#just don't drink gasoline

[danceintheskies]

Hey we've never reeeally talked or anything but I had the most specific dream that you were my roommate and also a ghost. A while ago I also dreamed we were carpooling together or something and you tried to get me to drink gasoline. I have no idea what the hell it's supposed to mean but it keeps happening and I'm really confused so I feel like I need to do something about this. ok. Sorry. Have a good day <3

You won't drink gasoline? For me?

#thankyou so much for sharing. im so delighted. please don't actually drink gasoline. #asks #anonymous #alwaysa joy to learn i take even ghe smallest amount of real estate in someone else's mind genuinely #my posts #just barely.

[cybrsan]

Party of Three | C.S, J.WY

AO3 Link | Masterlist

Summary: Things take an unexpected turn when Wooyoung walks in on you and San.

Pairing: Choi San x F!Reader x Jung Wooyoung

Genre: Hidden feelings, threesome, smut

Word Count: 5.3k

Warning(s): Alcohol & drug use, sex under the influence 

A/N: This fic is the most well-liked among readers on my AO3. The writing may not be up to my current standard as I first posted this in 2019, but I hope you enjoy it anyway! 

Everyone is already stoned by the time you show up at San and Seonghwa's apartment. The former is the one to open the door, greeting you with red eyes and a lazy smile.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he greets. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

Before you can respond, you're slammed with the familiar smell of weed that wafts out into the hallway after him. Greedy to get started, you give your boyfriend a quick kiss on the cheek and push past him into the kitchen, avoiding his grabby hands with skilled ease.

You throw your bag down onto the counter and then make a beeline for the fridge, desperate for some sort of alcohol after the stressful week of final exams you've just gone through. Grabbing a beer, you sit on one of the kitchen stools and give the room a once over.

Jongho, Yeosang, and Yunho are sat on the floor playing Mario Kart as Mingi sits behind them on the couch, knees pulled up to his chest. It seems like he's pretending to be some sort of referee based on how every once in a while he shouts random things like, "Oh, come on, Yunho! Don't you know how to drift?!" You smile at his antics—you've missed this.

Meanwhile, the other couple of the group is squished into one armchair, Hongjoong's legs draped over Seonghwa's lap. Hongjoong's eyes flutter open and closed and Seonghwa chuckles, lovingly watching his boyfriend struggle to stay awake. As always, a stoned Hongjoong is a sleepy Hongjoong.

You go to turn back to San—thinking that you've seen everyone—when a silhouette on the balcony catches your eye. You’re overtaken with surprise when you recognize it to be Wooyoung, taking a hit from San's prized glass pipe. He hadn’t come to one of these get-togethers in a while, ever since he broke up with his girlfriend. Actually, now that you think about it, he hadn’t been here that much even when they were still dating.

He spots you and he smiles, his eyes turning into crescent moons from pure happiness. After shoving the pipe into Seonghwa's waiting hands, he jogs over and plants a soft kiss on your cheek. You laugh and give him a hug, ecstatic that he seems like the Wooyoung you used to know. He was always touchy when stoned, but he had been holding himself back because his ex didn’t like him showing affection to anyone other than her.

“Thank god that bitch is gone,” you say, squeezing him one last time before letting go. “I missed this Wooyoung, the real Wooyoung.” You pause before adding, “My best friend, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung runs a hand through his black hair, laughing. “Yeah, me too. I’m glad to be back.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Mingi shouts from his place on the couch.

Of course, Wooyoung agrees instantly. You roll your eyes; he’s a fiend when it comes to alcohol of any kind. “Hell yeah! Let’s do shots.”

Wooyoung jogs over to the liquor cabinet and grabs a bottle of vodka. You shiver involuntarily; you and Smirnoff have a dark history. As he begins to pour the gasoline into shot glasses, he shoots you a questioning look.

You shake your head. "No. Hell no. No shots for me."

Despite your greatest efforts at resisting, Wooyoung's puppy eyes and Mingi's pouting (those two are unstoppable when they team up) manages to convince you and, half an hour later, you're three shots in. Yunho tries to pass you another one and you grimace, slapping his hand away. He looks offended and cradles the shot to his chest as if it spilling would have been the greatest tragedy of the modern age.

"We don't waste alcohol in this household, Y/N," he explains.

You can't help but roll your eyes. "Right, of course. Anyway," you look to where San is, leaning on the railing of the balcony with his pipe in hand, "I'm gonna go join my boyfriend and get stoned. Alcohol tastes like shit, I can only handle so much."

You practically skip to the balcony, excited to spend some one-on-one time with your boyfriend. It's been nice hanging out with the whole group but all you want right now is to be in San's arms. So, you decide to do exactly that. You bend down slightly and crawl right in between them, letting yourself be caged between his body and the railing. He doesn't get surprised and you let out a sigh of relief, grateful that he's been smoking for a few hours already. You're positive that if he was more sober he would've flinched and the glass pipe would have fallen out of his hand and down twenty-five feet onto the concrete below.

He smiles when he sees you, the corners of his eyes crinkling and his oh-so-precious dimples making an appearance. Leaning down, he captures your lips in a kiss. Smoke fills your mouth and your eyes widen in surprise; you didn't notice him take a hit. He pulls away and you exhale, letting the smoke evaporate into the night air. You cough slightly and he smiles, pressing another kiss to your forehead.

"Sorry, angel. I couldn't help myself."

The pet name makes you clench your thighs and San notices, eyes darkening. He knows exactly what the effect is of him saying that and you know he did it on purpose.

Fighting away the blush attempting its way onto your cheeks, you take the pipe from his hand, inhaling. You let the smoke enter your lungs, relishing in the familiar burning feeling. On your exhale, you say, "It's fine, just warn me next time."

Just as you take another hit, Seonghwa peeks his head out past the balcony door. "Hey, Joong and I are tapping out for the night."

San raises an eyebrow. "You mean he's still conscious?"

Chuckling, Seonghwa responds, "Let me rephrase. Hongjoong has passed the fuck out, so I'm taking him to my room to lay him down."

"Typical Joong," you say with a laugh. "He's fun for the first hour or so, and then he just gets tired." You always get stuck looking after a hungover Hongjoong while Seonghwa goes to work and you have a feeling tomorrow morning won't be any different.

Seonghwa nods, agreeing. With a half-wave, he turns to go back inside but suddenly stops, casting you and San one last look. "Oh, also—if you guys are gonna fuck tonight, can you try to be quiet? I have work tomorrow and wanna get a few hours of sleep in so my hangover doesn’t completely decimate me."

You blush and bury your face in San's chest, embarrassed. "Hwa! Can you not?"

Normally, San would be just as embarrassed as you, but not tonight. Without batting an eye, he says, "Alright, we'll try."

You pull back from him and gently swat on his arm. "San!"

He looks at you curiously. "What?" He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you taught against him and leans down to press his forehead against yours. "You want me to lie and tell him that I'm not planning to make a mess of you ton—"

"On that note, I'll take my leave," Seonghwa interrupts, disappearing back into the apartment.

"Oh my god." You pat your cheeks, forcing your blush to die down. "I always forget how much... bolder you get when you're high."

San leans down, placing a soft kiss on your neck. The gesture sends an electric shock throughout the rest of your body, causing your hair to practically stand on end. "Don't pretend you don't love it," he whispers, the heat from his breath ghosting against your skin.

"I don't—"

He cuts you off by taking your chin in between two of his slender fingers and forcing you to look up at him. "No lying, angel."

As if on autopilot, you respond, "Okay, Sir."

The second you close your mouth, you know that you've just set something in motion. You can see the change in San happen, something inside of him switching into gear. He's always had two sides to him—your soft, romantic boyfriend and then the rougher, more possessive side of him that comes out when you call him by that name.

Placing the pipe down on a table, he grabs you by your wrist and drags you inside past all the stragglers left in the living area. Yunho wolf whistles and Mingi and Jongho laugh quietly amongst themselves. Wooyoung, on the other hand, watches the two of you with an expression you can’t quite place.

"You two have fun now," Mingi jokes. Then, addressing the others, says, "Time for us to leave unless you wanna hear them going at it."

Leaving them to their own devices, San brings you to his bedroom. The second the door closes he has you pressed against it, capturing your lips with his own. You press yourself into him, letting out a content hum against his mouth. In this position he towers over you, his frame completely enveloping your own. You don't feel nervous or scared, though; in fact, it turns you on.

You hook your fingers under his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against your palms. He helps you out, pulling away from you for just a moment to pull it over his head and toss it somewhere across the room. His lips are back on yours within the next second, as if your mouth is a magnet for his own. You run your hands up and down his back, feeling the muscles tensing under his skin. Just having his skin bared to you is already enough to get you moaning; you need more of him and you need it now.

You pull away from his lips to get some air. In between gasps, you manage to say, "Bed, now."

Your wish is his command. He lifts you up, biceps bulging, and gently places you on the bed. He hovers over top of you, messily leaving open kisses against your skin. You moan, giving into the sensation. It's been so long since you've had him like this and the buzz from the drugs is only making everything so much better.

"Wait." San raises an eyebrow as you crawl out from underneath him, hopping over to his desk. You open the top drawer and rummage around until you find exactly what you're looking for—a freshly made blunt. Picking that up and a lighter, you turn back to your boyfriend with a mischievous look in your eyes.

He smirks, leaning against the pillows. "I like the way you think."

Strolling back over to him, you get on the bed and throw one leg over his lap, straddling it. You give him the blunt and the lighter and, as he ignites it, you take off your shirt to give him a good view of your breasts. You hadn't worn a bra today, knowing that he loves when you don't. He almost chokes on the smoke as his eyes drink in your form, so greedy for a taste.

San's about to take another hit when the door to his bedroom opens. You cover yourself, panicking until you see exactly who's standing there—Wooyoung.

"Woo...?" You murmur, the syllable dropping off into a question.

He closes the door behind him and steps into the room. "Can I... Let me join you."

San chuckles. "I knew this would happen eventually."

You furrow your eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"Woo has always had a thing for you. He told me a while ago. It's part of the reason he broke up with his ex, besides the fact that she was also a major bitch."

"Is that true, Wooyoung? Do you like me?" you ask, uncovering your breasts. His eyes instantly fall to them and he gulps.

"Yes."

You're sure that his honesty and what you do next is partly because of the drugs and alcohol swimming in your system.

"Alright. Join us."

Wooyoung moves forward, shedding his shirt as he does so, before crawling onto the bed next to you. He takes the blunt San holds out for him, plump lips forming a delectable "o" as he inhales. You watch him with hooded eyes, imaging those lips leaving a trail of blooming marks down your body, between your legs... You'd be lying if you said you'd never thought of this prior to tonight. You lean forward and kiss him and, for the second time that night, smoke transfers into your mouth from another's. This time, however, you're more than ready for it. You close your eyes in ecstasy, french inhaling as you slowly rock your hips against San's crotch, relishing in the groan he releases. You can feel him hardening through his jeans and you instinctively clench, already so desperate to have him—someone—inside of you.

Letting the blunt hang haphazardly out of his lips, Wooyoung grabs your waist and helps you move against San who occasionally lifts his hips, adding to the delectable friction that's making you whine.

Smoke starts to fill the room, making everything hazy. With every inhale, the smell of it invades your senses. You love it more than anything—it makes you feel like you’re floating. You reach over and pluck the blunt from Wooyoung's lips, taking another hit. Leaning down, you kiss San this time, biting his lip. Once he gives you access, you push the smoke into his mouth with your tongue.

“Fuck,” he groans, letting the smoke evaporate into the air. “It’s so much hotter when you do it to me.”

Placing the blunt into San's mouth, you reach down and unbutton your pants, managing to slip them off of your legs without even having to get off of him. With one less layer of clothing separating you, the friction of his tented jeans rubbing against your core is that much stronger. You throw your head back, sporadically rubbing yourself against him.

He reaches up and grabs one of your breasts, squeezing your nipple in between his fingers. “My angel is needy, huh?” he murmurs, smoke coming out of his mouth along with the words. You whine, nodding. “Alright then. Let me take care of you.” As an afterthought, he looks to Wooyoung who is currently palming himself through his jeans. "Actually, why don't we have Woo do it? I'm sure he's been dreaming about how you taste."

Before you can blink, San places the blunt in the ashtray on the side of his bed and flips you around so that your back is pulled taut against his chest. He nods at Wooyoung who gulps, moving forward and lowering down so that he's lying on the bed between your legs. You're certain that, at this point, your arousal has begun to leak through the fabric of your panties and the way his dark eyes take in the sight makes you squirm in anticipation.

San laughs, placing a sweet kiss against your temple. "Be patient."

Wooyoung begins to lightly trace patterns on your stomach as San attaches his plush lips to your neck, licking and sucking at the skin. The sounds you’re making are absolutely lewd, yet barely anything has even been done to you. Wooyoung leaves a hickey above the lace trim of your panties before hooking his fingers under the waistband and pulling them down, revealing your soaking cunt.

He kisses the inside of your thigh once, twice, before finally licking a strip up your core. Your entire body shudders and you arch your back instinctively. Your ass grinds against San's crotch and he groans, digging his fingers into your sides to keep you still. Your thighs close around Wooyoung's head yet he doesn't seem to have a care in the world, eating you out painfully slowly as if he is savoring every taste. You whine and squirm, fingers and toes searching for purchase within the sheets.

"Please, please, please," you gasp in between ragged breaths.

Wooyoung pauses, mouth hovering right above where you need him most. His breath is enough to make you clench, desperate for anything and everything.

"Please what, angel?" San asks. "Use your words."

"Please let me come."

Wooyoung kisses you right above your clit and you practically scream, tears welling up in your eyes. You're never like this, never this needy or this sensitive—it has to be the weed in your system. And you'd be lying if you said you didn't like it.

"Please who?" San's voice is deep, demanding.

Your voice is faint, barely a whisper. "Please, Sir."

He looks towards Wooyoung who is still hovering between your legs, lips glistening with your juices. "What do you think, Woo? Should we give her what she wants?"

Wooyoung pushes his hair back off of his forehead, sweat droplets falling onto the mattress below. "I know I'm more than willing to follow through."

San laughs, his chest reverberating against your back. "I'm sure you are. In that case, go for it; see if you can make her come as hard as I can."

Wooyoung takes on the challenge. His mouth attaches to your clit, sucking and licking at the sensitive bundle of nerves. When he adds a finger, plunging it into your dripping core, you scream his name.

"Fuck, Wooyoung!"

Your hand tangles in his dark hair and you can't help but pull, too lost in your own lust to hold onto any semblance of thought. Wooyoung doesn't seem to mind, though. If anything, it turns him on knowing that you're so far gone.

"Come on, baby," San whispers, hot breath dancing across your ear. "Come for us. Show me how good Wooyoung is making you feel."

Wooyoung adds a second finger and before you know it, you're seeing stars. A blinding wave of heat and pleasure overtakes you and you're shaking but, God, it feels so, so good. Wooyoung guides you through your orgasm with soft, gentle licks against your swollen pussy as San whispers words of praise against your skin. When you come back down from your high, you register the feeling of tears on your cheeks.

Wooyoung, finally satisfied, crawls up to lie beside you on the bed. He chuckles softly when he sees the state you're in and kisses away the wetness on your cheeks with a smile.

"It was so good that you cried, hm? You're so cute." Then, turning to San, he smirks. "You ever make her come like that?"

San rolls his eyes. "Of course I have. Don't get ahead of yourself."

At this point, you can barely find the strength to form a proper sentence but still, you grab onto one of San's biceps, fingernails digging into his tanned skin.

"Why don't you show him?"

San's eyes widen ever so slightly. "Are you sure you can handle it right now?"

You nod fervently. "Yes, God yes."

San still looks hesitant so you take initiative, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling his lips down to your own. You kiss him with everything you have, hoping it expresses your wanton need for him. Against his lips, you murmur, "I want you. I want you inside of me, please."

"Fuck, angel..." He groans and closes his eyes, shaking his head ever so slightly. "You have no idea what you do to me."

After shimmying out of his pants and the boxers underneath, he reaches behind Wooyoung and searches around in the drawer next to his bed, pulling out a condom. He carefully rips it open and, after blowing into it, begins to roll it down his shaft. He moans at the friction and you frown, realizing how little attention you've given him. Shooing his hand away, you take over, rolling it all the way down to the base. He buries his face in your neck, groaning every time you move. You continue to stroke him, bringing your hand up to the tip of his cock before twisting your wrist and moving back down. He doesn't let you continue your ministrations for long, grabbing your arm and forcing you to stop.

"I'm close," he explains, sweat pooling at his brow, "And I would much rather be inside of you right now."

You smile and peck him on the lips. "Okay, I'm ready."

With your consent, he lifts you up and sits you on his cock, pushing past your walls. He stills with a gasp. "Fuck, you're so wet. Wooyoung did a good job of getting you ready for me, didn't he?" You nod and he begins to thrust, making you fall forward and lean against his chest for support. "You always take my cock so well, don't you? It's like you were made for me."

You let out a strangled moan, the praise combined with his actions sending shockwaves straight to your core. You came not so long ago and already you can feel your pleasure coiling once again. "Fuck, yes, I'm yours," you say.

Wooyoung, neglected, takes action and moves forward, tucking a finger under your chin and tilting your head, forcing you to look at him instead of San. "Y/N... kiss me."

You lean forward, stopping a breath away from his lips. "Sir," you whisper, "Can I?"

San shudders as you clench around his cock. "Go for it."

At his word, you capture Wooyoung's lips with your own. The first thing you notice is that you can still taste yourself on him; the second thing is how passionately he responds to you and how eagerly he returns your affection. He tangles his hand in your hair, tugging slightly on the strands. You moan at the sensation, nipping at his lips in the process.

San snaps his hips, slamming into you at a menacing pace that has your thighs shaking from the force of it. You gasp and, unable to keep kissing, grab at Wooyoung wherever you can, searching for support. Your hands find purchase on his biceps and you dig your nails into his skin, too lost in your pleasure to be gentle. However, Wooyoung doesn't seem to mind—in fact, the slight pain causes him to moan.

You can tell San is close by the way his breathing is getting heavier and his thrusts are getting sloppier. You clench around him and he squeezes his eyes shut, groaning.

"Fuck, baby, oh my God—"

"Sir, I want to come with you," you whine, throwing the nickname in there because you know it will help bring him to the edge.

He kisses you and brings a hand to your clit, furiously rubbing it with the pads of his two fingers. "Okay," he pants, "Come with me, angel. Come with me."

The coil building in your abdomen comes undone once he snaps his hips at an angle that hits that one spot inside of you and you impulsively lean forward, biting onto Wooyoung's shoulder to muffle your loud moaning. The spasms of your walls against his cock have San following after you mere seconds later and he eases you off of him, letting you fall to your back against the mattress below.

San places a loving kiss against your temple and turns to Wooyoung, who at some point had taken off his own jeans, freeing his swollen cock. "Woo, come here," he commands, crooking his finger. You frown, realizing that Wooyoung has gone the longest without being touched; how unfair. You reach out a hand, willing to help relieve him, but San stops you. "No, you rest. I'll take care of him."

You watch with wide eyes as your boyfriend goes slack-jawed and takes Wooyoung's leaking cock into his mouth, allowing the other boy to fuck his throat. He sucks him off with the ease of someone who has done it multiple times before, knowing when to move and when to still, when to use his tongue and when to not. Saliva begins to dribble out of the corners of his lips and his eyes tear, but you can tell he's eager to help Wooyoung reach his end what with the way his hands are supportively rubbing the other's thick thighs. If you weren't so exhausted, you think you might have come again just from the sight of it.

It doesn't take long for Wooyoung to come with how long he's been holding off and San takes all of it, swallowing and gently pulling off of him. Wooyoung collapses against the headboard, chest heaving. After catching his breath, he looks at you and smiles.

"Well... this was fun, huh?"

You can't help but laugh, so blown away by the turn this night has taken. "Fun is just one of the words I would use, I think."

Wooyoung reaches out, carefully pushing your hair off of your forehead and the loving action reminds you of a question you had wanted to ask earlier.

"Woo?"

"Hm?"

"How long have you wanted this?"

His ears turn red and you can tell that the question embarrasses him, but he answers anyway. "Since before you and Sannie started dating."

"Wait... back in high school?" He nods. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was scared," he admits. "You and I had—have—been best friends for so long and I didn't wanna risk ruining that by acting on my feelings. Then I introduced you to Sannie and, well... the rest is history." You punch him on the arm and he whines. "What was that for?!"

"You idiot! I liked you too."

"You... what?" His complexion pales as the information sinks in. "Fuck."

San, silent until now, wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you towards him, kissing your cheek. "Y/N... do you still like Woo?"

"I..." You pause, startled. "Is this a trick question?"

He laughs. "No, it's not. And there's no wrong answer. Just be honest with me, baby."

"M-maybe." Your voice is small, tentative; telling your boyfriend you have feelings for your mutual best friend isn't something you ever saw yourself doing.

"What if I said I did too?" San asks.

Your jaw drops and you search his face for any signs that he's joking, but he looks completely serious. "Really?"

San nods. He gestures for Wooyoung to come closer and he does, scooting forward so that he's sitting right next to you. He rests a hand on your bare thigh, gently caressing the skin there and calming your nerves.

"Yeah. I like both you and Wooyoung and you like both of us, right?" You nod. "What would you think about making this a normal thing?"

"Like... the three of us all being in a relationship?" you ask.

Wooyoung shrugs. "We don't have to have any sort of label. This is just something we can try out. If it doesn't work, that's okay too. I won't mind."

You take a moment to think, weighing the pros and cons. Then, you realize something. “Wait… Did you guys plan this whole thing out?” San and Wooyoung share a guilty look and you laugh, shaking your head exasperatedly. “God, what am I getting myself into?”

Wooyoung’s eyes light up. “So you’re willing to try?”

You nod. “Yeah, I am."

"Great!" San kisses your nose and gets up, discarding the used condom into the trash can underneath his desk. He slips on a pair of sweatpants and goes out the door to presumably get some things from the bathroom, but of course not before throwing the two of you a dimpled smile and assuring that he'll be right back.

He returns shortly, opening the door with one hand as he holds two washcloths and some lotion in the other. He closes it with his foot and practically jumps on the bed, eager to not keep you or Wooyoung waiting any longer. Gingerly, he wipes away with your sweat, starting with what's on your face and not stopping until you are fully refreshed. Then, as he hums under his breath, he squeezes some lotion onto his hands and begins to gently massage you, helping to loosen up any tension and soreness you might feel. He saves your abused core for last, making sure to be extra gentle.

You watch with a content smile as he smothers you in aftercare, letting yourself just sit back and soak in every second of it. You used to feel guilty when he did this, feeling bad you weren't doing anything in return, but he's assured you so many times that he enjoys it and wouldn't do it if he didn't want to that you can't help but just selfishly enjoy it now.

Not wanting Wooyoung to feel left out, he makes sure to give him the same routine. Wooyoung is hesitant at first like you used to be but, before long, he's practically purring. Once San is done, he slides into bed behind you and covers your scantily clad bodies with the previously discarded blanket. Instantly, you slide closer towards him so that your back is against his chest and he sighs contentedly, resting his chin on the crown of your head. Wooyoung turns to face you and San, forehead almost touching your own, and you kiss him, making him laugh.

"I can't believe this is real," he admits.

You smile. "Me neither. It's weird, but it's nice."

San hums in agreement, already drifting off.

"I love you," you say softly, chest aching with just how much you mean those words. "Both of you."

"I love you more," San responds. Just like always.

"I love you, too." The same words Wooyoung has always said, but now with a different meaning.

It's nice, you think, having two people to wish you goodnight.

The following morning, you're the one who wakes up first. Wooyoung is the first thing you see, mouth slightly parted and hair a complete mess. You smile, finding it endearing. San's grip around your waist is tight but you manage to slip out of his hold, getting out of bed and throwing on a pair of underwear and a t-shirt. You open the door and quietly make your way to the kitchen, hoping that Seonghwa and Hongjoong are still asleep. You don't hear any commotion and you let out a relieved breath, glad that you don't have to deal with the embarrassment of facing anyone after—

"Good morning," Seonghwa says, peering up at you over the rim of his coffee mug. You freeze, watching as he takes a sip and then places it down on the counter in front of him.

"Oh, um, hey. Hope we didn't, uh..."

"Keep me up? No, not at all. Not like for a second I thought you were getting murdered from how loud you were screaming or anything like that."

Your entire body seems to burn from the force of your blush. "Fuck. Sorry, Hwa."

"Whatever, it's fine. But, I have to ask... Is that Wooyoung's shirt?"

Looking down, you see that you are most definitely wearing that shirt Wooyoung had on the night before. "Yeah, I... We, um..."

It's at this point that both Wooyoung and San emerge from the bedroom, San still clad only in his sweatpants and Wooyoung in a pair of boxers. San instantly puts his arm around your waist and lovingly pecks your cheek, and Wooyoung smacks your ass as he walks by to get to the coffee pot.

Seonghwa raises an eyebrow as he watches the scene play out. "You know what? This weirdly makes a lot of sense." Getting up and putting his now empty coffee mug into the sink, he adds, "Anyway, I'm headed out. You three think you're up for another party tonight?"

Your mind travels back to last night and what incredible things the party led to so, without missing a beat, you respond, "Oh, God yes."

Seonghwa laughs. "Cool. See ya later, Y/N."

The door closes with a slam behind him and you hear a groan come from the hallway behind you. You take a look around the bend to see a very, very hungover looking Hongjoong hobbling his way out of Seonghwa's room. You smile and share a look with Wooyoung and San, shaking your head. Looks like your prediction was right—you're gonna be stuck taking care of him after all.

#san x reader #choi san x reader #wooyoung x reader #jung wooyoung x reader #woosan x reader #woosan smut #choi san smut #choi san imagines #wooyoung smut #ateez smut #ateez imagines #jung wooyoung smut #jung wooyoung imagines #wooyoung imagines #ateez fic #my fic

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 46

part 1 | part 45 | ao3

cw: recreational drinking

Somewhere around the second chorus, Nancy finally stops twirling, head down and eyes closed as she wobbles dangerously in place — Steve can see Jon tensing just in case he needs to jump in and save her from busting her ass — and when she looks up, her eyes lock on Steve like she's seeing him for the first time in forty years.

“Steeeeeve!” she slurs, smile sloshing over her features like a splash of spilled punch.

Good god. “Hey, Nance.”

She reaches over and paws at his arm, a swiping motion like she's either about to yank him in for a hug or wipe some lint off his sleeve, and says, “Steve, I— I, um- can- can we...?”

With a determined look in her glossy eyes, she pitches forward and slams into him. Steve goes flopping backward into a squishy leather armchair and lands with a lapful of Nancy. Nancy Wheeler, the ex who dumped him at a party not unlike this one. Who left him for a guy standing a foot and a half away.

Who's snickering into the crook of his neck now as she clings to his shoulders to try and stop herself from slinking sideways to the floor.

Steve throws Eddie and Jonathan matching looks — something between 'this okay?' and 'what the actual fuck?' — but Jon just shrugs like what're ya gonna do? and Eddie gives him a quick wink and turns his attention back to the boys.

Super helpful, Ed. Thanks so fucking much.

“Hiii,” Nancy giggles, looping her arms tighter around his neck to hold herself upright. It should seem flirty, but it doesn’t, somehow. Feels more like… sisterly concern?

Feels fucking weird, is what.

“Hi,” he says a little stiffly, his arms hovering in a loose bracket on either side of her in case she topples. He feels a little bad for being standoffish when she's in a sweet and friendly mood; doesn't want to be a buzzkill, but he doesn't exactly know what to do with an armful of happy-go-lucky hammered Nance.

Never did, really, because he couldn’t ever tell when it was genuine or not. Which was kinda the whole problem, wasn’t it?

Nancy pokes at the edge of the frown he didn't realize he was making. "Aw, don't..." she mumbles with a wounded little sound, her eyes sliding over his face, head bobbling like she's standing on the deck of a ship. “Or do," she hiccups and swallows a burp. Her lower lip trembles. "I prob'ly deser— deserve it."

Steve sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He would've killed for this conversation twelve months ago; would've killed to hear it sober and asking for him back.

Now he mostly feels bad for making her feel bad, even though she’s not exactly wrong. Maybe she did deserve it, once. But not here; not now. “No, you don’t,” he sighs and lets his arm skim her waist. “You don’t. You should be enjoying the party, I’m sorry.”

She protests with an almost violent shake of her head. “No,” she insists, overenunciating the word. “No. I do. I was…"

She straightens her spine and stares at him like she's trying to bore a hole through his head; like this is important. Like there's a cut on her hand and gasoline in the carpet. "I was bullshit.” She jabs her pointer finger against her breastbone. “I was.”

Steve blinks at her. Feels tears bead in his eyes and slither into his sinuses. Gently, he reaches out and pushes down on the back of her hand; guides it away from her chest until it falls back to her lap.

“Think maybe we both were,” he offers with a quiet sniff. Takes a second to just breathe, sharp and wet through his nose. “Thank you, though. For saying that. Means a lot.”

Her eyes still look sad, but the corners of her mouth lift in a small, hopeful tick. “It does?”

“Yeah.”

Across the room, someone clambers onto a kitchen counter and hollers, "Hey! Listen up!"

The music pauses; the moment breaks. The crowd turns to the guy, who cups his hands around his mouth and announces, “Fifteen minutes to midnight! Find your make-out buddy, folks!"

Commotion as everyone scrambles to pair up: Nancy looks at Jonathan and stumbles off Steve’s lap; Gareth stares forlornly at a girl over by the stairs; Frank purses his lips and tells Jeff to start puckerin’, princess, and Jeff laughs and shoves him with a playful "fuck off, dude."

Eddie’s only got eyes for Steve.

He’s staring right at him, eyes lit up with desire; twinkling stars in deep woods. “Get a refill with me?” he asks as he offers Steve a hand.

Steve stands and does his best not to sway into Eddie’s arms.

“Oh, my god," Robin mutters over the rim of her cup, "so we’re not seeing you two again tonight."

“What was that?” Steve asks. Eddie sticks his tongue out at her.

“Nothing, dinguses,” she sighs. “Happy new year.”

Steve wishes her the same, reaching out to link their pinkies and giving hers a quick squeeze. Pinky hug; love you, too. As he and Eddie shuffle past, Steve sees Argyle turn to Robin and casually try to shoot his shot.

“Hey, pretty bird lady…” he starts.

Oh, Jesus Christ.

Robin responds by making crazy eyes and bleating out a nervous laugh that roughly translates to sorry sorry sorry sorry and never in a million years; Steve's tempted to lean over and clap a hand over her mouth to put her out of her gay misery, but Argyle's the most chill dude on the planet, apparently, because he doesn't even seem fazed.

“No sweat, my guy,” he shrugs and extends a closed hand. “Midnight fist bump instead?”

—

part 47

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #argyle stranger things #corroded coffin #my writing #my fic

[puppetmaster13u]

So I am rotating the batfamily, but not like, civilian or vigilante. I am slowly rotating them all having a Malone-sona of sorts that is their in to organized crime.

Like you can't tell me people wouldn't start noticing this family that the bats, the literal cryptids and monsters of Gotham, don't even touch and lets continue to operate despite taking the older crime families apart.

And to Gotham that screams power.

Alfred = Albert “Old Al” Malone I wanna say that he doesn't go out as 'Old Al' often, but gives off Godfather sort of vibes. Usually sitting there with an old cane (that definitely has a sword, they're all dramatic like that lol) half in the dark with a cup of tea or other drink. He gets to stretch his acting skills and honestly the kids definitely had a say in the persona. Old Al is something they all made together and they have fun implying so much fun shit.

Kate = Mary “Madam” Malone She definitely gives off 'snap your spine over her knee if not for the fact it would get your blood all over her clothes' vibes. Stylized nails, hair up in fishtail braids or ponytails or whatever, looks like she could tear out ones throat and they'd thank her. It's a running gag that she's in finances, even if no one in the underbelly believes it.

Bruce = “Matches” Malone I mean, it's classic Matches (though most probably assume that Matches isn't his real name) who seems rather chill until someone breaks the rules. Gives off vibes that he doesn't usually get his own hands dirty but will do so to make a point, and enjoy doing it. He sometimes uses Matches to check in on places he can't as a shadowy cryptid, and it's not like the lower income areas would fully trust Brucie Wayne.

Barbara = Madison “Maddie” Malone Now let's be honest, Barbara enjoys messing with people, she enjoys knowing every little thing as Oracle, and she definitely does that as Maddie. The thing is, no one knows how she learns about things, other criminals search for a traitor, for a leak, for anything, and get nothing. Which is utterly terrifying. Because there has to be some sort of information network, there has to be. And somehow they're so good that they're indistinguishable to any others.

Dick = Micheal “Mikey” Malone Honestly Dick uses this chance to get into a bunch of fights just for fun. Flirts a bit more freely but doesn't really have an interest in actually getting with someone. Just has funs and is known for throwing his own parties that usually end in free-for-all brawls. He absolutely loves being able to have parties that are the opposite of galas he's usually dragged into.

Cass = Molly Malone She's quiet and graceful, but she takes it to unnerving levels as Molly. Looks slim but carries guns on her at all time to better differentiate between Cassandra Wayne, Black Bat, and Molly Malone. Everyone knows if you need a weapon, guns, meelee, whatever, she's the one you go to. Gotham help you if you cross her though.

Jason = Peter “Petey” Malone Where Molly Malone goes, everyone knows Petey will be there as well. Jason absolutely adores the time he gets to do so, it's his turn to be silent and dramatic. Everyone can recognize the jagged scar over his neck, they can recognize it from corpses the Bats have gotten their talons on. Honestly he's delighted in being able to be Cass' enforcer of sorts and just have a good fight. Even if he complains about how making his Malone mute makes it where he can't quote Shakespeare like he wants to.

Steph = “Mia” Malone Ah yes, the explosive Malone. The one who has more arson charges than Firefly. Or at least she would if she was caught, but the entire Underbelly knows it was her. Steph is living her best life being able to pull all sorts of pranks and crazy shit and takes several ideas from Harley. Honestly she probably smells like gasoline or smoke all the time, and definitely put glitter in her hair. Maybe even has red hair as a Malone as well.

Tim = Alvin “Al” Malone He still goes by Alvin Draper too, which results in half the underbelly thinking that Draper is his middle name. Honestly he's having the best time, everyone knows to come to him for forgeries and less than legal identities, which he loves to create. I mean just look at how many new identities he creates for himself alone. He enjoys this type of thing, and hey, it's so easy to keep track of whose identity is fake when you're the one who made them. Plus it also lets him do good for those on the run for good reasons, a way to make sure people are safe.

Duke = Dennis “Denny” Malone Everyone knows Denny was adopted, but y'know what, I bet they don't care. And you know Duke is utterly insane, like jump off a bridge to escape the cops and create the We are Robin gang insane. And he gets to play that up as Denny. He will put forth the most batshit ideas and actually pull them off. I bet he uses his future-sight to cheat at different games and pool tables and all sorts of things, but no one can ever prove it. Because there is no proof, and the other people playing just has to deal with it.

Damian = “Mini M” Malone The little baby of the family, who everyone knows the older Malones absolutely dote over. This is his chance to act like an actual child, just with a hint of art theft. Hey, it wasn't like they got it legally either, so it's free game, especially if they weren't taking proper care of the art or a pet. He's just pleased to get to have even more pets, and that Goliath his demon dragon-bat gets to go on walkies.

Jarro = Jadan “Lil J” Malone Now Jarro is delighted to have a third mech, and is even more delighted for people to believe Damian (or technically M jr) and him are twins. Gives off someone is going to die- of fun with Mini M, and honestly enjoys being able to use his natural telepathy to be a small horror movie child that knows too much. Like will stare up at someone with wide eyes covered in blood and the others in Gotham's underbelly still aren't sure if the blood was his or someone elses. (it was neither)

================================================

Honestly I might write a oneshot or something for the Cryptid Batfam focusing on just them as the Malones family.

#what's outside au #what's out there au #batman #batman au #batfamily #the malones #they give off mob family vibes #hey just because Batman and the bats don't kill (that people know) doesn't mean a crime family can't #everyone thinks Mia & Al are twins #everyone thinks Molly & Petey are twins #everyone thinks M & J are twins #half the people think Matches & Madam are twins too #they're just out here having fun y'know #helping people who turned to crime because they had no other choice and taking care of the worse of the worse #remind me to elaborate later #also remind me to draw their designs #because i have so many thoughts #cryptid batman #cryptid batfam #batfam #gotham crime #matches malone

[minispidey]

02: Barbie's Dreamhouse.

Joel Miller x f!bimbo!reader. previous. series masterlist. next.

02. Strawberry Lemonade.

warnings: reader stares at joel a lot and finds him hot as hell, reader is dramatic as hell (might be annoying to some), explicit thoughts, suggestive, sarah is alive and 12 years old here, reader thinks she's a homewrecker, not beta read.

summary: you just can't help but gawk at your hot contractor who's working for free, thank god the view is free too. but a revelation makes you question if you're lusting for a married man.

reader's outfit is the blue one of the dolls from the barbie movie (this one under)

You had settled on the couch on the second-floor balcony with a glass and pitcher of cold lemonade and a few snacks, while Joel was up on the roof, using a ladder to climb up to the edges.

There was no mistaking his experience— he made little noise at all, moving around the structure as if it were just another Tuesday. Despite his hardass appearance, he was a very skilled worker.

He eventually climbed down from the roof and headed inside, taking a second to catch his breath before spotting you upstairs.

He was immediately thrown off by the adorable dress— especially the heart detail. But he knew it was rude to stare, so he did his best to keep his eyes on yours.

"That… was actually a lot quicker than I thought it would be," Joel said, clearly pleased. "I should have the rest of the replacement shingles put on in no time at all…"

"Are they pink?" you giggled.

"They're white but I painted over the roof last time, I'll just paint over em' some other day."

"I got some snacks for us. I tested the fridge and it was working too." you poured him a glass of lemonade. "Here, cool off."

Joel took the drink. The cool liquid was very much appreciated after all of that hard work. He took a few swigs from his glass before he looked you over again.

"Thank you…" He nodded, clearly still unable to tear his eyes away from your dress. "Where'd you stay last night?"

"I found a nearby bed and breakfast beside a gasoline station. At least they didn't question why I was all dirty when I checked in." you giggled. "So, what's next?"

"Hmm… the plumbin'. I’m assuming it hasn’t been fixed." Joel's brow furrowed slightly. “The main shutoff doesn’t work very well, so if there’s a leak, you won’t be able to do anything about it. That’s pretty much a priority.”

"Oh, right. Um... so what do we do?"

"Well, we’ve got to find the shutoff for now," Joel said as he set his drink down. It was clear he hadn’t done much plumbing in his life, but from the times he had worked on it, it was also clear he was quite skillful when it came to repairs.

"Follow me. The main one should be in the basement, from what I remember."

"Alright! Lead the way."

You follow Joel as he headed down the stairs into the basement— it was pretty cluttered down there, with lots of old junk strewn around. As he made his way across the room to the back wall, he grabbed an old flashlight and turned it on.

"Hopefully, the shutoff valve ain't coated in any rust," he muttered. "But if it is, might be tougher than expected…"

Sure enough, he found the right valve, but it was covered in that awful orange rust and was completely stuck. He frowned as he studied it.

"Oh… that ain't good. This could be a problem…"

"Oh no... what do we do?"

He looked at you and shrugged.

"We could apply some WD-40 to it and hope that loosens it up. But that’s a long shot. In all honesty, I think we’re gon' need to hire a professional plumber to come in and see what can be done about this."

"Well, uh..." you trailed off. Joel watched as you fidgeted with your fingers as your body grew stiff.

Joel could tell that you were trying your best not to worry, but he really couldn’t come up with any alternative. As much as he hated to ask, he really didn’t think there was another way around it.

"I'll cover it. Don't worry."

"Thank you, Joel." you put your hands behind your back and smiled cheekily at him.

In the course of the next few weeks, Joel hired workers from an electrician to install the chandelier and fix the wiring, to plumbers to fix the plumbing issue. With his own money, nonetheless.

"Thank you, seriously, Joel..." You stared up at the pink jewels dangling off the chandelier in awe.

Joel chuckled softly and was about to respond, but he paused, realizing just how many times he’s heard those same words in just a few weeks.

"You don't have to thank me so much, you know. This was nothing"

"I mean, giving thanks is always a basic human thing." you smiled and placed both of your hands on your hips. "Appreciation can do amazing things."

There was another pause. He shrugged and smirked. "I mean… are you always this appreciative?" he asked, trying to hide his smile.

"Of course! Why wouldn't I?"

"I dunno, I've just never known anyone who can be this appreciative, you know? It’s definitely not something I'm used to hearing…"

There was another pause as he was contemplating what to say.

"It’s just that… you're never gonna make me feel bad for it or anything, right?"

Your shoulders dropped and you tilted your head to the side. "Why would I?"

He sighed.

"I dunno. It's just that most people I know like to take advantage of or make me feel bad for what I do for them. You know, like always makin' me feel like I should do more just because I'm helpin' in the first place. But you don't ever act like that, and… well, I dunno. I guess I haven't been used to it."

"Why would they do such a thing?" you looked offended, furrowing your brows.

"I've always just been surrounded by assholes. I guess it's what's really normal for me. But with you… I mean, the difference is staggerin', isn't it? I guess I'm just now realizin' just how shitty most people that I've known actually are."

You smiled and walked towards him. "And how many people did you offer to fix their house for free?"

He laughed as he thought about it.

"Never before have I offered something like that. Usually, it's more like helpin' 'em fix their car or somethin' like that. So honestly, this is new territory for both of us. Though, even then, you're still much more appreciative than just about anyone I’ve ever come across."

"But I do promise," you held out your pinky finger with a wide smile. "I will pay you back soon."

For some reason, the pinky finger was funny to him. Maybe it was just that you were so genuinely innocent in your promise, or the contrast between how serious of a situation this could potentially be and you being so playful. He took your pinky finger and wrapped his own around yours. He looked you over.

"Do you swear? Because if you don't, there's about to be hell to pay. I take pinky promises quite seriously."

"That's so fun! I always keep my promises."

"I know you will. So this right here is a sign of a promise. And I trust that you will be able to keep that promise, so I don't need you to repay me right away."

"I promise. Cross my heart, hope to die."

He laughed and nodded, his smile growing as he squeezed slightly harder around your pinky. "Okay then. Just remember, you break this pinky promise, and I won't hesitate to let you know just how disappointed I am."

You let out a giggle after letting go of his pinky "Ooooh, I'm so scared."

He laughed as well.

"I think you should be! I'm not usually one to joke around when it comes to stuff like this." he chuckled again. "But just so you know, even though I'd be pretty angry, I really wouldn't have it in me to stay mad at you. You know that by now, right?"

"Why?" you batted your eyelashes at him "Is it because I'm preeeeetty?"

He was trying really hard to suppress his smile and hold back from laughing.

"It is indeed because I think you are pretty…. But I can't deny the fact that you've also become really good at pushin' out my buttons. Even if I really should be furious 'bout all the money I spent on this house, you make it tough not to just smile back at 'cha and forgive ya."

"I know, I'm sorryyyy..." you clasped your hands together and dramatically knelt down in front of him.

He chuckled. "Well, I really mean it. Your personality is one of the most refreshin' personalities I've ever come across in a long time. And I never would have even met you if it weren't for this house and Mags. That has to count for somethin', right?"

"Sentimental value?"

"Yeah, exactly. It's like the universe knew I needed someone like you in my life. Who knew a house could actually lead to a meaningful relationship… I definitely didn't see that comin'."

"The world works in mysterious ways." you shrugged. "Keep up, old man."

Joel laughed louder. There was something about you calling him an old man that he loved, even though he should be offended.

"Watch it, before you start makin' this old man feel his age. My body is just now startin' to fall apart on me, don't give it a reason to start fallin' apart faster than it already is!"

The both of you laughed. You got up from the floor and fixed your dress "So, is there anything else the house needs?"

Joel thought for a moment, finally coming to the realization that the house was probably good for now. It'd definitely need some more work on the interior in time, but at the least, it was liveable.

"Honestly? No, I don't believe there is. I think this house is good for now. I'll keep doin' my check-ins every few weeks or so to make sure that everythin' is alright with the house, but besides that, there's really nothin' more we need to do here."

"So..." you fiddled with your fingers. "What do we do now?"

Joel shrugged. "I'm not sure. I guess we just have ourselves a nice, long moment of standin' here and being proud of the fact that we've both survived the experience of trying to renovate this damn house. It’s a miracle either of us has our sanity still intact."

He laughed as he leaned up against the wall of the dining room.

"You know, you've spent a lot of time here. I've never even seen the inside of your house." you giggled.

"You know you're not wrong, I was here almost every day for weeks on end." his eyes trailed off as he thought and sighed. "I guess I should invite you over sometime then, right? It's not nearly as interesting as this house, but I'm sure you'd love it."

"My house is pink. Big deal." you rolled your eyes and walked towards him, leaning against the kitchen wall "You know every nook and cranny of my house, of course, I deserve to know yours."

"It's only fair."

"Indeed."

You kept staring at Joel. He had some beads of sweat falling from his scalp to his face, and god did he look hotter than hell. You felt like a Victorian lady seeing an ankle.

"Are you single-" your question got muffled by the sound of the doorbell, and turn your head towards the door "Coming!" you said.

You walked towards the door and swung it open, greeted by a young girl. "Hi, is my dad here?"

Your brows furrowed. "Dad?" who could possibly-

"Sarah," Joel said from behind you. Your head immediately snapped towards him and your eyes widened like a deer in headlights. "Have you met my daughter?" he asked you.

You blinked twice. "I-I don't think I have."

You really had no idea he even was a father... or even considered, married.

Sarah looked around the room in awe, her eyes trailing all across the furniture and her expression changing several times as she looked.

"Did you fix this house all by yourself?" she asked Joel, her eyes wide.

Joel cleared his throat and nodded. "Yeah. I rebuilt this whole house pretty much myself— minus the plumbin' and electrician work, which I had hired some guys for. We still have to go through planning on each room, but it's almost done." he pointed towards you. "She's still thinkin' about what to do with all these rooms."

Sarah's facial expression changed to a small smile as she giggled. She turned her head towards you. "Daddy tells me a lot about you. He says you're so nice. The nicest lady he's ever met. Was it all true?”

You were still in a shocked state but you shook your head a bit and gave her a smile. "Why don't you be the judge of that?"

"You're really pretty..." Sarah stared in awe at you.

"Hey, didn't you say you gotta pick up your Girl Scout cookies today?" Joel looked at his wristwatch. "We gotta hurry if you wanna start sellin' 'em tomorrow."

"Oh, right!"

Joel and Sarah waved goodbye to you as they walked out of your house, and you stood there on your porch questioning everything.

"He's... married?" you closed the front door and walked up the stairs, slowly and dramatically. You tried to think of the signs that he was married. Ring? You didn't even notice! Well, not counting the times you stared at his large fingers and imagined them inside of you...

"Oh, god..." the realization hit you. You entered the main bedroom and you fell to your knees. "I'm a homewrecker!" you cried out.

tags: @danaispunk @buckybarnessweetheart @skysmiller @joelsflannel @sweetenerobert @clownd1ck @jhiddles03 @schwytie @femmeanonymelives @redemie @pedropascal-whore @hello-shirousa @survivingandenduring @sk-e-le-ton-s @urbrazysimp @amyispxnk @clownd1ck @livingdeadmaria @joeldjarin @blood-suckerxoxo @reallylovereading

(tags are open! just reply to be added. reblogs are appreciated!)

#joel miller #the last of us #tlou #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #joel tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller au #x bimbo!reader #x bimbo reader

[twst-drabbles]

Lilia 11

Summary: You two were alone by the fire. The Lilia you knew was rather playful in his flirtations. This younger Lilia was more… aggressive? To the point? Either way, he put himself on your lap with a glare.

(More time travel shenanigans. This is the only thing my brain wants right now, so may as well indulge.)

"I'm surprised you still come here," you said, poking a log deeper into the fire, "You just had a victory over some invading humans. Shouldn't you be over there celebrating with your men?"

Lilia, sitting flat on the ground, took a large swig from a glass flask. What he's drinking, you don't want to know. It's swamp like in color and thick like gasoline, but it seems to be something that gets him drunk.

He swallowed and sighed with deep satisfaction, red high in his cheeks. "You think we have enough time to celebrate? We don't live this long indulging in those loud parties those nobles love so much. Besides, this is a break, not a celebration."

Yeah, he's pretty tipsy. Well, as tipsy as a fae can get. You've seen people stumble around blind in their drunkenness, but never faeries.

"Huh," you looked to Lilia, "you take breaks? Wouldn't Her Highness singe you bald if she found out?"

"There are many things I don't tell her," and just like that, General Lilia's face and relaxed continence became more sober. Sharper. "How I go about in my private days, she doesn't need to know. Though, not as though I can stop her when she wants to barge in on them…"

Huh. Well, that's not quite as shocking as you thought it would be. No matter the time, Lilia was always keeping something close to his chest, whether it be something seemingly benign or important.

"Though," you leaned your face against your hand, catching Lilia's red eyes, "Am I really so relaxing to be around? That you would go out of your way to see me? I didn't think you saw me as a friend."

Really, in all his prickly nature, and the fact that his closest one was a woman who hated you, you thought Lilia would be more distant with you.

Then, Lilia smiled. A glint, shape canines shining in the flaring fire, as though he found something both succulent and offensive to his senses.

"A 'friend,' huh?"

Just as his flask landed on the stiff grass, Lilia closed the distance and clicked a heel right next to you against the log. You back up with a "whoa," just so your face didn't hit his nose. Lilia wasn't deterred, he simply leaned down so you couldn't focus on anything but him.

"Friends, with a human. It's laughable really, just saying that sentence alone!" His grin, for the moment it was there, was mocking. "Imagine how many would die of laughter at the thought of me wanting more than friendship from a human."

And that mockery was aimed at himself. Accepting of what's in him, and irritated at it existed at all.

"Since when have you ever cared?" You didn't turn away nor did you push him. "Why not indulge in the now? You can always forget about it later."

That gave Lilia pause. He took in a breathe and glared at you. He slid right into your lap without much sound. His arms rested upon your shoulders.

"…you should know what it is you're saying," Lilia murmured, as though he's afraid he'll blow away this fantasy if too loud, "Pranks like this are in poor taste."

You let your hand feel up the side of his body, your other combing through his long hair, releasing it from it's high tail.

"You know I don't do pranks," you're more dragged into them than anything, "Now come on. Indulge."

Lilia, impatient, closed the distance. This will be a secret, known to only you, Lilia, and the fire behind him.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst-drabbles #twst-drabbles exclusive #drabble #diasomnia #lilia #lilia vanrouge #janitor au #time travel shenanigans #reader insert

[ohisms]

↪   ᵀᴴᴱ 𝑀𝐼𝐶𝐾 .    (  a  series  of  sentence  starters  from  season  1  of fox's sitcom ,  “ the mick ” .   adjust  phrasing  as  necessary . will be updated !  )

oh my god , why do you have gasoline ?!

we're fine , not that it's any of your concern .

stay out of trouble .

no , you're not coming in with me .

you're embarrassing . you embarrass me . i'm embarrassed of you .

can i bum a smoke , please ?

it's okay , i already have a dollar .

i get the sense that you're in need a lot .

i don't have a problem . you do , otherwise we wouldn't be having this conversation .

what do you mean ? you invited me .

i got into yale , that doesn't mean i'm going .

the scales of justice tip in favor of the wealthy .

if we throw enough money at this thing , i'm sure it'll go away .

let's catch up in ten years when you need another loan .

i feel like we got off on the wrong foot .

i want you to come to me with boy problems . or girl problems , i don't assume .

i know you think you're pretty clever with this plan to drink me under the table , but there's two problems ... you're not , .. & you can't .

she's not dead , i can see her breathing .

i cannot count the number of times i've been ripped off a barstool & thrown in a cage .

i should probably get out of the house , yesterday kinda got away from me .

i don't like these people . but i like you .

why are we at a poor person's restaurant ?

don't touch my stuff , psycho .

no , i don't believe you . you're lying .

uh , i don't know , maybe because you're a lying bitch .

okay , look , i understand this stuff is really hard to hear .

let's just keep our voices down , okay ?

you think i care about these idiots ?

what is wrong with you ? you're making a scene .

how's that for a scene ?! dinner & a show !

i know what you're up to , & you're not gonna get away with it .

i'm sorry , you think you're in charge ?

once all this is gone , all that's left is this . & nobody wants just this .

wait , wait , wait ! i'm coming with you !

i will only go if i have your blessing .

if you need anything at all , do not hesitate to call 911 .

[ name ] , my beautiful angel !

i heard about that little accident you had .

so , this is it ! home sweet home .

holy crap , you're alive ...

what are you doing here ? are you living at my place ?

okay , i'm sensing some major hostility here .

i thought you were dead !

don't pay attention to him , he's no one .

— i'm just kidding ! oh , i'm so sorry , your face ...

no ... you're joking — this is a joke , right ?

i'm gonna go freshen up , this'll be fun !

my legs are heavy , but my mind is light ...

wait , why is my window open ?

do i look like i'm playing games ?

we both burnt that bridge , it doesn't matter who lit the match .

i need you to do me a favor , i did you a favor .

oh , thank god you're here . you've gotta help us .

oh , i'm not going anywhere .

what do you want me to do about it ?

knock - knock ... can i come in ?

oh ... i get it . you're jealous .

enough with the guessing games , i'm freaking out over here .

fine . i'll fix this myself .

i thought we agreed i'm the boss ?!

if you saw my silence as agreeing with you , that's on you .

don't take it personally , his heart just isn't for sale .

not now , [ name ] , i'm gloating .

[ name ] ?! since when do you smoke ?

HEY .. !! [ name ] . just the person i wanted to see .

i haven't gone this long without a smoke in years .

either be part of the solution or get the hell out .

well , now i feel like you're lying .

regardless of how we got here , i'm having a really good time .

is it ? is it creepy to be ahead of everybody at all times ?

i want to squeeze you around your neck until you can't breathe .

i said that forever ago when i was young and dumb .

if i were you , i would take this opportunity to lay low .

that's the opposite of what i just suggested .

[ name ] , you've been overruled .

i don't mean to offend you , you don't fit the [ surname ] brand .

it's already happening , we're becoming socially radioactive .

i'm sorry , that night is a blur of bad pinot and intolerable conversation .

oh , so you're a liar too ?

i was sitting at home , and then i remembered you're not my boss .

what's the matter ? little plan didn't work ?

#rp meme #inbox meme #rp sentence starters #inbox prompts #ohisms

[thepixelelf]

warnings: story starts after a car crash. wc: 1.6k

[sooo, what did I miss?] The first thing you notice when you come to is the acrid fumes in the air. They tickle your nose and rouse a cough from the deepness of your chest, which travels up your throat and comes out as a choke. Your head feels like it's filled with seawater -- like it's been drowning for hours, but you can't let the pain and grogginess hinder you from moving. You have to get out of your car if it's smelling this much like gasoline, and fast.

Your entire body feels stiff. At first, you try to flex your fingers, get the blood pumping enough to make use of them at all. Opening your eyes proves to not be much help. The fumes sting against your eyeballs, and you can't see past the engaged airbag anyhow. Instead, you keep your eyes screwed shut and grunt as you lift both arms to push the deflating airbag out of your way. On muscle memory alone, you fumble for the key in the ignition. Your fingers, for a few seconds, are too weak to twist the key, but after a few determined yanks, you successfully turn off your car. With one possibility of an explosion knocked off the list, you heave yourself off the car seat and shove your body into the driver's side door, thankful when you can open it just fine.

Whatever you'd hit after veering off the road, at least it didn't--

Fuck, why did you veer off the road?

As you fall out of your car, hacking up a storm, having inhaled too much smoke, you try to gather your memories together, but find nothing. There's this lingering feeling... You know something made you jerk both hands on the wheel and swerve off the freeway.

You just don't know what.

Deciding that the memory will probably come back to you later, you stumble a good number of steps away from your car and collapse once again to catch your breath. The cool night air does your lungs well, easing the fire that's still burning in your chest little by little. A metallic taste coats the inside of your mouth. You'd bitten your tongue during the crash.

The roads around you are empty, but what did you expect at sometime-past-three in the goddamn morning? You'd been... yes, you were on your way to the other side of the city, choosing the freeway over the hustle and bustle of traffic in the city streets. Seungcheol had called you.

Well, no. One of Seungcheol's friends had called you using his phone. They asked you to come pick him up from the club they were at because he was apparently "blasted". Though, he was lucid enough to have his friends call you rather than his older sister, who you suspected would chew him out for drinking during his university's exam season.

Even though you're closer to Seonhui, you tend to err on the side of the "cool uncle" type to Seungcheol, despite being only four years older than him. You know, the type of person you can call to pick you up from the bar without getting upset at you for being there in the first place. Someone who has no stake in any of your life decisions, so they get the privilege of not having to judge you for any of them.

He'd said something about Seonhui -- you had heard his voice yelling in the background of the call. Something about how she didn't have to know and about something important he had to tell you when you showed up.

You groan thinking about him. Poor guy; now his sister actually does have to know because her friend is an idiot who drives off freeways for no discernible reason. Feeling around your pockets, you sigh in relief when you find your phone. There's no way you'd want to search your now hellmouth of a car for it.

You know the logical thing to do first is call emergency services, but you could be on the phone with them for who knows how long. Might as well tell the person who's depending on you that you can't make it. Dialling the most recent number isn't difficult, really, although you're starting to feel the chill in the air. You shiver as you bring your phone up to your ear.

"You've reached the voicemail of--"

His voice interrupts the automated one. "Choi Seungcheol."

"--please leave a message after the tone."

You frown at the beep that rings in your ear. Seungcheol should be looking at his phone if he's waiting for you to pick him up, or at least have the ringer on. You wait only a few seconds after hanging up to call him again.

This time, the low trill rings twice before he picks up.

"...Hello?"

You're a bit out of it at this point, having just crashed your car and all, but you think he sounds... slow, like he just woke up, but also hesitant. Since you can't think of a reason he'd sound like that, though, you just ignore it.

"Hey, listen," you say, voice raspy from all those noxious fumes. "I can't pick you up anymore. Sorry"

He doesn't respond for a moment.

A long moment.

"...What?"

He must be pretty drunk.

"I got into a little accident. Princess--" That's what you, Seonhui, and Seungcheol affectionately call your shitty 2007 Honda Civic. You look over at your still-smoldering car and grimace. "--she's done for."

More silence. It's strange... there's no sound in the background, either. Did he move outside?

"Anyway, you're gonna either have to bite the bullet and call Seonhui or maybe try an Uber--"

"Is this some sort of sick joke?"

Your words come to a halt at his sudden, bitter tone, and you let out an incredulous huff of a laugh. "Look, man, I crashed Princess on the side of the road, so I'm sorry" --your tongue curls sarcastically around the apology-- "that I can't pick you up from your drunken bender."

"How do you know about Princess?"

"What the hell are you on about, Seungcheol? How do I know about my car?" An exasperated breath escapes you, and you choke on it for a second. After the short coughing fit has cleared, you bring your phone back to your ear. "You're drunker than I thought. Don't you have an exam soon or something?"

"Exam-- who is this?"

That makes you pause.

"Seungcheol," you say, simply. "It's me."

Another moment of quiet passes, and you wonder to yourself if you've suffered a concussion.

Then he asks, "What's my favourite food?"

"What does that have to do--"

"Answer the question."

Sighing, you wrap your free arm around your middle in a futile attempt to stay warm. "You tell everyone it's pork cutlet, but I know for a fact that you keep a stash of white chocolate in your room."

You hear him exhale. "Fuck."

"I don't underst--"

"Where are you?" he asks, a frantic tone to his voice now.

"Umm..." You glance around. "Highway 216... close to exit thirty-four."

"Don't move. I'm coming to get you."

You shake your head, struggling to keep up. "What? If you're calling me an Uber, don't bother. I have to call EMS to file the--"

"Don't," Seungcheol insists, and you have no idea why, but you feel inclined to listen. "Listen to me. Do not call anyone. Wait until I get there."

"There's a fine if you don't report an accident in twenty-four hours."

"Trust me." The sound of a car door slamming shut on his end of the line only gives you more questions. "You don't need to bother."

=

It takes only fifteen minutes for Seungcheol to find you, and by then you're shivering from head to toe.

A car you've never seen before pulls over and parks hastily near where you're standing (the cold ground got a little too cold). Its four-way flashers turn on before a familiar-ish figure exits and starts making his way towards you, silhouetted by the car's headlights.

"Since when can you drive?" you call out first, since it's definitely a surprise to you seeing your friend's little brother behind the wheel. You could've sworn Seonhui was whining about his lack of license a week ago. "And-- wait, should you be driving? You were just drinking--" He steps even closer, and you see the wisps of his hair lit by the headlights behind him. "Are you blond? When did that--"

You don't get the chance to finish your question. Seungcheol pulls you tightly into him, his hand on the back of your head pressing your face into his coat so all you can really say is "oomph."

Seungcheol's never really hugged you before. At least, not like this. His fingers dig into the fabric of your clothes, like he's clutching desperately to something that will slip from his grasp if he loosens his hold even in the slightest.

It faintly registers to you that he doesn't smell like alcohol at all.

You try to speak, muffled as you are against his coat. "Seungcheol, what--"

"I dyed my hair last week," he says, breathless. The words are panted over your ear, and it's then you fully realize how closely he's wrapped himself around you. You go to say something about how you saw his black hair just the other day, but he continues. "I'm four years sober next month."

The numbers are not crunching. "That doesn't--"

"And my license," he says, finally pulling back just enough so that you can see his face. "I got that in 2018."

You frown. "It's 2016."

Seungcheol breathes out your name, but all you hear is warning bells. You can tell by the pitying look on his face -- as much as it's mixed with relief. You're not going to like what he says next.

"It's 2023," he tells you, saying your name again like it's precious. He holds you tighter. "You've been missing for seven years."

#caratlibrary #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #svt scenarios #svt imagines #svt x reader #s.coups x reader #s.coups imagines #s.coups scenarios #scoups scenarios #scoups imagines #scoups x reader #seungcheol scenarios #choi seungcheol imagines #choi seungcheol scenarios #choi seungcheol x reader #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol imagines

[writeforfandoms]

Drinking Gasoline

For the Alex Keller Challenge hosted by @glitterypirateduck

Some sparring with Alex leads to flirtation, and maybe more.

I used "Don't look at me like that" for this one. And lots of flirting.

Warnings: Flirting, kissing, light sparring, more flirting.

Word count: 1k

You smirked at Alex, standing across from him. He'd asked for your help in going over a few things. It was one of the things you liked about him - his ego didn't get in his way. 

“Sure you're ready, Keller?” You kept the twunt light, easy-going, fun. Not serious. He was already probably one of the most dangerous people you worked with. 

And you didn't just mean his combat skills. 

“Oh I'm ready for you.” He grinned, just as easy and teasing. 

You chuckled and started moving, going through the steps slowly at first to be sure he saw it all. 

His form was good, as always. He was attentive, gaze intent on you, not at all worried about taking instruction from a woman. When he ran through the moves on his own, you stepped around him, watching. 

But he was good. He was gorgeous really, tank top showing off toned shoulders, hair just a little mussed from the activity. 

“Good,” you murmured. “Now let's see you put it in practice.” You stepped across to the other side of the mats, smirking. 

Alex met your smirk with his own, easy and confident. Yet another reason you liked sparring with him - he was always a good challenge. 

The first time, you got him on the mats quickly. His attempt to buck you off just seated you more firmly on him. 

You grinned down at him, privately enjoying the sight of him under you. “Nice try,” you said, amused. 

“Oh just wait.” He grinned back at you, apparently totally undaunted. “Still gettin’ warmed up for you.” 

You fought down the warmth he inspired seemingly effortlessly. You two bantered. It was a thing you did. Not a big deal. 

“Well, unless you plan to spend all afternoon on your back, you better get moving.” You pushed up to your feet and stepped away, giving him a chance to get up and back into position. 

But you caught him licking his lips, eyes on you as he stood. Electricity zinged down your spine, the thrill of possibility. 

Unless you were misreading this…? 

You got caught up in the heat in his eyes, the way he moved. You forgot to check his feet. 

Really, you had nobody but yourself to blame when he swept your legs out, sending your sprawling to the mats. He was on you before you could recover, pinning you down, face close to yours. 

“What was that about spending the afternoon on my back?” He teased, grip firm without hurting you. 

You laughed, a little breathless. “I stand corrected,” you murmured. “Or, well. Y'know.” 

He chuckled, easing his grip on you and backing off slowly. His touch lingered on your skin, and he didn't go far. “One more go?”

“Sure.” You pushed up to your feet again, breathing in deep. One more and then you'd go clear your head. This was training, not flirting. 

Now you just needed to remind your heart (and certain other parts of you) of that fact. 

“You seem distracted,” Alex taunted as the two of you circled slowly, looking for openings. “Am I not entertaining enough for you?” 

You snorted. “Oh, you're a handful,” you agreed, letting your gaze rake over him, just once, slowly. Slowly enough that you were sure he caught it. 

He licked his lips again. “Seems like you're up to the challenge.”

“I do love a good challenge.” You shifted your weight, looking for an opening. 

Alex smiled slowly, shifting his weight. You lunged towards him, not holding back. 

This round lasted longer than the previous two, the two of you trading blows and both trying to get the other down to the mats. You were both sweaty when you stepped back, looking for an opening. You just needed a little–

Alex moved fast, one final flurry of movements that ended with you face-down on the mats, his weight pinning you down. You slapped the mats twice, and he released you, grinning broadly. 

“Well? I pass muster?” 

You laughed a little, sitting up carefully. “Yeah you do,” you agreed, rolling your shoulders. “Damn, Keller.” 

His smile dipped, just a little. “Did I hurt you?” 

“No.” You smiled, softer than you intended. “I'm fine.” 

Alex shuffled forward, one hand on your shoulder, giving you a quick once-over. Then another, slower look, his lips parting just a little. 

“Don't look at me like that,” you whispered, eyes wide and fixed on his lips. 

“Like what?” He leaned in closer, slowly, his hand creeping closer to your collarbone. 

The door hit the wall with a clang, and you both jumped. 

You swallowed, looking back at Alex. Moment of truth. “Let's finish this elsewhere?” 

Alex smiled slowly. “I know a place.” He stood and offered you a hand up, which you took. The two of you passed the group of four with only a nod. 

Alex opened the door to his room, allowing you in first. As soon as the door closed behind him he was on you, fingers curled around your waist, barely any space between the two of you. 

“Tell me this is okay,” he murmured. “Tell me I read this right.” 

“You did,” you reassured him, one hand curling around the nape of his neck. “Now shut up and kiss me.” 

He grinned, cheeky and a little adoring. “Yes ma'am.” He kissed you passionately, the two of you gravitating closer until there was no space between you. 

Finally. 

#alexkellerchallenge #alex keller x you #alex keller x reader #f!reader

[bau-drabbles]

hello could you do “are you ashamed of me?” with spencer? maybe about their new relationship? i love your fanfics keep up the good works! 💗💗💗

aw of course. thank u for asking, my love 🤍 hope you enjoy (its rlly rushed, i'm sorry 😭)

"so l/n, are you going out with anyone?"

the question was enough innocent enough, matter of fact, it was supposed to be a yes or no answer and then on to a different question to someone else. simple enough

so you don't know why your mouth refused to a thing

their eyes were burning a hole into you, the longer you weren't answering the more their curiosity were piqued. you could hear giggles and hushed whispers but it all felt muffled under the thundering of your heart.

spencer sat before you, his honeyed eyes observing every detail about you. his lips were poised in a soft smile, ready for you to tell them all about your secret relationship. with him, specifically. he wanted to tell the teams months ago but you weren't ready just yet, so he complied.

finally, he wanted to kiss you on the cheek without the risk of being seen, the burden of having you in private but never public finally gone. he thought you shared the same thoughts, felt the same way.

feeling the panic coursing through your veins like gasoline, you awkwardly chuckle your way out of answering. but spencer kept making glances, his eyebrow perked ever so slightly, wondering what was holding you back. you both finally accepted that you'd let them know today, what happened??

instead you gently shook your head, taking a sip of your drink

"no, i'm happy being single" like slow motion, reid watched the words fall from your lips but they didn't comprehend until the rest of the team shared sympathetic looks.

they patted your shoulder and told you you'd find someone soon. that you weren't alone, and if it was any consolation reid was also single.

but his heart had felt as if it was breaking in two, swallowing the protruding lump in his throat. morgan had made a joke that reid was also single and he nudged his shoulder, it took reid everything to pretend to smile and raise his glass. to pretend to be happy for you when he wanted to let the secret out

his eyes burned holes into you but you simply ignored them, much like him for the rest of the evening.

•••

the car ride home was silent, at least from your end. morgan and jj were chuckling, joking and talking about memories. but you and spencer haven't the heart to join in with them so you both sat on the opposite ends of the car, your heads resting on the windows. and when it came to your stop, you say your bye's, hopping out. you don't expect spencer come with you but hearing the slam of the car door tells you otherwise.

"goodnight you guys" jj gives you both a smile, morgan giving you a wink as they drive off. you wish you're in the backseat, unable to face spencer after tonight. you're not sure what to say but you already want to get it over with

you trudged your way to your home, opening the door. dismantling the alarm you make your way to your kitchen, perhaps if you fake your headache he would leave you alone?

"are you mad at me?" spencer stops walking, his hands deep in his pockets. you don't have to face him to know the look on his face. and it breaks your heart that you're the one causing him this pain.

"no" you answered a little too defensively, silently hoping he didn't pick up on the tone. but he did, he always does.

"then look at me y/n, please" his tone is soft yet commanding so you turn on your heels, towards him. but still, unable to make any eye contact. you don't even know how to explain it to him when you can't make sense of it yourself. this relationship or whatever it was called was going too fast, it felt like you couldn't breathe. it had shifted your world on its axis, leaving you overwhelmed and unable to breathe

you knew his ex lover, maeve. you knew how much he adored her. how much you wouldn't be able to amount to her. how the team would make the comments that she was incredibly intelligent, that her and spencer were both two peas in a pod. how could you possibly amount to her?

was it jealousy? was it envy? was it pain? you didn't quite know.

"are you ashamed of me, then?" spencer comes closer until he's a foot away, observing your facial features. he's trying to profile you, something you really didn't like. and no matter how much you tried to keep a straight face, he could see the hurricane of emotion in your eyes. the trouble, the pain, the sadness. all he wanted you to do was let him in, just let him in

"i'm tired spencer, please" you move past him, so desperately wanting to bury yourself in your bed and never come out

"so that's a yes" his voice stops you once more and the way he had said it, breaks your heart into fragments. he sounded so small, so worried, so sad. almost like he knew he was losing you from the start.

"it's...." you take a breath, insecurities coming to light. you know your next words are important, you know you they're going to make or break your relationship. but looking at him, standing there. only one thought richoted in your head.

let me always love you by telling you goodbye

it was safer for him and for you, perhaps from afar you may always admire him. but this relationship wasn't the wisest choice. you could never live up to the expectations maeve set up in his heart. you could never be like her. could he accept that or would he grow to resent you?

"you know what? you're right, reid. i'm ashamed of this. of us. i thought i could do it but i can't. i-i can't pretend that you're the man i no longer..." your breath hitched in your throat, watching him. he was silent, you could see him cracking piece by piece under the harshness of your words. but it had to be said. you had to be the one to end it this time.

"i no longer love you" it felt like the world had collided, the ground trembling under his feet. he hoped it was, he hoped the ground would swallow him whole. the moment he truly thought would never happened was playing out in front of his eyes.

was this how he was doomed to spend the rest of his life? coming so close to love only to never experience it?

"y/n plea-" he reaches out but you move backwards, recoiling away from his touch. it makes him want to cry, he wants to know what's going on. why you're being so cold but he can't, he's lost you for good.

so he doesn't say anything further, his eyes drifting from your feet to your eyes slowly. his mouth in a straight line, unable to say anything. what could he say? he could beg you not to make this decision but you're set, you've finalised it in your head. he doesn't even want to leave but you've made it clear where he stands so he has no other choice.

with every step he felt his heart break even more, knowing that he'd never be quite the same again. burning tears escape his eyes and he hurriedly wipes them away but they continue to fall regardless.

and all you could do was watch, your arms wrapped tight around you as the man you loved with your entire soul, left you alone

you still got a chance at forever if i leave...

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader angst

[astroboots]

Hello! Why not a lil drabble where the husband thinks the worst every time the love of his life is a bit sick? I think it'd be funny to imagine Steven Grant worrying all the time and Marc Spector + the reader trying to reassure him 😅

Sick as a dog

Summary: You have a cold and Marc nurses you back to health.

ASTROBOOT’S MASTERLIST | MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST

The insides of your throat feels like it's on fire. Your shoulders and back are stiff and your limbs ache.

The quilts lying by your feet is drawn up to your shoulders, and soft fingers come to the your cheeks, gently cupping your face.

"Love, are you sure you're okay? Maybe it's best I take you to the GP?"

Steven is biting his bottom lip with worry. He's been hovering and fretting over you since this morning when you woke up. Insisting on calling in sick to take care of you. (Something that is definitely going to get him in trouble judging from the screeching voice of his boss Donna that you overheard from the phone when he made the call from the other end of the flat).

You shake your head. "It's just a cold. no point. If I go there, they're just going to send me packing back home."

"Can I at least get you something to eat?"

Your stomach roils at the idea. Everything hurts. Your lungs feel like someone doused it in gasoline and lit a match and then left it in a barn filled with hay and in this imagery your body would be the barn. You don't think you can keep anything in your stomach.

You shake your head, burying your face further into the soothing coolness of your pillow as you close your eyes to it. "It's just a cold, just need some sleep," you murmur, and it only takes a handful of seconds before you feel the lightheadness of sleep try to claim you.

There's voices in the room. You think Steven is talking to you. He sounds so worried, and your chest aches when you hear him. But he keeps talking even as you're unable to answer him and you realise he must be talking to Marc. You don't know what he's saying and you're too exhausted to drag yourself from sleep to let him know that it's ok. It's just a cold. He doesn't need to worry, even if it feels like your body is going to burn away into ashes.

You wake to darkness. You don't know how long you must've been out with sleep. Is it already evening? Twisting your sore neck, you peer out over the room. The drapes have been carefully drawn shut, and for the wide window with no drapes, someone's done an impromptu fix, covering it with large bedsheets to block out the afternoon sun.

"How you feeling?"

You blink up at the voice. Brown eyes are staring down at you. Not Steven's big and wide eyes, instead they're narrowed and intense, but no less worried than Steven had been. Marc you realise.

A large hand comes up to your forehead and settles there. He grinds down on his jaw and you can see the tense muscle there flex as Marc's tight expression turn into frown. "Shit, baby you're burning up."

"It's just a cold and a fever," you offer weakly. Too tired to fight him.

His hand comes to your face, thumb smoothing over your cheeks, and it feels so good. It's soothing. Then he pulls away, and you find yourself chasing the doting touch, tilting your face up for him and nearly whine at the loss.

His hand pushes you back down by your shoulders, flat on the bed. "Stay down," he orders.

There's the din of clutter in some far away remote place of the flat, but you're too exhausted to turn your head to look again. Struggling to stay awake when the mattress dips next to you and Marc is there with a cup of water and an arsenal of things lying next to you.

There's two pills in the open palm of his hand, as he pushes the glass into your hand. "Drink," he orders, just as curtly as before. Mother hen to the core, but with none of the soft bedside manners of Steven.

You try to raise yourself in bed, and Marc's hand are quickly there, holding your arm and waist to steady you as you take a gulp. It hurts to swallow.

When you're done, he takes the glass from you, setting it down by the shelf for now, and then his hand comes to the hem of your shirt and starts to pull it upwards.

His fingers skirt over your ribs and it feels so pleasant, your whole back tingles with it until your face is awash with the gentle touch as you stare up at him in confusion.

"You're soaked in sweat," Marc explains, as he tugs it the rest of the way, leaving you naked waist up in front of him. Then he shakes his head, with a small amused smile tugging at his lips. "Get your mind out of the gutter, baby."

You can't help but laugh. How can you not, when Marc is smiling at you like that, eyes crinkling softly.

"Sit up," he instructs, a hand steady the small of your back, and then he brings a wet cloth to the expanse of the bare and sweat drenched skin there and wipes you down.

It feels like heaven. Soothing as the lukewarm wet towel wipes away at the cold sweat there, and you make a small and pleased humming noise.

"Yeah?" Marc asks. "That feel good?"

You don't even have words for him, you just nod, as his touch comes up to your sore neck, with a gentle thoroughness that makes a kaleidoscope of butterflies flutter in your chest.

He comes down to your stomach, and the front of your chest, wringing out the water in a basin until he comes back to massage at the tenseness of your aching thighs. The pain and soreness eases, the achiness melting away at his gentle touch until you unspool at the seam and can't do anything but lie against the mattress in a half-lucid puddle.

The quilt comes up to your shoulders and he tucks it beneath your chin, until you're like a folded burrito. "Get some sleep. I'll make you some soup you can eat when you wake, okay?"

He rises to leave, and your hand flings out to grab at his wrist and he stops abruptly. "Stay," you whine. It's selfish. You're probably going to get him sick. But you feel vulnerable and weak, and all you want is for him to stay here next to you. To feel his reassuring weight pressed next to yours. "Please?"

Marc looks down on you, and even though you must look something horrific. Nose stuffed with snot, eyes crusted and hair a matted and sweaty mess against your forehead, a zone of infectious disease, there's no hesitation as he drops back down on the bed and settles next to you. His arm wraps all around you, hand cupping the back of your head as he tucks your face into the nape of his neck.

"Thank you."

He turns, just enough for his mouth to brush against your clammy and disgustingly sweaty forehead and then he presses a kiss there.

"Get better," he whispers, and as his arms tighten around you, and you can feel his comforting warmth wrapped all around, you want to tell him that with him here, it already is.

Follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications for when I post something new!

#marc spector #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #steven grant #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #moon knight #marvel #marvel mxu #moon knight x reader #moon knight x you #oscar isaac #💌 asks

[musei-thoughts]

𝘎𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘗𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳. [𝘉𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳]

00.

𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙨𝙢

(𝘯.) 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨; 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘶𝘳𝘨𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦

"𝙃𝙪𝙧𝙧𝙮 𝙪𝙥 𝙍𝙖𝙣! 𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙮'𝙧𝙚 𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙬𝙖𝙮!"

The night pulsed with danger as Rindou's frantic voice cut through the tension, "I'm trying. The road is packed. Damn it."

In a chaotic symphony of adrenaline, Rindou reloaded his pistol. The bullets from the enemy rained down on them, trying to get them off their tail.

"Shit. They have more men?!" Sanzu yelled, dodging the bullets as more cars with shooters began to fire at them. 

"Hold on, I'm gonna try to get past these trucks!" Koko paled, seeing the slim chance of the car slipping in between the two trucks ahead of them. "Are you kidding?! There's no way it would fit!!" He screeched, grabbing onto the sides of the car for dear life.

“That’s what she said.” The Haitani’s said in unison.

"If I die I want you to delete my search history for me, bro." Ran muttered, shedding a fake tear. 

"HOW THE HELL AM I GONNA DELETE IT IF I DIE TOO?!" 

Ran thought for a moment. "Oh well. Then let me confess that I wore your tongs." 

"I DON'T HAVE TONGS!" Rindou retaliated.

"I do." 

The two Haitanis turned their attention to Sanzu, who was glaring at Ran. "Well, shit. Let's talk about this after we've dealt with these imbeciles." 

With that, he focused on the road and sped up. As the trucks got closer, the distance between it grew smaller. 

Rindou gripped on his seatbelt while Sanzu hugged Koko’s arm, dialing Takeomi. 

"HEY OLD MAN! BEFORE RAN KILLS US I JUST WANT TO TELL YOU I WAS THE REASON YOUR DATE DITCHED YOU IN HIGHSCHOOL! I TOLD HER THAT YOU LIKED FURRIES IN MAID OUTFITS! BYE." 

"Why you fucki-"

"ALSO, I'M GRANMA'S FAVORITE GRANDBABY. BYE." He hangs up, hugging Koko's arm tighter when they were only a few feet away from the trucks. 

"TELL AKANE I LOVE HER. AND IM SORRY FOR FUCKIN HER BROTHER. I COULDN'T HELP IT, HE LOOKED SO MUCH LIKE HER." Koko added to their pitiful confessions, crying like a bitch. 

The three gave him a ‘wtf’ look, "Tell her that yourself when we get there dude." Koko rolled his eyes at them and flipped them off. 

The tension escalated as they hurtled toward the narrow gap. Koko, gripping his seatbelt, exchanged a glance with Sanzu, both silently praying for survival. Ran focuses on the road for the umpteenth time, relaxing his shoulders and begins taking deep breaths. 

Inhale. 

Exhale. 

Don't choke on your spit now, Ran. 

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale-

"*cough cough* w-water...Rin..water..." He choked, struggling to breathe.

He turned around towards Rindou, his eyes pleading. "WHERE THE FUCK WILL I GET WATER?!"

"There's apple juice here." Sanzu said, handing them a bottle of 'apple juice'.

"Thanks." Ran takes a big sip, coughing out as soon as he tasted the bitter taste of the ‘drink’. “oh, wait, it’s gasoline.” Sanzu states after reading the bottle’s label. “My bad.” 

Ran wipes his mouth, regaining his composure as they neared the trucks. The Bonten men closes their eyes shut, waiting for the next thing to happen. 

"Are we in heaven now?" Sanzu asks, afraid to open his eyes. 

"We're criminals Sanzu, what the hell do you mean- RAN DUCK!" 

Ran, who stupidly had closed his eyes, opens them and turns the wheel at the last minute, dodging the crossing duck in the nick of time. 

"We're alive...." Rindou pants. "WE'RE ALIVE!" He exclaimed, slumping into his seat, relief washing over him. Koko, however, passed out, his face paler than his hair as his soul threatened to leave his body.

Sanzu's maniacal laughter broke the moment, "Fuck...that...turned me on." His adrenaline-fueled amusement clashed with the others' disbelief as he leaned back into his seat, the excitement between his legs in full display.

Rindou gave him a side eye from the rear mirror, "Sanzu, what the actual fuck.”

"Where are those bastards?" Ran whispered under his breath, unable to detect the rival gang’s vehicles. "Those fuckers got lucky." 

"WE CAN'T STOP NOW! THEY HAVE MY DRUGS!" Sanzu whined, pulling on his hair out of irritation.

They have been chasing this white BMW for almost an hour now, the men behind it were a new and uprising gang called Sigma. They decided to blow a low move and stole samples of a special drug that was personally made for Bonten along with other drugs like Methamphetamine.

Koko soon regains consciousness, holding his head in his hand while leaning on the driver's seat. "I'm gonna throw up." 

Ran looked back, noticing Koko's pale face. He quickly grabbed a plastic bag from the glovebox, gave it to the poor male before his phone out of his jacket pocket and called Kakucho.

After some shuffling, Kakucho came through the line. "Hey Ran, what's up? Where are you?"

"We found those damn bastards but they got away." Ran explained.

The male on the other line let out a sigh, "Where are you guys?"

"Near the city limits. We lost sight of it awhile ago but there's still a good chance that they’re still around."

There was shuffling again and then Kakucho finally spoke up. "I'll do what I can. For now, get back to HQ. Mikey wants you back."

"Got it." Ran hung up, leaving the car in silence, except for Koko who was puking his stomach out. Poor guy. 

Now, they were stuck in traffic. It was also getting dark as the street lamps slowly began to light up. A car behind them honks at them, trying to make them move. Rindou angrily glared over at the car, flipping them off. 

"Can't they fucking see that we're in the middle of a traffic?"

The line of cars moved slowly, boring the four men out of their wits. Koko was passed out once more in the back, hoping that he could sleep the nausea off. 

They all stared at the road, hoping to catch a glimpse of any sign of movement.

But no. 

They were stuck. 

Out of boredom, Rindou played DDLC on his phone while Sanzu was getting high from the remaining pills that he had on hand, thinking of different ways on how he could torture those men from Sigma once they catch them.

An hour had passed yet they barely moved. They were still on the same road. "What the hell is going on?" Ran clicked his tongue, honking on the car's horn. 

He closed his eyes to calm himself, stepping on the pedal everytime the traffic moved by an inch or so. 'Calm down, Ran. Think of your happy place...' he tells himself, imagining himself in ponyville, playing with pinkie pie and rainbowdash.

Ran opened his eyes and as if thinking about ponies did something, the traffic began to move. 'Yes! The magic of friendship does work!'

*Crash* 

'Or not...'

As the traffic came to a sudden halt, Ran glanced at the lane beside them. The loud crashing sound came from a white Mercedes smashing against the back of a black Bugatti Atalante, ruining the beautiful paint job on the expensive car.

The Bonten men glanced at the accident, pretty uninterested till a woman steps out of the expensive car. Her presence attracted the men, as she walked towards the white Mercedes with the sound of her heels against the asphalt road echoing through the traffic.

She wore a black dress that hugged her body confidently showing her beautiful curves along with a lower neckline which exposes an ample amount of cleavage. Her head was adorned with a black sun hat while leather gloves covered her petite hands, giving her an elegant and eye catching look. 

The driver of the white car exits his car with an aggravated look till his eyes lands on her. Seeing that it was ‘just’ a woman, he smirks at himself, knowing that he could deal with this situation easily. 

Interested in the drama—well, most likely on the woman—Ran rolled the window down to eavesdrop. 

2ND POV

"Sir, It would be better for you to cooperate and provide me your information in order for me to charge you with the damage that you caused to my car." Your sultry voice was calm yet stern as you stared up at the man who loomed over your figure. 

"What are you going to do about it, little lady?"

Your eyes narrowed as your lips formed into a thin line. "Sir, heed my words. Cooperate, or I will call the authorities." your cold tone didn't waver in the slightest and your eyes never left his own, glaring at him intensely. 

The man scoffs at your confidence, belittling you. "And what makes you think I'm going to listen to you, huh?" he spat in a low tone, grabbing you by the arm. 

In an instant, the man was pinned against the hood of Bonten' car with his hands tightly held in your grasp. 

Rindou and Sanzu (who was currently high from xanax) gaped at the scene unfolding before their eyes. They shared an amused and excited glance at each other before shortly after, they childishly began to cheer you on, "Beat him up! Beat him up!" Their chaos was unnoticed by you due to the tinted glass and partially closed windows. 

"Might I tell you, this car belongs to the Ootori's. From the looks of the uniform of the woman in your car, she works for them doesn’t she? It would be a shame if your partner wouldn’t have a job to come back to If ever they heard that you caused such damage to the family's precious car." You whispered in his ear threateningly.

At the mention of the successful and powerful family's name, the said woman frantically comes out of the car, "Tori, just listen to her! I swear if I lose my job because of you, it's over for the both of us, you imbecile!!"  

Tori, the perpetrator, clicked his tongue in defeat, giving you his contact information before heading back to his vehicle. With a sigh, you walked over to Ran's car, leaning down towards the window, knocking on the glass to get his attention. 

Though you didn't have to, you had their attention the moment they laid their eyes on you. 

"Good day, gentlemen. I apologize for the commotion back there." Ran couldn't take his eyes off of you, looking intensely at your dolled up face, eyes staring down at your plump lips as you spoke. He was so tempted to just sweet talk you into getting in his car and take you home to have some fun, but he didn’t want to risk scaring you away.

"Here's my business card in case you want compensation for potential damages on your car." 

Your gloved hand rummages through your purse, handing him your card. The older Haitani takes it, but not without grasping your hand in his and placing a kiss at the back of it. "Don't worry about it, doll. Though, I would prefer spending a day out with you as compensation." He winks at you, smiling flirtatiously.

You stared at him with amusement, bursting out laughing from his cockiness. God, your laugh was like music to their ears, entrancing them, making them more invested in you. "Well, I better head back to my car before the traffic starts moving again. See you around, boys~" With a wink, you blew a kiss towards them. 

Silence filled the car as the men tried to process what just happened. Ran looks down at the business card that you had given him. “Olivia Rossi, huh…”

"I want her."

𝘢/𝘯: 𝘚𝘰, 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘺'𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬? 𝘐'𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘶𝘻 𝘐 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘮𝘵𝘩𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘐𝘧 𝘺'𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘱𝘭𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦 :)

𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰, 𝘪'𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘴𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘴.

𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥: 2/27/24

next chapter

#bonten x reader #bonten #mikey x reader #sano manjiro x reader #sanzu x reader #kakucho x reader #takeomi x reader #mochi x reader #ran x reader #rindou x reader #haitani brothers #koko x reader #tokyorev x reader #sanzu haruchiyo #sanzu haruchiyo x reader #kakucho hitto x reader #kokonoi hajime x reader #haitani ran x reader #haitani rindou x reader #akashi takeomi x reader #takeomi akashi #kokonoi hajime #rindou haitani #ran haitani #x reader #fem reader #tr x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo rev x you

[sgiandubh]

LOL... she was also unhappy with Sam's absence from that event in Germany and his presence at the Glasgow event. In fact, she is never satisfied with absolutely anything about him. A tremendous smell of despair and rejection... https://www.tumblr.com/maximumwobblerbanditdonut/747778111526092800/1-hour-is-the-average-flight-time-from-paris-to?source=share

"The evidence doesn't lie, people do." 🙄 🙄 🙄 Jesus...calm down, woman...

Dear Calm Down Anon,

To quote The Genius:

Read her lips, people: she's been thinking about it.

I am currently in my book-invaded room, with boxes all around me, Baby the Diplodog taking roughly 3/4 of my king-sized Provence bed. I am also thinking, but the thoughts I do think might be of a more trivial nature:

don't forget to phone Lola (and now Baby)'s vet for a meet & greet appointment

get new, Romanian plates for Zorba the Car

phone the MFA and send back Greek Diplo plates with the customs' clearance

phone the MFA to get back my gasoline, accommodation and luggage shipping expenses

phone Mr. Zhou, my Chinese acupuncturist. My neck is killing me.

manage to tuck in four luncheons in town, three let's get some drinks and another two drop by for a chat - until Sunday

To obsess about S's Hyrox Rigmarole I and Rigmarole II is a bit much, when you have things to do, in real life.

This is also very enlightening, I think:

This is the kind of vindicative crap I just hate to read. People who write this particular kind of vindicative crap (or who paint a filthy portrait of you, publicly, to their friends of friends, just to seem RIGHTEOUS) are probably the same kind of people who would have sent anonymous letters to the Gestapo, telling them those very nice neighbors across the street are hiding Jews in their attic.

In her case, the plea is just ridiculous. Like the planet would give a flying fuck about some amateur competition's stats. Sure thing, it's childishly disingenuous of S to do that (if he did it). But as far as I know, these are not the Olympic Games or something. And even if a Hyrox Glasgow zealot would blacklist S, I think he and the fandom would survive it.

That woman's life must be so empty, even the echo in her parlor took some days off.

#anon #fandom #shitshow

[lowkeyrobin]

MCYT ; scents they remind me of

includes ; tommyinnit, badlinu, tubbo, ranboo, quackity, nihachu, karl jacobs, foolish gamers

warnings ; my randomness idk. this wasn't/isn't funny I just take smells into account in a weird way and I projected a lot. I just wanted to share idk

masterlist

TOMMYINNIT

fresh post-shower smell

that new car smell

3-in-1 shampoo, conditioner and bodywash, specifically the mint one that all american dad use from walmart idk why

the salty sea air

roses <3

TUBBO

the scent when you're on the trams in the parking lot to disney world/epcot idk how to describe it

inside of sheetz (if you don't have sheetz where u live you're missing out)

strawberry yogurt

fruit popsicles

eucalyptus leaves

RANBOO

strawberry shortcake

microwave chicken nuggets

mcdonalds sweet tea

gasoline

fresh aloe vera

a chilly morning at the bus stop

cherries

tropical candles

BADLINU

that post-rain, damp forest smell

after-shower smell idk

cake sprinkles

chocolate icing

sarris chocolate

hair dye fumes

sunflowers

those weeds that you blow on and the seeds fly away and they're super soft, but in the yellow flower stage

QUACKITY

chocolate muffins

popcorn (with can't believe it's not butter & m&ms, it makes a difference I swear)

taco salad

cantaloupe at 2 in the morning

fireworks

hose water on a 90 degree day

sephora cologne

clorox wipes

inside of barnes and noble

NIHACHU

coconut shower scrub

the little running water smell of creeks/little rivers

fruit popsicles

bob evans french toast

tulips

pomegranate

coconut curls shampoo

bonfires in the summer

KARL JACOBS

monster energy drinks

double chocolate eggo waffles

sarris chocolate

grilled cheese

strawberry poptarts

rainbow goldfish

japanese cherry blossom lotion 😭🙏

sour patch kids

FOOLISH GAMERS

high school locker rooms post gym class

early spring morning rain

the weird sweat smell after spending hours of time in 80 degree weather planting vegetables and flowers in a large garden

buffalo wild wings mozzarella sticks

eucalyptus leaves

hose water during a hot summer day

paint / wood stain

roses

tulips

yeah i have no idea how to explain this act like it's normal

#lowkeyrobin #mcyt preferences #mcyt x reader #tommyinnit x reader #mcyt oneshot #quackity x reader #ranboo x reader #badlinu x reader #nihachu x reader #foolish gamers x reader #karl jacobs x reader

[alphabetboyluvr]

throttle - jjk | six

one/ two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven

warnings - heavy on the angst, we finally learn jungkook's true motives, we learn about what happened to his mother, mentions of death, written before we knew jk's birth time so (1) inaccurate saturn placement, general smut, titty sucking, unprotected sex, very intense breeding thoughts from jk, it's angsty!! he dnf :( sad :(, hair dye, showering, fingering, jungkook's time runs out </3

throttle has 3 defined acts - this is the end of act 1

word count - 20k

minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

It's warm when you wake.

Daylight pours in through the curtains, of which neither of you bothered to close last night, and it rudely intrudes on the intimacy you've fostered together - yet when the man beside you begins to stir, small squeaks signalling that he's now awake too, you don't seem to mind all that much.

His hair is tousled like the waves of Busan's shoreline, lapping against the sand, adding a soundtrack to the sound of his breathing. You love it when he looks like this; serene and secure in the sanctuary of your company.

Last night's tête-à-tête is a distant memory, chalked up to a misunderstanding between the minds of two lovers who aren't yet aligned, but are getting pretty close to it. Rome wasn't built in a day, and nor was any love worth withstanding the test of time.

You're still learning about one another. Prior to last night, you knew nothing of Jungkook's romantic past, and while part of you is smug to have your initial assumptions about him proven right, it also makes your chest feel all heavy, too. Melancholic, almost, but you think it sounds far too poetic.

When you're met with his drowsy morning gaze - all puffy and unable to open in the way his eyes typically do - you can't imagine anyone ever wanting to hurt him. The thought of his eyes turning black when he looks at you, instead of their usual deep chocolate brown, has the chime in your stomach ringing like an alarm bell. You never want that. Ever.

He yawns, and says good morning to you with a smile that seems almost surprised to still see you in the sheets with him. He pulls you a little closer, nestles his nose to the crown of your head and inhales. He'll never get sick of that scent. Sick of you.

You're like gasoline spilt in the forecourts before a spring shower. It'll wrangle with the puddles of rain, which will pour and pour and pour - but still, it'll remain. An iridescent rainbow that refuses to fade.

You'll never wash away, he thinks. Forevermore; eternal.

He knows, just like you predicted, that he'll think of you whenever he passes gasoline puddles. Five, ten, twenty years from now. It won't matter how distant the memory of your laughter becomes, nor if he even remembers the colour of your skin as it blushes after a few too many drinks.

What he will remember is how your hair always smelt like gasoline.

It's a gateway drug to everything you are. One sniff; he's hooked.

Though he doesn't wish for death often, he hopes that when he does go, it'll be in his car. Hopes that an oil slick on a wet road will be the reason why. He'll smile as he thinks of you for one final time.

You'll get your vengeance, love.

But why waste time thinking of the inevitable future, when he could just revel in the present?

He's the first to suggest sleeping in, staying together, for a little bit longer.

"I'll call my dad, see if we can switch to this afternoon instead. You cool to run your errands in the afternoon? I'll take you to that place I wanna show you this morning. Then you're free to do as you please with your day."

A nod grants permission for him to set about altering his plans, and you watch him with curious intrigue as he opens up his contacts and heads straight for his father. You don't even have your father's number, anymore.

It's oddly comforting to hear Jungkook on the phone with his dad. The call is short, more formalities than anything, but you can hear his father's voice vibrate through the speaker.

You're integrated into Jungkook's life, now, you think. You're a part of family affairs, his plans, without even so much as a second thought given.

'Thank you' seems like a strange thing to say, but you consider it.

His openness with you is rancid. So sweet, so sickly; enough sugar to rot even the most frigid of hearts.

It makes you wanna tell him everything; who your father is, and how you can't call him anymore. You think Jungkook would understand, or at least he'd try to - and that would be the most meaningful thing a man has done for you in quite some time (though you're sure Yoongi would disagree, and cite one of the many things he's done for you that have gone unnoticed).

The words you want to say to Jungkook are lost in the feather down quilt, expert seams flawlessly keeping the pair of you pristine. It's like a shield, in a way. The world can't hurt you when you're beneath it. The needlework is exquisite, the finest cotton - Egyptian, you assume, but know better than to ask.

Not because you don't want to know, but because Jungkook hates itches he can't scratch.

He wouldn't have a clue of the sheets origins, but you're almost positive he would ask the reception staff for clarification later that morning, just to be able to give you an answer.

You don't want to trouble his mind with such trivial things. Especially not if it's working as hard as yours seems to be right now. You're counting every thread - two, four, six, eight - just as a way to distract yourself from him.

He's playing with your hair, and asking about your dreams - you didn't have any - and it's getting pretty overwhelming just how much of your brain you seem to be willing to share with him.

Sixteen, thirty-two, sixty-four; you're asking about his, too, and he doesn't hesitate to answer.

He's talking shit about a praying mantis that stalked him as he slept, and reaches for his phone so that you can google what it means together. He doesn't hide his screen, doesn't clear his notifications, doesn't check what he was last searching for to spare himself from embarrassment.

Not that it matters, but he'd been checking to see if Lotte World was open. It's endearing, the way he seems to want to experience life with you. Comforting. Snug.

You lose count of the threads, and you don't care to start again.

"Positive and negative," Jungkook muses over his dream as he scrolls, holding his phone up in front of you both.

His arm is looped around the back of your neck, and you're busy watching the tendons of his wrist flex beneath his skin as his thumb flicks up and down the screen.

There are Seven Natural Wonders of the World, but you think the adjudicators must have gotten it wrong.

They clearly hadn't met Jeon Jungkook.

He's brighter than the Northern Lights; gets you higher than the peak of Mount Everest. More breathtaking than the Grand Canyon, more fire in his heart than Paricutin. Gets you wetter than Victoria Falls, but that's not really what constitutes him as being one of the greatest natural wonders of the world (though it surely helps). He rivals the Great Barrier Reef, and Guanabara Bay; expansive, a facilitator of life, new beginnings.

But the Great Barrier Reef is dying, and Guanabara Bay is the product of erosion. Everest is a death trap, the Grand Canyon too, and Paricutin forced hundreds from their homes. Droughts around Victoria Falls are threatening its very existence, and soon, what once was could be no more.

The only wonder worthy of comparison to Jeon Jungkook is Aurora Borealis. They burn brighter than before, making their way through their eleven-year cycle undisturbed, undimmed. They're magic in the mundane, and so is he.

He hums, unaware of how you're romanticising him to be far more than what he is, and it sounds like he's frowning. You reach over, thoughts absent, and take his phone to continue reading for him.

"To dream of a praying mantis could mean many things," you recite mindlessly. "Firstly, it could indicate that you need to remain calm and assess situations before you dive right in. Be patient. Alternatively, it could indicate that you are preying on others. Have you been calculated recently? Devious? Perhaps reflection is due. There are positive indications associated with the insect, though. A baby praying mantis suggests a bright, wise future ahead. To dream of being attacked by a praying mantis suggests that you are faced with a test that you are strong enough to pass."

You ignore all the bad, because of course you do, pass him back his phone and say, "see? Nothing to worry about."

He locks his phone, and lets it drop down onto the bed. The hushed clunk of it hitting your sheets is drowned out by his voice, all dulcet and dreamy in your ear.

"Wasn't worried, baby. Got you here with me." His lips press against your temple. "I got you."

Hook, line and sinker. Yeah, he's got you good.

But within half an hour he's got you coming undone; got you mewling his name, got you gripping his neck as he fucks himself into you like he always does so well. He's got you where he wants you, got you in missionary 'cause of that one time you lied and said it was your favourite, got your nipples in his mouth 'cause there ain't no way he can have you naked and not indulge himself just a little bit.

Jungkook has you. Has his way with you.

But you have him, too; have him whispering how gorgeous you sound, how much he loves the way you feel.

You have him coming undone.

Perhaps, neither of you 'have' nor 'has' the other.

Perhaps, you aren't commodities to be owned.

If anyone was to own you, though, you think you'd quite like it to be him. You think he'd keep you forever. He once said he would, so it's not like it's a foolish thing to daydream about.

And so you do just that as he weaves through traffic in the hustle and bustle of Busan. You think he's mad for choosing to drive instead of just getting the subway, but Busan is spread out so far that it would have taken a handful of changes to get to where he's taking you.

He's still not told you where you're going. Even when you ask for a dress code, he simply says, "as you are, baby. You're perfect."

He calls you baby a lot lately.

It used to just be when you were naked, but he calls you baby when you're all wrapped up now, too. When he puts his hand on the small of your back, to guide you in whichever direction he wants, and when he pulls your hand to rest on the gear stick beneath his, it's 'baby' that he hums.

In fact, he calls you baby so much that CC has taken a backseat.

The radio drones through the speakers, neither of you connecting to the aux. It's all very grown-up, you think, listening to the traffic news, and whatever is currently charting. It doesn't hit in the same way that your playlists do, but it reminds you of driving to the coast with your parents as a kid. The memories are fond - cherished by you - and it's how you like to think of your family.

Or at least it is, until the disk jockey segues into the morning news. There's the usual mindless garbage, celebrity gossip, upcoming festivals and community events - and then there's politics.

"The Mayor of Daegu Metropoli-" is as far as the broadcaster gets before you change the station. Jungkook doesn't react initially. In fact, it takes him a few seconds to reply, and when he does, it's inconspicuous.

"Not into politics?"

"Not into politics."

You're sharp as you deliver the lie, and Jungkook can feel the blade of your tongue slice his heart. He's deserving of it, admittedly, but you aren't aware of that. Not yet.

He switches the radio back. "I am."

You want to be sick, but you put it down to the fact that Jungkook drives a little faster than he really should do, and that breakfast had been substituted for sex. "You are?"

"Uh-huh."

Silence resume as you listen to the broadcaster. It's an innocent report about cities linking for eco-initiatives. Apparently, Daddy dearest will be visiting Busan just as you're leaving. It's an odd thought. You've taken pride in not keeping tabs, and yet here you are, wondering if you'll pass his car on Monday morning as you leave the city and he enters it. Unlikely.

A possibility, but unlikely.

When you pull your hand back to your lap from beneath his, Jungkook lets you. It's a call for attention. You want to see what he does. Want him to pull it back, want him to question why you've pulled it away - but he doesn't.

Instead, he talks.

"I hate politics," he admits. There's a sternness to his face. An honesty. "I can't name you a single politician who actually seems to care about the communities they represent. They're bastards," his voice quietens. "The lot of 'em."

Only then does he reach for your hand, again. He's the one searching for comfort, now.

There's something about the way Jungkook doesn't look at you, but grips your hand far tighter than he had done before, that has you concerned. It's unlike him.

"I agree," you tell him. "S'why I don't care for it."

He nods, pulling his bottom lip beneath his teeth, as if he's trying to stop a secret from coming out.

You wouldn't mind if one did. You'd quite like to know his secrets - even the deep, dark, scary ones. Especially those ones, actually. His jaw rocks gently, the pillow of his lip being massaged by his teeth, eyes hard on the horizon line.

"Probably should have given you a little warning as to where we're going," he eventually divulges, pouting his lips and letting air squeak through them as he inhales a breath.

Your lift your brows and furrow them slightly. "Why's that?"

The question is answered as soon as he flicks his indicator on. You look to the sign above the highway, and that's when you realise you're going off the beaten track. There's only one destination listed on the reflective sheet of metal: a marine life conservation hub.

Something tells you that you're not headed towards the marine life conservation hub.

Something - or someone- by the name of Jeon Jungkook, and the way as soon as his indicator is flicked off, his hand is holding yours oh-so-tightly, again.

Your eyes follow the trajectory of the road, and the small row of parking spaces covered in fine gravel. You're partway up a short mountain, and you know exactly why you're here.

Mounds of earth rest neat and uniform on the mountainsides, clustered together, decades of tradition lacing the soil. There's a small path that stretches to the upper elevation, where a set of mounds lie perfectly still, small statues and floral arrangements decorating them in the most beautiful of ways.

You know hillsides like these. It's been a while since you last visited one, but the memories of places like this tend to haunt people.

He doesn't reply to your earlier question. He doesn't need to. You already know exactly where you are.

His name escapes your lips, voice quiet, but pacifying. You rub his thumb with yours, which only makes him squeeze your small hand even tighter.

He's silent, but he's hoping you know that he's sorry.

Sorry for a whole host of things. Too many to list. This - taking you to a fucking graveyard unannounced and non-consenting - is what he's currently apologising for in the guise of silent squeezes.

"Your mum?" You ask, as he pulls into a space on the gravel parking lot.

He's only mentioned her once, and the fact that she would have been 'rolling in her grave' at the thought of him being rude to you. You'd clocked it at the time, but had never dared ask since. Figured that when he was ready, he would tell you. Seems like he might just be ready.

Jungkook nods, and when he looks at you, he seems younger. Eyes wider, searching for refuge; finding it in you.

"Mum."

When he makes no attempt to move, seemingly a little frozen in place, it's you who starts to squeeze his hand right back. "You wanna go see her?"

And again, he nods. There's a bottle of soju in the back from one of his many GS25 trips, so you reach for it, knowing that there was no way the pair of you could visit somewhere of such importance without an offering of some kind. He whispers a thank you, as if you've done something of value. It's just soju, and it's his, regardless. You wish you would have known. You'd have insisted on picking up banchan, or something more substantial.

There's reluctance as he leads the pair of you, second-guessing his every step. It's important that he shows you this part of him, although, when he thinks about it, he's sure he could have just explained it. Over a coffee, or on a walk by the river. He didn't need to be so dramatic about it all. The past has happened, and he lives with the consequences.

But that's this thing - the past has happened, and Jungkook is still living with the weight of it like it was just yesterday. The consequences of it rule his daily life. He needs to show you, because simply telling you wouldn't have been justice enough.

His mother's grave is well-kept. Tended to. The flowers - large, white, and glorious, though you're not sure what kind - are wilting slightly, but are fresh enough to put the dead foliage of the winter mountain to shame. The mound above her is small, so you think that perhaps she was, too.

You just can't help yourself, can you? Another assumption made.

Your thoughts are cut short as he reaches for the bottle of soju from your hands, and nods towards the small ceramic dish that's been collecting rainwater. Supplies are low - the winter is incredibly dry, and had it not been for a storm that blew in a few days ago, it would be empty.

"Can you?" he asks, but doesn't finish. You let go of the soju bottle which is now secure in his hands, and head towards the direction of his nod, to rinse off the flat stone ready for offerings - though a cap full of soju doesn't feel like enough.

He walks further ahead, while you tend to the service stone, pouring soju into the bottle cap, and tossing it in the woodland as an offering to the mountain God; a thank you for watching over his mother. It's been too long since he last visited. Things have just gotten so busy, and he's under so much pressure. He can't think straight, let alone do anything that makes any sense and - oh God, the weight of it all - it's all just too much. He can't handle it. Refuses to. If he could scream right, he would - but nothing comes out.

His lungs are heavy in his chest, heart pounding. He doesn't know why he gets like this. He thinks it's the guilt; the fact that his mother would hate what he's become. She didn't raise him to be like this. Vengeance wasn't part of her vocabulary. She was kind, and she was considerate, and she cared so deeply about him.

In a lot of ways, you remind him of her. The acknowledgement of this only serves to make him feel worse.

When he finally turns to face you again, you're waiting by her grave, watching him with curiosity. You've been to many graves, but only ever those of your own family members. Never somebody else's. Traditions vary, and you don't wanna do anything that he wouldn't appreciate.

It had always been the same in your family; the eldest men bowed first, down through to the youngest, and the women watched on. The respect of women wasn't worth anything, you see.

As Jungkook comes to stand beside you, he takes your hand, positioning you directly next to him.

"Will you do it with me?" he asks so timidly that it almost doesn't sound like him. "Please?"

You're hesitant. It's a big ask, not because it's a difficult task, but because you know the first bows are always reserved for those closest to the deceased.

"I never normally do it alone," he adds, noticing your reluctance. "I'm normally with my brother. I just... I don't want to do it alone. I'm no good at shi-" he cuts himself off, not wanting to curse. "I'm no good at stuff like this."

It's a request you can't refuse. You follow his lead, getting to your knees, torso folding to the earth as a sign of utmost respect. He holds his bow for longer than you expect, but you match it second for second. He rises and repeats. You follow suit.

You think it's important that you don't overstep boundaries, not in a place so sacred to the boy beside you, so you let him take the lead. Not once do you move before him, but when he resumes to a seated position, you turn your body to face down the mountain.

It's not tradition, not really, but it feels like the best way to honour his mother; to provide her time with her son, but still offer support should he need it.

"I'm not doing recitals," Jungkook says tenderly, a pain in his chest pinching and soothing when he sees what you've done. "You don't have to face that way."

But you shake your head.

"I do," you reply with so much kindness in your voice that Jungkook thinks it's a wonder he hasn't melted and become at one with the earth, too. "Just pretend like I'm not here."

He wants to laugh at such an instruction. How the hell could he be expected to ignore you, when the way he feels about you burns brighter than the North Star whenever you're close by.

Instead, he just tells you that you're dumb, and sits beside you, facing his mother's grave. You hear him unscrew the cap of the bottle, metal cracking just how it always does upon its first few opens, followed by a small glug.

You twist your head, and catch him pouring soju into the bottle cap, before he places it in front of his mother. He nods towards her, as if she could actually see him once more, then brings his arms to hug around his knees, pulled tight to his chest. The bottle is still in his hand, so he takes a swig. There's a faint grimace as he swallows it back, and then he passes the bottle over his shoulder to you.

It's kindly received, and his actions are mirrored by you once more, a shot finding its home in your throat. The soju is lukewarm, the heat of his clammy hands altering the temperature.

The bottle is passed back and forth, Jungkook silent as he tries to muster the courage to speak up. There's so much he wishes he could say, but so little that feels safe to divulge. It's not until the bottle is halfway done that he seems to have the strength.

"It's been four years," Jungkook eventually says. You stay silent, the words you want to say threading through your lips like cotton through a needle, keeping your mouth shut. Nothing that could be said would make any of this any better for him. "Doesn't get any easier."

Instead, you lean your head on his shoulder. You're still looking down the mountain, and he's facing up towards the peak. His head rests against yours, and there's comfort to be found in his posture. The support he feels from you goes beyond that of physical.

"It was a long time coming, so we had time to prepare," he adds.

He brought you here because he wanted to share this part of himself with you, so he knows he needs to make the effort to actually speak up. Nothing cryptic. No half-truths.

"How can you prepare a kid for that, though? 'Hey Kook, mum's really sick'," he imitates the voice of his older brother. "'Probably won't make it through the winter'. She did, though. Make it through winter, that is. The hospital couldn't figure out what was wrong with her for the life of them. First, they said it was a pancreatic thing, then decided it was liver. Kidneys, bladder - you name it, they tried to pinpoint it as that. Round and round in fucking circles. So much time wasted. Years. I was 14 when she first got sick. 19 when she passed."

He lifts his head from yours and hugs his legs tighter into his chest. He hates this mountain. It's like he's got hayfever, even in winter, as his eyes start to warm a little. Realistically, he knows that it's perfectly apt to cry in such a place, but he doesn't want to. Doesn't want his mum to think he's upset. Doesn't want you to think it, either.

Deep down - although really not that far down when he comes to think of it - he's still just that scared boy, knowing he's going to lose the person he loves the most in the world. Funny, how history likes to repeat itself, even if in a slightly different hue. The colours of grief are always the same.

"She ended up getting referred to a specialist in Daegu," he sighs, knowing that he's about to divulge far more than he should.

He's thought about this alot. Thought about what he'd say to you before he knew you - like, really knew you - and how he'd deliver the lines with such venom your throat would swell and you'd choke on the faux pars of your family, just like his mother had.

But none of this was your fault. You were still just a kid, like he was, when all of this transpired.

You had no jurisdiction over budget cuts or the shift patterns of overworked hospital staff. You weren't the one syphoning money out of the public health sector, and you weren't the one who followed orders to treat common symptoms with the same cheap medicine, regardless of the fact it could have been wrong for the patients.

You weren't the one who decided that those who benefitted from the specialist centre were expendable. You weren't the one who cauterised their funding. You weren't the one who ignored the pleas and cries for help from the families of those suffering.

You weren't the negligent medical staff who mistreated Jungkook's mother, and you weren't the man in charge of the budget who decided that her life didn't matter anymore.

But your father was.

And so Jungkook has thought about this moment a lot. He's thought about how he'd tell you that you deserved to lose just as much as he had. He's thought about how he wouldn't feel a damn thing except for satisfaction when your father got his just deserts.

Now that the time has come, however, all he can do is shrug.

"They were great. The staff at the centre in Daegu, I mean. Really fucking great. Genuinely wanted to help - but you know Daegu," is all he could really muster. "They don't have the money for shit like that. And nor did we."

Daegu's local government did, however, have the funds for a fucking waterpark installation, which opened three weeks after the clinic was shut down indefinitely. "We sacrifice the good of the few, for the good of the many," your father had once told you, and it makes you just as sick now as it did back then.

"Anyways," he tries to downplay it, as if the memories don't haunt him. "Funding got cut. Mum got sicker. It was..." he struggles to find the words to articulate just what he went through. "Dad was always a hard ass, yanno? Do your homework, go to school, you wanna end up with a shitty job? Drop out like me! That kind of stuff. It's only 'cause he wanted what was best for us, he just.... didn't really have a nurturing bone in his body. Just how he was built, I guess." He pauses. Gathers his thoughts. Shrugs. "Mum... Mum was soft. Do you need help with your homework? How's school? You can be whatever you want to be. Didn't have a clue what I wanted to be, just knew I wanted to be like her. Seeing her get sick..."

He stops talking. There's a heaviness that looms over him like a cloud blocking the sun in the height of summer. It's stuffy and claustrophobic, yet there's nothing that can be done to ease it.

"The specialist centre treated her for as long as they could, ran as many tests as they could afford, but-" He cuts himself off. "Well, I mean, we're at her grave, aren't we? Doesn't take a genius to work it out."

He doesn't mean to be so scathing with his tone, the words delivered with a snarl typically reserved for his boxing opponents (or Namjoon when he takes the lead in a drag race), it's just that he doesn't know how to articulate himself. Not when it comes to this topic. He's never shared it with anyone before. Never thought he would.

And especially not with you.

There are parts he leaves out. Just little tidbits. Anecdotes, like the way he spent the night his mother died just driving and driving and driving, only coming to a stop when his tank had exhausted the very last drop of gas - at which point he just sat, grief-stricken, cheeks wet until sunrise.

He didn't speak to anyone for weeks. Didn't do anything except fill his tank up, get out of town, and occasionally train at the club. The force of his fists against another person never helped, though. Even beating the shit out of Taehyung didn't lift his spirits.

How he quite ended up in his current predicament is a little more complicated.

It started the same as any other night he'd crawl through the streets, red tail lights leaving a trail that evaporated into nothingness, thanks to the winter fog. Eventually, he ended up in Daegu. It was a common occurrence.

The shadows seemed darker in Daegu; sinners glowing red in the haze of smog and winter frost. It felt like home in a way. Somewhere to hide when he no doubt sold his soul to the Devil.

Sometimes, he'd drive in circles around the affluent streets, just hoping, praying, to see the Mayor out for an evening stroll. Of course, it would be an accident when he put his foot to the floor, full throttle, wheels turning in the Mayor's direction. A freak mishap. A car fault.

And if he were to suffer the same fate as Jungkook's mother? Oh, well what a fucking shame that would have been.

He never did see the Mayor, though. Of course he didn't.

But he did, however, spot Kang's. The light had still been on, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. He knew Kang's, thanks to his club in back in Busan, and he wanted to fight. Wanted to pummel any fucker who voted the Mayor into power. Wanted to break their nose; have them swallowing their teeth.

Of course, seeing a jumped up kid - who, as Namjoon put it, looked 'fresh out of nappies' - with a vendetta against the most powerful man in the city had the older boys amused. Truth be told, they laughed in his fucking face. Told him he was in the wrong place, 'cause there ain't no way any of them would be caught dead voting for that pompous fucking twat.

Jungkook learnt a lot that night; learnt that he wasn't alone in his fight, and that other people had lost unfathomable amounts of their lives, their livelihoods, and their loved ones, as a result of your father, and his wasteful, inhumane policies.

Though not a single one of those boys shared the same story, they all shared the same callous, complacent antagonist.

And they all wanted vengeance.

That wasn't the only thing he learnt that night, mind you. It was also the evening he learnt your name.

It'd be romantic, if the situation had been... well, anything but what it was, really.

He learnt who you were, what you meant to the Mayor, and just how you could be the winning ticket for their vengeance lottery. A plan was devised over a few too many Soju's, and before he knew it, he was playing the long game. They wouldn't initiate the plan for years. Sleeping dogs had to lie, dust had to settle.

There was another election; your father reinstated to his position. Only after then did you stop making public appearances with him, and the rest of your family. You didn't seem to be part of the in-crowd anymore. Didn't really matter to the boys. All that mattered was that you had fewer eyes on you, now. You faded into obscurity; Jungkook into obsession.

See, he's like you in a lot of ways. He makes assumptions, too. Had this whole idea of who you would be mapped out in his head. Pin by pin, you realigned his red string; tied it around his pinky and linked it with yours.

"Dad isn't who he used to be," Jungkook finally admits. His Mother's suffering may have ended with her passing, but his Father's seemed to only begin as hers ended. She passed a baton, Jungkook thinks, and his Dad is still running the race. "Doesn't really talk all that much. Loves to fucking gamble, though. All of her life insurance is gone. Half of my salary goes to the loan sharks that he owes from a bad spot he got himself in a few months ago. S'why I needed to come, had to check that everything was okay and that he hadn't got himself into too much trouble. Nasty fuckers, sharks are."

"How bad is it?" You ask, knowing that sharks are more like parasites. "The sharks, I mean."

"Um," he pauses, and shrugs. There's no way you'll be able to understand what it's like being in financial difficulty. Not a fucking chance. "Pretty bad. They were hounding him to the point where he just locked himself up in the house, wouldn't answer the door for weeks. My brother's just had a kid, he can't afford to help, so I'm stuck footing the bill for the interest Dad's having to pay. 'Bout half my salary. I'm gonna be paying them off till I'm six feet under. Bastards raise the interest whenever they fucking feel like it. I'll never be able to pay it all back, not all of it, and Dad's too fucking out of it to get himself a proper job. Whole situation is fucked."

That's a tiny little lie. Should everything go to plan, he'll have the money he needs to pay the sharks off within a week or two.

Should everything go to plan.

See, this isn't about vengence. Not now. Not anymore. This about surviving the sharks - but Jungkook has blood on his hands, and it makes him so much more tempting.

When you lean your head on his shoulder, comforting and reassuring all in one gesture, he swallows back a sob.

He's sharing all this because he wants - no, needs - you to understand why he made the choices that he did before he knew you. He needs you to know that the guy who is going to fuck you over next week isn't the guy who's been, well, just fucking you for the past couple of months.

He rests his head on yours, hair interlinking, silky and smooth, as if you're one.

The way that he feels about you oozes from him like the blood of a fresh wound; red and hot, sticky and sickening. Yet he knows that he'll never let the wound heal. He'll pick at it like it's a scab, because he'll never want to lose the feeling that the potential of a happy ever after with you gives him.

His body relaxes a little, spine curving, posture sloped. There's no need to remain poised; no need to be anything other than the imperfect version of himself that you seem to like so much.

"I'm so sorry that this happened to you," you whisper, eyes closing to hide the foot of the mountain you're sitting on. It feels so wrong you being here. Feels like you're intruding; encroaching. Perhaps you're the parasite.

The weight that's lifted from Jungkooks shoulders presses itself against your sternum. It cracks your ribs and impales the snapped bones into your heart. It's quite aggresive, you think, for a secret.

They say a problem shared is a problem halved, so if this is only a mere fifty percent of the pain that he's endured, you don't even want to imagine his reality. Now is not a time for pitying yourself, or lamenting the fact that it was your father who ruined Jungkook's life by proxy. You're sure it wasn't your father's intention, but you also know that he wouldn't have cared had he known the impact that his choices would have.

So much is left unsaid. Nothing you can do nor say will erase the hurt caused by the man who provided for you. A private education, wanting for nothing, your heart's desires fulfilled all came at a cost. Jungkook is just one of the many receipts; ripped at the edges, ink faded, paper creased in such a fashion that it can never be undone.

The guilt will weigh on you for eternity.

There's a part of you that wants to tell him. Wants him to know who you are, where you come from, how you ended up here - but you're convinced as soon as he knows, he'll wash his hands of you. Especially now. It feels kinder to just stay silent.

And so you do. You let him process his grief, and follow his lead when he decides that enough time has been spent by his mother's side. There's little chatter as you make your way down the hillside, his hand outstretched whenever you come to a rocky patch, just in case. It seems he doesn't want you to fall.

He also doesn't mind the silence. In fact, he quite likes it. He knows you're probably uncomfortable. Burial sites aren't exactly on the itinerary list of many romantic getaways, and he's not deluding himself about your actual reason for staying silent.

You make assumptions. He knows this, and wonders if you just assume he knows who you are.

But if he tells you - for definite - that he knows, and that it's okay, and that it doesn't change a single thing about the way he feels for you, it'll be game over.

For him, for you, for God knows who else.

By keeping you in the dark, he thinks he's keeping you safe until he can figure a plan that really will ensure your safety.

The drive to the nearest subway station is silent, too. You lie about your errands, and tell him that catching a subway would be easiest, simply for the fact it is closer to you than any of the bus stops.

You just want to be out of the car.

It's not that you don't want to be with him; it's that you do. It feels wrong to lie to him, deceiving him.

Opposites attract, or so they say, but they're wrong. You're birds of a feather, apples that have fallen from the same tree, left to rot in the height of a Daegu summer.

Your day is spent without him, and yet you're utterly consumed. He's in every shop window, his laugh rattling in the exhaust pipe of every shitty car that drives past. There's no escaping Jeon Jungkook. He's not the kind of guy you can just forget.

In fact, you're so consumed by him that all you want to do is head back to your hotel and lay in wait for his return. You don't know when that will be, and refuse to text him when he's spending much needed time with those closest to him, but the idea is so tempting that you find yourself sprawled on the sheets for hours regardless.

Your day is wasted, but you think that days without him are wasted, anyway.

It's nearly seven by the time he gets home. There's a hum as a keycard is tapped outside your door, the metal of the lock grating against itself to bid the intruder of your heart a welcome entry. Your eyes move to the door, because of course they do. Watching the man you... enjoy spending time with come 'home' to you is something that you never realised you would enjoy so much.

You wonder if it's the highlight of his days, too.

The location never matters, for it's in his eyes that your find your home - though 'home' looks a little different when his eyes are all puffy and bloodshot, his dark irises acting like a curtain. The window is covered. He's hiding his soul from you.

Hard to notice, though, when his cheeks are wet, and you mistake that as his biggest vulnerability.

"Hey," you whisper, legs unfolding as you stand and walk towards him. The door shuts by itself, Jungkook not caring for it. He doesn't even toss his bag down; just kind of stands there. Sniffs. Shakes his head, goes to speak, but chokes on his words and how big they feel in his throat. "It's okay, it's okay," you reassure, a hand on his cheek, the other on his collarbone. "You're safe. What's up?"

He leans into your touch, jaw tense, eyes resting shut. It's been a long time coming, and he knows it. Wonders how the fuck he hasn't already broken. He wasn't made for shit like this; for lies and deceit, especially not when it's someone that he really cares for the will suffer the consequences of his actions.

All he wants, all ever seems to want, is to be in the shower with you. Doesn't even care about stripping bare. Wants to be saturated with the promise of purity; in the way he feels for you, how you feel for him, and how your life could be together.

There's nothing inherently sexual about his desire, though he knows he wouldn't be able to resist to the eroticism of having you naked and wet - it's just not his intention. He simply wants to be close to you. Wants to care for you. Wants to wash your hair and rinse you off; ease the burdens of everyday life.

He forgets that water isn't strong enough to cleanse him of his sins. It will run black, always, because of what he's done; what he will do. Like ink bleeding from his tattoos, he'll still be left with scratch marks of the choices he's made; scars in the place of his missteps.

No answer is given to your question. Instead, he sobs a little harder. Hugs you, now. Drops his bag to the floor and holds you so tight he's afraid you might break.

He'd rather this, though.

Rather his affections for you be the breaking point, and not his sheer cowardice that will no doubt shatter your perception of him.

Your arms wrap around his neck, feet strained to the very tips of your toes, your hand in his hair. You've never been good with those who cry; never known how to comfort. It's not your fault. Just how you were raised. Nannys and au pairs were all well and good, but they never had a mother's touch. Your scrapes and scratches got bandaids and banana milk, but never any kisses better.

There's a curious softness to the way your hold Jungkook. There always has been. You've never really understood it; the need you feel to nurture him. Perhaps part of you always knew - could always tell - that the loss of his mother had been more profound than he could articulate.

You don't want to mother him. It's not your job. Maternal instincts aren't your thing - but the way you care for Jungkook is so pure, so unadulterated, that you find yourself wanting to ease him of all his pains.

And so even though it's not your job, you'll kiss his wounds better, just so that someone does. You'll fulfil his needs. Be everything he needs. Why would he ever want for another when he could simply just have you?

Your lips press against his temple, willing him to heal. Whatever's wrong is clearly bottled up inside, and a small part of you hopes that your lips could draw the venom from within. It's fruitless.

"Tell me what you need," you say softly. You're not a mind reader. Life would be much simpler if you were."What do you need?"

He thinks it's a stupid fucking question. Doesn't understand how you can be so oblivious to it all; but also doesn't realise how much of an impeccable liar he is. It's a learned trait. He wasn't born to be like this.

He was born to be soft, to be gentle, just like you. Under the bravado of your sarcasm and vulgar language, you're nothing more than a heart in search of its place. More fool you for thinking his ribcage would be a fitting dwelling for it.

And so Jungkook tries a little softness back.

"Need you," he finishes his sentence with a slight hiccup, his irregular breathing throwing everything out of whack. "Need to know you'll stay."

It's cruel, the way he makes you promise the idea of forevermore, when he knows full well that come next week, that heart of yours? The one sitting comfortably in his chest beside his own? Yeah, come next week it will be in his hands, blood coating his fingers as they dig into the muscle and tear it apart.

How beautifully unaware, you are.

"As long as you need," you whisper back. "I'll stay for as long as you need me, Kook. You don't need to ask. You know you don't."

And that's the kicker.

It's what has him in such a sorry fucking state.

Your hairband around his wrist, and the scrunchie on his gearstick, had been the catalyst to his tears; you're his demise.

There's a dusty footprint on the dash, right by the passenger seat glove compartment. It's yours, small and insubstantial, from the drive back from the beach the day before. Anyone else and he'd had tapped their legs, made them put their feet down.

In fact, he did with you, too. He'd tapped your leg, and was met with refusal, so instead he had just wrapped his hand around your ankle, and kept it there until he need to change gear down from fifth. He knocked it straight into third, and as soon as he was off the clutch, his hand eased off the stick and wrapped around your ankle once more.

It's gonna be you, it's gonna be you, it's gonna be you.

When he's cold and alone in the weeks to come, it's gonna be you he thinks of at night.

When he spills a couple drops of gas onto his clothes at the pump, it's gonna be you he thinks of when the scent of it makes him feel all lightheaded and nauseous.

When he gets into the ring at Kang's and is perishing just to feel a little rush, it's gonna be you that he thinks of.

It's gonna be you.

Far sooner than you realised, and for far longer than he can even imagine.

"Shit," he hisses, pulling away from you and heading towards the window. His back hunches as he leans on the ledge with one hand, pinching the bridge of his nose with the other. He sniffs back the evidence of his upset and shakes his head. "Sorry. Just been a long day. That's all."

You perch on the side of the bed, understanding that space is needed. You're not good with comfort, but you are good with recognising the needs of others, at least.

"No bother," you shrug, not that he sees it. "We don't have to talk about it."

"Nothing to talk about," he says as he turns to face you. His features are all red and puffy, the friction of sleeves against his cheeks tarnishing them in flecks of crimson. A weak smile is plastered on his lips, and he knows it's not convincing. "I'm good."

And so you pretend that you are convinced, for the simple fact that he wants you to be. "I know. Was just saying. If you did wanna talk, you could. If not? We can do something else."

Jungkook's mind jumps to fucking away the upset. Seems like a good distraction.

But he also knows that if he fucks you right now, he'll cry. He won't mean to, but he'll feel the way you pulse around him, and he'll start thinking about your heart, and then his nose will be nestled in your hair, and he'll be thinking about all that he stands to lose, and then he'll break the fuck down; buried in your pussy, suffocated by the adoration he feels for you. It's a grave he's dug himself.

He pouts as he shakes his head, bottom lip protruding as if he doesn't give a fuck what you do. "Not fussed. What do you wanna do?"

You hold out your hand to encourage him to walk towards you, and he does it without a second thought. He kicks his shoes off by the foot of the bed and takes your hand, climbing onto the mattress with you.

"Not fussed, either," you hum all rather pleasantly, pushing a few strands of his hair back and out of his face. The blonde is growing out, and there's a warm band where the toner has faded. It doesn't look bad, but you also know there's nothing better than fresh hair to boost a mood. It's your classic hot girl in crisis mood. He might not be a girl, but he's hot as fuck, and seems to be in a crisis, so maybe it could help. "Why don't we dye your hair?"

There's a grin on his lips, his brows lifting as he pushes your hair behind your ear, too. "Dye my hair? You saying you hate it?"

"God, you're so dramatic," you laugh - and that's the exact reason why he's so bloody dramatic. He loves to hear you laugh.

"You do hate it?!" he cries, feigning pain. "You think I look like shit?"

"The shittiest," you confirm, though the way you're smiling at him says otherwise. If your smile was anything to go by, he'd think you love his hair.

He'd be right.

But maybe it just went with the territory; a byproduct of loving him for everything he is.

The thought of you loving him flashes in his mind like a weather warning: Storms ahead. Take cover.

It's replaced by mindless banter; you telling him how ugly you think he is, and him pretending like his feelings are hurt. There's a tussle between the pair of you, just for an excuse to be touching one another. It's inevitable that you end up on top of him, holding his hands above his head to stop him from tickling at your sides. He lets you take this role of dominance, even though he could overpower you if he really wanted to.

He wants you in charge; wants you calling the shots.

"Let's dye my hair," he agrees and seals the deal with a kiss. "You gotta do it too, though. Yin to my yang."

"Matching hair?" You raise a brow as your hair hangs delicately around your face, tickling at his.

"Matching hair," he nods, because fuck it. He's never gonna get to do the couple shit with you. Never gonna get you a matching pair of sneakers, never gonna switch the sim card ports in your phones. If this is his only chance, he's gonna take it. "You'll do mine, I'll do yours."

It's a fair trade. One you can't argue with - and so you simply smile. "Alright, fuck it. I'm in."

────────────

"Forgotten something?" you hum, as Jungkook makes a u-turn on your way out of the city. You're not really surprised, nor concerned about his change in direction. You trust him. Wherever he goes, you'll follow.

The blue of Busan's endless harbour darts past you, teasing you, mocking the freedom you think you have. You're shackled, cuffed to the armrest, a prisoner of the way your heart beats a little faster, a little harder, whenever you're inside his Pony. It never eases. It's just like that chime in your stomach, which only gets louder with every rev of his engine.

You're sad to leave the city. Had never cared much for Busan before. You care for him, though, and that's what makes the difference.

"No," he says with a small smile, one that he's trying to hide. There's excitement in his gaze, celestial entities sparking in his midnight eyes.

"Hotel's a little further up," you add.

"I know," he smiles again, simple and pure. You're a bad listener, he realises. Stubborn. Believe your own assumptions, even when presented with contradictory evidence. It's a flaw, yet he can't help but find it endearing. "We're not going there."

He glances over towards you and catches the way your face changes as you recognise the road you're heading down.

He loves that little thing you do with your brows; the way they furrow for just a second as you try to figure out what's happening. It's a common occurrence, brief confusion, and it only ever flashes over your features for a moment or so, but it's undeniably one of his favourite expressions of yours.

You're holding it now, brows still pushed together as a grin rests on your lips in disbelief. He flicks his indicator, and it's all but confirmed: you're heading towards your bucket list hotel, the one you've dreamt about for years but never fancied booking alone.

It's been mentioned between you once, maybe twice - and he remembered. Maybe it's the bare minimum. Maybe it isn't as much of a big deal as you think it is - but your heart swells like proofing dough in a baking tin, waiting for heat to transform it into its final form. Soft and warm, it'd be everything he needs to survive.

And yet the only thing you can articulate is, "fuck off."

He takes it all in good humour though, because he knows you, and he understands that you're overwhelmed with an abundance of delight. It trickles from every part of you, your happiness infecting him like some sort of disease. A glorious cause of death he thinks it would be, to perish from your pleasure.

"Can't," he grins. "The booking is under my name. You need me here, Little Miss Clutch Control."

The change in his tone from factual to flirty has you all hot and bothered. You didn't expect such a lame term of endearment to get you feeling like this, but something about hearing it in full glory really gets to you.

The car pulls to a stop, but neither of you get out. You continue talking, bantering, existing next to one another. You're prolonging it, the anticipation that makes your hands all clammy, feet tingly. He's the one to break from the cautious climate between the pair of you, when he says, "if you go check us in, I can bring our bags."

They say that you should never meet your idols; that the disappointment of them being just like any other human breaks the infatuation.

The same can be said for a hotel.

You've dreamt about this moment for so long. The room is gorgeous - not quite the top floor, but close enough - and it looks exactly how you always imagined it. White marble coats the floor, the walls, the ceiling, too. It's grand and demure, but it's cold. The bed is flush to the floor, and there's little else to look at other than the view which pours in. It's blue. Cerulean. Sky and sea, with nothing in between.

It's everything you expected, and everything you wanted.

But what you want isn't always what you need.

You find yourself missing the old hotel. Just a little bit. You miss the intimacy you felt in the previous room with Jungkook; the warmth, the limerence you shared. It's hardly surprising. That room saw your fledgling romance crash and burn, but it's also where you patched each other up and promised not to let it happen again. A lot was learnt beneath those sheets. On top of them, too.

Still, every inch of you - your face, your body, your posture - is draped in delight. You're radiant.

The hotel really doesn't matter. It's the effort that he's gone to which has you so enamoured. It's more than you think you deserve.

But most of all? You can't believe that he actually cares so much about your desires, your dreams, your wants, that he tries to turn them into realities.

"Gone to a lot of effort for 'just a friend from Daegu,'" you simper into his lips as he joins you by the window, watching a ship seep across the ocean.

He smiles. Pecks you once. Twice. Holds it a little longer. Withdraws. "My best fuckin' friend," he growls, a little frustrated with the way he knows you're gonna be using that against him for months (if you make it that far, that is). Pinkies beneath your jaw, thumbs on your cheeks, he kisses you again. "Stop saying shit like that, C."

"Or what?"

"Or," he laughs tenderly against your lips. "I'll be left with no choice but to show how much your... 'friendship' really means to me."

The worst part of it all is that Jungkook actually believes it. He really does think you're his best friend.

It's a shame. He always thought that once he found his best friend, then that would be it. He'd settle for life. Loyal like a dog, is Jungkook, yet he'd always anticipated his mating habits being like those of a wolf. After all, what's a soul mate if not your best friend?

Big, big shame.

For now, though, his focus is on the present. There's a future outside of these four walls, and he'd love for you to be it.

And so he behaves in such a way that he convinces himself you could be. You; his, eternal. No sharing. No take backs. In this shit together for life.

Comfort comes in the form of his smile, and the way he makes you feel so secure in yourself. He laughs at all your jokes, reciprocates humour that matches your own. Tells you tales of childhood, and has you thinking maybe one day you could have little terrors of your own. You ask him what he'd call his kids - and proceed to tell him that his hypothetical son, 'Manta Ray', would 100% hate him. He asks you what you'd call yours. You list your girls names. They're pretty. Standard. Nothing remarkable. For a son? You look at him, lashes low, smile saccharine, and simply say, "Manta Ray."

It's that statement which has Jungkook determined to fuck you raw tonight; fill you up, toy with the idea of what it could be like to get you pregnant. It's far too soon for any of that, but the thought of it gets his balls all tight, cock twitching in his sweats. He thinks about the way your body could change; all shapely and swollen because of the semen he's fucked into you. He thinks about your tits, and it's when he thinks about tasting your fucking milk that he knows he has to stop. He's way too far ahead of himself, all horny and engorged, wetness seeping from his tip.

It's inevitable that you'll end up naked at some point.

But it's not just because he's like a dog on heat, right now.

See, your dream of staying in this specific hotel comes in two parts.

The first is sweet; innocent pleasure found in the harbour view.

The second is far less innocent. It's still about the view, but more so about how much you wanna get railed in front of it.

Jungkook wises up to this pretty quickly, without complaint.

It's impossible not to - primarily because he's reclined on the bed, legs spread, cock hard as he strokes his thick shaft, watching you strip for him by the time night has fallen.

He takes in the sight of you under the silver moon; ethereal in the way she beams on you. The curves of your body are accentuated by the shadows, his lips desperate to devour every inch of your skin.

You're made for the moonlight, he thinks, made to be more than just a being of the sun.

He's always thought he belonged to the night, but maybe he was wrong. Maybe he belongs to you.

It's not long before he's taking in the rest of you in; your scent, the way you sound, the tremor of your sternum as you laugh while he dapples kisses down your body.

You're celestial, laid bare, your soul for the taking. His lips are tender against your skin, as if he knows he could steal it. Keep it forever.

He's trying not to. He doesn't want to keep you, not like that, and not forever. He wants you to find happiness after him - but selfishly, he never wants anyone else to hear your laughter, not when it's coated in syrup, sweet enough to devour.

It's all very conflicting.

He can't wrap his head around it.

Can't make sense of any of it - but he can wrap his lips around your swollen pussy, tongue teasing as his fingers find their home inside you. He can make you forget the world, and that's exactly why you'll never be able to forget him.

His name is lodged in your throat as you come undone for him; a block of ice that melts with the heat of his limerence as he kisses through your post-climax comedown.

Body heavy on top of yours, his cock digs into your thigh as he ruts a little, unable to stop himself. He tries to hold back, but your tongue is in his mouth, hands are in his hair, and you're moaning.

The sound of your desire vibrates against his lips; has him shifting his hips until the tip of his cock is kissing your soaked entrance.

You tell him that you want him. Need him.

He shakes his head, and smiles, though he doesn't find much happiness in the admittance that comes with the gesture. "I'm no good for you, CC."

"Bit late for that, don't you think?"

His lips press into your throat; travel down to the hollow of your collarbone, skirt the tops of your breasts, and then he kisses right where he thinks your heart might be.

"You're so good for me," he whispers, lips brushing against the skin of your bare chest. You're more than he's ever deserved; more than he'll likely ever experience again. There's a fear - a very valid one - that this could be the last time. Part of him doesn't want it to happen. It will all feel so final, he thinks. Alternatively, perhaps it would give him closure - but what about you?

He's trying to do right by you, but it's so gut-wrenchingly difficult when all he wants is to give you what you want, instead.

He's slow as his hips begin to pulse, pushing ever so gently against your entrance before he retracts. He repeats this; once, twice, three times. Asks if you're ready. Waits for your nod. Feels his heart ache when you do. Sinks into you, slowly. Sheaths himself within your walls. Whines as he hits your cervix, balls ghosting your perky little ass as he does so.

Full capacity, you're stuffed with his cock, and yet he pushes just a little deeper to hear the way you gasp.

It won't take long to have him unloading himself into you. Doesn't even thinks he needs to fuck you. Your throbbing walls could milk him, even if he stays entirely still on top of you. He knows he'd make you so filthy, cunt throbbing, plugged with his fingers because he wouldn't want any of his creamy load to escape your pussy.

He knows exactly how he'd fuck you, how he'd position you afterwards, how he'd keep you reaching Nirvana again, and again, and again, just to increase the chance of fertilisation.

Jungkook is losing his fucking mind.

He's always been thankful for your birth control, because he loves to fuck you raw, but he hates it now. Wishes your body would just let you mother his future children. Doesn't give a fuck about anything else.

You're it.

He thinks you're fucking it.

His lips wrap around your nipple, mainly to stop himself from saying things he can't take back. Doesn't imagine you'll react too well to him growling about how much he wants to see your belly all round, tits engorged and leaky, body destroyed (though he'd argue it was beautiful) thanks to his insatiable cock and need to keep your pussy as his.

His mouth is warm; wet and gentle but firm with its movements. He's doing it with intent. You know why. You know what he's thinking about, cause you're thinking about it, too; how you're built for him to ruin in the most beautiful of ways, and how it's only fair he should reap the rewards.

"I know, baby," you husk, fingers stroking his hair as he groans against your soft chest. There'll never be another him. Ever. "It's cause we're good for each other."

There's something going on with him. He's always fucked you well, fucked you right. This is more than that, you think.

You aren't an idiot - but as vulnerable as he may seem, now doesn't feel like the right time to ask. You've dated men in the past who grew irate when sex would be interrupted by matters of the heart, and you've been conditioned to not 'ruin the moment.'

Jungkook wishes you would. Wishes you'd tell him to stop, tell him that he shouldn't do this, tell him that you don't want him - but you do, you do, you do.

There's movement; your hips working against his own, your hot walls milking his length.

He knows he shouldn't let himself indulge in such a ludicrous fantasy. You'll never get the picket fence. Never get the rose garden. Never take the kids to basketball practise on a Sunday, and fuck in the car as soon as you get a moment of peace together.

On the contrary, you think he should indulge in these little dreams - but there's hesitation, and it confuses you. All of his movements stop. His forehead rests against yours. He's inside you, still, but not how he was.

"You wanna stop?" You ask with a voice so tender that Jungkook just wants to melt into you. His lips find yours, pressure controlled, restrained.

One hand is supporting his body above you, the other holds the underside of your jaw. There's no further discussion, just mewls; groans of want, need, desire. Your legs wrap around his thighs, encouraging him to follow through on the pleasure that the hardness of his cock is promising.

He could do it. Make you his. Fill your sweet little cunt up so well like he always does. Have your back arching, body at his disposal. It'd be so easy.

Or at least, it would be if he wasn't getting soft.

It's not you. Fuck. God, no. Nothing to do with you. He's just so inside his head over everything - the way he feels, the fact he knows you arent built to last - that he's finding it hard to focus. That family he thought of? The happy one he could have with you? It'll never exist.

Jungkook can't think straight, let alone keep his prick straight.

You can feel that his cock isn't as firm as it was, but you think maybe it's just a blip. Maybe Jungkook trying to make himself last longer? You're not really sure of the mechanics involved in that, but it seems plausible.

You move your hips to give him a little encouragement, your pussy stroking against his shaft ever so gently. You're wet - so fucking wet - for him, and it gets him even more wound up.

Why is his body not responding in the way he wants it to? Why won't his head just let him fuck you like he wants to fuck you? Unfair, he thinks, so unfair.

You don't mind the fact he's not rock hard. He's only human. It's natural for things to not always go right, and it's not like he'd be the first boy you've ever known to have performance issues. It happens to everyone at some point or another - yourself included.

"What do you want me to do?" You offer, because you think it will help; think that by showing you don't mind helping out, it will make him feel more comfortable.

But he knows you've noticed and it's fucking mortifying. This never happens to him.

Then again, he's never fucked a girl he likes as much as he likes you. Naive of him to think he could trust his body not to betray his mind at such an important moment. Only fitting, really, considering that it's his mind that will betray his heart when it matters most.

It's a cycle, and Jungkook's struggling to get to grips with the pedals. He'll fall off, crash and burn, if he's not careful.

"Shit," he hisses as he bridles his hips and pulls himself away from you. His back meets the mattress with so much force that your body shakes, cold and alone without the weight of him on top of you. He lies next to you, staring at the ceiling, cock limp, jaw tense. So fucking embarrassing. "Dunno what's wrong with me."

You tell him that it's normal, nothing unusual, and that you don't care - but it's not normal. Not for him, and especially not when it comes to you. He's been a walking boner since the moment he met you. Hard as a steel pole for weeks. In fact, if anything, he's barely soft these days.

"Just give me a moment," he says, though he doesn't move. He's trying to focus.

He breathes, in and out, slowly, his eyes glued to the ceiling, tattooed hand draped across his sternum. In, and out. He remains flaccid, cock resting shamefully against the top of his thigh.

This is, he thinks, hands down the most mortifying experience of his adult life.

You don't give a shit, but he's so uptight; lips pressed shut, eyes hard, as he seems to look anywhere but your direction. It gets you feeling all insecure. You didn't think you were the problem at first, but now it's starting to feel like you are.

The awkwardness is uncomfortable, and the fact that you're naked is even more so.

You're both on top of the quilt, so you can't even hide. Instead, you have to reach down the bed for the closest piece of discarded clothing - Jungkook's flannel shirt.

It's about now that he wants to die. Not like a brutal, slow death (the kind that he knows he deserves). He just wants to be zapped like a fly with an electric bat. The kind you see Ajummas with during the summer, wafting them around in the air, tasing everything they come into contact with.

He rubs his palm across his face, and when he's done, his hand comes to rest over his pathetic cock. The worst part of it all is the minuscule trail of precum that has oozed from the tip of his cock and onto his thigh, tangled in his leg hairs.

He could have fucked you. Could have fucked you so well.

But instead, he's watching you get dressed - although he isn't even doing that. He can't even bring himself to look at you.

He had asked for a moment, so you decide to give him just that. You head towards the bathroom unannounced, and Jungkook wants to tell you to stay, but he can't get any words out.

Door locked, closed, metal threaded through a loop, you're alone - and you fucking hate it. You're embarrassed and ashamed and confused. Your acceptance of his performance issue was genuine, but it doesn't stop it from hurting. You think his desire is dwindling, and you don't know what you'll do if it burns out completely.

You breathe. Take a second to reset yourself. Everything is fine. Everything is okay. Jungkook is just having issues. It's not me, it's not me, it's not me, you tell yourself, though you don't really believe it, and then you head back towards the bedroom.

When you return, Jungkook's got his underwear on.

He's sat with his back to you, facing the sea view, legs crossed, knees raised for his chin to rest upon. There's a crease in his stomach, his posture pathetic and feeble.

You'd never tell him, because you know that he trains so hard at the boxing club, but you sort of like it when torso creases like this. It makes him seem human. Soft; his hard exterior subdued, just for you.

The bed shifts as you walk across it and plonk yourself down beside him, mirroring the way he sits. There's a tugging in your chest, like your heart is clawing against your ribs, begging to be let out so it can go and sit beside Jungkooks. You tell it no, that it has to stay put.

But then he inhales a sharp breath through his nose, and you can hear he's torn himself up over what just happened. Your head rests on his shoulder, and your heart pacifies. His bottom lip is beneath his front teeth, the pressure so great that it feels as if he could burst through the skin. He doesn't ease up.

Silence remains. You can hear the waves crashing through the double glazing, and you wonder why you find such peace in something so hostile. The sea could kill you without a care in the world, and yet you'd let it, if meant your final moments were as peaceful as this.

"I'm sorry, CC," Jungkook eventually whispers. His voice shakes, and your lips press a gentle kiss onto his shoulder.

"You don't have to be."

Oh, but I do, babe. You'll never know how sorry I am.

You continue, knowing Jungkook won't clarify any of his misgivings. "C'mon," your head knocks back. "Let's sleep. Check out is early."

And so he settles into the sheets with you. Doesn't really say much. Just spends an eternity looking at you. Such a sight to behold; a work of art framed by the sea view.

That's the thing about works of art: you can see all their imperfections up close.

You've an eyelash that sticks out straight, while the rest of them curl. There's a small scar just below your ear from a childhood accident. He must have pressed a thousand kisses against that spot and never realised before.

He's never paid much notice to your piercings - lobes, double; helix, single - but he notices now that the stud in your cartilage has a stone in it. Opal, he thinks, but isn't sure. He wonders why you chose that one. Doesn't think you chose it just because it's pretty. You put too much weight on intangible things like fate and karma to have not chosen something specific.

You'd had a field day when you found out he was a Virgo, but he didn't have a clue what you meant when you said, "Saturn in your seventh house? Curious."

He was even more confused when you apologised for the fact you have Mars in your seventh. At the time he'd made some juvenile joke about sticking his seven in Uranus, but he wishes he'd listened more carefully, now.

It was the first time you'd shown belief in something other than the power of peach teas to remedy a bad mood, and it was significant. Not to him, admittedly, but to you. In turn, it made it important to him.

There's very little he actually can say about you - concrete things, like your childhood hangout area downtown, or the career path you had dreamt about. He knows how you laugh, what kind of humour gets you, but not what makes you sad. Doesn't know how you grieve.

How much of you does he really know? Or has he just been infatuated with the idea of you?

After all, you're everything he was hardwired to hate. Perhaps he's fooled himself. Maybe the wool he's been pulling over your eyes is over his, too.

He's the one who's been knitting, though. The crochet is a product of his own making. He's only got himself to blame.

But of course, neither of you are to blame. Not really. This was never meant to be more than what it is. You're just a friend from Daegu, after all.

It doesn't feel like that, no, but for all intents and purposes, that's what you are. You aren't his girlfriend. He's never asked for more, and nor have you. Keeping things simple has only served to make everything so much more complicated.

"Hey," he whispers quietly, just to get your attention. He's embarrassed, and it shows in the way he's nibbling down on his lip, but he doesn't want to be. Deep down, he knows that there's no shame to be found in what happened, and yet he can't help but think maybe you like him a little less, now.

Maybe that would be good. Maybe you should like him less. Actually, he's certain that you should.

But he doesn't want that. The idea of you looking at him with anything less than utter adoration has his stomach in knots. He's so used to it now; the way your pupils widen, lashes flutter. It's juvenile, and he knows it doesn't mean as much as he thinks it does, but he's convinced that your eyes don't lie.

He and you both are nothing but spinners of yarn; the tellers of tall tales, romancers of wrong-doings. Rumplestiltskins' of sorts, spinning gold where there once was straw.

You murmur a noise, but your eyes are still shut. It isn't enough for him. Needs to be greeted with your eyes; to be welcomed home. And so, he tries again, thumb stroking your cheek, the side of his head nestling into his pillow as he shuffles in a little closer. "CC?"

A delicate breath huffs from your nose as you smile, curiously smitten with how tender his voice sounds. Part of you is tempted to feign sleep a little longer just to have him addressing you like that again, but you find your eyes open - and once you're looking at him, it's borderline impossible to stop.

"Morning," you smile, even though the moon is still peering in, checking in on the lovers she's nurtured to a point of no return.

"Morning," he smiles back. The clock on the wall behind you read 2:24am. "Missed you."

"Been right here," you counter, as if the chime in your stomach isn't ringing like Jungkook's phone always seems to do whenever he's getting lost in you. His thumb strokes at your cheek again, then pushes your hair behind your ear. He wants to see all of you. Every inch of your skin, every fleck of colour in your iris, every strand of hair; wants it all. The hollow of your collarbones, the slope of your shoulders, the curve of your chest beneath his flannel shirt. All. Of. It.

"Too far away," he pouts.

"Too far?"

"Too far," he doubles down, still stroking hair behind your ear just because he can. Your head nestles into the pillow as you figure out what he's after. 'You' is the simple answer, but what exactly he wants from you is unclear.

"I can be closer," you whisper.

All he does is nod. He doesn't want to ask for what he wants, fearful of repeating his earlier mistakes - and to be honest, he doesn't really want to fuck, anyway.

But Jungkook hasn't fucked you in a long time. Sure, he's been sleeping with you - having sex with you - but he can't qualify it as fucking. It's too brash. Too careless. Inaccurate.

The way he fucks himself into you lately is deliberate; a facilitator of the way he feels. And he's not gonna call it what it is, because the term makes him uncomfortable, but it's undeniable.

Jungkook fucks you like he loves you. Kisses you like it will be his last, touches you like it's still the first. He's tentative. Tepid. Tactful.

More than anything, though? He's absolutely fucking terrified.

The fear doesn't leave; not when your body grinds against his, not when you end up on top of him, not when he's kissing you like he means it, stroking your skin as if you bruise like a peach. It never dilutes. Never ceases.

He can be rough, if he wants to be - but he doesn't.

He wants softness, with you, always.

And he'll only have himself to blame when he loses it all.

────────────

There are 38 boxes of hair dye facing Jungkook, and he thinks they all look the same. 

You had been in Daegu for less than a minute when you reminded him to swing by an Olive Young to pick up some hair dye - and how could he ever refuse any of your requests?

It's so simple making you happy. A peach tea from a drive-thru on the way home, no complaints when you change what's playing through the aux after 20 seconds because you get bored, the way his hand squeezes your knee at red lights. Making you happy is the easiest thing in the whole wide world - but of course it would be.

There's no hardship that comes with your happiness. Everything Jungkook does is second nature, as if he's been doing it his whole life, and not just a few months.

"See, this one is ashy," you say, and he pretends as if he understands. It's been twenty minutes now, and no conclusion has been reached. You thought it would be easy, an in and out job, but Jungkook is full of surprises. It's not like you mind though. Learning his ways - how he behaves when no one else is watching - is a luxury that very few are able to indulge in.

He catches your gaze occasionally, and the way you marvel at him without even realising it. It makes him smile. Make him blush. Has him scared you're gonna start noticing his imperfections.

You won't - and even if you do, you'll file them under 'endearing habits' or 'cute quirks'. He's nothing short of perfection as far as  you're concerned.

Foam or serum? Powder or liquid? He didn't remember it ever being this hard before.

But of course, it wasn't. He wasn't actually the one who had dyed his hair blonde. Namjoon's sister had; a trick to foster intimacy with him when he wouldn't reciprocate her longing gazes after casual fucks.

He hadn't told you that, obviously. Didn't have a death wish - but he did remember that, for a short period of time, her attempt at faking closeness seemed to have worked.

It was a moment of madness for Jungkook, one too many sojus and he'd been seduced; a couple more and all of his clothes were on Naejeon's bedroom floor. He did as he always had done with her; took her from behind, spanked her ass when he was done and offered to drive her home after the alcohol had worn off - but he'd been foolish and gone back to hers that evening. While he was still a little bit worse for wear, he'd agreed to let her do his hair. He thought it'd be fun. She thought that maybe he'd realise there was more between the pair of them than just a good time after dark.

It wasn't long, and it wasn't love, but Naejeon had him reassessing whether or not it was just fucking, through the simple means of hydrogen peroxide coated strands of hair.

As much as he lamented the time he had spent with her towards the end of their arrangement, for a while she had been good for him. He'd become kinder, more gentle, and it seemed you were the one who reaped the rewards.

"And ashy is..." he carries his words on, as if the answer is on the tip of his tongue, but you know him well enough now to know that they're not. He's overwhelmed by the choices, simultaneously wishing he could pick without a care in the world, but also worrying about making the wrong decision.

"Bad."

"-Bad, yeah, that's what I was gonna say," he bullshits, but you don't mind the white lies all that much. He goes to say something, then cuts himself short. "And why is it bad again?"

It's the fourth time you've explained colour theory to him. "It's bad because you need a warm tone over the blonde, otherwise it will go green."

"I like green," he speaks with a small pout, not realising the green his hair will go isn't the same green as the trees in May. It will be murky, and grotty, like the streets in April rain.

"So do I," you smile. "But not for my hair. How about this one?"

His eyes follow your hand to one of the thousand boxes: a deep crimson red. It's not a shade he was expecting, nor one that he thinks will work on your hair. You know it won't, so you add "we can just bleach a little bit first. Like the underneath layer, or something."

His head tilts, a dimple forming as he tries to imagine what it will look like. You can see he isn't sure, and that he feels a little hesitant. He wants to do this. Wants to reinvent himself with you - an artist fixing up an old oil painting, filling in the cracks, restoring it to its former glory - but he's scared that what's done cannot be undone.

Ironic, really, that it's his hair that he's scared of. Consequences have meant little to him as of late, and yet here he is all pouty, huffing through his nose a little bit because the poor baby can't decide.

It makes you laugh how childish he can be. He just needs a little push you think; a helping hand.

"You trust me?"

The question is asked so flippantly that it would seem unfathomable for the trust between the pair of you to be broken. Flirtatious in your tone, he knows this is all just fun to you. Maybe he should loosen up. Maybe it should be fun for him, too.

Yes is the answer to your question - not that he'll give it to you. Words are dangerous. They can be used against him.

"I think you're mad," he tells you, but there's a smile that he just can't hide. It rests on his lips, crooked and glorious; sun breaking through a storm. It's yours, you think. Mine, all mine. "Get the bleach, you little fucker."

"See," you grin back, all big and pleased, and Jungkook thinks he'll never be able to smile without you. "You do."

You do as you're told; grab the bleach, get in line. Jungkook stands behind you, kisses your hair, tells you he likes it enough as it is, but that he's excited to do this with you. And then he's whispering some bullshit about how he wants kombucha, but the one he likes is sold out, as per usual.

When you go to pay, his card is already in the machine. It's on him. Everything during your trip has been. There's something charming about it; chivalrous. You've never needed a man with a white horse, but you got yourself a boy with a red Pony regardless.

Scarlet in colour, his car screamed danger when you first met him, but as you ride in the passenger seat, feet on the dash, hand beneath his on the gear stick, you feel safe. There's a world out there around you and yet none of it can penetrate the metal body. You like to think it's bulletproof.

It's an old car. A heap of shit, if you will, especially by today's highway standards. You had made a point to pay your respects a little longer at the road safety shrine at Haedong Yeonggungsa when you visited in Busan. 

A bullet would tear through it - but how lovely it is to pretend that you could be invincible together.

You ask if he fancies doing his hair at your place.

It's the first time you've ever offered.

You asked if he trusted you earlier that evening, and now you're the one showing him that you trust him.

This is bad. Really bad, in fact. In too deep; six feet under. He's sinking, buried in the way that he feels for you, but thinks that it's just his guilty conscience that's tickling at his tummy.

Your apartment isn't too dissimilar from his; a little one-room, cheap and drab, but brightened by your personality. There are photos on the walls, pictures with friends, postcards of art, memories of times you barely remember, now. Your bed is sort of hidden, a shelving unit separating it from the rest of the room. The first thing he notices about it is how many pillows you have. Plushies, too. He looks bewildered, but you simply shrug and smile. "Never take me to an arcade."

Your statement only serves to make that an insatiable desire of his. He's obsessed with the idea of you in front of the machines, neon lights glowing in your eyes, lips parted as you aim for yet another ridiculous plushy.

In fact, it's all he wants to do now, go to an arcade with you. Considers saying fuck it to the hair dye, and heading downtown instead.

But you usher him into the bathroom, and say, "c'mon, buddy. I gotta bleach mine first before we can put colour on."

Perched on the closed lid of your toilet seat, Jungkook watches on in awe as you get to work on your hair. The way you called him buddy plays on loop in his head. He thinks it's a joke because of the fact he told Taehyung you were just a friend, and he'd be right to consider that. He realises, rather quickly, that he doesn't ever want to be just a friend to you. Impossible, he thinks.

Mindless chatter takes hold as you paint bleach onto your hair. It's only on the underneath layer, and it washes out to be the most god-awful orange, but it's fine. All you need is a base for the colourful dye to stick to.

You've done this before, he assumes, but doesn't like that he's picked up that trait of yours - so instead, he asks about it.

"Shoulda seen me in high school," you smile. "Rebellion was my middle name."

It's said in jest, but Jungkook wonders just how true that is. You're the black sheep of a family you're pretending doesn't exist.

"Did it win?" He teases. "The rebellion?"

He likes the idea of your defiance being nurtured at an early age. You've always had fight in you, or so it would seem. It's something he finds attractive, the way there's bite behind your bark, and yet he appears to have you tamed.

You don't look at him as you smile, putting on a pair of latex gloves and reaching for the tub of crimson dye. The plastic container fits into your palm like it was made to be there. This new identity? The one that matches Jungkooks? Made for you.

Painting the dye onto your hair without much care, you shrug. Consider telling him about your family. Stop yourself at the last minute.

"Rebellions endure," you tell him, all matter of a factly and as if you know what you're talking about. You don't. You're a sham. Wouldn't know rebellion if it bit you in the ass. Stupidly, you think that disowning your family counts as an act of rebellion - but you did it all so quietly that no one even noticed. Rebellion would have been publicly denouncing them - also would have saved Jungkook a whole lot of hassle, that's for sure. "There's no winning. Just perseverance."

He doesn't agree. Thinks that life is a rotating door of winning and losing; a turnstile in the subway that will let anyone through given they can pay for the fare. That's what life boils down to for Jungkook; who has money, and who can spend that money.

The ones with the wallets always win.

Give it a week, and his wallet will be fat enough to run with the big boys - and yet he's never felt less powerful in his whole entire god damn life. He's watched girlfriends fuck about with his friends, his family disintegrate, his mother die. You - and your stupid fucking smile, the way your eyes always land on his lips before they meet his eyes, the smell of your gasoline tainted hair - trump it all.

He's a loser in this game, whether he 'wins' or not.

There's no winning without you.

There's a clamminess to his palms, a beating in his chest that goes a mile a minute, far too fast for a healthy heart. You're a comedown short of a cocaine upper, and Jungkook knows that his addiction has grown out of hand. Cold turkey is going to leave him in tatters, but he can't seem to ween himself of your body, your touch, the way your pinky loops with his. He knows what this is. Knows that the way he feels is far too much for what you are.

You catch him looking, his stare stern, and hard, and it has you smiling. He looks so serious - angry, almost - but you know he isn't. He's just thinking. Contemplating. He does it when he eats, too, and he's never angry when his belly is full. When you smile, the furrowing of his brows eases, and he begins to smile, too.

"What?" He questions, his eyes so fond that you can't believe you get the luxury of a man like him looking at you like that. Lucky bitch, you think. Luckiest in the whole wide world.

"Nothin'," you grin back, and he rolls his eyes. He looks so pretty, a strand of hair hanging over his forehead as you wait for the dye to process. His will be brighter than yours - just the tips of his hair where the bleach once was, but you think he'll look so pretty with a little colour against his honey skin.

He won't be able to hide the way he's paired with you. You've always scoffed at the couples who walk down the street in matching shoes, matching clothes. You think it's cringe. Vomit inducing. Gross.

But you're also so smitten that your lips are constantly curved into a smile, eyes fond as you look at him. You're absolutely infatuated.

So is he, but chooses to downplay it. Has a smirk on his lips as if he isn't obsessed with every little thing you do. "This is so dumb. Can't believe we're doing this."

"You suggested it!" You protest.

So hot, he thinks as you whine. He just wants to have his way with you, right then and there on the spot. Feels like he can never be close enough to you.

"So? Didn't think you'd agree," he smiles as he sinks his lips onto yours and forget all above the fact he's supposed to be careful.

Within half an hour, he's spraying you in the face with the showerhead, when he should be rinsing your hair instead. He laughs when you squeal, not caring for the fact you're both still fully clothed. A kiss is gifted and received, then given back, water from the shower hitting you both.

You're both in black, so the running red dye doesn't matter, despite the grout in your tiles turning pink.

"This doesn't seem like the most efficient way to rinse out hair," you husk against his lips, but he ignores you. Presses your back to the wall, and supports his body with a palm on either side of your head. The shower is clamped beneath one of his hands as the head sprays directly onto the wall, but he doesn't care.

"Yeah you're right," he agrees, his showerless hand cupping one of your breasts and squeezing it through the fabric of your soaked shirt. "Would be far easier if you weren't wearing this."

You laugh now, 'cause he's just so bloody predictable. A one-track mind, but you're glad he's thinking like this again. He's so much more himself when he isn't in his head over things.

His shut down yesterday has scared you; left you thinking that maybe he didn't want you anymore. The way his lips are on your neck, rough, teeth present, not caring about the crimson water running down your throat, suggests otherwise.

"You're a menace, Jeon Jungkook," you whisper, voice airy and light as it dances around the room, weaving between the droplets of water that pitter-patter on the ground. A menace; a maverick. Both could be true. When you look at him and see the way the dye is dripping down his skin, too, you think 'masterpiece' may be more apt.

He holds the showerhead over himself, letting the water run faster, more freely. The red feels never-ending, as if he'll be forever tainted by the colour of your love.

He then does the same to you, deliberately aiming straight for your face just to fuck with you. He loves how cute you sound when you squeak, body instantly shifting to defend itself.

"No, no, no," he koos, pulling the shower away and hugging you close just so that you don't retaliate against him. 

The way his clothes stick to his skin is uncomfortable, but you love the way his muscles feel beneath the drenched cotton. His chest is strong, arms even more so. Needless to say, he's obsessed with the way you look too: his shirt over your shoulders, water collecting in the fabric and forcing it to stick to the contours of your curves.

Reaching for the taps, he knocks the temperature down a little bit. 

"I'm sorry, baby," he whispers, pressing a kiss into the side of your head. The shower pours onto your feet, but you can feel it travel up your legs. There's a shift in your position as Jungkook says 'You should lift my shirt a little bit."

You feign naivety. Pretend like you don't know what he's going to do. "Like this?"

It's inched just a little further up, resting just above the lace trim of your underwear. You're a tease; Jungkook your favourite victim.

He nods. Swallows. Rests his lips ajar as he struggles to breathe. "Just like that, C."

The heady nature of the steam fogging up the bathroom fails to hide the fact he looks nervous; intent on succeeding where he had failed the night before. He watches as your lips part, brows furrowing. 

The way your chest heaves isn't lost on him, but he finds himself lost in you, and the way you look at him when he begins to hit just the right spot with the steady stream of water. You grip onto his arms, rising to the tip of your toes. A moan husks in your throat, and he smiles.

Crown of your head to the tiles, you let your head tip back, eyes closing. Your showerhead isn't something you often indulge in for pleasure by yourself, favouring your hands or a toy instead - but there's something so deeply erotic about the way he's watching your body respond to the water that he's controlling.

Occasionally he'll dip his hand down to your clit, not wanting the showerhead to take all the responsibility for what Jungkook knows will be his favourite part of the day. It's noticeable, the way a little extra moan will escape your lips whenever he uses his fingers. It's ego-boosting. Cock-swelling.

Your nails begin to dig in deeper to his muscles, no doubt leaving a print on his skin. Your whines, sultry and slow, take dominance over the running water which has been soundtracking your build-up.

"That's it," he keens, finally slipping his middle finger into you. He curls it, and the way you silently gasp has him smirking. He's still got a firm grip on the shower, his wrist moving in small circles to make sure he hits all the right places. "You gonna come for me, C?"

You're not there yet. Just a little further. A little more. A little - oh, fuck -deeper. You wanna tell him yes, yes you will, but all you can do is nod. Your eyes are shut, too embarrassed to look at him when you know you're going to finish in record time. The way you moan is sinful, and it only gets worse when you feel his tongue circle one of your nipples through the soaked shirt. He sucks, and lets it go with a pop.

"Keep-" you try and speak, but it's lost to the pleasure that's running down your spine.

He laughs. "Keep what?"

The question is answered by the way his lips wrap around your other nipple in place of a question mark. His tongue works at the swollen bud through the shirt, massaging it just enough to have your hips grinding against the pressure of the water, riding on his finger.

It's when he adds a second finger that things really start to become out of your control. Nothing you're saying makes any coherent sense. His replies are simple hums that vibrate against your chest as he sucks on it.

The thing that tips you over the edge is his third finger. The sounds you're making are lewd, and filthy, reserved only for him.

"The way you take me, baby," he grits against you, amazed by everything you are. "God, you take my fingers so well, don't you?"

"Kook-" you try, but are cut off with his lips against yours. His tongue is in your mouth, your hands in his hair, heart pressed against yours - and then you're unable to think, let alone kiss back. Your moans melt into his mouth, onto his tongue, and he devours every single one of them.

"Shit," he moans right back. "Yeah. Fuck my hand like that. Like that, CC. Coming all over my fingers aren't you?" His teeth graze your neck. "Filthy fucking slut."

The hands that are in his hair drop to his throat, and squeeze. His eyes are on yours as you ride out your high, but it's a warning you're giving him. He knows this. He likes it.

"Not like that one?" He teases, jaw hanging slack in a crooked kind of fashion that makes him look like he's from an 80's movie. You shudder a little, the ends of your orgasm still washing over you.

On the contrary; there's nothing you'd enjoy more than being bent over his leg and having him call you nasty little names while he leaves handprints on your ass. You're just fucking with him. Know that he'll take the graze of your nails as an indication you wanna fight. And you do. Just in such a way that you end up fucking, too.

You're still shaking as he withdraws his fingers. He looks at them, how they're coated in your juices, and debates who should get the honour of licking them clean. His eyes are on yours as he licks a stripe up his index finger.

"Fucking hell," he husks, lips wet from your mess. No one's ever tasted as good as you before. He doesn't think anyone else will ever compare.

He was gonna be strong about this; gonna take a sample and then give you the rest - but he just can't help himself. He sucks on his fingers - index, middle, then fourth - one at a time, before all three are in his mouth.

If you were breathless before, then you think you might have stopped breathing altogether, now.

He stares at you. Sucks. Withdraws, but only a little. Pushes his fingers further into his mouth. Closes his eyes. Groans. Moans. Grunts. Begins to withdraw. Opens his eyes. Releases his fingers with a kiss at the tips.

His eyes look down your body, then up to your eyes. "Where were we again? Ready to shampoo?"

The visual of him sucking on his fingers plays on repeat in your head. You need to see it again.

It's almost embarrassing how paper-thin you are when you shake your head, and say, "rinse and repeat. Gotta do that again."

He raises a brow. "Which part, C?"

There's a playful nature to him, pleased and protected in how easy he finds it to get you coming undone. He feels safe, now. There's security to be found in your eyes; a sanctuary, a dwelling, a hearth. Somewhere to curl up on the cold nights. A place to congregate. Someplace to call home.

You'd give him a key, if you had one. Put it on a chain around his neck. Maybe you'll just match your door code to his, instead. Cute couple things. The kind of shit that makes you roll your eyes and gag a little.

Ironic, really, when you think about it, as you wash the remainder of the dye from his hair. He reciprocates, but you don't think he's done it properly. It's only now that you pull his shirt off your body and let it fall to the bathroom floor with a loud slap. He sits on the closed lid of your toilet, still fully clothed, drenched, ruby red hair framing him perfectly. 

It suits him, even now, before it's styled pristine in that rugged kind of way he manages to perfect so effortlessly. He watches as you run the water through your hair, and you're surprised when you glance in the mirror to find him looking at your face. You thought his eyes would be elsewhere. 

In all honesty, they had been - you just caught him at a good moment.

Smiles are exchanged between the pair of you without your consent. Funny, how everything with him is involuntary, but in the best possible way. You don't have to think about happiness, it just comes.

"You look like a mermaid," he tells you, cheeks dimpled and bright. You cast your eyes to your legs - which are very much legs and not a tail - and give him a questioning look. "The hair," he clarifies. "I mean the hair. Bet you'd look fit as fuck with a tail though."

"My lord," you groan, tilting your head back in jest. "I'm dating a dude who's into fish?"

"Dating, eh?" Jungkook's ears grow red and hot, but he hides them well.

He wouldn't mind it if you were dating. Would quite like it actually.

You ignore him for a moment, caught out in the admittance of how you view the relationship between the pair of you. You don't feel embarrassed as such, you just didn't want to be the one to elevate the status of what you are.

"Not anymore," you say. "I prefer men who like girls with feet."

"I'd let you give me a foot job any day of the week," he protests almost too quickly. You reach over to knock the tap off, so Jungkook reaches behind himself to pull the towel down from the rail. He stands as it falls, opening it up for you to wrap around your body.

Gestures like this are normal for Jungkook; thoughtless thoughtfulness. You notice it often, and you always say thank you, but he just shrugs. He doesn't see it as a gesture. He's doing what he wants to do, and what he wants is for you to feel comfortable. He wants to ease your burdens.

Perhaps it's guilt. The knowledge that he's about to be the biggest burden you've ever encountered.

Or perhaps it's the language he speaks when words aren't enough.

Perhaps, just maybe, he's in lo-

The moment is cut short when Jungkook's phone begins to ring in the kitchen. You usher him out, tell him to get it, and head to your bed. Flopping down, still wrapped in your towel, you listen in to the conversation - "Jin? Yeah. Yeah. Back in Daegu. Tonight?" - and notice the way his posture changes. His back grows tighter. Voice becomes agitated. He's whispering, but is seething. You sit up, eyes trained on him.

He glances over to you, brows hard, eyes narrow. He looks away. Looks back again. Looks like he might fucking cry.

"No Jin, tonight is a bad idea. It just is, alright! No- Fucking hell, would you listen to me alright? Jin, she- No! No."

He looks at you again, eyes wider than the full moon peering in through the kitchen window. Divine feminity washes over him and berates him for his choices - but you mistake it for the sheen of a good man.

It's guilt that glitters in his eyes when he looks at you. He thinks you're gorgeous, but knows you must be a little bit stupid, too. 

How the fuck did you let him in this far? Why didn't you see right through his facade? Why didn't you just cut him off? 

God, he adores your brain - is absolutely enamoured with it - but fucking hell.

A beautiful fool is what you are, and to play a fool is to lose.

He wishes you never agreed to go on that fucking date. He only asked in the first place because he couldn't bring himself to let you get hurt, but it's gonna be so much worse now. Infinitely more destructive. Physical pain you'd have gotten over. Maybe even forgiven.

But this?

Jungkook's standing on dynamite. If he even takes one step toward you he'll catch the tripwire that will strike a match on the wick, and everything will be in fucking tatters.

It already is.

And all the while, you're reaching into your wardrobe to find him a pair of sweats big enough for him.

"I don't care what Joon says!" He hisses into the phone as you finally find the pair of sweats you had in mind. They're far too big for you, but hopefully they'll do the trick for him. "How far am I? From Kangs? 'Bout half an hour."

You close your wardrobe and look at him, head tilted, brows pinched together. He's barely a five-minute drive from Kangs. Ten tops. You figure he must just want more time with you before his boys steal him away.

"Jin?" He says into the phone, but is met with what must be a response he doesn't like. "Jin? The fuck man! Just listen to me! Please! Plea- fuck."

His words are interrupted by the crack of his phone hitting the steel sink basin in your kitchen. Shoulders hunched, he rests his palms against the counter, his breathing accentuated by the way his back is moving.

You're not scared, but you are cautious. You know he boxes. Know he has the potential to lose his temper.

If only you knew how well he's controlling his emotions in this moment. He should be given an award. A medal. A plaque. Jeon Jungkook, Container of Emotions, 2022.

Or perhaps 'Liar of the Year' would be more apt.

"You good?" You asked, edging towards the kitchen, sweats in hand. "Here, change into these. You'll catch a cold, otherwise. I'll put the heating on tonight."

Jungkook shakes his head. Stays silent. Sniffs. Is cold when he finally growls, "no, you won't."

"It's fine," you promise. Your heating bill is never that expensive. "I don't mind."

"C-" He begins, but cuts himself off.

When he turns to face you, his eyes are black. Just like they are in your nightmares. You always thought you'd die if he ever looked at you like this. The way your skin crawls has you thinking you might.

"What?" you speak so quietly that Jungkook wants to set himself alight on the gas stove top behind him.

He closes his eyes. Hangs his head in shame.

"You trust me, right?"

Something about his tone, his demeanour, has you frozen.  Your kitchen light is off, bathroom too, and there are shadows on his face that obscure his intentions. 'No' echoes in your head, but you can't bring yourself to speak it into existence. 5 minutes ago, it would have been an unequivocal, unwavering 'yes.'

He tries again. Eyes wide. Still focused on the floor. Petrified. You mistake them for being honest. 

"Tell me you trust me, C."

"I-" you choke on your words, heart lodged in your throat. He refuses to look at you. Heat gathers on your lash line, and it confuses you. He confuses you. You don't understand what he's asking of you. He's in your home. You invited him here. Is that not proof enough?

"C," he demands an answer. His eyes are on you now, finally looking in your direction. They're black, and they look right through your skin, as if he's watching the way your heart beats beneath your ribcage. You find yourself cowering into a shadow of the woman you are, and it's just another thing he adds to the list of reasons to hate himself.

You're meek and pathetic when you nod in response and say, "of course I do. Why would you even ask that?"

He's never seen you timid. Never seen the way you used to be before you left your family and became a human in your own right. There's something deeply unsettling about the way he's managed to revoke you to this version of yourself, and he knows this just as much as you do. 

He sniffs back a sob. Turns away from you. Rakes his fingers through his damp hair, and turns to face you again. Jungkook is struggling to survive inside the vessel of his which has been taken over by a fucking monster.

"Yoongi," he speaks quickly, not wanting to waste time. "Your co-worker, right?"

You nod. Say nothing.

"He lives around the corner, right?"

There's no reason for Jungkook to know that. No feasible reason at all. You can feel your pulse. You're panicking. Why does he know that?

"Take the fire exit and go to his, okay?" He says. "And fucking stay there until you hear from me, alright? Don't leave his place. Stay with him."

He expects you to nod. Expects the pathetic demeanour that's masking who you really are to agree with him. Yes, Sir. No, Sir, Three bags full, Sir.

But you stopped letting men tell you what to do a long fucking time ago. You don't take orders from any man - and you especially don't take orders from boys.

You stand straighter. Taller. Raise your chin, and look at him through your nose. For a second, you almost forgot who you were.

"What the fuck is going on, Jungkook?"

The question is stern. Sterile. 

Fuck.

He's so taken aback by the way you address him that he feels winded. Cannot breathe. Will die.

"You said you trust me-"

"Yeah, and you'd never given me reason not to trust you before now, but what the fuck is this?" You gesture between the pair of you. "You say jump, I say how fucking high? Nah, fuck that, Kook. What's going on?"

He paces, pushing a tense hand through his damp hair, before rubbing his face with his palm. The red runs through his fingers like a warning sign. Danger. You better run, too.

"C, you just gotta trust me-"

"Trust?"

You laugh now. At him. Trust? When he's behaving like the sketchiest dude you ever met? You think the fuck not.

"I don't trust you," you spit, and rightly so - although you know you're being reactive. You should be calmer. Evaluating the situation, considering why he's asking this of you - but you've seen red, and it clouds your better judgement. "It's earned, not owed. Either you tell me what's going on, or you get the fuck out of my house."

"C-"

"Do not try and reason with me, Jungkook," you assert. "You tell me, or you go."

And that's when he realises. 

That's when he knows there's no coming back from this.

"I can't," he whispers, the crack in his voice so painfully tortured. "I can't do either of those, C."

"You're gonna have to."

"C-"

"Kook."

"Plea-"

No, you think. You told him not to try and reason with you. What does he think he'll achieve? You'll magically say yes?

Incorrect.

"Get out."

"I can't."

"I'll even open the door myself, if I really have to."

"C-"

"You've got thirty seconds."

"C-"

"Twenty."

"You gotta just-"

"Ten."

"You're not even giving me a second!"

"Five-"

"Fine."

"Four."

"You want the fucking truth?" He shouts.

"Three," you smile. Yes. I do.

"You really want the truth so fucking bad, do you?"

Oh, you big fucking baby, you taunt internally. Men. Always too good to be fucking true. Always have to do something to go and fuck it all up. 

You toy with the possible answers of what the truth could be. Fucking someone else? The other woman planning on showing up for a fight? Maybe the mother to a child of his, or something like that. He seems to be good at running from his responsibilities, so it would make sense.

"Two."

He pauses. 

And then he thinks fuck it.

You want the truth? You'll fucking get it.

"I know who your family are, C. Know all your dirty little secrets. Everything. And I also know that if you don't shut the fuck up and listen to me, you're gonna get real fucking hurt tonight. That's why you have to trust me. You have to get out of here. Something bad is gonna happen thanks to the past you keep trying to hide, so I need you to trust me. I don't want you to get hurt."

Bull. Shit.

This might all make sense to you one day. 

But for now, all you can focus on is the audacity that the man in front of you has.

You reach over to your front door, and open it wide. His time is up. 

"I don't fucking trust you. Now get out of my apartment before I call the police and have you arrested for breaching the peace. Clock struck one, Cinders. Time to flee before I find out who the fuck you really are."

He looks at you, helpless and confused. This isn't what he had expected. Not in the slightest.

"C-"

"One. Now fucking leave."

────────────

#jungkook fanfiction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook ff #jk ff #jungkook masterlist #jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x oc #jeon jungkook smut #bts fanfic #boxer!jungkook #mafia!jungkook #throttle #byholly #jungkook fluff #angst #smut #jungkook x y/n

[kosije]

a/n: never have unprotected sex with strangers! only read about it <3 also this is a old work i just added a bit onto...

cw: mdni, mechanic!hawks x fem!reader, use of doll/ma'am/miss, unprotected sex, missionary, pretty vanilla, simp behavior by hawks, reader calls him keigo, corny dialogue, horrible capitalization (im so srry), probably wont edit this lol...

It's been hours. It's been hours and you're dripping sweat despite the multitude of cold drinks you've ingested from the vending machine in your local auto care. You just took your car in for an oil change and regretted not getting a bus ride back. The more the round clock above the register desk clicked, the more impatient you're getting and the smell of gasoline was hurting your head. After bobbing your leg up and down a little more, you decide to just go out and check on your car.

"Hey! Uh, my car was scheduled to be done 30 minutes ago. Is there any way I can check on it right now? Do you have an ETA of some sort?"

The receptionist, a dark-haired boy with a red choker, looks up empathetically before clicking his keyboard.

"Sorry miss, I dunno much about that, but let me call up your mechanic. What number are you?"

"3389"

"3....3....8- oh Hawks is working on that one! I'll call to see if you can get buzzed in, but no need to worry. He is our fastest and most skilled mechanic, so your car will be good as new as soon as he's done."

The boy's voice becomes the slightest bit animated and you feel your annoyance tone down. But you didn't care if it was "good as new," just as long as you could get home safe.

"Okay, thank you."

His fingers quickly punch into a corded phone before a voice comes on the other line.

"He said it should be done in 2, but you're more than welcome to go in."

You nod and thank the teen before stumbling past wired gates and stray cigarettes before finding your car. It looks damn good. Originally a somewhat hand-me-down from your mother to yourself, it was always beautiful on the outside. The silhouette was a classic thing. real sleek and "real groovy" according to your mother. But the upsides stopped at the exterior.

The ac was loud, and the radio was spotty. Even the leather seats were chipping, despite the multitude of repairs you've paid for out of pocket.

But now the car looks brand new. The shell of your car is clean and shiny. When you open the door, you're pleasantly surprised by the smell of musky cologne and your clean linen car freshener, and even more surprised when you can't see where the patches of missing leather are. you almost let yourself smile before realizing this might be a scam to force you to pay for the advancements.

You're too busy peeking into your interior to notice another person walking up.

"Is this ya car, or you lookin' for a ride to jack?"

You flinch slightly but recover yourself well enough to turn to face the deep voice and a rush of heat flushes over you. Sharp amber eyes run over your figure as you busy yourself with getting a good look at the man leaning against the bumper of your car. messy blonde hair, healthy tan, scruff, and muscular. All things you like, except (so far) his personality.

"And you are?"

"The mechanic, doll," He replies in a "duh" voice, slipping his arms out of his dirtied blue denim overalls and crossing them over the other. You don't miss how his biceps flex slightly at the gesture.

"You got anything else to ask, or are you jus’ gonna keep checking me out?"

"I wasn't checking you out."

"Whatever makes you feel better," He laughs, walking up only to lean on the steel table behind you.

"Look this is my car-" He cuts you off by reading your name off a stray paper that has dirt and oil on it, raising an eyebrow and you nod a confirmation.

He offhandedly purrs something about the name being pretty, and you have to consciously ignore the burn in your cheeks.

"Just tell me how much the repair is gonna cost," the question comes out with a sigh, and now it's your turn to cross your arms. It's done out of attitude, but when his eyes lower to focus on your chest, electricity trickles down your spine.

"You gonna answer or keep checking me out?"

coughing and readjusting himself on the table, he tells you $110.

"Are you kidding? The oil change was 60!"

"I did a whole lot besides an oil change, doll"

"without my consent! This has got to be illegal!" 

"Well, how about this?" he says, moving closer to you, and you can now see just how much he dwarfs you in size. "You pay $40 bucks, and let me take you out to dinner."

well... that wasn't something you were expecting.

"I don't know you."

"I know."

"You don't know me."

"Let's change that then." He says. The smirk he has is toothy and could almost be seen as sweet if he didn't just try to scam you out of $50. After another beat of silence, he talks again.

"Don't be brutal, doll. You know you're just as excited to see where this goes."

"I don't usually date scammers." You finally say, but it's meek and you instantly regret it because all he does is smile wider.

"There's a first for everything."

... 

You don't know why you agreed and gave him your number and address. But you did. You also don't know why you're wearing such an expensive dress and perfume. Or why you're putting on makeup. But you are. It was all too elaborate for a one-off date with a random man. Nevertheless, here you were, crouching down to put your bobby pins in your hair because your dress didn't allow for enough movement.

There are three quick knocks at your door before you hear Hawk's voice. 

"I'm starving, doll. Don't leave me like this." 

Bastard

You quickly give yourself a one-over and head to the door. When you open it you see Hawks, except he looks different. His hair is neatly brushed back, and he swapped his stronger cologne for a much more elegant one that matches even better with yours. simple suit and tie with square-cut earrings.

"you look good" he looks better than good, but you don't wanna say anything that'll inflate his ego more.

"you look perfect," and he punctuates it by saying your name instead of 'doll' and you like the way it sounds more than you thought.

Hovering over you now with one arm on the doorframe. He stretches out a hand with a small grin.

"May I? " You place your hand in his.

"You May."

...

5 things you've learned about Hawks Keigo so far

1. his real name is Keigo, hawks being a nickname he got in his youth because of his speed and eyes

2. his hand is much larger than yours

3. he has great taste in restaurants

4. his favorite food is yakitori (a new favorite of yours too)

5. he's ready to go back to your place

"How was your food?"

"It was actually... great"

"C'mon, don't act all reluctant! This restaurant has never done me wrong!" He says as you shift the air conditioner to fan your face and turn the radio up a bit.

"Right, yakitori connoisseur. I can see why you'd take your dates here."

"You're the first." He says emphasizing the last part with a sly look over to your spot in the passenger seat of his Mercedes. It's an admission that has a smile threatening to find a home on your lips, but you turn your head to face outside the window and he chuckles knowingly.

"Or are you saying this should now be the spot? Cuz I could make that work."

"You sure know how to ruin a mood." You're laughing at his feigned hurt expression as he steers with one hand while the other goes over his heart.

"How rude!" He says before the hand over his heart falls to your thigh and suddenly you're hyperaware of how warm he is. "I'll make sure this spot is special to just you."

If the hand on your thigh wasn't enough, the sincerity of his tone has you reeling and reaching over his middle console to kiss him. Soft, short, and sweet on his cheek. You can hear his breath hilt and the smell of his cologne is stronger. When you pull back, you can see the mark of your lipstick on his cheek. And his hand squeezes your thigh tighter.

"You're driving me crazy, doll."

"...was that a pun because you're driving?"

"What?"

"I said-" 

he dramatically turns up the radio and you roll your eyes when he excessively mouths 'I can't hear you!' 

"YOU'RE LUCKY THIS SONG IS GOOD!" you yell into his ear and he laughs, drawing circles onto your thigh with his thumb. The ride back to your apartment is shorter than you'd like, but at least he walks you up to your door, right?

"I don't usually invite scammers into my house."

"yeah?" he asks, hands already on your waist and head tilted.

"but there's a first for everything, isn't there?"

"id like that," he says, smiling down at you as you walk backward into your living room.

His lips are feverish on yours, tongue exploring as deep as it can into your mouth until his and your lips are purple and swollen before drawing purple bruises all over your neck and chest, just over your tits. Your body is hot and you hurriedly pull your arms out of your dress and shimmy it off-eliciting a pleasured hum when he finds that you're not wearing a bra- as he quickly tosses his button-up and jacket before his lips are back onto yours. Your hands wrap around Keigo's neck and his hands cup under your ass and lift you up.

"First door on your right." 

Following your instructions, he walks with you to his arms to your room and tosses you on the familiar sheets of your bed.

"Do you want this?" he asks, hands working on his belt

"Please."

His jaw clenches, and in a second he's bare in front of you.

And big. Much bigger than you think you can take. Thick veins wrap around his cock and you can tell he shaved just for tonight. He runs a finger up and down your clothing slit. Your lips part and a soft sigh rolls off your tongue.

"Don't be a tease."

"Yes ma'am," his finger hooks on the edge of your lace panties and slides them off before running his cock up and down to gather your slick with a quiet groan. Without warning, he slides into you, and you're both vocal. after letting you adjust to his length, he slowly starts moving inside of you, then faster and you're whining around him.

"so pretty," comes out a gasp when his hands pull your legs over his shoulders.

"yer so pretty. And yer the tightest lil' thing I've ever had. Why don't we make an h-habit of this, hmm?" 

"The sex or–fuck–dinner?" You ask, trying to slow the coil in your gut with deep breaths.

"Both."

"That sounds like dating." 

"It's not–shiit"

"How so?" You ask, moaning into the back of your hand when he switches his angle and hits that spot that has you seeing stars.

"You don't date scammers," he says and you would laugh if you didn't have drool sliding down the side of your mouth. His eyes flicker to it and when he licks it up, only to kiss it back into your mouth, and your nails find his back and rake over the skin in an attempt to ground yourself.

"So...what...' bout...it," he asks between kisses and you roll your eyes. When you don't answer, he grunts and stalls all movements.

"What-"

"Answer me and I'll move." 

His eyes widen as he watches you move up and down on your own.

"Stubborn," he whispers out, still wide-eyed when his lips split into a grin. "you won't be able to fuck yerself the way I do it. So just be good 'nd-"

"Yes." you bite out. Your pride feels robbed, but you can tell he's right when you feel your stomach ache.

"Yes, what?"

He's moved again, but it's too slow for your liking and leaves you irritated. You're exactly where he wants you, and so—reluctantly — you mutter:

"Let's make this a habit!" 

An uncharacteristically soft hand cups your cheek and your stomach twist.

"I knew you could be good for me," he says, lips pressing into the side of your mouth and you're writhing. 

Speeding up again, you feel that familiar flame of pleasure ignite within you and tangle your hands into his blonde strands. The room is filled with slaps and moans and if you weren't so fucked out, you might've been able to hear your headboard knocking against the wall and how the mess of your nightstand slightly bounces from the source. Praises are whispered in between messy thrusts and you try your best to focus on the sweat running down your back to let the feeling of him inside you last longer, but your toes are curled and can taste blood from how hard you’re biting down on your lip. 

“Don't shy away now, I love that pretty voice of yours,” and his face looks so much in ecstasy that when his tip hits that spot in you again a pornographic moan leaves your lips, and the flood of pleasure hits you is as foreign as it is blissful. You almost gave no control of yourself. barely hushing yourself, barely able to unravel your legs from around his hips, all too consumed in your high. But Keigo is no better. When your legs ease the hold around his hips, he hurriedly pulls out, but not fast enough, and globs of white spray onto your pussy and all over your chest, even up to your neck. He can only pump himself a few more times before he's falling on top of you with a huff, knocking the air out of you. 

"U-P!" you gasp out, hitting his chest until he rolls over with a sheepish look.

"'M sorry," is all that he says before narrowing his eyes when you giggle.

"Didn't know nutting took that much energy out."

"me neither," he says, joining in on your giggles with a squawk-like laugh that makes you laugh even harder. "I've never come that hard."

"I'm flattered." You purr, smiling up at the ceiling. "I don't think ill be able to walk for a couple of days myself."

And you were joking, but when he laughs and hoists himself up with a hand on your thigh, the soreness humbles you and you realize there's more truth to that statement than you care to admit. You point to the bathroom and he nods, disappearing and reappearing with a damp rag and cleans you up. 

"How do you like your baths?"

"Warm." you twitch when he wipes over a sensitive part, earning a reassuring kiss on the cheek.

When he's done, he moves back into your bathroom and you can hear him turn on the faucet, and you stretch to your legs until the water is turned off and he's scooping you into his arms. When you've finished, he offers to carry you back to bed, but you insist on getting back on your own, even if your legs felt a bit wobbly. You slip into something comfortable while he puts on what he had on before, only now it's wrinkled. You expect him to leave immediately after he's dressed.

"what are you going to watch me sleep?"

"just waiting for you to invite me to stay the night"

"not gonna happen," you say and laugh at the way he pouts. "next time, maybe." And now you're laughing harder at how quickly his expression changed to a smile.

He leans down to kiss you long and slow, pulling away to leave a peck on your cheek. 

"Same time next week?" he asks, giving you another peck, this time along your cheek. You mumble an affirmation, eyes blissfully shut as his lips move to our neck.

"and the one after that. " And he's grinning against you again when he says this.

"Overzealous, don't ya think?" not missing the glint in his eyes when they meet yours again. Same gold that seems to shimmer close up.

"Just makin' a habit of it." Is all he says, same beautiful eyes looking down at you, same lopsided grin, now pretty purple marks on his neck. 

And all you can do is say,

"okay, same time next week."

#( ☆ ) mha #( ☆ ) smuts #mha hawks #what r u guys listening to on the radio tho??? #keigo smut #keigo x reader #hawks smut #hawks x reader #mha smut #mha x reader #my hero smut #hawks gives Tony! Tony! Tony! during sex...