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thesimulationswarm · 7 months

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Garden of Earthly Delights - one shot

sub!Joel Miller x f!dom!reader

A/N: I've been sick and sort of in a feverish fugue state for a couple of days and I wrote this. Definitely inspired by reading this excellent sub!Joel fic by @haylzcyon, but it turned out quite a bit darker. So, welcome to my horny fever dream I guess? Summary: Joel gets dommed by a bratty shopgirl he meets in the Boston QZ and discovers a very unexpected side of himself Rating: explicit 18+ MDNI Word count: 3.5k Warnings/tags: no use of y/n, hard dom!reader, irresponsible dom behavior that would be abusive irl (don't dom people you meet on the street kids. And for god's sake, use active consent and a safe word), reader described as young and has hair, slapping, spitting, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected PIV sex, premature ejaculation, cum eating, praise, degradation, pet names (good boy, baby boy, kitten, mama), submissive produce washing

Joel was tired, and hungry, and he wanted to go home. At home he had half a bottle left of some dark moonshine that approximated whiskey, and a day off tomorrow to sleep through its aftereffects. But his cupboards were otherwise empty, and he knew he needed to lay in some supplies.

Unfortunately, it was the end of first shift and half of the goddamn QZ was thinking the same thing. The line snaking up to the counter at the ration shop was moving slower than he even thought possible, and he shifted irritably from side to side. He was trying, unsuccessfully, to find a way to stand that didn’t make his whole body hurt.

Even more maddening, only one person was working the counter today. He was sympathetic with operations being short staffed, but that clearly wasn’t the case. He could see right past the greasy hair of the young guy doling out food, and another person was back there, just leaning against the wall. Looking bored.

He watched you as you idly checked your nails. He watched you as you ran your fingers through your hair. He watched you cock one hip to the side and lean down to pull a shiny red apple from a burlap sack, then toss it loosely back and forth between your hands. Like you had all the time in the goddamn world.

You were beautiful.

You were young.

You weren’t bothered one bit by the grumbling line of customers stretching down the street.

He fucking hated you.

Finally, he reached the front, throwing down a thick sheaf of ration cards. “Two loaves a’ bread. Cooking oil. And a couple apples,” he grunted out.

“Sorry, out of apples,” the gormless kid answered. Behind him, he watched as you lifted the smooth red fruit to your lips and bit down, hard, the flesh giving way with a gratifying crunch. You noted with satisfaction that it was a particularly good apple— tart, sweet, crisp.

The shop boy saw Joel glaring and shrugged. “Last one.” Joel looked over at where you stood again, one knee bent with your foot pressed oh-so-casually against the cinderblock wall. Beside you, the burlap sack bulged with the shape of a good dozen round, suspiciously apple-sized lumps.

A thin rivulet of juice dripped out from the fruit in your hand, sliding down the curve of your wrist. You saw him watching you, and you bent your head to run your tongue along your skin, lapping up every last, sweet drop.

You liked the way he was looking at you. An older guy, gray streaking through his dark hair and down his stubbled jawline. But fucking built, the solid shape of his shoulders stretching out the worn chambray of his work shirt. His eyes were narrowed, his strong brow pinched. The cut of his jaw practically vibrating with tension.

He wanted to kill you. He also, definitely, wanted to fuck you. Maybe both at the same time. And below all of that simmering ferociousness, there was a hint of something else in his big brown eyes. Something that definitely interested you.

He’d been halfway home when a FEDRA sweep forced him back in the direction of the shops. He wasted a good hour waiting for a bunch of fifteen-year-olds in body armor to “clear the area,” then finally got back on his way.

He was deep in thought, thinking about a smuggling trip he was planning for late next week. Wondering if the soldier he was bribing for intel was too far gone on oxy to be reliable anymore. He didn’t want a repeat of last November, inches away from being gunned down as his crew sprinted across what was supposed to be an unguarded field at the edge of town.

So he didn’t see you coming until you were only a couple yards in front of him, walking home yourself— bag of apples slung over your shoulder.

When his eyes flicked up, finally, you’d stopped walking and were standing there in a wide stance with one hand on your hip. You saw the way his eyes widened briefly, then narrowed again, shining darkly as you watched him watching you. You ran your tongue around the perimeter of your lips, and his gaze followed its slow swirl.

Then you reached into your bag and pulled out an apple. You gave your arm a desultory swing and let it loose. It bounced to the ground, rolling toward his boots, then came to a stop just an inch away from him.

He looked at the apple.

He looked at you.

“Thought you might like a taste.”

The loathing that poured over his features was so intense that for a moment, you thought you might’ve misread things. But no, you could see it there in his face again. That bloom of need.

This poor, beautiful man needed to be taken care of.

And sure enough, you watched as he crouched down there in the street to pick up the apple. You watched as he straightened himself up, his knees crackling audibly.

“Good. Now take a bite.”

The apple, tasty as it was sure to be, had just rolled across the godforsaken ground of Boston QZ. Across dust and ash and human detritus, ground down to a smudging blackness that covered every surface here. He didn’t even know why he’d picked the thing up, and he sure as shit wasn’t going to put his mouth on it.

He shook his head, lip curling in a sneer.

“Don’t think so, honey.”

You tutted softly, walking forward to close the gap between you. He held the apple down at one side, the other hand hooked into his belt loop. Shoulders squaring up to you as you neared. Even as he was doing it, he felt like a fool. What exactly did he have to prove to this bratty little shopgirl? And why wasn’t he walking away?

“That’s really too bad,” you said, letting your words drip slowly from your mouth. “I thought you were gonna be a good boy for me.”

You were right in front of him now, close enough to see the rise and fall of his chest as his breathing quickened.

“‘Cause I know how to take really good care of good boys.”

Joel closed his eyes for a moment. He didn’t understand why, but his cock had swollen to half-mast just from crouching down to pick up that apple while you stood over him. And every time you spoke he felt more warmth pooling in his groin. He wasn’t sure if he was going to have to pay for what you were offering, or if you’d do it for free. But he knew he wanted it, unexpectedly, very badly.

He clenched his hand around the smooth skin of the fruit, and against his conscious judgement he felt his arm lifting it up toward his face.

You watched him moving, his eyes still closed, a smile slowly spreading across your face. As the fruit approached his gently parting lips, you reached up to grab him by the wrist, stilling him. You could feel the jump of his pulse below the rough skin.

“Not so fast, boy.” His eyes blinked open, their soft brown blown out to black. “I think since you’re being so good, we can go back to your place and get that apple nice and clean for you. And then you can show me how pretty you are when you eat.”

His place was nicer than many, a handful of rooms that were worn but clean. Functional furniture, a radio, a shelf with books. He clearly was doing okay for himself. The ones who needed this the most usually were.

He led you inside with a nervous energy that told you he hadn’t done this before. He’d surely brought women to his apartment, with those broad shoulders and that roughly handsome face. But never someone like you. And he wasn’t sure what to do. He stood in the living room, still holding the apple in one hand, his other hand clenching and opening at his side.

You looked him up and down. “What’s your name?”

You saw him hesitate. Wondering if this was a good idea— if you were a psychopath about to rob him or worse. But then he swallowed.

“Joel.”

“Joel,” you purred. “Do you have soap, Joel?” He looked blank for a second, then nodded. “Then go and wash that filthy apple off like a good boy.”

He paused again, and then gave a bewildered shake of his head before walking off toward the kitchen. There was a table in the room, across from an unmade bed. You pulled yourself up to sit on top of it, resting your feet on the seat of a battered old chair, and waited.

Joel returned after a minute, holding the now damp and glistening apple. He still wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. Or his body. He held the fruit out to you, watched the bored way your eyes ran down his form as you sat there.

You made a soft tsk. “I see a speck of dirt. Better try again, boy.”

Joel looked at the spotless apple, then back at you. His heart felt like it was going to beat right through the wall of his chest.

He hated you.

And he wanted to hear you call him a good boy again.

He stalked off to the kitchen and stood by the sink, carefully running the damp, soapy washrag back and forth across the smooth, hard peel. The apple was a deep red, flecked with burgundy. Joel held it up in the light that filtered through his window, turning it in circles to inspect for any blemish. When he was satisfied, he carried it carefully back to you. Despite himself, he could feel his brow draw up, his expression pleading, as he offered it again.

You gestured desultorily at the table beside you, and he set down the apple gently. You ignored it.

He was uncomfortably hard now, straining against the too-tight denim of his pants. You looked down at the thick shape of him, and raised a single eyebrow.

“I think you better take your clothes off, kitten. Before you make a mess of yourself.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

You watched as he unbuttoned and zipped down his fly, the relief washing over his face as his cock sprung free and bobbed up toward his stomach. You had to fight to keep your face impassive as you took in the sight— you were impressed by the sheer size of him, thick and long and richly veined. The swollen head was stained almost purple as the blood pulsed through him, slick from where he’d been weeping against his boxers.

You had a good feeling about this one. A very good feeling.

“All of your clothes.”

You waited, arms crossed over your chest in a posture of impatience, as he slid all the way out of his pants and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the curving planes of his muscles and the dusting of dark hair. A little soft right around his tummy and thick thighs, the perfect counterpoint to everything that was hard and rigid about him.

He saw how you were looking at him, and he moved toward you, desperation painting his face.

“Please, baby— I—I need you,” he stuttered, his dark eyes wide and desperate.

Your hand slapped across his face, hard and fast.

He stumbled backward, stunned momentarily as his hand flew up to cup his stinging cheek.

“Did I tell you you could speak?”

Part of him wanted to throw you against the wall, and part of him wanted to fall to his knees and beg your forgiveness. He felt his cock twitch, growing somehow even harder, a thick bead of precum oozing from the slit.

You watched him, smirking. “I think you liked that, didn’t you, boy?”

A hot blush seeped up his neck as you looked down at his needy cock. He knew you were right. If you kept slapping him like that, looking at him like that, talking to him like that— he’d come harder than he ever had in his life.

“Now,” you said, pointing down at the floor. “Kneel for me.”

Joel lowered himself to the hardwood floor, unconcerned with how his knees were going to feel tomorrow. He watched as you pulled the fabric of your skirt up around your waist, revealing a thin pair of cotton panties, sopping wet where the fabric ran between your legs.

“See what you can do for me when you’re a good boy?” You ran a finger up and down along the slick cloth, ghosting over the shape of your slit.

Then he watched, mesmerized, as you slid the underwear down your legs. Leaving your pussy bare, drenched, and just out of reach.

God, you were perfect.

His tongue darted out to moisten his lips as he stared at you, desperate for a taste.

You smiled. “It looks like you’re ready to serve me already. And you’re very, very lucky today. Because I’m going to let you eat me out, if you just ask nicely. Are you ready to ask nicely?”

He nodded eagerly. You noted with satisfaction that his face was loosening— the jaw no longer so tensed, the deep furrow between his brows softening. He was relinquishing himself to you, little by little. You reached down with one finger and tipped his chin upward, to look into your face.

“Okay, sweet boy. You can ask me now.”

“Please, please let me eat your pretty pussy,” he spoke, his voice hoarse with need. His eyes, looking up at you, were all pupil— hungry pools of black.

You nodded appreciatively, then you reached your hands around to the back of his head and pulled him into you. Your fingers threaded through the thick, salt-and-pepper curls, holding him tightly in place as he began to lick. His beard was scratchy against your sensitive skin, but his lips were surprisingly soft.

You gave him directions— how hard to suck against your swollen clit, how fast to draw his tongue through your folds— and tugged him by the hair to adjust his angle. You could feel the vibration of him whimpering against you.

“Good boy,” you cooed down at him. “Eating that pussy so good for me.” And he was, following your every instruction, responding to the subtlest tap and tug. Like he was born to do this. As you felt your orgasm building, you pressed him deeper against your core, squeezing him between your thighs. He was trapped, and clearly loving it. Below you, you could see the muscular swell of his ass, clenching as he thrust his hips up against nothing.

“That’s it, that’s it. Make Mama come like a good boy.” You pulled hard on his hair as you pressed your hips forward, toes curling, waves of pleasure crashing through you. He moaned just as loudly as you did, your cunt spasming against the press of his hot tongue.

You took your time catching your breath, still holding Joel by the hair. When you finally pulled him free of you, the sight was delicious. Skin blotched and red, your glistening juices smeared everywhere. Hair tousled and sticking out, breath coming fast and hard.

You smiled down at him.

“Don’t worry, pet. We’re not done yet. Now—” you pointed over at the unmade bed—“you’re gonna be my little toy. You’re gonna lie down over there and let me ride you.”

Joel felt a rush of relief at the thought of you finally touching his achy, leaking cock. He nodded up at you, rising to his feet. The sheets of the bed were cool and smooth against his flushed skin.

You took your time, sliding down off the table top and languidly stretching your arms out. Enjoying the way Joel looked lying there, waiting for you with his giant erection jutting up into the air. Finally, you made your way over to the mattress and climbed up on your knees, straddling him.

Your sweet cunt was hovering in the air, inches above the tip of his cock. You paused there, and smiled condescendingly down at him.

“Beg me for it, little boy.”

“Please, please, please.” The words spilled out of his lips, his voice cracked and shameless.

“Please what?”

“Please ride me. Please fuck yourself on my cock like it’s your little toy.”

You reached down and wrapped one hand around his thickness, the grip sending sparks through his body. Then you began to slide his head along your drenched lips, wetting it down. Instead of moving him toward your entrance, you guided the tip to nudge against your clit, and began to tap it against the swollen nub, again and again. His poor, sensitive cockhead was so engorged by now that it hurt, and he whimpered each time you pressed against him.

Then, finally, you slid him down to the hot, wet center of you. You drove your hips down, throwing your head back as you filled yourself with him. He could only fit halfway in your tight little pussy on that first downward thrust, and you whined as you reared up and down again, spearing yourself on his cock. He felt his thighs shaking as you pushed yourself further and further down, until finally he bottomed out inside you. You paused there, letting yourself settle around the heavy length of him.

And then— fuck— he felt that familiar warmth growing in his abdomen, his balls tightening upward. His face screwed up, as he tensed and fought to pull back from the edge.

“Oh, poor boy,” you said, smiling down at him as you began to move your hips in a slow, easy roll. “You’re trying so hard not to come, aren’t you?” The warm slide of your pussy was unbelievable, and Joel’s mind scrambled for something to distract him— think about work detail, plumbing repair, fucking baseball, anything.

“But you can’t hold back, can you? You’re not even gonna make it another minute in this tight little cunt, are you?” You were right. Of course you were right. He grabbed fistfuls of bedsheet in each hand, gripping as hard as he could, knuckles going white as he fought against his hips that wanted to thrust, thrust, thrust into you. He screwed his eyes shut tight.

His eyes flew back open as a spray of warm spit hit his face.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you!” Your voice jolted through him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he moaned.

“Tell me you’re sorry for coming so fast, you filthy little boy.”

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I’m a filthy little boy and I’m going to come.” The words poured out of Joel, his hips bucking uncontrollably as the electric warmth spilled over. “I’m sorry Mama, I’m coming, I’m so sorry, fuck, fuck, fuck.” He began to shoot into you, spurt after helpless spurt, coming so hard he thought for a second he might pass out.

It was only when his cock and his hips finally stilled that he realized he was crying. Hot tears rolled down the sides of his face to pool against the sheets.

You leaned down, stroking your hand along his stubbled cheeks. “Shhh, shhh. It’s okay baby. Mama forgives you.” You slid yourself off his sticky, half-hard cock and moved forward, still straddling him. Your soft hands gently combed through his messy curls.

“Don’t worry, baby boy. You can clean up this mess and I’ll be good as new.” Your hips pushed forward, and you pulled one hand back to hold yourself open, showing Joel where his milky seed was dripping down between your folds.

He nodded, looking up at your encouraging smile. His tongue slipped out between his lips, and he took a first, tentative lick along your slit. The sweet tang of your slick mixed with his own bitter, salty spend.

“That’s a good boy. Clean it all up.” He lapped at you, gathering speed. His tongue pressed inside you, curling against your walls to release every last drop.

Finally, when you were satisfied he’d done his job, you pulled away. He released his mouth from you with a mournful groan, and you sat down against the head of his bed.

You looked him over from head to toe. He was a fucked out mess of a man. Flushed skin, limbs sprawling. Sticky cock still swollen against his thigh. Lips slick with his own come, and yours.

“Come here, sweet boy,” you murmured softly. You pulled his head into your lap, cradling him there as you gently petted him. “You did good. Close your eyes, Joel. I’ve got you.”

His eyes drifted shut, and in less than a minute he’d fallen asleep. Dark, deep, dreamless sleep— the best sleep he’d had in a long, long time.

When he woke up, it was morning and you were gone. On his table, you’d left the core of an apple, its sweetness slowly turning brown.

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #sub!joel #joel miller smut #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us smut #tlou smut #divider by cafekitsune

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i-cant-sing · 1 year

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Just thinking about domestic vibes for different fandoms/AUs. So, let's begin with Todoroki Clan:

I'm thinking about yandere parents Enji and Rei, and their teen reader (who they definitely kidnapped as a baby). It's summer break, which means Rei won't have the urge to burn down your school so that you stay at home. No, now she has you all to herself! And despite Rei being Suffocating and smothering, reader does love her mom. Rei is just so soft and kind and sweet, it doesn't sit right with reader to break her heart by saying "no, mom. I just wanna be alone than watch you cook." At least Rei let's you be her little helper, taste the frosting for her, will you?

And summer also means that Rei gets to take you for shopping without you bringing up excuses like "sorry mom, I can't go. I need to study for a test." Now she gets to drag you along to as many shops as she wants, you can literally beg her to stop because you're tired but she'll just give you some homemade onigiris and off you go and change into the clothes she chose for you. Luckily for you, there aren't many luxury shops near you, and they take a lot of time to make Rei's custom orders because your mom never buys off the rack. (Yes girl, you dressed in Chanel and Louis Vuitton because daddy Enji's credit cards buy everything)

Summer vacations means time off from school to reward yourself for all of your hardwork. That's why Rei is making you take daily afternoon naps with her. And you can't say no, mostly because Rei has been mixing melatonin in your food so you tire out easy.

Enji won't lie, but he definitely enjoys your time off from school as well. He gets to see you more often, especially after exam season is over. He gets to take you out on a lot of daddy-daughter dates, which you absolutely enjoy because you get to eat a lot of food without your mom reminding you that she can make so-and-so dish at home and better than Michelin starred chef.

But now that you have holidays, instead of Enji just going around the world on missions and bringing you souvenirs, you now get to go with him and Rei to anywhere you want! Rei is happy because she gets to dress you up in more clothes and do your hair and APPLY SUNSCREEN ON YOU (DO NOT TAKE THIS AWAY FROM HER). Loads and loads of pictures are taken and memories are made, and it's good that Enji's there to hold Rei back from doing normal teenager stuff that she deemed "too dangerous" for you.

Also, Enji and Rei feeding reader together, no matter how old you are. Rei makes the food and serves it to you, Enji keeps on picking out all the good stuff from his plate (sausages, sashimi, eggs, etc) and using his chopsticks to feed it to you🥺🥺🥺

Or or when Rei is doing your hair and you're doing dad Enji's hair, maybe you're just applying a hair mask and massaging it in because Enji works so hard for all of you🥺🥺 of course, he returns the favour by painting your nails (he has gotten better over the years with practice, but it's still funny to see how small the nail polish brush looks in his gigantic hands.

Also thinking about Dad Enji and reader waking up early to make breakfast in bed for Rei for mothers day and Enji's soul leaving his body when a little bit of oil splatters on your hand. And no matter how much you convince hum that you're fine, Enji thinks you're not and now he has you sitting in the corner far away from the stove while he finishes off cooking. And when you two go and surprise Rei, she is so touched and is almost moved to tears until her eyes land on the smallest splatter on your hand (its a surprise she was even able to see it) and now you're wrestled into bed next to her as she ices your hand while scolding Enji for risking your life because "You're the adult Enji. You should know better!" And poor dad Enji is just nodding along🥺🥺🥺🥺

#yandere bnha #bnha headcanons #yandere mha #bnha imagines #yandere endeavor #yandere rei todoroki #yandere rei #yandere enji todoroki #yandere enji

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alphabetboyluvr · 11 months

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throttle - jjk | five

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

warnings - jk and yoongi showdown (by showdown i mean they just glare at each other a bit), THE BUSAN CHRONICLES BEGIN!!! anyone who has read throttle know how important busan is for these babies he he, depictions of sex that aren't smut (i'd argue?), hair pulling, she's on top, existential crisis thoughts during it all, unprotected sex, creampie, HELLO KIM TAEHYUNG, he's a sleaze, ANGST, cc watches jk wank himself off <3, a lil mutual masturbation moment, cute kisses <33, cums on her tummy <3, character insight! backstory! ugh! i love the busan chapters! i'll upload the rest of the busan chapters now too

word count - 18.5k

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

Jungkook has a face straight from a nineties rom-com. Boyish charm, eyes that linger; teeth that nibble on thin lips, and a smile that breaks like sun through a thunderous sky.

You're convinced that if he actually was a movie star, you'd watch every single film he was in - twice, at the very minimum. Maybe one would even become your comfort movie, for the days when real people felt like too much to handle; solace through the silver screen.

His nose slopes and points so delicately at its tip, that you always find yourself staring; marvelling. Wondering how an angle so simple could have you at such a loss for words. Eyes are wide and dark, they're like a vat of melted down dark chocolate, slowly hypnotising you with every stir of the rich delicacy.

It's when he smiles, though, that you really find yourself lost in everything he is. It's radiant, the way those plunging, round eyes of his crease at the sides, a deep line forming beneath them. His brows raise, and the dewy skin on his cheeks begins to tighten as they apple, and then his teeth - pristine, you think, ignoring any imperfection - are on show. You're home.

Home in his laugh, in his happiness, in the way that he always seems to be like this around you. Home in how he always finds an excuse to be touching you in some capacity, home in the sanctuary of unspoken words, and home in the hopes that maybe one day, he'll be brave enough to say them.

Hope is a funny thing, though. So much to gain and yet so much to lose - but if you never really had it, can it be considered a loss at all?

You're musing about this when Yoongi comes in through the side door, palms slick with motor oil, a few streaks staining his face and his shirt from where he's been a little bit careless. He cocks a brow, and throws you a cautious, coy smile.

"What are you doing here?" He angles his body away from you, almost as if he suspects you're about to throw something at him. His tone is slow, reserved, a little bit accusatory, if you do say so.

"My job?" You question - but you know exactly why he's asking such a thing.

You're always getting Jieun to cover you these days. He thinks you've barely worked enough shifts to cover the rent this month - and he's right.

He just doesn't realise that you have money sitting in the bank from stocks and bonds that had been purchased in your name when you were just a few months old. Rich people shit. Shit you wished you didn't understand, but were thankful for nonetheless. You may not be on good terms with your family, but you're not ignorant of the fortune you've had as a result of their choices. Having the ability to run from them is a privilege in itself.

"You still remember how to do it?" He teases. "Don't forget to offer the customers a receipt, and make sure you always pull up the right pump tab. Don't wanna be charging a soccer mom for some asshole's jeep tank."

"I remember, Yoongs," you say with a roll of your eyes and a narrowly hidden smile. He likes this smile of yours; the one you don't want to give but can't help but deliver regardless. "Thanks for the crash course, though." You thread your fingers together and stretch them in front of you. The way they click together has Yoongi looking at you like you've just shagged his dad. "Sure you don't wanna work my shifts all the time?"

"I'm sure," he nods. "Not a chance in hell I'm covering for you again."

And then there's that look on your face; the one he can never resist indulging in.

"Don't you dare," he says.

But you've always been up for a challenge.

"Yoooongs," you sing, voice high and sweet, like a hit of coke up his nose and down to the back of his throat, washed clean with Ribena. He knows what's coming, and he knows he won't like it - but he does like the way you bat your lashes for him. "Watcha doing this weekend?"

There's a resistance, but the invisible string that tugs on his lips is stronger than he cares to admit. He smiles, and you know he's where he's always been; wrapped right around your little finger.

"Why?" he deadpans, not hiding his infatuation well. "You asking me out?"

He laughs as if it's not what he wants more than almost anything in the world; as if he doesn't know it's the last thing in the world you'll be asking.

You laugh too, but it's to cover the guilt that weighs down on you. You thought he'd be over it by now.

"Not exactly."

"You should really start dating someone who respects your work schedule," Yoongi jokes, but it's kinda totally not a joke. He doesn't say it, but he'd always respect your work schedule. Would never ask you to make compromises for him; would never ask you to prioritise him.

But Jungkook doesn't do that, either. It's your choice.

"I'm not dating anyone," you say. It's childish because even though you aren't technically dating Jungkook, you're not exactly not dating him either. The 'what are we' talk hasn't happened yet. You're not ready for it. He won't ever be ready for it. You don't know this though, so you just think you're at the same stage, which is a whole lot more comforting. Think that things will progress naturally. Fall into place when they need to.

"But you're about to ask me to cover for you so you can go on a date, no?"

"...No?"

I mean, you're not.

You're not going on a date with Jungkook. You're going to his childhood town. So you're telling the truth - no dates involved.

But fuck, he'd held your hand as you stood beneath his shower together, telling you all about how he was going to take you to his favourite places, and you'd giggled when he told you that he'd force you to go swimming in the ocean with him, even if it was below zero.

You'd told him that it was fine, that you love winter beaches, and then you'd challenged him to a race from sand to shoreline. He'd agreed, of course, and then your laughter had dissolved into the pitter-patter of his shower, the warm water running over your body like a poor imitation of his hands, which were preoccupied elsewhere.

So no, you're not going on a date.

You're not dating Jungkook, full stop.

But you are existing together. Most nights these days. He works a night shift here and there, and sometimes you just need a little alone time - but more often than not, you'll head to his after work and wait until he finishes whatever he's working on. Your toothbrush has moved from the bathroom cabinet to the pot by the sink.

Your presence is undeniable, even if you are in denial.

Feels like you're lying to everyone, including yourself.

Especially yourself, actually.

Yoongi's back stiffens, his soft gaze that once was on you hardening as he glances out towards the forecourt. He nods curtly to his line of vision, and you know. He doesn't have to say anything because you can read Yoongi like a book.

His eyes look green in this light.

Beneath his breath, he mutters, "Speak of the devil."

And what a devil he is; dressed down in a pair of dark jeans with a black raincoat pulled over his head. You're down so bad that you're enamoured with the fact he's dressed for the weather, as if he's not a fully grown man very much capable of making such choices.

You think it's cute, and imagine him looking out the window as he was getting ready, heading back to his wardrobe for the anorak upon seeing the rain.

By the time you turn back around to tell Yoongi to fuck off, he's gone; snuck out the back to finish whatever work he was doing. He's not interested in watching you play happy families with some fucker he knows isn't worth your time. Jungkook could have been a brain surgeon, a charity worker, a fucking saint, and Yoongi still wouldn't have cared.

And by 'wouldn't have cared', he'd have been internally seething and ignoring the very existence of him, regardless.

"Just can't stay away, can you?" You say as you turn on your heel to walk away from Jungkook as soon as he enters the store. You're getting around to the cashiers' side of the till, creating distance.

Not because you want it, but because you think it might make him want you more.

It does.

"The cashier at Kang's ain't half as pretty," he flirts, and you swear that smile of his might send you to an early grave.

"Checking out other women, are we?"

"I'm here, aren't I? Not at Kang's?"

You want to argue with him just for sake of the flirt, but that anorak is really doing a number on you. All you wanna do is squish his cheeks and tell him how cute he looks in polyurethane-coated nylon.

"Touche," you grin, but it's muffled as he rests as palm on the kiosk and uses his other hand to pull you closer and steal a kiss. It's a risky move. Something he shouldn't really be doing. Not when there are three windows behind him.

He's on display like a puppy in the pet shop windows downtown. Anyone could drive by. Pull in. Anyone. Daegu ain't as big as it likes to pretend to be.

"So, I'm lying," he says, voice sweet and low. "I actually do have an ulterior motive."

"Mhmph," you breathe through your nose, rolling your eyes. "You're a boy, Jungkook. I know you didn't drop by just to ask how my day was."

"Okay, one - ouch. And two - I always want to know how your day is."

For a chronic liar, he's refreshingly honest when he wants to be.

"But?" You encourage, not wanting to skip the flirting, but anxious of the outcome for whatever it is he's here for.

He pokes at the bagged sweets like he so often does, his tattooed fingers gently prodding and pushing them about with no real purpose. He appears distracted, but he's anything but. You know this now; know it's just a Kookism.

"Buuuut," he takes his time, dragging out the word because he knows it will drive you insane. "I was thinking why don't we just head over to..." he pauses. Suddenly feels uncomfortable declaring the plans you have so publically. What if he hadn't noticed someone behind a shelving unit? What if your coworker is listening in? He carries on as if he didn't skip it, but waffles so much you don't have a chance to interject. "Straight after work? We go straight from here? You finish round about now, don't you? I know we were gonna wait till the morning, but I got itchy feet, baby. Wanna get outta this place."

You nod as his questions pour out like a broken faucet. You don't have to worry about your shifts, 'cause Jieun's already swapped with you. You'd struck a deal to work her typical early shift that day in return for her covering you over the rest of the weekend.

Truthfully, you weren't going to ask Yoongi to cover for you earlier - you were just going to ask if he'd watch the shop for 5 minutes until Jieun arrived so that you could escape a little earlier than you were meant to. He'd only just started his shift, opting for a later rota than usual. Weird, but not weird enough for you to question it too hard.

"Lemme just get changed," you smile, having come straight to work from Jungkook's apartment that morning.

The way you're always in each other's company, it's as if he'll suffocate without you around - which admittedly does feel like it's true, but it's more so that he's scared of what could happen if he's not there watching over you. Scared that someone will interfere with what he's doing. Scared the rug will get pulled from beneath your feet before he's gotten a chance to scatter pillows on the ground beneath you.

Running late, you'd skipped dropping by your place that morning. You weren't feeling all that fresh, despite the shower you'd had at his that morning, thanks to the second-day clothes you'd arrived in, so had opted for the uniform spares in the back rooms. The sizings were all off, and you're pretty sure you felt filthier in them than your own clothes, but it was rare for you to ever feel all that hot in your work uniform.

Jungkook is left alone in the shop as you head to the backrooms. He figures your colleague will be out soon enough to man the tills, so goes about looking a little busy. Eyes up the stale pastries that are definitely past their best in the cabinet next to the till. Reads the magazine covers, and wonders why the fuck people care so much about celebrities.

It's as he's flicking through a copy of Drivers Weekly that he hears a cough. "We prefer it if people don't read the magazines in the shop."

His eyes land in the direction of the voice, towards a man who is shorter than stature than Jungkook, but somehow feels taller. Broader. Stronger. A better man. Competition.

"You must be Yoongi, right?" Jungkook nods, voice a little hoarse. He's on edge. Doesn't like the way Yoongi is looking at him as if he can see straight into his soul - not that he'd find much there.

That's the trouble that comes with making a deal with the devil; he'll eat you from the inside out. It won't be long before Jungkook implodes, bones caving in on themselves. He's got a little while left to go until then, though. Maybe some major organs left to harvest. A little bit of liver for all the soju he's gonna need to drink to get over this, and the tiny sliver of his heart that belongs to someone else.

To you.

"Heard a lot about you," he continues.

Yoongi laughs. It isn't kind. "Funny. I've heard fuck all about you."

He stays stoic as he watches Jungkook purse his lips; shoulders rising ever so slightly and dipping again as he nods, letting out a scornful laugh. "Right."

Despite all he's done, all the stupid little mistakes he's made, Jungkook isn't dumb. He knows how to read people - and currently, Yoongi is a pair of burning red capital letters: F. U.

A petty remark rests on the tip of his tongue, one that could spark and ignite the dry wood of the bridge between the two men. There's no water beneath it yet. Jungkook would incinerate the entire structure.

Best not to. Not yet, at least.

"Hey babe," he calls instead, loud enough for you to hear, and direct enough to crawl beneath Yoongi's skin. You muffle a response to let him know you're listening. "I'm just gonna wait in the car, alright?"

"Okay!"

"Don't keep me waiting too long," he flirts, but he's looking at Yoongi. He's smirking. Eyes narrow. Winning. "We've got a hotel room to check into."

It's childish and he knows it, but he wants Yoongi to know exactly who's gonna be making you cum that evening.

You're cringing, knowing that Yoongi will be mentally imploding, but you also think that Jungkook is none the wiser. "Go wait in the car!"

"There's a place just off Gwangalli," Yoongi says, his attempt at looking unbothered fairly convincing - but not to Jungkook. He's convinced that everyone wants to fuck you just as much as he does, so would have always figured Yoongi was jealous. "A shoreline hotel. She really loves it. Maybe you should book a room there next time."

The insinuation is clear; Yoongi knows where you like to stay. For all Jungkook knows, maybe he's even stayed there with you.

But Busan is Jungkook's old stomping ground, and funnily enough, he does actually listen to you. He knows all about the hotel you love, and the fact you've never actually stayed there. Just dreamt of it; bridge views over the harbour, sleek marble coating the walls.

He also knows that it's overpriced and that there's a far better hotel just a few blocks up that doesn't get half as much attention. It's the place he's booked - 'cause fuck taking you home to meet the family - for the weekend.

Apart from the final night.

He's got you the hotel you love for the final night.

He'll say goodbye to Busan with you, just as you feel like you're saying hello.

There's an acute awareness that things between the pair of you won't always end happily, so he's trying to make the memories sweet. Giving you happy endings to daydream about when you forget that you hate him, as you inevitably, eventually will.

He's so caught up thinking about it that he forgets to reply to Yoongi. His train of thought is interrupted by Yoongi once more, his voice low this time. He's trying to avoid being heard by you.

"Just... be careful with her."

Silence in the wake of Yoongi's request deafens them both. His words are weighted. Jungkook knows Yoongi is telling him to take care of you, but part of him can't help but wonder if it's a warning. Maybe he should be careful of you, instead.

He's not the only one with secrets. Naive of him to assume he is.

"Thought you were waiting in the car?" You smile as you finally emerge.

Jungkook's eyes are on you immediately, and suddenly you're not the only one with a chime in your stomach. There's one in his too, and it's humming to the beat of his heart.

He'd already figured that you'd stolen one of his shirts before he woke, thanks to the fact your dress was hooked over the back of his desk chair that morning. It's grey and faded, a billion sizes too big, resting just below your midthighs. You're wearing tights again, because of course you are.

He knows, within about a second, that he isn't gonna be able to make it to Busan without being inside of you at least once. There's gotta be a side lane close by that you won't get caught in. Shit. Maybe he should just take you in the back rooms right now. Yoongi'd get over it, he's sure.

Cheeks a little hot, Jungkook is cringing at himself as he feels the blood rush to his cock. He can't be getting a semi in a GS-fuckin'-25. Wouldn't be the first time, but-

"Kook?"

"Sorry," he says with a smile, and pretends as if he was listening all along. "Was just talking with - sorry, what was it again? Yooji?-"

"Yoongi," you correct sweetly, eyes so smitten that Yoongi thinks stabbing himself in the eye with a motor oil dipstick would be less painful.

"Yeah, that. Didn't really how much we have in common. Both love our cars, real penchant for good soju..." Both wanna rail you so hard you forget your own name. "Interesting guy."

You look over to Yoongi, and it's clear as anything that he doesn't agree with a single word of what Jungkook is saying -but you think Jungkook is trying, and that only makes those eyes of yours even drunker in lo-

"You not have a hotel to get to?" Yoongi grimaces.

"Pollution's bad today, baby," Jungkook mumbles softly into your hair, ignoring Yoongi. It's said out of concern for you, but also for himself.

It's easier for him if your face is a little obscured; easier to deny that you're the one he's holding onto for dear life as he leads you out of the shop. You think nothing of it, pulling up the mask that had been resting below your chin before the cold wind gets a chance to hit your face.

He's not wrong - the midday skies are clouded, a thick smog obscuring the mountain peaks that you love to look at so much. You love the winter sun, but it has you wishing for rain. It always clears the skies a little more; brightens the world up.

Daegu is dreamy, in the obscure, nightmarish kind of way that made you eat cheese before bed as a child. The best kind of dreams were always the ones that made you feel something - and as Jungkook starts up the pony, you're terrified.

It's not a big deal. Going to Busan is casual. But being invited into a world that is exclusively his? Well, that's not casual at all.

It's weighted and deliberate, and intentional. He wants you there. Wants you in every aspect of his life, and yet you haven't even had the 'what are we' conversation yet.

You wait until Jieun arrives, just a minute later, before you make your departure. She says goodbye with a knowing look, and Yoongi is already out back working on breaking up a written-off car that came in for parts earlier that morning.

Jungkook's hand is on your back as he guides you out, the mask he had insisted on you wearing for air pollution purposes obscuring your face. It doesn't stop his eyes from darting all over the place, making sure he hasn't missed anyone lurking. He knows he's getting sloppy; that he could trip up at any point, and fall at the feet of the men who had sent him into your shop all those weeks ago.

But as the pair of you pull onto the highway, your dainty hand resting at the top of his thigh, nothing but the open road ahead of you and the smell of your perfume wrapping around his senses, he doesn't care.

He'd do it all again, he thinks.

In fact, he thinks he'd kiss you sooner, just to get a few more in. Your days are numbered. He knows you're not gonna last long enough to see the cherries blossom, and maybe it's better that way.

When he got into this mess, he was in search of a spring day to break; the seasons to change, and life to renew. The deeper he gets, the more futile he realises that dream was. You're the only thing he wants to see bloom, these days.

Such a shame he has to cut you from your roots, and watch you wilt instead.

────────────

Jungkook doesn't know what 'home' feels like anymore, and hasn't done for quite some time, now. He doesn't know what it feels like to be completely content, nor at ease, within his own body.

Sometimes, though, when he's behind the wheel, the balls of his feet pressed to the pedals, he thinks it might feel close.

When the scent of gasoline seeps through the vents, and a toxic combination of burnt rubber and wiper fluid clouds the atmosphere behind his tinted windows, it seems like he could have a grasp on what it means to be 'home'. Or to have one, at least.

Maybe that's why he clings to the idea of you so much, and the way that your hair smells like gasoline.

It's a trick of the mind; a subtle deception that perhaps you could feel like 'home', too.

He thinks of this as his car rolls onto a street he hasn't visited in what must be years, by this point.

He's silent, glancing over to where you nap peacefully in his passenger's seat. Light scatters through the branches of trees which are yet to bloom, refracting as it hits the pale stone in your necklace. The underside of your chin is painted in rays of rainbow light. Your throat, too. Impossible, he thinks, for someone to be so ethereal without even so much as trying. Thinks that you're magic.

But magic isn't real. He knows that deep down, beneath the scent of your hair and the taste of your rainbow stained skin, you're not real, either.

You're an illusion; a projection, just like that refracted light.

Still, he smiles as you begin to stir, neck aching from the uncomfortable position you've had it in for the last thirty minutes.

"Morning, sleepyhead," he teases, while you squeak and stretch your body out at far as you can. Palms on the dash, your head feels all stuffy and horrible, the nap only serving to make you feel even more sleepy. You bring the back of your hand to cover your mouth as you yawn, brows raised, eyes closed.

"We here?" you mumble, turning to face the road, only to find the view is obscured by cargo lorries ferrying things to the harbour.

The shipping container next to you is a deep navy blue, its history etched onto the corrugated steel with white chalk markers. It rusts at the joints, paint flaking off and scattering into the atmosphere. It's remarkable, you think, how even things built to sustain the most brutal of weathers can still have areas of weakness.

"Just about," he nods, turning the radio up a little louder now that you're awake. His phone is plugged into the aux for once, but it sounds like it's still your playlist going. It's not. He's been crafting his own, taking note of the songs you like, and adding his own into the mix. Subtle integration of you into his life, perhaps. "About 10 minutes away from the hotel."

You hum a response as you sit up a little straighter, a frown on your face. You hadn't meant to sleep through the journey, but late nights with him and early starts at the gas station have really been doing a number on you.

Jungkooks thinks he's benefitted from your sleepiness, as it made you so bloody endearing that he found himself wanting to let you sleep, instead of pulling into a vacant side-road to sort out the awkward hard-on he's had since the moment he saw you in GS25 earlier on that day.

There had been a brief moment, when the pair of you had stopped by your place to pick up your travel bag, that he'd considered making a move - but you were excited to get going, and so was he.

Why waste time in Daegu? He wanted out of there. Wanted to be elsewhere, anywhere. Wanted to hold your hand in public, with your mask off and your hood down, just to watch the way other men would double-take you.

Maybe because it's unknown - being with you, without fear of getting caught - or maybe it's because his intentions with you have changed in recent weeks. Whatever reason it is doesn't matter, though. The outcome will still be the same.

You watch as the cargo trucks begin to roll into gear, and then you're chasing the sun, heading towards your destination. Jungkook hasn't told you anything about where you're staying, just that he thinks you'll like it. Part of you hopes it will be that hotel you love along the shoreline, and as he takes a right onto the next road over, edging closer and closer to the shore, you think you might be in luck.

These hopes are short-lived, though, when you see a sign with the branding you know so well - even if you've only ever seen it online - and watch it disappear in the rearview mirror.

Funnily enough, there's no disappointment that follows this realisation. You couldn't care less where you stay. All you seem to care about is who you'll be staying with.

A smile tugs at the corner of your lips when his indicators begin to tick, and his hand, flat against the wheel, begins to pull clockwise. The place he's turning the car in to is nice. Too nice. There's a surface level car park, for starters, not one tucked beneath the first floor of a drive-in motel, like you'd half been expecting.

The exterior walls are finished with European style red bricks; purpose-built and not in keeping with the dated architecture of its surroundings. There's an attitude to the building; attention-seeking without trying, refined yet unassuming. It reminds Jungkook of you, in a way. Reminds him of how no matter what you do, his focus always seems to be on you.

"Had this place on my bucket list," he says. "Opened up around the time I left town. Always said I'd stay here if I came back with someone else."

His last comment is unnecessary. He doesn't need to tell you he'd never brought anyone home to Busan, and yet he does, because it somehow feels important.

A hotel resident swings through the front door as you're getting out of the car, and you can't help but notice that the chime is eerily similar to the one of the GS25 door. Identical, almost, to the one in your stomach.

"Pretty," you muse, adoringly looking at the ivy that trails up and down the side of the building.

"Prettier in summer," he says, taking your luggage from your hands and tilting his head forward as if to say 'ladies first'. "There's another vine running through it that blooms like nothing I've ever seen before. It's too cold for it to flower, yet, I think."

You smile as you listen to him talk, enamoured that a man so brash and bold can be so delicate and gentle when he wants to be. Mindless chatter fills the space between you as you enter the lobby, and wait for the concierge to check Jungkook's booking on the system, just to find out there's been a free upgrade.

"Wish she hadn't announced that," Jungkook mumbles in your ear as you head towards the elevator. "Totally would have pretended I'd splurged out on the upgrade instead."

You laugh, and tell him that he's stupid - and that you also saw the room rates by the front desk, so in your eyes, even the standard rooms are a splurge.

He shrugs, and insists he got it cheaper online thanks to some bullshit discount he can't be bothered to lie too deeply about. He wanted to experience this hotel, and he wanted to experience it with you. He'd have paid the price, whatever.

Chances are he'll be making the money back in a weeks time, thanks to you, anyways.

Thanks to you. Because of you. In spite of you. Whatever. Same difference.

Same disgusting guilt that coats his skin like oil and drips from his body. Dare you strike a match, he's sure he'll set fire. Ablaze with the glory of whatever the fuck he feels for you; the flames of his failures smoking him to suffocation. Failure to act quick enough, failure to control himself, failure to do wrong by someone that feels so right.

He shakes the thoughts from his head, his guilt steeped stomach a constant aide-mémoire.

"613," he reminds you of the room number as you reach the sixth floor.

It's not quite the top floor, but it's far enough up that your view of the harbour will take your breath away, you're sure.

He laughs when you squeal in response, thankful for the fact you don't try and downplay your excitement like he knows you would have done when he first started seeing you. He assumes you're comfortable now. Assumes you trust him. Assumes you feel safe. Assume, assume, assume. You're rubbing off on him, it seems.

He's got a rucksack on his back, and your own bag hooked is over his shoulder, yet he still uses his free hand to hold onto your waist as he walks behind you. He's so desperate to keep you close; fearful of what could happen if you ever were to part. His fingers grip a little tighter when you take a stride further than he anticipates, and he doesn't shuffle back when you finally reach the door. He rests his chin on your head instead, and watches the light on the door handle flash green when the room key taps against it.

The pair of you walk into the room in the same position, your back pressed to his chest, his strides wide behind you, so that he can walk in time with you. It's clumsy, and awkward, and hard to synchronise, but both of you are laughing so much that you're almost distracted from the view that floods in through the wall-length windows. Almost.

You stop in your tracks when you see it, gasping at the sight. Jungkook looks up from your hair, his arms tight around you, to see what you've noticed - and then he notices it, too.

"Holy shit," you say, unable to articulate anything else.

The ocean in front of you spans for miles; endless upon the horizon, with nothing but Gwangalli bridge standing in its way. Boats dapple the vast expanse, tiny and delicate, obscured by the incredible distance between you.

It's blue. Blue, blue, blue; the skies, the sea, the way you feel sorrow in your chest from never having seen anything so beautiful before.

Jungkook is smug as he whispers into your hair, "Boy did good?"

You've not even looked at the crisp white sheets, yet, freshly laundered on a queen size bed, nor the decadent hotel decor that you're sure will be identical in every single room. The other rooms don't matter to you, though; just 613, and the boy with bleach blonde hair who had driven you to Busan in his bright red pony.

The stuff of fairytales, some might argue.

"Boy did good," you whisper back, turning your head to steal a kiss. He smiles into your lips, your body his to move as he pleases, as he begins to walk you to the bed.

A soft puff of air blows around your body as it lands on the outrageously fluffed duvet. He crawls onto the bed with you, one hand on your cheek, the other laced with yours above your head.

"View like this and all you wanna do is waste it?" You grin into his lips, voice as sweet as his touch.

He's quiet as he presses his lips to your throat, slow as he trails his tongue down it.

"Not a waste,' he says, as his teeth graze ever so gently. The firmness of his crotch is devastatingly erotic as it presses against you. "And fuck the view. Rather look at you."

You go to argue against him, but he's adamant you're far prettier. Tells you if it means that much to you, though, he'll be willing to take you from behind so that you can look at the view - which is how you end up wrapped in a duvet, hair a mess and mascara a little smudged half an hour later.

You're sat together on the floor, backs against the side of the bed, looking out at the view as his arm drapes around your shoulders. His lips are nestled into your hair, because it seems to be his happy place, but neither of you are talking. Just existing, like you so often like to do together.

There's an unspoken understanding that this is an unusual occurrence for the both of you.

He doesn't do romance. He doesn't really do anything that would ever indicate a shag is more than just a shag. He'll compliment, and he'll charm, but he'll never say any words of actual worth. Not like he does with you. He doesn't cuddle, doesn't snuggle, doesn't kiss outside of the realm of a fuck. Again, not like he does with you.

When you turn to face him, catching the countenance in his eyes as he looks at you - chin, nose, eyes, lips, eyes again - you know that any kiss that could follow would be fatal.

It would seal the deal that neither of you have been brave enough to make.

There's hesitation. His breaths are heavy, prick still a little plump beneath the sheets that covers his modesty, but he's not hard. Not horny. It's not what's leading his thoughts, nor his actions.

And then, suddenly, but somehow also so perfectly predictable, he kisses you.

It isn't simple. It isn't just because he can - but it's also not for any ulterior motive, either. It's soft, his lips not as hard against yours as they usually are. They squeeze your bottom lip, then release. And then he does it again. No welcome intrusion of his tongue. No hands roaming to your chest. No smile as he does it.

But why would he be smiling when he's terrified?

He just kisses, and kisses, and kisses. He makes no further moves, not even when you let the sheets slip, nor when you hook your leg over his lap and move across to straddle his thighs. You're so incredibly wet, his touches minimal, yet so deeply intimate, that he can feel you leaking all over him. His cock is flushed, stiff, and stood to attention, resting against the base of his abs.

Still, he doesn't really touch you. His wrists are resting on the top of your thighs, but his palms aren't lying flat. They're open, not balled into fists, and you can't quite figure him out. You feel shy and insecure, because why isn't he touching you? Doesn't he want you?

But then you go to pull away from his lips, and he whines and shakes his head.

Come back, baby, he wants to say, but it gets trapped in his throat, and all he can get out is a little grunt.

He knows he's being pathetic. Knows that he must look like a fucking weirdo.

Part of you wants to laugh; wants to ask where the man who ate his own cum out of your pussy and spat it into your mouth is.

Most of you, though, is consumed by the sheer terror that's encompassing him. You feel it too. All of this is so unfamiliar, and scary, and alarming and yet so... safe.

His palms finally lay flat, prowling to your ass, where he squeezes as if to say hello. Eventually, he pulls you further up his lap. You're raised above him, the heat of your pussy so warm, and welcoming, and inviting, that he simply can't hold back any longer.

No words are spoken, you simply nod.

You aren't kissing anymore. Just looking at one another. He doesn't drop his gaze when he lines himself up with your entrance.

It's only when you sink down onto him that his eyes close, as his head leans against the corner of the mattress. The expanse of his throat is pristine, not a hickey in sight, and you like it this way. It - you - somehow still feels like a secret. One shared, but one that is safe. Just for you. Just for him. For one another.

Jungkook lasts longer inside of you than he thinks he will. The silence is only broken by hushed whines and dulcet groans. Your hands rest on his shoulders, and stay there the entire time. It's almost like you're both petrified that changing position will change the way that you're feeling. You look at one another like you're holding hands across a tightrope, dependent on one another to stay alive.

If he falls, so do you.

But it's not the falling he's afraid of. Not really. He's been enjoying the freefall for the past few weeks, now. It's the inevitable crash and burn that scares him.

There's something about the angle, the way he's got you deep and slow, that has the tightrope tying itself in pretty little bows around the bell that lives rent-free in your stomach.

Jungkook sees the way that your brows begin to furrow. He grunts as your lips rest ajar, restless gasps shying away, hiding in your throat. His hips keep at the pace he's set. He knows what's happening, and even though he's spent the last couple of weeks desperately trying to not let happen, he knows he's gotta let you come undone.

He wants you to. Needs you to. Needs to know that it's not just him that can't control himself.

It's euphoric when it happens. His arms wrap around your back, pulling your chest to his, and only then does he realise how hard your nipples are; how much your entire body has begged him for this. He squeezes you so tightly that your back clicks, but he doesn't really worry because you're shaking on him, muscles out of control as the orgasm he was fucking into you finally cascades over your body.

You're thankful for the way he's holding you close, your pussy so tight that Jungkook finds himself whining into your neck; and then he's kissing it, pressing his teeth to your skin, holding them there as his muffled moans vibrate against you.

'Shouldn't-' he thinks, even his thoughts stuttering and getting all confused. 'Shouldn't do this. Gonna end in tears. Gonna end - shit. Gonna fucking end. Shit. So good. So fucking good.'

Pussy so good he swears he'll fuck it forever, and then his thoughts catch up with him, and he's spiralling all over again.

'Fucking disaster. Heaven in human form. Temptress devil dressed as an angel. Shut the fuck up, Jungkook. The fucking audacity,' he begins to scold himself. 'Prick. She never fucking lied -' And then his head is battling against itself. '-but she did though - she didn't - did-'

"Shut the fuck up."

He doesn't even realise he's said it until your laboured breaths and spent body seem to falter, but you fail to muster up anything more than a "Hmm?"

You're sure you must have heard him wrong.

"Nothing. Not you," he husks in your neck, though he can't really get his words out 'cause he's seconds away from spilling into you. "You sound so good, baby. So good. Gonna make me cum so fucking hard." He knows he shouldn't be encouraging it, but he can't stop. "Keep moaning for me, baby. Let me know how good I feel."

You hum a laugh, so sweet and saccharine that Jungkook thinks you must be laced in some kind of addictive substance. It's the only way to explain how he feels. He's an addict, hooked on you.

The moans that roll off your tongue aren't fake, but you let yourself be a little louder for him.

"Like that," you tell him. You're already done, spent, but you want him to feel just as good as you do, even if his size has you feeling a little sore by now. You encourage him, knowing that it'll become painful if he doesn't finish soon.

It almost feels like there's something holding him back, though. You think he's just edging himself. You don't notice the way the lines in his forehead crease together in such a way that they almost spell out words. You'd have studied them, if you had noticed. Would have convinced yourself that you could read 'trust,' in the lines, and not 'traitor,' instead.

You move your hips against his, ass bouncing against the top of his thighs in a way that you haven't done for the entire session. He's been working so hard for you that it's about time for you to return the favour, it seems.

The way his neck stretches back, eyes shut, lips pouted and perfect as he fails to formulate anything other than "fuck, baby," lets you know it's appreciated.

'I'm going to fucking hell,' he tells himself. 'When I die, which seems like a sooner rather than later kinda thing, I'm going straight down to the pits. Pussy like heaven, so fucking good that it's a sin. Angel. Angel, angel, angel, baby. Gotta have you. Can't let anyone else have you. Fuck, no. Shouldn't. Shouldn't have you. Fuck it. Need you. Oh, god. Like that. Like that.'

He pulls on your hair so that you're sat up straight as he rams into you, your fucked out face the only thing he wants to see when he finally succumbs to your body. He nods at you, as if he's trying to say something that you don't quite understand. Letting you know he's close? Letting you know that he feels the same way, too? It's unclear, but you're in no position to ask - so you just nod back, and let the rapture happen.

"Shit," he all but whimpers, and then he's in purgatory; heaven and hell meeting at some kind of divine intervention as he spills all that he is into a vessel of freedom that he isn't sure he can afford anymore. "Jesus Christ," he chokes, the mess of his load leaking from you and down his shaft.

The lines in his forehead have smoothed, now, brows open, eyes half-closed. He laughs, once, twice, unable to stop himself. He forgets it all in the wake of his orgasm; his turmoil, your troubles, the turbulent path he knows he's about to go down.

All he can think about is you, him, the present, the physical. The right now. The way that you're in Busan, and how the dreary streets of Daegu can't hurt you.

Rather foolish of him to think that little deaths would have you falling in love, when he's the one whose head feels like cotton candy, heart beating like a butterfly bursting from its cocoon.

The screen of his phone is alight on the dresser, again. You had noticed it earlier, but neglected to say anything; mainly because you didn't want to lose the moment, but also because you feared that whoever was on the end of the line could have you losing him, too.

The freedom of your arrangement, the unspoken boundaries, affords you great comforts, but also leaves you with lingering doubts. You aren't naive. You know that men his age - men in general - aren't ones to be trusted with your heart. Platonic, romantic, familial. Not a single man has ever deserved to hold it in their hands, and any that you have given the chance to have dropped it at the first hurdle. It's a death sentence, you think, giving Jungkook your heart.

So you simply won't.

But in the comedown of a fuck that really didn't feel much like a fuck, more like a meeting of minds, bodies, consciousnesses - fuck it - hearts, you find yourself thinking that maybe it would be nice to try.

You're still in his lap when he stands, his cock inside of you, even if a little soft, now. He's gentle, and slow, taking you with him, picking you up and wrapping your legs around his hips. There's comfort in his silence as he leads you to the bathroom; familiarity in his feverish need to shower.

His phone continues to ring out on the dresser, silent and sinister, the glow of his screen the only source of light other than the moon that pours in through the windows. He clocks it as he turns to close the door, while you let your body become acquainted with the pressure of the shower on your skin.

And then, he presses the door firmly shut. The world can wait just a little longer, even if only for a night.

Tonight, he's yours, even if you never asked him to be.

He's yours, because he knows that come next weekend, you really will never ask him to be.

But you're just as much his.

He'll wrap you up in a fluffy white towel, and lay down with you in white sheets, that are creased only by the illustrations of your entanglement. He'll give you a tissue, white, to clean yourself up with, after he loses himself inside you once again. He'll laugh with you, teeth on show, white, as you talk into the early hours of the morning. He'll watch the moon reflect in the ocean waves with you, white, until you both fall asleep.

And you'll feel all pink; rosy cheeks, blushed lips, bubblegum heart and peachy pigmented skin from his kisses that bloom like posies. Pink like the early dawn skies over quiet ocean waves, and pink like your favourite wine that can get you tipsy with just a few sips. Pink and pretty like his lips that pout even when he's asleep. Pink like the pads of your feet as you tiptoe to the bathroom to get a glass of water as quietly as you can. Pink, like the faint light next to the plug socket where his phone is plugged into a charger. Pink, like the tiny light at the top of his screen to let him know he has a flurry of unread notifications; missed calls.

Except it's not pink at all.

It's red.

Your eyes are just tired, and you're deluding yourself. Just like you have been of every single red flag that Jungkook has presented to you so far.

But when you look at the mess of blonde hair that belongs to the man hidden in the white sheets which have kept you warm all night, everything is pink again.

"Sleep," he mumbles as you crawl back into bed, his arms wrapping around your waist to hold you close. His lips rest in the crook of your neck, a lazy kiss delicately finding its home there.

"I'm sleeping," you whisper, the white lie nothing more than a joke that you're both in on.

"Promise?" he sleepily humours you, to which you smile.

"Pinky."

────────────

There's a magic to sea air.

It's not quite Disney, and definitely isn't Hogwarts, but it's something. It makes you feel all excited, and giddy, and like the world is at your feet. If you say the right words, or swish and flick a little bit of driftwood in the right order, then maybe you'll find that the world isn't all that hard to acquire.

Because maybe it's not the sea air that's magic. Maybe it's just what comes with being beside someone like Jeon Jungkook.

You quickly learn that there's a side to him you never knew. It's one that's incredibly mundane, but just as refreshing as the peach teas he points out to you on every cafe menu, 'cause he knows how much you like them, and doesn't want you to miss out on the opportunity to indulge in something you find such simple pleasure in.

Jungkook smiles.

He smiles a lot.

He smiles at the harbour views, at the elderly as they walk past, and at the market stall owners who charge him far too much for a stick of strawberry tanghulu. He smiles when you ask him about his life in Busan, and he smiles when you get distracted by every single dog you walk past, regardless of the conversation you've been engaged in.

He smiles when you tell him you fancy Italian for dinner, instead of engaging in an awkward back and forth of 'what do you want?', 'no, what do you want?'.

He smiles when you reach the halfway checkpoint of the Igidae coastal trail. You're leaning on the wooden bannister, clearly out of breath but pretending to look at the view instead - and it's a beautiful view, at that. Clear blue skies, waves that crash and mellow within the same second, and an endless cerulean sea.

He thinks about all the possibilities out there, and half-wonders if maybe he could just get on a boat with you and say goodbye to the choices he's made.

The only choice he's been sure of lately is you, and when his horizon is blocked by your sloping shoulders and claw-clipped hair, he's pretty sure you're the only opportunity he wants to experience from now on.

He's never walked this trail before, but he wanted to show you the best of Busan, hoping it would convince you that you're also seeing the best of him. As he pulls on your hand, pointing out the little numbers some poor soul had scribbled on the stairs to reassure other hikers how many were left, you're positive that you'd walk the trail a thousand times over, just to be met with his smile at the end.

Because Jeon Jungkook smiles.

He smiles and he smiles and he smiles.

He smiles over dinner, in a tight little hole-in-the-wall pizzeria, that at least attempts to make pizza authentic, even if they do have '+corn, 500w' next to every single option. He smiles when he tells you to put your card away, 'cause it's on him, and then he smiles when you trip on the ledge between the restaurant and the street.

You don't fall because he's holding your hand with a grip so tight you swear your fingers might actually fall off.

"One beer and you're legless," he teases, his hold on your hand tightening as he loops his arm over your shoulder. It's a warm embrace; one that fills your nose with the scent of his aftershave, and plasters an equally large smile on your face. He's infectious, it would seem, and not once has he insisted that you wear a mask since you arrived in Busan.

"Fuck off," you laugh, walking down the street together as if this is how it's always been.

Not a single person gives you a second glance, not even the middle-aged men sat drinking outside of the bar at the end of the street. It's dark, lamposts and decorative fairy lights guiding you home, the city alive with the hustle and bustle of whatever happens after dark. The noraebangs in the area are all hostess bars, and the actual bars are packed, so home is where you're headed. There's no company you'd rather keep than one another's.

"I love this place," you muse. There's a vibrancy here that you've been missing in Daegu, but if you were to take a moment to think about it, the cities have nothing to do with it. It's the boy, and the lack of distractions from him, that you really enjoy.

"Home sweet home," he replies nonchalantly. "Ain't nothing like it."

"You miss living here?"

Your question is met with silence. You leave it a moment, thinking that Jungkook is just debating his answer. Perhaps it isn't something he's ever given much thought to before. That seems like a safe assumption to make.

The answer would reveal a truth that Jungkook isn't quite ready to admit to just yet - but he wants to admit it. Wants to tell you everything.

All the things you should know, and all the secrets he wishes you'll never find out.

It's inevitable that one day you will find out, and he wonders if it would hurt more coming from his tongue. Regretfully, he thinks it will. To lie is to be merciful, or so he tells himself.

"You're so-" he begins so decidedly that it's almost a surprise, yet he cuts himself off. It's like he shocked even himself with the outburst. He glances down to his hand - the one you're holding onto - laughs, and then gazes back to the end of the street, where the dark tide is rolling onto a shallow beach. With a shake of his head, he says 'fuck it' to his reservations, and tries out a little honestly. "You're fucking with my head, you are."

There's a smile on his lips despite the accusation, and it has you smiling, too. You think nothing of it more than flirtatious banter.

"Oh yeah?" You toy. "How so?"

He knows this tone of yours, and knows you've taken it well; knows that all he can do is play along, so as to not raise suspicions. He doesn't mean to be so erratic with his thoughts, and in turn, his words - but he isn't kidding. You really are fucking with his pretty little head.

"How are you not?" He flirts back. "Can't think straight when I'm around you."

He watches as you drop your head, your nose all scrunched up, in the same way his own nose scrunches up whenever you're too kind to him. The only difference is he doesn't believe he's being kind at all.

You deserve more than he can - or is willing to - give you.

There's untapped potential between the pair of you, that will sadly remain that way. He figures he should make the most of this while it lasts; hold your hand as much as he can, get lost for days in the scent of your hair, and make you laugh for hours on end. He knows he'll miss hearing it when it all ends.

You don't know it yet, but you'll miss it too.

Maybe you'd do things differently if you knew that your time was limited.

"You're stupid," you reply rather childishly, because it's the best your bashful brain can think of. "Is that why you nearly hit me that night on the bridge? When you were racing? Too distracted by how much of a mindfuck I am?"

"You have any idea how much easier my life would have been if I had just hit you?" He muses, looking down at you.

You wait until he's finished his words to look back at him, but you wish that you hadn't, 'cause there's a look in his eyes which makes you think he isn't lying.

It should scare you - but like an uncomfortably awkward damsel in distress from a vampire movie, crushing on a bloke who is definitely a little bit too creepy for anyone's liking - it doesn't.

"Far easier," you guess, not letting your smile drop. "Waking up next to me must be torture."

"Waking up next you," he nods. "Sharing my aux with you, paying my water bill after learning just how much you like showers hot enough to kill a lobster. Hate it all."

"Oh god, me too," you say quickly before his lips cut you off for a second, only to let you finish a moment later. "Hate it so much. So glad we're on the same pa-"

This time, it's not the lips of the boy you like a little too much cutting you off, but the voice of a boy you're sure you could grow to like just as much, if ever given the opportunity.

"Well I fuckin' never," a voice booms from across the street in your direction.

You ignore it, not really thinking anything of it - just some rowdy lads who are talking amongst themselves after a few too many beers, you assume - until Jungkook's head snaps in the direction of the voice.

His expression is startled, but quickly softens to his usual boyish disposition. There's a defensiveness, though, to the way his hand tightens around yours - until he drops it altogether.

"Kim Taehyung," Jungkook beams, adjusting his posture so that you're partially shielded from the man across the street, who's checking both sides to make sure it's clear before he crosses.

He's handsome, in a way that's entirely different to Jungkook. His broadness isn't exclusive to his shoulders, but the way he carries himself, and the sleazy smile that rests on his lips where a cigarette fits snug. He exhales, and crosses the road, the grin on his face only getting larger.

"Jeon Jungkook," he nods, greeting him with such familiarity that you feel all embarrassed.

You've no idea who this man is. His name has never been mentioned before. In fact, no names have ever been mentioned. There's little you know about Jungkook.

Sure, you know how he mindlessly fidgets, and how he whines when your tongue strokes against his taint, but what do you really know about him? Nothing of any value. Nothing that signifies you're of any value to him.

"And who's this?" Taehyung asks, but Jungkook's reply only further confirms your assumptions.

The question is addressed to you, Taehyung looking just as dangerous as that cigarette in his mouth is. He's a slow burn, you think, the kind of boy who'll grow on you, and before you know it, you'll be just another victim of his charm. It's unsurprising that he would be acquainted with Jungkook. After all, the company you keep is a reflection of yourself.

You look to Jungkook, who looks over his shoulder back to you. He's not really looking at you, per say, not how he does when you're alone. When he turns back to face Taehyung, you see the way his cheeks rise to smile, and you don't mind his coldness all of a sudden.

But then he opens his mouth and you think if you weren't such stone-cold bitch, you'd cry.

"Just a friend from Daegu. No one special."

It's humiliating, granted, but any reaction would only serve to embarrass you both - so you simply keep quiet, and smile. Your brows lift a little, eyes on Taehyung, who takes a toke as he looks between you and Jungkook.

He's smirking as he exhales, like he knows Jungkook is full of shit.

"Well, fuck me. I gotta find myself some friends in Daegu. Taehyung," he says as he holds his hand out for you to shake, with a look on his face like he hasn't eaten for a week.

There's something about him that's refreshing. He's an asshole, yes - undeniable - but at least he doesn't pretend not to be, like Jungkook does. He's undressing you with his eyes in the same way that Jungkook does with his hands. And for what Jungkook just said? You're pleased. Maybe you should let Taehyung take you home instead - after all, according to Jungkook, you're just a friend from Daegu. No one special.

"Uh-uh," Jungkook shakes his head. He's teasing, but he steps further in front of you, blocking Taehyung from your vision. "I know what you're like, Tae. Hands off this one."

The way he's talking makes you wanna turn on your heels and walk all the way back to fucking Daegu. Whoever it is that's currently shielding you from the danger of a fuck boy isn't Jungkook. Not the Jungkook you know at least.

"I'm just a friendly guy," Taehyung jokes back. "You know me. What brings you back home? Haven't since you since the wake. Been a while."

Jungkook's back stiffens, but Taehyung doesn't notice.

"Just some family stuff. Thought I'd make a weekend of it." He tilts his head back towards you. The movement has Taehyung's eyes on you again. To feel so unapologetically desired is thrilling, but it kind of makes you sick. You want Jungkook to hold your hand. Signify that you're his. Tell Taehyung that he doesn't stand a chance. But of course, he doesn't. "Thought I'd show her around. Visit some old haunts. How have you been?"

"All good," Taehyung replies, not really interested in what Jungkook has to say. It's formality, really. If he cared that much about what Jungkook had been up to, he would have made more of an effort to keep in touch. "Saw your brother yesterday, actually."

God, it's like one sucker punch after another. A brother? You've no idea who this man is.

"Seeing him tomorrow," Jungkook nods, and again, it's bloody fucking news to you. "He good?"

"Baby's keeping him up all hours apparently, he looks fucking exhausted. Met the baby yet?"

"Nah, nah, tomorrow," Jungkook says, and you're surprised by how... mundane the conversation is. You can't tell if they're friends, or if there's something more troubling at play. Everything feels coded, but you're struggling to read into it. You're too fixated on how much of Jungkook's life you're unaware of.

"Oh, nice," Taehyung replies. "You should come by the boxing club while you're in town. Be good to see you. I'm sure the boys would be pleased to see Busan's finest back where he belongs." He looks over Jungkooks shoulder to you, again, and smiles in that sultry way you're sure enables him to never go without a bed to sleep in. "Bring your friend with you. Think we could all do with a new friend."

The way he talks is crude. It's unapologetic, and if it were any other man, you'd probably be repulsed - but you're too busy being pissed off with Jungkook to care.

"Think I could do with a new friend, too," you hum back, lips pouty, chest a little pushed forward. "See you there?"

"Oh, I'll be waiting," Taehyung almost fucking moans.

Jungkook presses the pad of his thumb across the tops of his fingers, one by one, clicking them in their sockets. His frustration is evident, but the grave he's in is one that he dug himself.

You may feel like you don't know him, but he knows you. He should have anticipated that you wouldn't play nice after he said something like that.

But oh, on the contrary - you think you are playing nice. Very nice. For Taehyung, you'll be the nicest girl in the world.

And that's all Jungkook can think about.

It's intrusive, the thought of just how nice you can be.

He's thinking of your hair, all nice and tied up in a ponytail, and how Tae's hand could wrap around it. He's thinking about your pretty little knees, and how good you look when you're on them. He's thinking about your chest - God, he fucking loves your chest - and how it stands to attention when you're cold. And of course, you'd be cold, 'cause he's imagining all of this happening in the back rooms of the boxing club. At least you wouldn't be able to come, but he's barely been making that happen lately, anyways.

If there's one thing he hates more than the idea of you with Tae, it's himself.

Taehyung says his farewells, and lets his gaze linger on you for far too long, and says "you've got a look about you, friend from Daegu. Something familiar," before heading back to where he came from. The gaggle of lads he was with are still waiting for him. It seems as if he's in charge; the ringleader of sorts.

It intrigues you.

But he doesn't entice you the way that Jungkook does.

There's no softness to him, not like Jungkook with his big, round, chocolate button eyes and ever-scrunched nose.

You're mad at him now, though. Pissed. In fact, you begin to walk away as soon as Taehyung is gone, because you simply don't want to be around him any longer. You're even thinking about booking yourself in for a separate hotel room. Fuck his gestures, and fuck the effort he's made. Means fuck all, now.

Who the fuck does that? Who brings you to their hometown - into their life - and turns around and dismisses what you are to them so cruelly? He'd paid god knows what for that hotel, driven the pair of you to the city, paid for everything despite your protests, and asked for nothing in return.

You know full well that if you'd have gotten back to the hotel before the Taehyung incident, and had been too tired to fuck, or just not in the mood, Jungkook wouldn't have cared. Even sex wasn't something he seemed to think he was owed. Not like most guys.

He'd have probably stroked love letters onto your back with the tip of his index finger until you fell asleep, instead.

See, there are - or at least there were - no expectations with Jungkook, which is probably what makes this all so disappointing for you. Foolishly, you thought you had a good one in him.

He's a man, though. How good can they ever really be?

Heels clicking against the pavement as you walk, you sound far more powerful than you feel. You want to take your stupid fucking shoes off and launch them at his stupid fucking head. How dare he reduce to nothingness.

"Hey," he calls after you, as if he hasn't just torn your heart out, hands all bloody while he toys with it. "CC! Hold up!"

There's a trail of blood as you walk that leads to the hole in your chest, and so he follows it like a bloodhound in search of its prey.

He repeats his call when you ignore him, catching up with you far too easily for your liking. You don't like getting caught.

"What?" You snap, arms folded across your chest, but you keep on walking. A gaggle of girls walk by, far too drunk to be in heels that high, and they coo a little bit as they clock Jungkook. You find yourself sneering. "Oh look. Some more friends for you to make."

"Hey, c'mon," he reaches out for you but you shake him off, so he tries again, a little harder. It doesn't hurt, and if you want to, you can pull away.

Shamefully, you can't bring yourself to. Those with the power to hurt are also apparently those with the power to heal - and all you want is for him to put your heart back where it belongs and kiss it better.

"You know I didn't-"

"Didn't what?" You fight, because that's all you're really good at. "Mean it? Mean to say it? Or didn't think that this actually meant anything?"

"Fuck," he seethes a little, teeth gritted and jaw sharp. He loosens his grip on you, and rubs the pads of his fingers against his jaw instead, tongue pressing into the side of his cheek. His nostrils are flared, and there's bite behind his bark. "Don't turn this into something that it isn't."

"I'm not turning it into anything," you say so calmly that it's almost unsettling. "But turn it into what? A lovers tiff? No worries. We're just friends, babe. Can't turn it into one of those."

"You're being unreasonable."

"I'm being perfectly reasonable."

"CC-"

"I've got a name," you remind him. "Maybe use that, instead. CC feels a little... I don't know. More than friendly? And we wouldn't wanna blur those lines, would we?"

"Christ. Can you stop?" he pleads, the frustration he feels overwhelmed by the desperate need to control the situation. "You know I didn't mean it like that."

"I don't think you know what you meant, Jungkook," you shrug, because fuck letting him think you're hurt. "You just let some guy fuck me with his eyes, because according to you, we're just friends. You saw that, right? You saw the way he was looking at me like a piece of fucking meat? And you let him."

Jungkook doesn't say anything for a moment. His body is stiff, as if he's rebooting; calibrating to find an answer. Yes, he had let Tae do whatever the fuck he liked, because it was easier than explaining the truth of who you are to him. Safer. In his eyes, it had been a lesser of two evils, but you're seeing Jungkook as the only evil.

Your chest is beating so hard in your chest that the thump, thump, thump has drowned out the chime that's usually there.

"No," he tries again. "It's not like that. I know what I said, but it's not what I meant."

And then you do that thing again. You calm yourself, your voice so serene and superficial that it makes his skin crawl. He can tell how angry you are, and yet you're so fucking pleasant. It's psychotic - but how can he complain about your anger when you're fucking smiling at him like he just saved a bird from drowning?

"You don't have to explain, Jungkook. It's cool"

"No," he protests, but it's met with vacancy behind your eyes. "I do."

"No," you say, tone firm and assertive. You don't need to be let down gently. Your feelings don't need to be spared. "You know what I'm like. I need to stop making so many assumptions."

Ouch. He can practically feel the dagger you have for a tongue slicing at his heart.

"Well what did you assume?" He asks, because playing along seems like the only way he can get you to engage in conversation with him.

"My assumptions are mine," you say quietly, walking closer towards him, until your index finger can tap against his chest. "Maybe if we were friends, I'd share them with you. But I don't share with people who only know how to take. From the look in Taehyung's eyes, it seems like he knows how to give a thing or two, so who knows, Jungkook? Maybe I'll share with him."

Jungkook is silent.

It's a threat. He fucking knows it's a threat.

All those missed orgasms seem like a terrible idea, now. He thought he'd been helping, thought that you'd just think he was an idiot, like any other guy who didn't know where the fucking clit was. Thought it would help slow the feelings that are developing regardless.

But you knew he knew.

He's a fucking connoisseur. He's had you coming undone in ways that no other man has ever gotten close to. For him to suddenly forget how to make you tremble on his fingers was laughable.

You'd chosen not to mention it, because foolishly, you thought that you were the issue - but if he's gonna hurt your pride, then you're gonna hurt his right back.

You shake your head, and walk to the curb, raising your arm for the taxi that's hurtling down the road. There's a screech as it comes to a stop, almost like a reset button being pressed.

You feel a weight being eased from your chest, glad to have finally put him in his place for the no-gasm issue, but a new weight is just as heavy on your feet. You open the door, think about getting in, but can't. For some reason, the idea of leaving without him has you close to tears.

Asking the driver to wait just a minute, you turn to find him fixated on you, those soft chocolate eyes of his so warm as they stare you down. His brows are lifted, mouth firmly pursed shut, but you can see from the way his chest is beating that he's breathing heavier than his lungs can really manage.

You've never seen him cry, but you think you might tonight.

"C'mon," you eventually say, knocking your head to the side. You've a lot fight in you, but far more fear. You don't know what you mean to Jungkook, and you're not gonna kid yourself and pretend like you feel secure in it - but you know what he means to you. The idea of him staying elsewhere has you feeling all feeble and pathetic. You don't think he would, but you know that he could. "It's late. Let's just go back to the hotel."

He stuffs his hands into his front pockets and looks down, the usual confidence he wears masked by a thin layer of shame. It has a sheen to it; a stain. He's not the man that he wants to be for you, and he knows you're starting to wise up to it.

"Kook," you encourage, but he still resists.

He doesn't deserve this; doesn't deserve you. Doesn't deserve the olive branch you're extending, when he knows he should be on his knees begging like a dog.

He could do that for you. Beg like a dog, in his own, fucked up, kind of way.

On his hands and knees. Begging.

In fact, he thinks it's the only thing can do for you right now.

And so he gets in the taxi as you ask, and stays quiet.

The drive is silent, but taxi rides often are, so he tries to ignore it. When you go to pay, he holds your hand back, and offers up his card instead. The grip he has is gentle, but it burns like the heat of a thousand matches, and when it leaves, you're left smouldering. You don't want to lose the heat, no matter how much damage it can do.

Silence permeates, and dulls the chime in your stomach that you'd expect to hear in a hotel elevator with Jungkook.

So much silence.

Silence as the door to your hotel room clicks open, and silence as you kick off your shoes. Silence when your bag is tossed on the bed, and silence when Jungkook's shoes join your own.

There's silence as he walks to stand behind you while you look out onto the midnight sea, and there's silence when he presses a kiss into the crook of your neck.

There's silence when he whispers your name, and silence when you hum in satisfaction from the way his lips feel against the expanse of your throat.

Silence so loud that you want to scream.

Silence so loud that you wouldn't be able to hear the scream regardless.

Silence, silence, silence that is so fucking loud, you must be deaf.

But you can hear the small intakes of breath that he takes between the kisses he peppers on your skin. You can hear the click of his lips, and the way he whispers 'I didn't mean it,' as if it would eradicate the hurt caused by such a simple exchange of words.

And then his hands of fire are creeping beneath your shirt, and you're all warm and pliable for him.

You so desperately want proof that he didn't mean what he said, and if there's one thing you're sure of, it's that he doesn't fuck you like you're just a friend.

So you think you might just let him.

He can tell you're apprehensive and he knows why, and that he has to prove himself to you. Moonlight pours in through the window, and you're bathed in it like some kind of ethereal goddess that will surely disappear when dawn breaks. He has to make this last.

He strips you of your clothes, and funnily enough, it isn't the most vulnerable you've felt in the last few hours. In fact, you feel confident, now. You know what you're doing when it comes to matters of the body. Matters of the heart? Not so much.

Your capabilities for either of those aren't required now, though. This is all on him.

He encourages you to the bed, so you sit by the foot, and wait for instruction.

"Lie down," he says, eyes remarkably on yours, and not your tits instead. It must be a first.

It's curious how softly he looks at you; almost like you could break.

Maybe it's because he knows he has to be extra careful, because he's the only one capable of breaking you.

And so you nod, because maybe, just maybe, he could fix you, too.

In fact, when he gets to his knees and grips his palms around your ankles to drag you closer to the end of the bed, you can almost feel your heart swelling. Healing.

Y'see, it's familiar, and safe, and certain; Jungkook will fuck you, and you will mistake the way he kisses you when he cums as a declaration of something more than what it is.

For now, though, he's only thinking about ways to get you off. Anything is on the table. He'll do it all. Do whatever you ask. Do things you're too afraid to ask.

He spreads your legs apart, and spends longer than is normally comfortable staring at you. He's appreciating it; the way your lips slowly part, a little damp and so delightfully warm. He loves your scent. Wishes he could bottle it up - but for now, he'll settle for drinking from the source.

When his tongue strokes against you, it's slow. The pressure behind it feels intentional, the warm studs of his tongue piercing making your toes curl from just one touch. He exhales against you, then inhales because - fuck me - you smell divine. His tongue licks again, languid and flat, his head nodding ever so gently. The change in movement has your hands gripping onto the sheets, a shallow affirmation of 'fuck, Kook, yes' spurring him on.

He hums against you, and you swear it's better than any vibrator you've ever had. It's almost as if he's saying something, but can't get his words out - which would make sense, given the fact his mouth of full of your pussy. His tongue points, as his palms rest on the underside of your thighs to angle you a little better for him.

He pushes his tongue into your entrance, and it has you mewling. Wetness seeps into his mouth, sweet and musky, just how he fucking likes it, and he's doing that thing where he whines against you again, and you swear you might just cum right there and then.

It's noticeable, though, how your grip is on the sheets, and not him.

Your heels are digging into the duvet, not pressing against the top of his spine, and your fingers aren't in his hair.

Still, your pussy is leaking onto his tongue, and arguably, he could be fooled into thinking you've let down your guard for him.

But you haven't really.

He can see this; the way you've detached sex, and the pleasure that it coexists with, from the emotional intimacy he's fostered with you.

It's like he can touch you, but you're scared to touch him. You're using him - and he knows he deserves it.

When he pulls away from you, clear strings of slick connect his mouth to your core. The sheen covers his lips, his chin, the tip of his nose. Moonlight drenches him, and in turn, so do you. He watches how your chest heaves as his fingers come to replace the pressure from his tongue on your pussy.

Your body may be his, but you're not.

'Touch me,' he wants to say, but he's embarrassed by how badly he seems to have fucked up the one good thing going for him - and so he pushes his fingers into you, hoping that he'll be able to get you forgetting about the fact he's no good for you; get you wanting him like you used to.

And you do.

Oh god, you do, so badly.

There's nothing you want more than to have your fingers tangled in his hair, have him hissing when you pull a little too hard, keeping him locked in position against the mess he's made - but you're embarrassed. You fear that by taking any kind of leading role, you'll be forcing him to play along to something he isn't really all that into.

As much as you could pretend like you don't care about what happened earlier, it's chewing you apart, inside out, making it harder for you to get there.

Your body keens for him, though. The sounds of his fingers working your pussy are lewd, and only amplified when he spits on it in that way he always does. It drives you insane, but even now, you're floundering.

"Hey," you whisper, and your hand finally comes to rest against his hair. He leans into your touch, heart stiff in his chest as it appears to stop beating altogether. How a touch so simple can have him so damn wrecked is beyond him. He hums a response, and is met with a gentle tap against his bleached ends. He looks towards you to find you looking back, and the stillness of his heart is replaced with a beat so loud he swears it sounds like a thunderstorm is hurtling across the ocean. "Stand."

Your voice is soft, and Jungkook is confused, but he doesn't question it. He does as he's told, because quite frankly, he'll do anything you want at this point. He'd get on his knees, on his back - fuck it, he'd even get face down, ass up, if that's what you wanted - but you don't. Not now, at least. Maybe another time.

Right now, you want him as vulnerable as you feel.

When he stands, he keeps his fingers inside of you. He's gentle, massaging, making sure the movements aren't too rough. You've never shied away from things getting a little heated, but there's a time and a place for that. You don't want it hard. You want soft. Soft, soft, soft, like his eyes.

"Clothes," you say, almost timidly, unable to string your words together in a way that makes coherent sense. He knows what you mean, though, and slowly pulls his fingers from you, not caring to wipe them off. You're pristine, in his eyes. He couldn't care less about how dirty you could make him. He'd wear it like a badge of fucking honour.

He takes his shirt off first, eyes never leaving yours. He can see the way your heart is beating beneath your chest, and decides pretty quickly that he needs your tits in his mouth at some point before the night is done. His favourite fuckin' feature of his favourite fuckin' person - when he's horny, at least. He could list a million things he likes just as much, but his brain kind of just short circuits when he can see your chest looking all heavy and pliable and like it belongs in his mouth.

There's a clang, the metal of his belt tapping against itself, his tattooed fingers working quickly to rid himself of all his constraints. He pulls it from the loops of his trousers, tossing it on the bed just in case he'll need it later.

Your lips rest ajar, but you close your legs a little, watching him unbutton his jeans. He lets them drop, revealing the white of his Calvins.

He usually wears dark boxer briefs, which are always welcomed by you - but there's something about the white that has you salivating.

The outline of his cock is thick. He's stiff, and there's a tiny tell-tale mark of precum leaking from his tip. The contrast of his honey skin against the crisp white is the kind of visual you'd expect to see on a Hollywood billboard; not in your hotel room with you.

He'd worn them deliberately, expecting this kind of reaction, but had anticipated a far different feeling in the room.

The look on his face doesn't match the confidence that his strong body oozes. His wide eyes are just as vulnerable as yours. You both look like you're gonna fucking cry, which is actually kinda funny, when you think about it - but you don't laugh.

Perhaps that would be the most vulnerable thing you could share with him, and he with you: tears. There's a heaviness between the pair of you, the weight of unspoken words, hidden truths and deceptive intentions, which have led to the cluster fuck that is the relations of which you engage in.

It's just fucking, but it's also not. Not really. If it was just fucking, he'd be railing you right now, just like he did on that very first night you spent together.

But instead, he's cautious as he asks, "Where do you want me?"

You have to bite your tongue and stop it from saying 'inside me.' You're trying to keep your heart safe. Distance is needed. You're scared he's gonna steal it if he gets too close.

Pulling your legs up, cross-legged in front of him, you give him a look that he doesn't understand, but one that he knows means no harm.

He thinks you're asking permission to move, so he nods, and is proven right. You crawl a little further towards him, on your knees, until you're at the end of the bed. You sit up on your knees, shorter than him still, but the height is more matched than it is when you're standing on solid ground.

You give him that look again, and so - of course - he just nods. He's yours. You can do whatever you fucking like to him. He'd take anything you'd give him, pleasure or pain. He's stoic in the way that he stands, but you can see his jugular vein beating like he's just gone three rounds in the boxing ring.

Hooking your thumbs into the waistband of his underwear, right where the V of his hips meets the fabric, your eyes are on his.

It's torture, knowing you could be watching his thick, swollen cock spring free, but this isn't about the sex. Not really.

He bends a little, pushing his underwear to his ankles, kicking them off to the side and resuming his position in front of you. You still haven't looked at his cock, even though the thought of it has slick wetness seeping onto your inner thigh.

Your hand finds one of his, and pulls it to his cock. It throbs as you wrap Jungkook's hand around it, nodding at him, before retreating.

He's stood at the end of the bed, naked, hand tight around his fat, leaky cock, eyes on yours as you sit by the pillows. Your legs are crossed, knees up, covering your chest, light from the moon washing over you both.

He looks heaven-sent in this light. A white halo whisps around his fluffy blonde hair, the thick lines of his tattoos defined, his body carved from marble. And yet there's still a softness to him. It's in his eyes. Big and round; home in human form.

And so, for all the fear, for all the ways he has you scared about his intentions, for all the sheer instances of turmoil you put your heart through, none of it really matters.

In this moment, you feel safe.

"Wanna watch," you say quietly. You can see the way he swallows, his chest doing a terrible job of hiding the fact he actually seems to be a little bit nervous.

"Watch?"

You nod. "Wanna watch the way you get yourself off."

The request is simple, but it feels more complex than that - and it is. You want him vulnerable. You want him weak. You want him falling apart all over you without even so much as a single touch from you.

In his heart of hearts, he knows all this.

He knows, and still, he wants to do it for you.

There are sins to repent, and this feels like a start.

"Wanna see the way you touch yourself when you think about me," you continue, because you like the way his eyes look so pure and chaste at such a request.

There's a shadow to his face, the moon only illuminating half of his body, but it runs deeper than that. Divine feminity is a gift from the celestial body that watches over you, and it overcomes him, too.

Despite the hardness of his muscles, the metal of his piercings and the stiffness of his cock, he's so, undeniably soft for you.

Soft and velvety, just like his eyes. Soft and timid, like the boy who cried wolf and finally got caught. Soft, and softer still, when he says your name in such a hushed tone it barely reaches your ears.

"You do that, right?" You ask, though the answer is granted by how utterly enthralled he is with you - or at least, your body. "You think of me when you touch yourself?"

He nods, licking a slow stripe across his lower lip, before biting down on it.

His tight fist begins to roll up his cock, slowly bringing it back down again to the base of his shaft. There's a hypnotic quality to the way his foreskin retracts, exposing how red and flushed the tip of his cock is. There's desire burning through it, and he needs you - your pussy, your mouth - to soothe it.

He knows he isn't getting it, so instead, he revels in the pain that comes with being refused your body.

He's tepid as he starts, but his pace quickly builds, and so does the way he's moaning. It's a miracle you can even remember how to breathe. His torso is tense as he lets the pleasure run over his body, head tipping back, the expanse of his throat thick and wide, just like his cock.

He hums, imagining the way your pussy is leaking as you watch the show he's putting on for you.

He's not a performer, not by any stretch of the imagination, but the way he moves his body has you thinking that maybe in a past life, he could have been. You'd pay good money to watch him on stage. You'd devote yourself to him. Watch from the crowd as he sold himself to a thousand people every night. He'd be the main event, the headlining act, and maybe if you were lucky, he'd stick around for an encore.

What a shame, you think, that he never took advantage of his boyish charm and deliriously handsome face - but more fool him. You're the one who gets to reap the benefits, as you watch him now, free of charge, front row seat.

And yet, somehow, he seems to adore the crowd more than the crowd adores him. It fills your ego. Has you convinced that you've ruined this poor boy's life. Maybe you have.

"You're gonna think of me for the rest of your life," you tell him of your conclusion from your perch up by the pillows.

He so often talks in definitive certainties, that it's only fair you return the favour - but, remember, you're just friends, according to Jungkook. Best not to get ahead of yourself.

You find yourself prowling down the bed on all fours, stopping just beyond his reach. There's something primal about his gaze now. Predatory - but you aren't his prey. You're not going to get caught.

"Give it twenty years," you simper, rolling onto your back so your ankles are by the pillows, eyes on his cock as you tilt your head back. Kneading one of your boobs, you let your other hand dip between your legs. "When you're married, and your poor wife can't get you hard anymore, it's gonna be me who you think about."

"Shit," he hisses, both hating and loving what you're saying. Hating it because you're probably right, but loving it because, again, you're definitely right.

"It's gonna be me," you repeat. "When you get hard in your car, 'cause another girl has put her hand on your thigh. It's gonna be me you're thinking about."

He wants to protest. Wants to tell you that there'll never be another girl. He'd be lying, probably, but fuck knows why he'd ever give you up. Would have to be insane, you think, or something like that.

You know just as much as he does, that symbiotic energy like yours doesn't occur all too often.

"When your couples therapist asks what you think could be done to spice up your dead marital bedroom, it's gonna be me - gonna be this, right now - that you think of."

"C," he husks, unable to even get the full term of endearment out. There's a clammy sheen to his body now, his arm jerking at such a pace his veins are all engorged and pretty, just how you like them.

"It's gonna be me," you say again, barely a whisper, but it's enough.

And he agrees. "It's gonna be you."

Victory and defeat all in one blow; you're his forever, but it's likely he won't be yours.

He senses the heaviness behind his words, and the weight they've put of your chest, so he tries distraction as a method of easing it.

"Open your legs," he husks, the final syllable catching in his throat. When you do as you're told, he fucking whines.

The slickness pooling around the top of your thighs is sticky and hot, strings of clear fluid connecting your legs - all of you - together as you spread yourself for him. He nods, and it's your turn to obey, now.

Your fingers begin to rub at your clit, and Jungkook almost just give himself upright in that second. He swallows back the saliva that's pooling in his mouth, his cock growing hotter and heavier in his grasp. The way he's pumping himself is gonna have him finishing far quicker than he'd like, but he can't stop.

Not when you're looking up at him like that. Not when you're matching his moans.

"Don't stop," you almost beg as you see him begin to ease up. Returning his eyes to yours, his lips are parted. His hand continues to jerk, just a little slower.

"I gotta," he whines, but does as he's told, his grip a little looser than it had been. The muscles in his abdomen are tight. His balls, too. You want them in your mouth.

He watches as you turn, resuming the position you'd been in earlier.

As you wrap your arms around his neck for support, Jungkook finds himself grunting, picking his pace back up. He can smell you, your gasoline hair and sweet pussy, and it has him unable to think straight. Unable to do anything other than jerk himself off for you, because it's what you want.

The world. He'd give you that. If you wanted it, he'd give you it. He thinks he'd give you anything. Everything. Whatever he could.

The only thing he can't give you, not really, is himself.

And so he'll settle for everything and anything else your heart could ever desire.

But as your lips meet his, he knows that he's fucked, and that the only thing you really want is him.

Your kisses are slow, and tepid; a stark difference from the way his hand is working his cock, but it's everything he needs. How selfish, it is, that he still gets what he wants.

Unaware, you pull away, pressing your foreheads together, lips brushing his as you say, "you're gonna cum for me, now."

He tries to ask where, but you just kiss him instead. You kiss, and you kiss, and you kiss, and he's so fucking consumed that he barely notices when he starts gasping against your lips. His body begins to stall, muscles mirroring the way he begins to stutter, and then it's happening.

The tip of his cock is pressed against your stomach as he begins to unload himself, once, twice, and then he's sensitive, and trying to pull back, but he's still coming and - "Oh, fuck, babe" - he's painting you white with the innocence of the way he feels about you.

It's everywhere by the time he's done; your tummy, the underside of your breasts, dripping down to the mound of your pussy. He can barely fucking breathe, so caught up in the way it always feels to have you kiss him through his orgasm.

His hands grip your jaw, pulling you in for more, because he needs to distract his mouth from the words he's scared are gonna tumble from it. You both ignore the fact they're covered in the seed that's just spilt over onto them. It's nothing new, after all.

It's not like he's gonna declare love, or anything fucking ridiculous like that, he just doesn't know how the fuck he feels - and that's dangerous.

Unpredictability only leads to messiness, which it could be argued is what's happening right now.

Still, Jungkook hooks his hands beneath your ass and moves onto the bed with you, and thinks it's a pretty nice problem to have.

His cock is firm still, nestled in the warmness of your pussy as your legs wrap around his hips. Neither of you care about his cum, and it's interesting how often you seem to be covered in one another, with no desire to rid yourselves of it.

He didn't make you cum, but it was your choice, this time.

It's funny, because you're one who is scared now that an orgasm could have you falling in love. You don't want to give him that power back. Not yet, at least.

Your kisses dissolve into light pecks, the pair of you unable to hold back from worshipping one another. But you must, for it's foolish to idolise mortal Gods.

"This doesn't seem very friendly, Kook," you whisper.

Your chest feels uneasy as you joke. He closes his eyes, hanging his head in shame against yours, knowing that it was him and his inability to ever say the right fuckin' thing that had you refusing to fuck him that evening.

He's not stupid. He knows you stopped him from making you cum. He knows why. And he hates himself for it.

He presses a kiss against your cheek, once, twice, and works his way to your lips. It's goofy, the way he's planting little seeds of love all over your skin, but only time will tell if he'll water them. For now, you think you'd quite like to imagine the wildflower garden that could bloom in their wake.

"It's cause it's not, CC," he admits. "It's not very friendly at all."

And then, you just can't seem to help yourself as you tease, "Even if I'm just a friend from Daegu?"

He smiles, because he knows you're trying to soothe the burn of his words. Naked, spent, and vulnerable, Jungkook rolls off of you, repositioning himself so that you can rest your head on his chest. Still, neither of you care to get cleaned up. There's no disgust, nor discomfort.

More fool the both of you for thinking that this isn't love.

"You're my only friend from Daegu," he whispers, pressing a kiss against your hair. It's not strictly true, but he sort of wishes that it was. Wishes he knew you before he knew them.

"What about your other friends?" You ask gently, because maybe it's your fault you don't know more about him. Maybe you just haven't been asking the right questions.

Jungkook pulls the comforter over your body, 'cause he can feel how hard your nipples are against his torso, and guesses that you aren't exactly still horny now that you're asking him shit like this. Again, there's zero care for clean up just yet. Zero care for anything but one another.

And then you tack on an extra little question that has Jungkook mentally groaning.

"Who's Taehyung?"

Convinced that you're snug like a little comforter-human-burrito, Jungkook holds you tightly. He's still stark bollock naked and doesn't really care to be covered, but he wants you warm. Wants you happy.

And knows that your happiness, now, rests on open communication.

"I knew Taehyung in high school," he eventually admits. "We were both on the boxing team, and we were friends, but -" he stops, and laughs a little. "Well, I kept beating him. So on the days I'd stay behind and work on my form, shit like that, Tae would..." Jungkook sighs. And then he laughs again. "This is so embarrassing." He gently shakes his head, and then thinks fuck it. You deserve the truth, so the truth is what you're gonna get. "I started going to club more often, thought about going pro. I was pretty serious about it. Got to the point where Tae couldn't compete with me - but one thing he could do, apparently, was fuck. And I didn't know, but apparently, he could turn that into a competition, 'cause on the days I trained alone, he'd go hook up with my girlfriend."

It doesn't upset Jungkook anymore. Not really. Annoys him a little - and means there was no way he was letting Taehyung think you meant anything more to him than just casual sex.

"Shit," is all you can say.

"Yeah," Jungkook sighs. "Went on for like, 6 months. I didn't know till my dick started fucking burning. Turned out he'd given her chlamydia from someone else and in turn, me."

"Bastard."

"Right? At least wrap it up if you're gonna fuck about. Anyways, after that, it was rare for him not to pursue any girl I was interested in," Jungkook finally admits, and it feels good to get it out. Good to share. Fucking fantastic, actually. "Me saying what I said... It was a defence mechanism more than anything, and I'm sorry. I just didn't wanna give him any reason to try it on with you."

You nod slowly, because there's a lot to unpack. "What happened? With the girl?"

"We broke up," he says honestly. "That was the nail in the coffin, really. He's done it with a few other girls I've dated or fucked since then, to the point where it's definitely a pattern of behaviour, but I tend to avoid serious relationships. If I'm being honest, I haven't had one since."

"Since high school?"

God, it's mortifying, he thinks. "Since high school."

Heartbreak is a funny thing, though. You're similar in that regard. Neither of you ever want to give another person the power to break the one thing keeping you alive. It's just asking for trouble.

Then again, every single fucking thing about your 'friendship' is asking for trouble. Maybe it's fitting.

"I'm sorry," you say, because you're not sure what else to say. He squeezes the comforter bundle you're in and shrugs.

"Don't be. Just please don't have sex with Kim fuckin' Taehyung."

You laugh, because such a thing feels absurd - but it would do. You trust Jungkook. You care about Jungkook. Care for him. Care for his opinions, his well-being.

Would be a shame if that ever were to change.

But that doesn't feel like a possibility right now, so you simply don't think about it. Instead, you ask the question that you've been holding back, because you wanted to at least look a little compassionate before you got ahead of yourself.

"So what you said to him about me," you begin, and he rolls his eyes, 'cause he knows exactly where you're going with this.

"So what I said about you."

"You lied."

"I lied, CC."

The way he whispers it back to you has you all giddy and docile for him. He's dangerous, in the most delectable way.

"You like me," you accuse, and you're met with a shallow kiss, his lips curving upwards because he can't help but smile at how fucking smitten you look.

"I'm terrified of you," he smiles. "The way you make me feel scares the living daylights out of me, CC. This isn't... I'm not good at this. I mean, hello? Been out of practice since high school."

"Mmmm," you interject, questioning his statement. "You've fucked plenty of girls since high school."

His eyes roll again, because he knows you're just trying to get him to be specific.

"What do you want me to say, huh, CC?" He nudges his nose against yours, his grin prevailing as he sinks them down into a kiss. "That I spend my whole entire fuckin' day thinking about you? You stay at my place all the time. My Netflix account reckons I'm halfway through season one of Gossip Girl." You smile. It's a guilty pleasure. You watch it at his place when he leaves early for work, or on the days you arrive before him. "There's a spare toothbrush by my sink, and it's yours."

The way he emphasises 'yours' has the chime in your stomach ringing like a church bell.

"I haven't been serious about anyone since high school, so yeah, I'm a bit out of practice. I don't wanna put labels on things or move too fast or say things I can't take back. I just know it would really fucking sting if you slept with Taehyung," he smiles, attempting to lighten the fact he's basically just put his heart on the line for you. "So please just... don't."

The issue is, Jungkook's forgetting himself.

He's forgetting that you're not just you. He's not just him. The way you met wasn't organic like you think it was, and he's letting himself get wrapped up in the idea that the pair of you are just normal people who found one another despite all odds.

The thought creeps into his mind, but frankly, he wants it to fuck off. So he kisses you. Slow and deep. Just him, and you.

If he'd have met you under different circumstances, he'd have probably already asked your father's permission to-

And then it hits him. The reminder that he can never have a happy ending with you, all thanks to your fucking father.

Jungkook asked you to come to Busan for a reason. There are things you need to see, things you need to understand before it all goes to shit.

"I want you to come somewhere with me tomorrow," he husks against your lips, your noses stroking gently against one another. "Somewhere important. I've got some errands to run, and I'll see my family alone, but after that, I wanna show you something."

You nod to confirm that it's okay. Of course, you don't mind him seeing his family alone, and you could do with running a few errands yourself, so it works out well. He's opening up. Sharing. And that's all you can ask for.

It has you thinking that maybe you should do the same for him.

"Thank you," he whispers.

It's a loaded phrase, and you're not sure which part he's thanking you for, but you accept it nonetheless.

This is progress, you think.

Funny, 'cause Jungkook's the blonde one. If anyone should be a dumb bitch, it's him.

But the blonde is fake, and he's smarter than he should be after all those blows to the head in the boxing ring.

You're private school educated. Could have been anything you wanted. Could have had the world. Your daddy worked hard to make sure of it.

But as Jungkook leads you to the bathroom, stripped of everything except for the stain of his sex, you think you already have the world.

You think, for once, you finally have something good that isn't the result of nepotism or political fear.

Your daddy worked hard. He worked real hard. He gave you the world, and then some - but the world doesn't come for free, and there's a little collateral that he never counted on caring enough to fuck with his self-made solar system.

Yeah, your daddy gave you the world.

But it's Jungkook's job to give it back to its rightful owners, whether he wants to or not.

And so, as the shower begins to heat up, and the pair of you are doing what you do so well, his phone begins to buzz in the bedroom. It goes unnoticed. It's not Jungkook's priority anymore, which leaves him in quite a predicament.

The outside world can wait for a moment. He's letting himself indulge in the fantasy of you one final time.

What a brilliant, intangible fantasy you are.

But fantasy is just that;

a lie.

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livelaughlovelando · 5 months

Text

Drag Racing In Miami (TZ11)

Warnings: Suggestive, Kissing? Idk what else

Authors note: for the longest time i've been obsessed with racing movies especially the Fast and Furious series so I had to write Trevor as a street racer like Brian O'Conner!

Today like most days I was in the shop working on a new car. A Nissan Skyline had made it's way in for slight body work repairs and some upgrades. As of current I was underneath the car changing the oil as it was low. "Hey how's it going man," I hear Ry say to someone entering the garage. "Ah not to bad, how's it going?" The person asks with a slight recognisable voice. "Pretty good, body works done now we're just doing some maintenance and service and it will be good to go," Ry answers. I hear their footsteps get closer to me indicating i'm working on the customers car. "Well, well, well if it isn't Y/N working on my car," Sliding out from under his car I am met with Trevor Zegras standing over me looking directly in my eyes. His hair wavy under his cap as he wears a white shirt and long shorts. It had been months since I heard or saw from him I can't help but slightly check him out.

"Zegras," I sigh. "You trying to sabotage me for our next race," He chuckles in a low voice. "Pfft as if Ry would let me do that," I laugh back. "I'd have her ass hanging off the roof," Ry nods. "Good," Trevor smiles, "so when you think it will be ready by?" "I've done most of the maintenance shit, just need to give it a little clean and polish and you can have it this afternoon," I say sitting up. "Sounds good i'll hang around then," He smirks at me. Rolling my eyes I lay back down and slide back under to see the oil has drained completely. Taking the container holding the left over oil I screw the cap back on and slide out from under the car. Carefully placing the container next to me I sit up. Long and behold I see Trevor sitting on a chair against the wall in front of me. Rolling my eyes at him I get up and carry the container to the table. "Just making sure your doing everything right," He laughs. "Yeah whatever," I sigh. Grabbing his car keys from the wall hooks I walk over to his car to unlock the doors. Opening the drivers door I lean in and find the instrument panel. After finding the leaver I hear the hood pop and I carefully get out shutting the door.

Making my way to the front of the car I lift the hood and pull down the stand to hold it up. Feeling Trevors eyes burning into my skin I know for a fact he's enjoying my outfit. A pair of short black bike shorts and a white tank top stained with dirt giving him a clear view of all my curves he adores so much. Leaning into the hood to place a funnel into the oil tank entrance I feel a pair of hands hold my hips. The persons lower body is pressed up against my ass as they lean down to get a view of what i'm seeing. "Do you know what your doing?" Trevor asks lowly in my ear. "It not hard to change a car's oil I do it all the time," I say turning my head to look at his. "I'm not talking about my car i'm talking about me, do you know what your doing to me," He says in a way that sounds almost like a whine. As if I wasn't sweating from working in the shop all day I definitely felt myself getting hotter everywhere. "I don't know what your talking about," I shrug trying to play it cool but I obviously do know what he's talking about. "Y/N," He whispers in my ear slowly bringing his lips to my neck. Shivers rush down my spin as I pour the oil into the funnel with shaky hands. "Trev stop," I say with a breathless voice. "Oh so i'm Trev now am I?" He chuckles recalling me referring to him as Zegras not that long ago. Putting the bottle down I turn myself around so i'm completely facing him. Carefully placing my arms around his neck I look into his eyes. His hands still holding my waist as he looks down at me. "You've been gone for months with no call, no nothing," I frown. "I know baby I had a job off the grid," He says apologetically. Turning my head away to not look at his face but he immediately uses his hand to softly bring my face back towards him. "I'm here now and i've missed you so much," He smiles. Watching his face soften a smile grows on my face. "How much?" I ask. "So fucking much," "Yeah?" I ask with a large smile. "Mhmm hmm," He nods. "I missed you too," I reply. As if his smile couldn't get any wider he leans down hovering his lips over mine. Using my arms to pull him further down I lean back and press my lips on his. Closing our eyes we deepen the kiss to show how much we truely missed each other. "Eh mhmm," I hear someone cough next to us. Pulling away I look over to see Ry cross armed looking directly at us. "Stop making out with the customers and finish his car," Ry chuckles. "Yeah finish my car," Trevor chuckles letting go of me and stepping back. Rolling my eyes playfully I give Trevor a small peck before taking the funnel of out the oil tank and placing it in the sink. Ry walks over to the cupboard to get the polishing and cleaning stuff to start finishing off the work on Trevor’s car. Checking everything under the hood is good I help Ry clean the car as Trevor hovers around us. With the music playing in the background I sing and dance around while wiping down the car. Once all the work was completed we tested everything was working right before handing the keys back over to Trevor.

“Your keys kind sir,” I say slightly bowing.

“Why thank you,” he smiles taking them from me.

Trevor stares at me for a second in deep thought before opening his mouth.

“You wanna take it for a drive?” He asks holding the key up for me to take.

“Trevor Zegras letting someone else drive his skyline?” I smirk, “unheard of,”

“I only let special people drive it,” he smiles.

A smile paints across my face as I hear his words.

“You saying I’m special?” I question.

Watching him walk closer to me he places his hand on my waist and lean down.

“So special,”

Quickly taking the keys out of his other hand I smile.

“Shall we?”

“We shall,”

Both of us walk to his car and I open the drivers door. Sliding into the seat I feel the steering wheel and admire the inside even though I’ve seen it before while working on it. Trevor notices the seat perfectly adjusted to my liking already and chuckles.

“Looks like someone was already sitting in here before,”

“Maybe,” I shrug giggling.

Starting the engine I listen to the roar which is music to my ears. Putting the car into gear I carefully drive the car out of the garage. It was already starting to get dark. Making my way to a quiet straight street I stop at the start. Looking over at Trevor for his approval he gives me a nod and I start to rip it down the straight. My smile grows as I feel the adrenaline rush through me. Trevor chuckles at my amusement and we quickly make it to the end of the strip. Not slowing down I drift round so we are facing where we started.

“You sure are something else,” he laughs.

Smiling I start the car back up and slowly drive us to a peaceful spot overlooking the beach. Parking up on the grass I look over at Trevor signalling we’re getting out. I open the door and slide out shutting it behind me. Climbing up on the bonnet of the car I sit with my knees to my chest and Trevor joins me doing the same. Placing an arm around my shoulder he brings me closer to him as I rest my head on his chest. The wind lightly blowing our hair around as we watch the tide come in.

“Never leave me without a message again,” I sigh, “I was worried sick, I thought you had a race and died without my knowledge,”

“A race without you with me, never, your my lucky charm,” he says kissing my head, “I’m sorry but I promise this is the last time I’ll be leaving you,”

“Good,”

Both of us lay back looking at the sky holding each other’s hand.

“What have you been doing while I was gone?” He asks intrigued.

“Well working on your car for starters, going to races, knocking on your door hoping you’d answer the door at some point, writing music like always and driving around searching for you,”

He sighs feeling awful for what he had done, “I’m sorry baby, you wanna stay the night at mine?”

Letting out a large yawn I nod.

“I’ll drive,” he says.

Both of us get up and I get into the passengers seat reclining it so I can sleep. He starts the car up and I shut my eyes slowly falling asleep. A hand rest on my thigh coming off and on as we slowly make our way to his place. A whisper of my name and I am shaken awake. Rubbing my eyes I see a familiar bungalow and Trevor leaning in the door. Sliding out of the car he shuts the door behind me and holds the backs of my shoulders guiding me to the front door. Unlocking it he opens the door and walk in. As he shuts the door he wraps his arms around my waist from behind resting his head on my shoulder.

“So are you hungry or should we just go straight to bed?”

“Sleep,” I chuckle.

“Alright then sleep it is,”

We walk through the lounge to his room and I take a seat on the edge of his bed. Watching him rummage through his drawers he throws a grey huffer shirt at me. Sliding my own white shirt cover in dirt over my head I expose my choice of bra. Feeling Trevor’s eyes burn into my skin as I slide of my bike shorts leaving me in just undergarments. He himself takes his shorts off leaving him in his shirt and boxers as he climbs into his bed. Following him I crawl towards him situating myself on top of him. Straddling him I see him smirk up at me with his arms behind his head.

“We’re sleeping you perv,” I chuckle.

“Yeah ok,” he smiles.

Leaning down I place a small peck on his lips before flopping down completely. Wrapping my arms around his torso I rest my head on his chest.

“Good night Trev,”

“Good night Y/N,”

Letting out a large yawn I talk, “I love you,”

I hear Trevor’s heart speed up, “what was that?” He asks trying to clarify why I said.

“I love you Trevor,” I repeat.

There’s a large pause as Trevor takes it all in.

“I love you too Y/N,” he says kissing the top of my head and wrapping hair arms around me to bring me closer.

#trevor zegras #nhl #nhl fic #fast and furious #trevor zegras fic #trevor zegras x reader #nhl x reader

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anthrofreshtodeath · 1 year

Note

Mechanic AU. Please?

This one's for you and @dirtyrobber70 who also requested the mechanic AU. I will say 1) I know fuck all about cars 😂 and 2) there are no real working class areas in the north end. Not anymore.

There are so many points to suspend your disbelief in this one it's ridiculous. But we're here to have fun, right?

“No… no no no no no,” Maura Isles, neurosurgeon coming off the tail end of one of the worst twenty-four shifts of her entire life, pounds on the steering wheel of her Mercedes C300 as she eases it to the side of the road about ten blocks from her home. It’s smoking under the hood, and she can feel how hot it’s getting. From the inside. “This cannot be happening.”

It is indeed happening, right at 6:45 PM when the end of her shitty day is in sight. The end drifts much farther away, and she wants to cry when she slaps her hazards on and calls AAA for a tow.

She waits for nearly an hour, when a tall, handsome Italian with wavy brown hair hops out of the truck and nods at her. She thinks her evening is turning around when she ogles him, maybe just a bit, but then, the Italian speaks.

“Oh wow. I hope you don’t mind me sayin’ this, but you’re so hot,” he tells her, running a hand through his hair, dragging his gaze up and down her body. “I uh, I usually don’t get customers that look like you.”

Maura rolls her eyes. She is often kind, even to men like this. Men who probably paid someone to take his SATs. She also often doesn’t make assumptions, but she’s exhausted and he has been unbelievably rude. “What do you mean? We’re in Beacon Hill. There’s someone like me on every block.”

“Oh no, sweetheart, not like you,” he reiterates with another leer. But then, he holds out his hand for her to shake, standing a respectable distance away. “Giovanni Gilberti, of Gilberti and Sons towin’,” he tells her.

She takes his hand and his grip is firm despite how limp hers is. “Well, Mister Gilberti, I would truly appreciate it if you help me get to a mechanic.” Cars whiz by them, and their conversation is had to the soundtrack of busy Boston in the background.

“Well,” Giovanni rubs the back of his neck and checks his watch, “there’s really only one place open right now, and they’re in the North End. And they’re kinda pricey. But they do work on Benzes.”

“I’ll pay whatever,” says Maura with a frustrated sigh, a guttural puff of air that complements the gritty asphalt smell. “Just take me there.”

“Alright then,” Giovanni agrees. “Hop in the cab and I’ll hook this baby up. Whew - that’s not lookin’ good. A few more feet and you mighta caught fire,” he whistles when he sees the smoke still billowing from under the white hood.

Maura’s teeth set again. “I’ll be in the truck,” she grumbles.

___

She’s greeted by another Italian business when they finally arrive at Rizzoli Motors, a quaint looking shop nestled deeply within the North End, beyond all the fancy restaurants and historical landmarks. In fact, it’s in the quieter, more working-class part of the neighborhood, and Maura is filled with doubt. Doubt, mingled with her exhaustion, creates snippiness. She holds her purse close to her body when Giovanni takes her into the shop between two cars already in for repairs. “Owner’s office is back here,” he says, leading her toward a small cube of a room in the corner of the shop with the door propped open. “Hey Rizzolis!”

Maura expects more knuckleheads like him to emerge, and she hopes, for their sakes, that they are just as attractive, because he’s already been hard to stomach.

She does not expect a woman’s voice to answer. “Jesus, G, you scared the shit outta me. What’s the - oh. Hello,” it says. It comes out of the woman wiping some kind of sandwich dressing from the corner of her mouth, putting her washed, but still oil-tinged thumb in it and sucking.

“This here is uh,” Giovanni stops, and he’s realized he never got Maura’s name.

“Doctor Maura Isles,” Maura emphasizes the doctor just because all her frustration needs to go somewhere, and this woman, in navy coveralls and her hair pulled back from the smudges on her face, is the first person she sees.

“What can I do for you, Doctor?” Jane gives it right back. Then, her dark, lively, cutting eyes spot the Mercedes on the truck out back. “Yeesh. Nevermind, I see it.”

“This is Jane Rizzoli,” Giovanni cuts in, stands between them before either of the two can strangle the other. “She owns the place.”

Maura chews on the inside of her cheek until it hurts because Jane looks at neither of them now. She gazes only at the car, and starts a slow walk towards it. Maura feels ignored. “Can you help me?”

“Yeah. G? Get it into bay three,” Jane answers. Maura feels a flutter in her belly like she does anytime she watches someone work. Someone in their element.

“You got it, Janie,” Giovanni heads back out.

“And G?”

“Yeah, kid.”

“Get the hell outta here when you’re done,” Jane barks. Giovanni laughs even though Maura doesn’t think it’s a joke.

___

“Usually customers wait in the office,” Jane grumbles from under the propped up hood of Maura’s car. She’s got eye protection on now, and gloves.

Maura is inches away, peering into the guts. “It’s empty. You and I are the only ones here.”

“And outta the two of us, I’m the only mechanic,” Jane counters.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t know how to spot a job well done,” Maura replies. “Or one not so well done.”

Jane stands up straight. She’s Maura’s foil in most every way, covered in grime and workwear while Maura wears a sleeveless white dress with a navy blazer over it, the whole ensemble costing well over five thousand dollars not including the shoes. Jane’s hair is wild and dark despite being tied behind her head, while Maura’s falls in wheat-colored waves about her shoulders and back. “What’re you tryin’ to say here? I don’t do good work? You don’t know me.”

Maura steps back, pretending to survey her surroundings. She even pokes her head out to look at the buildings near theirs. “Your shop isn’t exactly in the most affluent part of town. And you’re open very late. You must be desperate to drum up business. Maybe because there are other, better places in town?”

“This is my home,” Jane says. “I like to give back to the people that raised me. And you know what? Yeah, it’s not exactly Back Bay out here. But that doesn’t stop me from doin’ pretty well for myself.”

“I-”

“And you know why I do well for myself?” Jane presses on, derails Maura’s next utterance. “Because I’m open late - and I’m open late because uppity, rich doctors like you, they drive fancy cars like this and work crazy hours. So when they get off work, guess where they come?”

“To you,” Maura plays along, because she has to admit, she’s been schooled.

Jane gets close to her now, just to prove her point and to show off her anger. Maura smells oil and something slightly fruity, maybe coolant. “To me. Your radiator’s leakin’. See this plastic part here?”

Maura peers in, and Jane doesn’t exactly move very far to accommodate. They’re side by side, almost touching, as they study it. “This one?” Maura points to confirm.

“Yeah that one. It’s cracked and brittle. From deposits. That causes a leak, which gets you… whoosh,” Jane explains, and then imitates a rush of fire. “It’s gotta be replaced. You’re looking at like 1700 bucks.”

Maura fights a smile. Neurosurgeon or not, she needs a simple explanation and Jane gives it to her. She knows nothing about cars. And suddenly, she realizes how lucky she is to be standing next to Jane, and not in a fiery wreck over by Storrow. “I… I’m sorry. That wasn’t about you.”

“Usually isn’t,” Jane says.

“I just… I’ve had the worst day at work and now this. I behaved rudely. There’s no excuse,” Maura sighs and closes her eyes hoping to banish the headache barreling toward her.

“There isn’t,” Jane stands up straight again, and this time her gaze is understanding, and not combative. “But it happens to the best of us.” Then, Jane looks around the empty garage, and snaps her fingers. “Tell you what. Why don’t I pull out a chair from the office, and you can at least relax while you supervise me.”

“Jane, I-”

“No, no, come on. I’ve got some beers in the fridge, too,” Jane insists.

“You drink while you work?” Maura asks, skepticism rising again.

“I’ll have soda water, sheesh,” Jane says, but she winks when she does. “We’ll get some music goin’ and you can listen to me talk while I wheel under the body there and drain the radiator. Or, you can tell me all about your crappy day. Deal?”

Maura contemplates for a moment, then she shakes her head, putting her hand to it. What the hell. “Sure, sure. Why not.”

“Good, good,” says Jane. And she disappears for just a moment to retrieve that chair and those beers.

The end of Maura’s shitty day is finally, yet again, in sight.

#ask anthrofreshtodeath #otp prompts march 2023 #the rest of the prompts coming tomorrow and Saturday #this one is more sweet and innocent #which is rare for me lol

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aadhunikayurveda · 1 year

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slutty-spider-talk · 2 years

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Angel I'm gonna call and ask to audition at a strip club. Got some advice?

Call multiple clubs and see what their rules/house charge is. You will have ta pay a fee to work. For example if you only make 50 bucks and the house fee is 100 bucks then you gotta pay what you made and an additional 50 bucks.

Most clubs have a dress code. Things like heels no shorter then 6 inches are allowed etc. Also some states have rules. For example if you are serving alcohol usually it's topless ONLY in some states.

HYGIENE please wash and make sure your nails and hair and makeup look good. Avoid heavy body spray and glitter. These johns are sneakin' out they don't wanna get caught.

DO NOT LICK THE DAMN POLE. Also no baby oil or lotion.

Bring two outfits!

Be expected to work! They might hire ya on the spot.

Go as a customer first and talk to the girls. See how they like it and ask em about the rules etc. TIP THEM!

Make sure you got a valid dancer license.

You will have ta pay taxes. Make sure you save all recipes on your outfits, make up, gas, food..etc

You don't have ta do a thousand pole tricks. Make sure to keep the crowed engaged and be nice. Good eye contact, conversation, and sex appeal!

Good luck babe!

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel rp #angel dust #hazbin hotel angel dust #hazbin angel dust #angel dust hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel ask #hazbin hotel roleplay

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mcwilliamstaylor09 · 2 years

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priyanshisingh · 10 days

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Growing environmental consciousness among consumers leads to higher demand for sustainable and eco-friendly baby hygiene products.

Companies investing in sustainable practices and products, such as biodegradable diapers and natural ingredient-based skincare, can capture a loyal customer base.

Brand Expansion and Market Penetration-

Established brands expanding their presence in untapped markets and rural areas can drive significant growth.

Localizing products and marketing strategies to suit regional preferences can enhance market penetration.

Key Players:

Procter and Gamble

Kimberly-Clark Corporation

Johnson and Johnson Services, Inc

Unilever Group

Nestle S.A

Abbott Nutrition

The Himalaya Drug Company LTD

New Avon Company

Artsana S.P.A

Dabur International Limited

Danone S A

Weleda AG

Beiersdorf Group

Burts Bees, Inc

LOreal S.A.

More About Report- https://www.credenceresearch.com/report/baby-hygiene-products-market

Baby Hygiene Products Market Key Findings of Study:

Product Segmentation

Diapers hold the largest share of the market, with a significant shift towards disposable and biodegradable options.

Baby wipes are the second-largest segment, with increasing demand for eco-friendly and organic variants.

Skincare products, including baby lotions, creams, and powders, are also witnessing substantial growth due to rising concerns about skin sensitivity and allergies.

Consumer Preferences

There is a growing preference for premium and organic baby hygiene products as parents become more conscious of the potential impacts of chemicals and synthetic materials on their babies.

Convenience and ease of use are critical factors driving the demand for disposable hygiene products.

Technological Advancements

Innovations in product formulations, such as hypoallergenic and natural ingredients, are gaining popularity.

Technological advancements in packaging, such as resealable wipes packages and eco-friendly materials, are enhancing product appeal.

Distribution Channels

E-commerce has become a significant distribution channel, providing convenience and a wide range of products to consumers.

Supermarkets and hypermarkets continue to be major retail channels, but online sales are growing rapidly due to the convenience and competitive pricing they offer.

Regional Insights

North America and Europe are mature markets with high penetration rates for premium baby hygiene products.

The Asia-Pacific region is the fastest-growing market, driven by large populations, increasing urbanization, and rising disposable incomes.

Latin America and the Middle East & Africa are also showing strong growth potential due to improving economic conditions and increasing awareness of baby hygiene.

Segmentation

By Diapers and Wipes:

Disposable Diapers

Cloth Diapers

Baby Wipes

By Bathing and Cleansing Products:

Baby Shampoos and Washes

Baby Bath Tubs and Accessories

Baby Soaps and Cleansers

By Oral Care Products:

Baby Toothbrushes

Baby Toothpaste

By Skin Care Products:

Baby Lotions and Creams

Diaper Rash Creams

Baby Powders

Browse the full report – https://www.credenceresearch.com/report/baby-hygiene-products-market

Browse Our Blog: https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/baby-hygiene-products-market-outlook-global-trends-forecast-analysis-mgb0f

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robertbaily · 17 days

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Best Skin Care Products

In the realm of beauty and self-care, skincare stands as a cornerstone for many individuals. In India, a diverse market with a rich cultural heritage, the demand for quality Best Skin Care Products is ever-growing. With an increasing emphasis on health and beauty, consumers are on the lookout for brands that offer both effectiveness and safety. Here, we delve into some of the top skincare brands that have gained prominence in India, each bringing its unique blend of innovation, tradition, and efficacy to the table.

Forest Essentials: Rooted in Ayurveda, Forest Essentials has carved a niche for itself by offering luxurious skincare products crafted from pure, natural ingredients. From their decadent facial mists to their indulgent body oils, each product reflects a commitment to traditional recipes and sustainable practices. With a focus on preserving ancient Ayurvedic formulations, Forest Essentials presents a harmonious blend of heritage and modernity.

Kama Ayurveda: Drawing inspiration from Ayurvedic texts, Kama Ayurveda has garnered a loyal following for its authentic, high-quality skincare offerings. Their range of products, which includes everything from face cleansers to hair oils, is formulated using potent botanicals and time-tested remedies. Emphasizing purity and efficacy, Kama Ayurveda caters to discerning consumers seeking holistic skincare solutions.

Biotique: With a mission to marry Ayurveda with modern science, Biotique has emerged as a go-to brand for affordable yet effective skincare solutions. From acne-fighting treatments to skin brightening serums, Biotique’s extensive product line caters to a wide range of skin concerns. By harnessing the power of plant extracts and advanced technology, Biotique delivers results-driven skincare that doesn’t break the bank.

Himalaya Herbals: Himalaya Herbals has long been synonymous with natural wellness, offering a diverse range of skincare products infused with herbal ingredients. Whether it’s their purifying neem face wash or their nourishing moisturizers, Himalaya Herbals prioritizes gentle yet potent formulations. Backed by decades of expertise in herbal science, the brand continues to resonate with consumers seeking gentle, nature-inspired skincare solutions.

Lotus Herbals: Combining the best of botanicals and scientific innovation, Lotus Herbals has become a household name in the Indian skincare landscape. Their extensive range of skincare products caters to various skin types and concerns, offering solutions that are both effective and affordable. With a commitment to quality and safety, Lotus Herbals stands as a testament to India’s growing prowess in the beauty industry.

The Body Shop: A global brand with a local appeal, The Body Shop has captured the hearts of Indian consumers with its ethical stance and environmentally conscious practices. Offering a plethora of skincare products infused with natural ingredients, The Body Shop advocates for cruelty-free beauty and sustainability. From their iconic body butters to their innovative skincare ranges, the brand encourages customers to embrace self-care while caring for the planet.

Mamaearth: Catering to the needs of both mothers and babies, Mamaearth has quickly risen to prominence with its range of safe, toxin-free skincare products. Founded on the principles of clean beauty, the brand offers a wide array of gentle yet effective formulations suitable for sensitive skin. By prioritizing transparency and sustainability, Mamaearth has earned the trust of consumers looking for safe and eco-friendly skincare options.

Plum: Known for its vegan and cruelty-free products, Plum has garnered attention for its commitment to clean and transparent skincare. From their nourishing face oils to their refreshing toners, Plum’s offerings are formulated with carefully chosen ingredients that prioritize skin health and well-being. With a focus on sustainability and inclusivity, Plum appeals to consumers seeking ethical and efficacious skincare solutions.

The skincare landscape in India is teeming with Beauty Products brands that cater to diverse preferences and needs. From those rooted in ancient Ayurvedic traditions to others embracing modern innovations, each brand brings something unique to the table. As consumers become increasingly discerning about the products they use on their skin, these brands stand out for their commitment to quality, efficacy, and ethical practices, making them the best skincare brands in India.

Read More Wedsite: https://flipsale.in/products/silicone-eyeliner-applicator-guide-brush-makeup-tool

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eskildsenfrank35 · 1 month

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Purchase Organic Food Products & Groceries Online In India

Where many mousses depart your hair feeling barely crunchy and stiff, this greatest drugstore product for curly hair has a hydrating method that shapes and holds curls and coils with a soft-to-the-touch end. Ingredients like shea butter, coconut oil, and olive oil make your hair look and feel healthier in the lengthy term, too. Baby K’tan carrier is on of the preferred eco-friendly products in the marketplace. Made of one hundred pc licensed organic cotton that's not solely secure for you and child but presents the softest cuddles. The low value is as a outcome of many of the organic products at ALDI are bought underneath a private label called Simply Nature, similar to the Trader Joe's mannequin. This permits ALDI to offer the items at a lower price in comparison with a reputation model. The whole Maya Chia organic skincare line revolves around supercritical chia seed oil. Chia oil is an anti-aging surprise ingredient that's full of antioxidants and clinically confirmed to increase skin hydration. Maya Chia's patented extraction course of permits for the gentle extraction of chia oil at max potency. Their products are made within the USA and their ingredients are both licensed organic or wildcrafted. Must strive products embrace their Supercritical Omega-3 Chia Facial Oil and their Eye Achiever serum. Almond and black currant help to minimize back irritation and cut back cracking and splitting. With all these natural highly effective ingredients, the method tackles flaky skin, promotes hydration, and soothes dryness concurrently. The chain says that every one packaged meals with an organic label are licensed by the USDA and meet their guidelines. And though the selection could additionally be smaller than many other organic grocers, the costs really cannot be beaten. In reality, a author at Business Insider estimated an organic meals shop at Walmart may save you about 15% compared to the same gadgets at Whole Foods. Target's private-label Good & Gather even has an organic model with gadgets produced without artificial pesticides, fertilizers, or GMOs. Organic hair products are made with natural ingredients and don't comprise dangerous chemical compounds like sulfates, parabens, and phthalates. Dry shampoo is a well-liked hair product, but additionally one of many worst offenders if you're not using a natural and organic version. This USDA-certified organic dry shampoo is totally safe and healthy for your body and the setting. True Botanicals has received numerous awards for its commitment to sustainable and safe skincare. If you need certified natural products it is a brand you'll find a way to trust. As you’d anticipate from this brand it’s all primarily based on organic farming and all natural elements somewhat than traditional beauty trade chemical substances (which would possibly cause pores and skin cancer, who knows?). One of the outstanding benefits of organic hair dyes is its common utility. People with sensitive skin can get pleasure from utilizing it, too, as well as pregnant mothers. organic products shop All natural plant-based skincare line Stark was founded in 2011 and was designed to fortify pores and skin in opposition to external aggressors corresponding to airborne VOCs, smoke, and air pollution. Their line is efficient, potent and thoughtfully crafted combining old plant wisdom with fashionable beauty chemistry. This gel comes specifically beneficial by Bullock, and it also seems to be a favorite amongst customers. Multiple reviewers write that they love the odor and the effective medium hold of this product, with one adding that it "keeps [curls] moist and never onerous or crunchy." According to Bullock, finding one of the best products for natural hair is all about steadiness. "Using moisturizing products will cause your hair to be too soft and haven't any elasticity," she explains. Unlike natural and different eco-label claims, only organic offers government-backed assurance that products are grown and processed without using poisonous chemical substances, antibiotics and synthetic progress hormones. Read on to learn what makes organic essentially the most closely regulated food system, and why it's price it to trust the organic label above others. You in all probability have many components you’ll need to make your individual eco-friendly cleaning products in your pantry proper now. Due to the huge variety of organic dyes out there available in the market, you may need the help of a professional stylist to choose your finest option for an organic dye. For instance, hair that is broken will grip the colour quicker than thick, wholesome hair, but it might not last as long. Organic hair dyes have numerous natural components and essential vitamins, which are helpful to your hair. Your hair will be nourished and conditioned after every coloring, turning into stronger, shinier, thicker, and healthier. The dye makes use of hydrating conditioners and coconut oil to reduce the frizz and smoothen the hair’s coarseness for a healthier look.You can simply apply the cream utilizing the non-drip ammonia-free method. The base of this dye is totally natural, and excludes harmful chemicals. Everything within the line is made with pure, organic, 100% coconut oil that’s sustainably sourced from the Philippines. This natural physique lotion—it’s infused with coconut to soften and hydrate skin however by no means feels greasy or sticky. Tons of brands label their products “non-toxic,” “green,” and/or “clean,” but in reality, these phrases don’t mean something because they’re not regulated by the FDA. That’s not to say every thing you see on your favorite product label is a lie—it simply implies that as a client, you have to do your personal research in phrases of shopping for natural and organic skincare. Ilike Organic Skin Care is likely considered one of the most beloved organic skin care strains round.

#natural organic products #organic products for sale #natural and organic products #organic products shop online #organic products shop

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astarab1aze · 1 month

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➥ Deathbird

⸻Technical Information. // Face, Voice, etc.

01. Faceclaim. Enigma [ Musaigen ] 02. VG Faceclaim. Nyotengu [ Dead or Alive ] 04. Voice Claim. Arwen (Liv Tyler) [ LOTR ]

⸻Profile Information. // Name, Age, etc.

01. Name. Karasuka Kuraime 02. Alias. Crovita, Vita [ Later, Deathbird of Askarra ] 03. Sex. All sex organs are cloacal. [ Female ] 04. Gender. Female 05. Age. 129 [ Dependent, but physically about late 20s-early 30s ] 06. Birth Date. September 24th [ Peacekeeper ] 07. Blood Type. Sub-type HAA+ 08. Race. Harpy, Askarran by nationality ; Chimerian by ethnicity. 09. Marital Status. Single [ Multiship ] 10. Orientation. Demiromantic [ Bisexual / fem preference ] 11. Residence. In an elaborately furnished and entirely too-large-for-one-person manor provided by the Azzar in Sekora, the Askarri royal capital.

⸻Physical Information. // Body, Equipment, Family, etc.

17. Physical Description. Her appearance is altogether rather youthful ; She has long raven hair that reaches the midpoint of her back, silky soft, an oil-slick shine to it, and she typically keeps it down with her fringe oscillating between hime-cut or straight-cut or in a traditional Askarri braid. Smooth and well-maintained. Her eyes are heterochromic, the right being piercing gold and the left a rich royal purple - a vivid representation of her magic as well as genetics. They are always framed by smoky eyeshadow and thick, long lashes. Her skin tone is a pale neutral tone and she usually wears a layer of makeup that accentuates the curves and angles of her face, with winged eyeliner and a point at the inner corners of both eyes, and black rouge. She stands at an odd 6'1" / 185cm, rather tall and long-legged. She has a classic coke-bottle body shape, curvy and generally proportioned well. She can be seen wearing Askarri bedlah, custom dresses like, assassin's garb, leather armor, and custom heavy armor. Similarly to Asuka, she has beauty marks in random places on her body, with her most noteable being the one on her left breast and the other just below her lower lip (also on the left). While she's able to concel her harpy appearance, she is still very much a harpy ; Her feathers are sleek oil-slick, sweeping and sturdy, with her arms serving as her wings in much the same way as Asuka. Taloned fingers at the end to function as hands. Her tail feathers are long and some curve upward at the end, but are strong and otherwise perfect for flight and balance. Both legs are relatively human to a certain point, til about mid-thigh, before making way for tufts of feathers, leather black skin, and finally more talons. She has a number of scars both on her face and all over her body, but she hides them with prejudice.

13. Equipment. Crovita is prepared for anything, so she's got a limitless bag filled with: Tungskin, singing stones, knives, her twinblade, her greatsword, her palmseal, explosive alchemical reagents, scrying glass, invisibility potions, healing draughts, a blackwyrm whistle, husbandry tools, witchlights, flamedancers, various international currencies, border passes, the list goes on. 14. Occupation. A sorcier working as Azzar Malik al-Askarra's court mage, doubling as an intelligence agent, or Shade ; Unfortunately for her, she happens to be Malik's favorite. 15. Job Performance. Highly prized by the Azzar and respected by other mages, but sort of balanced on the edge of a knife in terms of politics. 16. Parents. Unknown Black Eyrie priestess (deceased) and the first gryphon, Ágrifa. 17. Siblings. TBA

⸻Personality Information. // Likes, Strengths, etc.

18. Likes. Nighttime, night markets, making beefy men squirm, money, bloodwine, peace flower, dragon's breath, black rouge, anything that accentuates her cleavage, expensive lingerie, witch-fingers, bloody delights (high in iron!), flirting, dancing, vibrant landscapes, parlor tricks, anything Asuka does with their painting, Asuka's feathers, the painting of Asuka as a baby she keeps in her study, etc. 19. Dislikes. The Azzar, most criminals, most people, stuffy by-the-book types, not working / keeping herself busy, being controlled, cottonmouth cakes, scarbuncle cheese, daytime, the ocean, anyone with an ego the size of Myrrdin, Sanguinarians, Wildlings, Myrrdinian monster hunters, ignorance, trolls, botchlings, , etc.

20. Positive Traits. Nurturing. Loving. Doting. Independent. Resilient. Resourceful. Intelligent. Motherly. Understanding. Playful. Protective. Careful. Deliberate. Thorough. Supportive. Perceptive 21. Negative Traits. Secretive. Distrustful. Overbearing. Selfishly selfless. Blunt at times. Moody. Stubborn. Manipulative. Possessive. Workaholic. Occasional bleeding heart. Overprotective. Vicious. 22. Goals. To keep Asuka as far away from brewing conflict as possible and reveal the Azzar for who he really is to his people. 23. Desires. For Asuka to be safe and happy and, perhaps, also to be loved. 24. Alignment. Neutral Good

25. Personality. Crovita is a very complicated woman. She comes across as a sensual delight, happy to make your night, pepper you with inky black kisses and dote on you till morning - and to a degree, she quite literally is. But you'll never know who she is, what's important to her, who's important to her, what her name is, if you'll see her again. She's mysterious and beautiful, and means business when it comes down to brass tacks; Brutal with an appetite for control and long battles of attrition, choke out the competition. She uses her skills to tip the scales in her favor, always ensuring she comes out of any scenario on top, even when the outcome is too much of an unknown to even bother gambling with. A natural at negotiation, steering a conversation, and risk assessment. But she's horribly closed off from most emotional attachments, denying herself the distraction from work and Asuka. She's a focused, capable woman, and she's always got a trick up her sleeve in any given situation. But her love for Asuka may sometimes cloud her judgment. Anyone she loves especially will end up smothered by her in some way, whether by too thorough check-ins or by genuinely too much affection. She's overbearing and overprotective, and although it all comes from such a place of love and care, it is often too much. It's a good sign, if she feels protective like this toward you, but it can also be the opposite depending on your perspective.

⸻Sorcery Information. // Element, Talent, etc.

26. Affinity. Necrotic, Spacial, and Blood - high manipulation skill ; The older a harpy is, the more types of magic they can acquire and control, usually about every 50-100 years depending on the harpy - exceptions are uncommon but not entirely rare either.27. Shapeshifting. Low-level Multishifting - she can transform into an odd array of animals and inanimate objects, though she is imperfect in practice ; If you know what to look for, you'll notice ; She can also hide her harpy features this way. 28. Utility. Illusions, dispelling, wards, binding, trapping, alchemy, husbandry, curses, magical theory & history, lockpicking, anatomy, enchantments, synthesis, and more - she knows a lot of things and can put them well to practice. 29. Specialization. Shadow magic - the resulting sub-school of magic between necromancy and illusions ; This allows her to become a shadow, become invisible, manipulate shadows, create them, and just about everything else. She's quite adept at it too, being a sort of pioneer of a lost school. 30. Graduate School. She didn't technically attend any school, but recieved tutoring from Askarri Shades and mages from the Zerine Mages' University- the only active school for mages on the pangea ; Extremely dedicated to quality, well-rounded education and therefore expensive, though they do offer scholarships based on potential ; Open to all magic folk, or those who can afford it ; Generally treated as a sort of haven for them. 31. Classification. Deathbird - necrotic harpies in the service of the Fates who transform into enormous undead crows ; This transformation greatly amplifies the potency of their necrotic magic, boosts their defenses significantly, and wreathes them in shadows darker than even the deepest recesses of the Myhalas, their shadows devouring all light ; The deathbird form is usually short-lived depending on the circumstances, functioning as a sort of 'rage mode' for necrotic harpies in the Fates' favor ; This is also the form they take when they die, ever to serve the Fates as guardians and dealers for and of death itself, but mindless in their duty.

⸻Background Information. // Past to Present.

When she was little, perhaps no older than freshly hatched, Crovita's mother was approached by Askarri Shades and the then-Azzar on an annual visit to the Black Eyrie. They offered her safety, prosperity, peace, promising her child would be well-taken care of and trained in magic, if she honored the ages-old treaties between Askarra and Chimeria upon their next visit to the Eyrie and gave Crovita to them as their ward. She agreed. How could she not? If Crovita would be protected, educated, safe from the threats of Chimerian undead and wildlife, from Wildlings and Myrrdinian monster hunters, when the population of the Black Eyrie was beginning to wane and weaken, how could she not jump at the chance?

She left the Black Eyrie with Crovita, before the torrents of the following spring rain could begin their monsoon, before the Askarri returned, and made way for the southwestern border through the trecherous, vicious, stormy countryside of Chimeria. Like any native of the land, she had little trouble aside from a few close calls - but it wasn't Chimeria that would prove the danger in the first place. In a few weeks' time, she reached the border crossing, staying at an inn for the night to rest, and in the night, the town was raided by Wildlings - and they brought Myhala with them, nameless horrors from deep within the earth and a time long-ended. They slaughtered the crossing's people, and in the panic, Crovita's mother sought to get away; Alas, a Wildling, wielding a bloodied axe, caught her by the wing before she could take flight and swung. She fell to her knees, wings broken, head hanging from her neck by threads, and in what precious few moments she'd had before she died, she angled her body just right and shielded Crovita from harm.

Arriving in twilit morning, the Azzar and his Shades, half-through their journey to the Black Eyrie, were too late. Countless bodies littered the crossing, dismembered, slashed, and half-eaten, buildings burning in veritable pyres, but there was an unsettling cry among the crackling of the flames - the wail of a child. When at last they'd found her, a decision was made, and she was taken back to Askarra, accompanied by only one of the Azzar's guard. Great care was taken in the effort, and upon arrival in Sekora, the royal capital, she was cared for by the palace nursemaids and, a few years later, the Azzar's Shades. As she was too little to understand what'd happened or even to remember it, it was easy for her to adapt to palace life, brought up as a noble, officially, and training meanwhile to become a Shade herself.

The training itself began when she was roughly five-years-old and was altogether incredibly grueling, involving a series of stealth- and magic-related trials to gauge aptitude and grind out much of the softness in her heart - all of which resulted in the deaths of other prospective Shades and unfathomable pains besides, permanently scarred in more ways than one and forced to ignore and suppress her emotions. She faced a monster of the Myhalas, let loose in the city sewers, slimes, undead, necromancers, murderers, thieves, rapists, torture, starvation, isolation-- So young, thrust into danger at a mere thirteen, forced to maim, kill, and make moral decisions before she could ever truly understand or appreciate the gravity of such things. Well, now she might've had an idea.

In the midst, she took what little personal time she had between the overwhelming physical exhaustion, vomiting, training, and viscerally haunting nightmares to hone her magic all the more. If she was to be a tool, then let her be a razor. In some ways, despite her experiences, she'd accepted that this was the price to pay for a home. At least harpies were venerated as opposed to oppressed, beloved and respected as loyal allies to Askarra, living symbols of an apparent ancient alliance. Even if she'd no say, no ability to turn away from the Azzar on principle, she was honorbound to repay him for taking care of her and teaching her how to survive on her own. So her magic became her focus, and she would spend countless years mastering both spacial and necrotic magic, the fringes of another, darker affinity presenting itself.

At eighteen, it was time for her to be accepted into the fold properly as a Shade, where she was then to pledge fealty to Askarra and the Fates. An elaborate ritual would follow, both of intense pain and pleasure, purpose and sloth, past and future, incense and bloodletting on a full moon - having her eye ripped from her skull and replaced with a blessed stone, both Mausza and the Sightless Eye's boon; The gift of extraordinary power and magic, unique abilities and enhancements, at the cost of her soul. She took the chance, cementing her place as a Shade in the palace, and suffering in silence in the aftermath.

Shortly thereafter a party was held in her honor at which many nobles and mages attended, and she would meet one Tethis Surna, the University's archmage. They spoke at length and Tethis was impressed by her intellect, sensing something great in her, and she by the breadth of his skills and power, humbled by the Black Eyrie's Seraph. As it would soon be time for her to depart to further her training as a mage, Tethis floated the idea that he'd mentor her and teach her everything he knew - a bird like her didn't belong cooped up in the tower. She left for Zuri with him the following week, permissions granted by the Azzar under... manageable conditions.

From that point on, she traveled all over the continent with Tethis, learning how best to use different forms of necromancy, how much potential her shadow magic truly had, how to tame a chimera and exorcise a banshee, how to turn undead and teleport, how to bless and banish curses, and so on. Knowledge gained honing the blade of her mind and body even more. Seeing the Widow's Tangle of the Diremark, experiencing weeks of undead siege warfare in the Dustveil, fighting Myhala on the road and sealing their tunnels, enjoying the visceral poetry of Vitale's hellmouth, dabbling in the Yuurei's mysticism, burrowing deep into dwarven keeps of the Barrowfells. She apprenticed under him for nearly sixty years, slowly, unnoticeably falling in love with him.

But when such came a time she did notice, she made her feelings known and he accepted them with indifference, but any reciprocation however small was enough for her. Her apprenticeship came to an end and she returned to Askarra significantly wiser, stronger, and hardened than when she left. By then, the Azzar she served in her youth had died and his son had just handed the throne to his - Malik al-Askarra. In demonstrating her magic and abilities as a Shade, verifying herself, she was welcomed home and promptly put to work. Wildling attacks and blackwyrm infestations were on the rise again, but so too had there been civil unrest splintering the Askarri people, and plenty more to deal with. A challenge she rose to meet without complaint.

Through many acts of heroism, valor, espionage, and forged alliances, she and Tethis eventually married. In this time, much of her focus was on her work, but inklings of that family she'd wanted came bubbling to the surface. Many discussions were had between her and Tethis, and it was clear that whatever children they had would not be born of mutual love. Tethis was too cold, too mechanical, too logical, time having worn away the best of his emotions - she was just too blind and too busy to have seen it. Even so, she was resolved in thinking it wouldn't matter if Tethis loved their child or not; She would, and if it made matters better, she wouldn't hold him responsible for it - she just wanted a family. And he gave her one. Soon after, they filed for divorce; It was a clean break, after nearly thirty years of marriage.

When Asuka hatched from their egg, Crovita fell in love all over again, and her life changed dramatically in the blink of an eye. Her sense of purpose was renewed, underscored, and highlighted, and she knew that no matter the circumstances, this baby was all that mattered. Unusual and weak though Asuka was, at first. Still she loved them, even though they couldn't fly, even though their feathers were weak and flimsy, even though they had a weak constitution and looked a bit more like their father than she'd have liked - she loved them. Asuka was precious, and she would protect them always, no matter the cost. She would need help, however, so she hired help and forged a vow of silence, magically preventing them from ever revealing any information about herself or Asuka, even under threat. Asuka was home-schooled, cared for by nannies, and kept under surveillance in order to protect him. Crovita couldn't take any risks, not with her baby.

They traveled much, between Askarra and the surrounding nations after Asuka was born, spending months in the Nouxfrati countryside, the Luvian lowlands, Scarburnt highlands, Adamantine ports, Manji oases, Nuradanian forests– And on account of both Azzar-related things and an inherent fear within Crovita. For years, they lived in Askarra with reltively few issues, protected well by the Azzar and the royal guard - safe enough that she didn’t really need to keep leaving those eerie crystalline eyes behind to watch them. She limited their freedoms, and soon entirely restricted, growing more and more concerned by the rapid increase of Wildling attacks outside the city, stories of brigands sneaking in through the gates and slitting women’s throats on their drunken stumble home, thieves and murderers flooding into the almost-safest city on the continent–

At some point, she made a decision in her quiet desperation to protect them, and took them to the University in Zuri, pulling Tethis' string to allow admittance. Asuka would be safe with their father in the tower, and Tethis would watch over them as promised. Since then, she's visited on a semi-regular basis and given them all manners of gifts, always and ever so supportive of them in her own ways, desperately missing them, silently regretting having sent them away - but they were far safer at the University than they ever would be with her. But from there, she poured herself into managing the Wildling situation, often venturing into the canyons to hunt down their leaders, make them collapse and scatter, dissolve. Culling when culling was necessary, sabotaging supplies, pushing and pushing and pushing until they crossed the Myrrdinian border. Merciful in the unspoken second chances she'd give.

As of now, she works under the current Azzar, Malik, but has, in secret, forged pacts and alliances with certain groups looking to have him overthrown. She has, over the years, noticed and discovered much, hence part of the reason she agreed to apprentice under Tethis so quickly - the royal family was far darker and more twisted than they seemed. Cruel, unusual, false in every respect, trafficking alchemical ingrediants poached from beastfolk bodies, locking mages, Wildlings, dispossessed, and nightfolk alike in manticore cages until death, hunting folk for sport. She supposes no one ever said each of the Shades' goals were to be the same. Moves made to maintain a certain amount of chaos, serving the petty wants of the royal family, obfuscating the truth for the material, for political power. Abusing refugees, betraying the Manji people. Much as she loved Askarra and its people, there was none in her heart for the royal family. A regime change was in order, and Crovita would not be the one to lead it, but she would be the deciding blow.

#➥ Crovita.#♞ // Verse: Of Endless Suffering.#/ i will eventually go into specifics #/ but for now...

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