang together,” you suggested. 
“I don’t see why not. Everyone is outside anyway right? Let’s go break the news,” Jungkook agreed. 
“We both look like shit. And we smell awful,” you observed.
“Eh, it happens. They gotta respect their leaders no matter what, right?” Jungkook shrugged. 
Both Nayeon and Jimin fell into the warehouse as soon as you opened the door. 
“We weren’t doing anything!” Nayeon said quickly.
“We were just wondering if one or both of you were dead, so we tried to see if we could hear you guys and…” Jimin couldn’t maintain eye contact with either of you.
You pushed them aside and walked out to face the delinquents that were eagerly awaiting the official verdict.  
“Listen up dirtbags! Starting today, we will be combining forces. We are now one gang, and we’re gonna be the strongest gang this country has ever seen!” you announced.
“You hear that boys? We’ll be seeing these angels on the regular!” Jungkook chimed in. 
“What the hell?!” was the resounding response as Jungkook grabbed you by the waist and locked his lips with yours.
Published August 11th, 2020. No editing, copying, translating, or reposting allowed. All Rights Reserved © 2020 Baepsaesbae.
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