#I really used to make a lot of oc and never ever show any of them hahshahah
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Because my lovely @willowhaired asked me hah here it is my lil collage for my OFC
Her name is Flaedwyn and she's from Rohan
this one is pretty old (i think this collage is 2 yo lmao) so I'd use a few different pics if i were making it now, but it still says a lot about her 💖
I'd love to change her outfit from blue to soft red uhhh
Feel free to ask anything about her if you want hah
#thank you for the curiousity 💖#i've been thinking about her a lot lately#i wish i could finally start writing ah#not to say that i had another ofc lmao#I really used to make a lot of oc and never ever show any of them hahshahah#lotd#ofc#lotr oc#lotr ofc#flaedwyn#rohan oc
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ridi im sorry i need to rant and i think youll get it 😭 like not to be a bitch but this fandom kinda going off the rails and annoying the shit out of me https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTRbYASpf/ everybody in the comments unironically loving it,,, i mean wtvr ship who you want but its kinda getting delusional like ppl are just operating on thin air and pretty fancasts atp and i do Not understand or emotionally connect with any of it. at least w wolfstar theres so much material and foundation to explore but what is all the rest of this?? just hot celebrity fancasts and crack. to be fair part of me respects taking a terfs canon material and making everybody gay but the way it seems to be so oversaturating fics and the fandom that characters dont even feel like their original selves .. atp its all just surface level OCs
hello! yes! i'll be honest talking about things like this always make me a little nervous, and i feel obligated to preface anything i say with a disclaimer that none of it really matters, nothing i say matters, and you should do what you like, because--who cares. i am not an authority on--anything, frankly. my opinion holds no more weight than the next guy's, and all i'm doing here is giving it, so. essentially what im saying is--people are perfectly entitled to disagree with me, but people are not entitled to be mean to me about it xx
having said that. it is my personal opinion that s x barty is one of the worst fucking things i have ever heard lol. who even is barty who is that guy. why would s be interested in him at all. i do not understand it it does not make sense to me. from where are we sourcing the character traits and personality that we are giving barty that would ever endear sirius to him, because it objectively cannot be canon.
overall i do not get the new interest in barty + evan + pandora (+ regulus, but we won't go there)...at all, other than guessing that people were bored with the marauders and wanted a new version of them (and new celebrities to fancast) while simultaneously changing next to nothing about them other than superimposing them onto the first slytherin side characters they could rustle up. i expect ive become a bit of a broken record in regards to my dislike of the popular meow-meow-ification + complete absolution of regulus as a character in order to make him a loveable oc (just as i think erasing all the negative traits that r/s have in order to make them more likeable is just as boring), and all of that applies to those other guys as well (with the slight difference that they are, somehow, even less interesting and significant than regulus in canon), so i won't get into that too much. but i think what you say about having no emotional connection to any of it is exactly right lol--it is a sort of shift? i guess? in the fandom that is simply of no interest to me. they are characters that i just have no emotional investment in and admittedly struggle a little to understand why other people do. i am emotionally invested in, like, five characters overall (and even out of those--there's only two i'm really here for innit xx) and i personally cannot extend that investment to a creepy little side character who is mentioned maybe twice in the entire series.
and that is okay! i do not need to understand it. i don't want to say it annoys me because honestly--i don't go there, its nothing to do with me. if i dont like it i just wont interact with it, and the fact that it doesn't interest me has no bearing on what other people are into or want to do, and i couldn't give less of a shit what people do with the canon material, which is largely garbage anyway. take the bits you want from it, play around with those and ignore the rest. in that respect we are all doing exactly the same thing. but yeah i think s x barty is genuinely awful lol. hate it. very terrible. he's already got a loser werewolf boyfriend and he loves him so so much. leave him alone.
#i know most people are reasonable and thus it is perhaps overly cautious of me to insist on shrouding my unpopular#opinions in like. layer upon layer of placatory disclaimers but. well im a rather anxious guy i can't help it xx but im going to use these#tags to have a bit more of a consequence-less hater hour so. if you like regulus or barty or any of that lot i suggest you look away now#because i am about to express opinions about them that you probably wouldnt agree with + wouldnt enjoy reading!!#like full warning what im about to do is NOT any sort of analysis or defence of my opinion i will just be hating on them. is that clear.#okay. having said that. hater hour. barty and evan and honestly regulus were all cunts? like they were terrible people why do we care#about them now. regulus interests me solely as a piece of context for sirius' character. i could not give less of a shit about him as a#person in his own right. which leads me to my next hater moment: why oh why oh WHY on earth would canon james potter be interested#in canon regulus black. it makes sense in like a muggle au where they are virtually completely different characters but canon?#why would he be attracted to him. there is nothing. there is no chemistry i am ASLEEP and so is james. he would not give that#guy a second look. like it just baffles me it truly does. i feel like you have to bend over backwards to create a situation in which#james potter would ever show an interest in regulus. and i know jegulus is a fucking force to be reckoned with nowadays but god i just#do not like that ship. also i think the fact that barty and pandora and evan are essentially just oc characters who have been coloured#in by general fanon consensus shows in that what they have become is just. not interesting or complex or well fleshed out lol. like#idk i feel like they are just. very shallow. deliberately. so they are easy to like and easy to ship because that is what theyre there for.#god it feels so good to say all this. i will never be a hater again (<- lying) but i needed to be able to just. say this just once xx#also if you needed any more indication what barty and evan and regulus are here to do you just have to look at their#super-hot super-conventionally attractive celebrity model fancasts. like it all adds up its like but what if these death eaters were#not actually evil :-( what if they were really sweet and also? so so hot. like they were all so hot and actually really good#and none of them meant to be evil they didnt want to be :-( they were just hot good guys all in love with each other and the evil stuff#they did wasnt their fault :-( like that has to be. the most boring thing you couldve possibly done with these blank slates. surely.#anyway. im done now but i enjoyed hater hour immensely this was so fucking good for my soul xx thanks and goodnight xx#anon#telegram#scream hang on sorry. just looked at the comments of that tiktok where people are saying they were prison besties. girl. girl.#girl they were in prison for very different reasons baby. baby you know that right. baby look at me. look at me
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you're losing me; m | jjk
pairing: jungkook x reader
word count: 3.2k
rating: 18+
genre: angst, married couple, age gap, ceo jk, nepo baby oc, second chance romance
warnings: thigh riding, liddol hickey, spittt, groping, dirty talk, name calling, only one spank!!, arguments 🙄, mentions of smoking?, daddy kink, fake sympathy, creampie, little cum play,
summary: jungkook is late from work yet again. but he shows you just how much he missed you.
a/n: this is for us angst girlies 🫂
⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒
Something is not right.
Your nose picks up on the unfamiliar scent on Jungkook as you bury your face into his chest. He squeezes you tightly, big arms embracing you with a warm hug.
“Hi, love,” he softly whispers. Jungkook cradles your head and you melt into his hand. He is bent down to your position on the bed, his loose tie hanging from his neck.
“Missed you.” Your voice gets buried in the kiss Jungkook presses on your lips. You catch his tie and pull him closer.
“I told you not to stay up.” He leans back. Accusatory eyes peering down at you.
Your nose scrunches when he steps away, the pungent waft snaking up your nostrils.
“Did you smoke?”
His round eyes widen at the question, but he denies it with a firm shake of his head. His neatly styled hair doesn’t move – except the short, wispy flyaways on his forehead. Jungkook’s lips pucker the slightest bit. He appears innocent and you believe him if he tells you so.
“I was with Mingyu a lot,” he explains. He places his folded suit jacket on the dresser and begins to loosen the sleeve of his shirt. “You know how he is when he’s stressed.”
You lean against the headboard. “I don’t like the smell.”
“I know.” He starts unbuttoning the front of his shirt. “I’m sorry.” He walks over to his nightstand and exchanges his Rolex for his smart watch. You watch him with knitted eyebrows. “I’m gonna head down to the gym – do a quick workout session.”
“Jungkook it’s late. You just got home from work.” You reach for his arm.
He turns to you, chiselled chest peeking out from underneath his unbuttoned shirt. “It’s fine. I’m not tired.”
You huff, crossing your arms. “Then let me watch you work out.”
Jungkook sniffs a laugh. “You stay here.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “Get some sleep for me, yeah? I know you have an appointment tomorrow morning.” His knuckles trace the outline of your jawline.
You sigh and draw back.
“Hey – don’t be upset.” He catches your chin with his fingers. “I told you I was gonna work out today.”
A harsh glower settles on your face. “Well, I thought that meant you’d come home earlier.”
“I tried to, love. I really tried.” His worried eyes search for understanding in yours. “I don’t want you upset. I never want you upset.”
He tilts your chin, so you meet his eyes. Jungkook’s gaze is soft. The amount of softness you’d have if you were staring at a delicate, precious thing. He always looks at you like this.
“I only ever want to make you happy. Nothing else.” His eyebrows raise to stress the tender words he whispered into the room. “Just want to make my wife happy.”
Warmth spreads in your chest. “I know that,” you answer meekly.
Deep down, there’s an overwhelming desire to pour your heart out to him, to express the multitude of things that have been gnawing at your soul, each one a sharp thorn in your side, leaving you utterly upset. But considering how late it is you don’t think it’s the right moment to unleash this torrent of pent-up frustration.
You’re both tired from the useless arguments. You don’t want to make this day any more exhausting for him.
“If you want to make me a happy wife then finish off that workout quickly and join me in bed,” you say. “I need cuddles.”
His eyes crease before a gentle smile sweeps over his mouth. “Good night, love.” He catches your lips in a swift, tender good-night-kiss. “You should shut that thing off. It’s too late for that.” Jungkook regards your iPad with a disgruntling scrunch of his nose. He hates screen time before bed. But you just love drawing on it.
You’d tease Jungkook with it sometimes. Annoy the hell out of him until he’d see no other choice but to put you to sleep his way.
But now Jungkook tucks you under the bed, makes sure to grab his number one enemy when it comes to having you to himself at night and hides in his nightstand.
You watch him slip off his shirt as he crosses the room. You get a glimpse of his broad shoulders and unfairly teeny tiny waist before he leaves the bedroom.
You turn to your side. A tiring sigh flies past your lips.
With two gentle claps of your hands the dim lights in the room shut off.
The spot next to you is empty. Cold.
It’s unsettling how quickly you’ve gotten used to the feeling.
~
The mattress dips beside you.
“Hmm?” You stir awake, emitting confused murmurs.
“I’m sorry,” Jungkook hushes from behind you. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
Your head turns in his direction. “Jungkook.” You bury your face into the crook of his neck. He is a magnet, always pulling you in. Even when you are sleepy and can barely force your eyes open.
His fingers find their way to your hair and in slow patterns he strokes over the length of it.
“What time is it?” you mutter the question into his skin.
“Just past midnight.”
“Two hours?” Your peeved grumble prompts him to peck your bare shoulder. “You said quick workout.”
“I didn’t work out the entire week, babe.”
You rest your head on his arm, glaring up at him. “It’s just Wednesday.”
Jungkook shushes you with a firm squeeze on your hips. “I’m here now. Done with everything.”
When you hear him emit a tiny, exhausted blow through his nose – barely audible in the quiet room, but you notice because you notice every little detail about him – your eyes turn worried.
“You okay?”
Jungkook lets the questions linger in the air before he nods firmly, uttering a, “Yeah. I’m fine.”
You tentatively sweep his short hair from his forehead. It’s a little damp from the shower.
“The day was filled with lots of important meetings. It was a lot today.” Before you can place your hand back on his chest, he catches your wrist and adds a small kiss to the back of your hand.
You figured as much. Jungkook barely texted you back today. Needed hours to respond.
“Was at least the food that I ordered for you good?”
“Fuck – don’t remind me.” He bites his bottom lip, pleasure spreading over his face. “The food was incredible. Have you eaten there before?”
A smile curves your lips. “Uh-huh. Went there with Namjoon last week. I didn’t know when you’d have time to have dinner there with me, so I got my favourite from the menu for you.”
Jungkook has been coming late from work for over two weeks now. You barely had cute dates anymore.
“We can go there.” His tatted fingers toy with the hem of your lacy nightgown. “You wanna go there tomorrow? I’ll finish work earlier.”
Your eyes sparkle. “I’d love to.”
Jungkook’s dimple appear at your beaming face. He drags your thigh over his abdomen, the silky fabric of your nightgown riding up the curve of your butt. His palm rests on the exposed skin.
“Why didn’t you blow dry your hair?” you ask. You tug at some damp strands.
“Didn’t want to wake you.” Jungkook cranes his neck down to gently kiss your forehead. “We should sleep now. It’s late.”
Your brows furrow in exaggerated displeasure. “Not yet.”
“What’s wrong, love?” He cups your cheek worriedly.
“Wanna hang out more.”
Jungkook chuckles lightly. “You wanna hang out?”
“You’ve been making me feel really lonely,” you say in a pout.
“Love, fuck.” His hand on the swell of your ass squeezes your flesh. “Don’t say that.”
“You’re barely home.” You get closer to him, if even possible, knee skimming past the front of his grey sweatpants. The pads of his fingers dig into your skin at that motion.
“You really don’t wanna sleep, huh?”
“Nuh-uh.”
You slowly start to grind your hips against him.
“Then let me make up for all the time I’ve been away from my wife.”
You giggle when he draws you on top of him. You straddle his thigh as Jungkook leads your face down to his mouth. It’s an impatient and longing kiss, the type that has your mind bewitched, compelling you into chanting his name in a never-ending rhythm.
Jungkook rids himself of his sweatpants, tossing them to the ground with his feet.
Your hips continue to move on his now bare thighs, moving your kisses to from his lips to his neck. He doesn’t like having marks on his neck, but you can’t help but feel a little selfish when you start sucking on his skin. Just merely a second after, Jungkook pulls at your hair.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he questions with a sharp gaze.
“Having fun?” Your desire to leave a little hickey might also stem from media outlets starting to question why Jungkook and you haven’t been spotted together recently, but you’d rather not admit that. You don’t want him to think that you care about public perception, even though Jungkook is very well aware of it all. You just like to pretend it doesn’t affect you.
You just can’t wait for the photos tomorrow when you will show up in a cute outfit with Jungkook holding your hand, a small love bite adorning his neck after not making a public appearance with him for a couple weeks.
He sniffs a laugh. “Just can’t help it, can you?”
“Never.” You bat your eye lashes.
His hands are on your waist, encouraging your slow movements. He bunches the soft material of your baby blue nightgown in his palms, staring at your clothed pussy.
“I can feel how wet you are for me.” His eyes move with the motions of your hips, a gentle smirk capturing his lips. “What’s gotten you so worked up, babe?” He flexes his thigh, coaxing a gasp from you.
“You.” You’re already a little breathless, his heartbreakingly handsome face fuelling the deep desire of needing more.
Jungkook clicks his tongue. “Have I not been taking care of my love? Hm?” Jungkook asks you in mock sympathy.
You nod, pressing your palms against his ripped chest while your hips grind a bit rougher on his thigh.
“I’m sorry.” He traces your bottom lip, gentleness coating his words. He pops his finger into your mouth, making you suck on it. You swirl your tongue around it until he withdraws his finger, sneaking it in your panties and pressing it against your sensitive clit.
A whine flies past your lips at his touch, moving even faster.
“You’re gonna cum for me like this?” He starts circling the pad of his thumb on your clit.
Arching your back, you lean in for a kiss, uttering little moans of his name against his lips. You can feel the smug smirk on his mouth, can feel his possessiveness in the way he squeezes your ass and hear it in the loud smack that echoes through the room after his palm collided with your butt.
When you feel the pleasure exploding within you, you bury your face into Jungkook’s neck. Your body trembles. Jungkook tilts his head and gingerly pecks your temple, hands skimming over your back.
“Good girl,” he murmurs.
Jungkook puts you on your back, tugging off your panties and carelessly throws them away. He does the same to his pair of black briefs.
You watch him spit on his dick and stroke his hard cock while you get comfy on the pillows. Jungkook rubs his tip over your soaked pussy, leisurely pressing his dick inside when his head is against your entrance.
“Fuck, I missed your pussy.” He wraps your legs around his waist, staring at how your pussy takes his entire length.
As he moves his cock, his hand raises to your head to tame your chaotic hair. You pucker your lips a little and he instantly answers your silent request with a smooth press of his mouth against yours.
“Want your vibrator?” he asks.
“Too sensitive.” Your nails graze his back, your feet keeping him close to you.
Jungkook pushes your silky nightgown past your tummy and over your tits. He loves watching them bounce as he thrusts his cock into your pussy. He gropes them, toying a little with your nipple as he swipes his spit over your nub. His eyes are practically glued to the supple swells on your chest.
Until he finds something prettier than your tits. Your face.
He wears a boyish smile on his face when you meet his gaze. You bite your lip, pleasure and giddiness swirling through you.
“Taking my cock so well,” he praises. “Such a good slut for daddy.”
You gulp, teeth sinking further into your lip.
He lowers his head, pulling your earlobe between his lips before he whispers, “Right? You love being a good slut for daddy.”
Chills spreads over your neck and you manage a meek nod as loud whines escape your throat.
“Use your big girl words,” Jungkook demands. “Tell me whose girl you are. You can do that, can’t you?” His voice turns sweet again, though the taunting glint remains in his eyes. Your pussy foolishly clenches.
“I’m daddy’s girl,” you utter with bright eyes.
Jungkook flashes you his dimples. Excitement spreads in your tummy at his approval.
“Open,” he instructs and you part your mouth. He drops a tiny bead of saliva in your mouth. With one hand around your throat, he feels you swallowing it. “Good girl.”
He pushes the back of your thighs towards your body, picking up on his speed.
“Jungkook,” you moan weakly.
“Gonna fill this pussy with my cum.”
He pounds you faster, harder, filling the room with filthy sounds.
“I’m close,” you mumble, fingers clawing at the bed.
“Cum with me,” he rasps.
Jungkook grunts your name and you feel yourself topple over the edge as his tip kisses the sweet spot inside you, repeatedly hitting it until your hands fly up to his shoulders and nails dig into his skin.
His hips still, painting your pussy white. Jungkook plants slow kisses on your collarbone, trying to catch his breath.
When he pulls out, his cum follows, but he pushes your mixed juices back inside. You moan lightly, tapping your feet against his back to tell him to get you something to clean you up.
But Jungkook remains on top of you just a little longer. “You did so good,” he whispers. He catches your left hand and pecks the ring that adorns your finger. “I love you.”
“Love you,” you mutter back, a tiny, exhausted smile curving your mouth.
“Forever.” With a doting kiss he conceals the promise he has been making to you for four years.
Getting off the bed, he puts on his briefs and disappears into the bathroom to fetch a warm cloth. When he returns to clean you up, he is gentle with you, peppering kisses on your tummy and thighs and flashing cute smiles your way as he does it.
With his sweatpants and now dirty cloth he walks back into the bathroom.
“Have you thought about costumes for the Halloween party?” you ask him.
“Halloween party?” His voice ricochets through the bathroom.
“Chanyeol’s Halloween party,” you remind him as he saunters back into the bedroom. The grey sweatpants hang dangerously low on his hips. “Wanna go through my Pinterest board? I collected some cute ideas.”
He grabs white lacy panties from the dresser. “It’s in two weeks?” Jungkook helps you slip on the new panties, ducking down to press a light peck on the little bow sitting on the centre of it. “I’ll see if I can find the time.”
You look at him puzzled. “What do you mean?”
Jungkook rakes his hand through his messy hair. “You know I’m extremely busy at the moment.”
“But we always go to Chanyeol’s party.” You reach for his hand, tugging him closer to the bed. Disappointment pulls your lips into a pout.
Chanyeol’s Halloween party is always big, extravagant and ridiculously dramatic, but that is exactly what makes it fun. You love extravagance. Love dressing up.
Jungkook’s finger brusher over your dainty ring. “You can still go. You don’t need me to go with you.”
You drop his hand with a frustrated huff. It’s not the response you wanted to hear. “Missing out on Jimin’s birthday last week wasn’t enough?” you ask disdainfully. A bit mean. You don’t care.
“I’m not doing it purposefully.” He levels you with reproving eyes. “I wish I could’ve come.”
You tuck your feet back underneath the blanket, pulling it up to your lap. “Just squeeze in a little time for the party.” You almost add a “please?”, but you’re feeling terribly annoyed; the kind that makes you unconsciously clench your jaw and pull your brows so tightly, they practically touch.
“I’m not going to schedule around a silly Halloween party, ___.” His tone drips with irritation.
“Fine,” you reply, scooching back on the bed. “Don’t know why I even bothered.”
“Love.” It’s a futile attempt at taming the sudden raging anger that crawled up your neck.
“You’ve been doing this constantly, Jungkook.”
He still stands in front of the bed. Tongue poking his cheek as he debates his next words. He swipes his hand over his face, sighing into his palm.
“You don’t understand,” he grumbles annoyed.
“I know you don’t.”
Jungkook scoffs at your reply – even wears a crooked, ridiculing smile. An angry flush appears on his cheeks.
“Let’s not do this before bed,” he suggests. Tiredness is written all over him.
We’re already in the middle of it. But you keep that to yourself. You don’t have the energy for a bigger fight. He’s drained it from you from all the fights the nights before this.
“I don’t care anymore,” you say. “Shouldn’t have asked you anyway.”
Jungkook turns off the little lamp on his bedside table before he gets into bed. You turn your back to him.
Your heart is heavy with confusing emotions as you lie there in silence. You almost feel your eyes well up with tears, but you blink them away as soon as you feel them.
“Want me to accompany you to your appointment?” Jungkook asks suddenly.
“No.” Yes.
“I’ll start work a little later.” Jungkook’s hand sweeps across your tense shoulders. You must’ve unintentionally stiffened at the mention of your gynaecologist appointment. “I know you’re a little anxious.”
As sleep gradually embraces you a little later, you try to pull back every time invisible strings tug you closer towards Jungkook. You don’t want to sleep in his arms this night, but your heart stubbornly ignores what your mind wants.
Your silent resistance eventually ends, surrendering to the inevitability of your limbs becoming entwined with his. Your cheek is pressed against his chest and his nose is buried in your hair while the soft cadence of his heartbeat finally lulls you into a deep slumber.
This is just the way Jungkook and you function.
Yet, despite your efforts, small seeds of doubt continue to sprout up in your mind, making you question just how much longer you can tolerate this.
#yup yupp it's me again starting a new jk series in the middle of the night !#jungkook smut#jungkook fanfic#jungkook scenario#jungkook drabble#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#bts smut#bts fanfic
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NIGHT CRAWLERS - JJK
title credit: night crawlers - kids in glass houses
pairing: drugrunner!jungkook x sugarbaby!reader, college au
synopsis:
jungkook’s always been good at running. track, field, red lights, shit outta luck. drugs, now, too.
but he doesn’t expect to run into you.
in your shared lecture halls, sure. maybe. but not down the back alleys of daerim at ass o’clock in the morning.
there are only three types of women he ever sees in daerim: hookers, sugar-babies and addicts. you aren't any of those; you're a trust-fund baby who can get percocet on private repeat prescription, if you really want it. he's sure of it.
so it then further begs the question: why the fuck are you here?
warnings: jungkook and o/c are polar opposites, but y’know what they say, opposites attract and all that jazz, jk is a college student but also a drug runner, mentions of gang dynamics and hierarchy, oc is a sugar baby, mentions of consensual but uncomfortable sexual encounters as a result of this (proceed with caution), drugs, violence, blood, motorbikes, hurt/comfort, all the good stuff, smut – fingering, tittie sucking (wow pretend to be shocked!), unprotected sex, jk has the hugest cawk in the whole entire world, jk is a lil aggressive but in a sexy way, he accidentally says something mean during sex (not sexy mean, actually mean (he makes up for it tho!)), jk on top, oc on top, mentions of his pubes (yummy), tummy pressing, kissy kissy kissy koo, creampie, post-coitus nap, they’re literally in love idk what to tell you, ambiguous ending!!
wordcount: 26K
note from holly: originally published to wattpad in 2021 and also briefly uploaded to tumblr, too. It’s just hit 100k reads over on wattpad so I thought I’d put it here too!! There are two additional chapters on wattpad, connecting the story another fic of mine and also showing us jk + oc four years on from the events of NC!! If you’re interested, you can find it here (x).
i write in british english!! both in spelling and dialect!!
minors dni // cross posted to wattpad
IT'S BEEN SAID that with great notoriety, comes great responsibility to uphold the expectations of those who presume the worst about you.
Okay, so that's a lie. No one's ever said that - but Jeon Jungkook has never been one for sticking to traditions, and so he likes to live his life as if that's his motto.
That, and 'rather be dead than cool.'
Which is ironic, because it's only the heteropatriarchal bores - the ones from upper-class families, who want a white picket fence and 2.4 kids - that actually think he's lame.
And he doesn't particularly give a shit about their opinions.
Everyone else thinks he's actually pretty fuckin' cool.
Black nails, black cargo pants, black hair that waves loosely over his sharp features. An air of command as he walks, a swagger in his step that lingers in stranger's heads like the silage of his aftershave.
Yeah, Jungkook is cool, and he fucking knows it.
A rucksack is perpetually slung over his shoulder, the top concaved slightly to indicate there's very little in there, not much more than a tatty notepad and a few loose pens - or so you assume.
You've never actually spoken to him. Why would you?
Daddy's little princess, glossy lips, manicured nails. The kind of girl who gives him a second look, but only to sneer. He doesn't think of you often, but when he does, it's never nice.
Jungkook doesn't have time for you, and you don't have time for him. Your paths rarely cross.
At least they barely crossed. Past tense.
Now that you're taking a few of the same classes as him, he sees you a lot more than he likes. Hair always up in that stupid fucking ponytail that he can't see past, perpetually on your phone. Attention seeking little bitch.
He'd ranted a little to Jimin about it, told him that you really must have been a dumb bitch to swap from an economics major to a film studies major with only a single semester left.
Jimin hadn't said much in return. Unlike Jungkook and his insatiable hate-boner for you, Jimin really doesn't give a shit about you. Barely knows your name, let alone the fact that you studied economics before switching over. Was kind of curious as to how Jungkook knew that. Not enough to bother with asking, though.
Jungkook thinks it's normal to scope out the competition. A little Facebook look-up, Naver search, Instagram scroll. Surely it's rational to do that? Check out their LinkedIn, cross-reference their Twitter history to see what they've said about the course.
It absolutely isn't normal, but then again, nor is Jungkook.
He's exactly as he appears to be; the rogue look isn't a front.
But beneath the exterior, there are a few more traditions he's subverting.
He's the first in his family to attend college, and he needs to ace this class to keep his scholarship.
It's all just projection, the way he despises you.
You've got everything he wants. A well-to-do family, money, prosperity, financial security. He's never known that. And while he shits on you for having parents that have provided for you, all he wants in life is to be able to do the same for his own children one day.
"I've matched you all with students of a similar grade level, so no one is at an unfair advantage," your professor calls out, tearing Jungkook from his thoughts. "Not a single one of you will experience the city in the same way. From shortcuts to your favourite coffee spots, your lives here will have been different to those of your peers."
Jungkook smirks, leaning back on his chair. He knows this city better than most; its dark corners, where the monsters lurk... how to hide and where to run.
Again, the rogue look isn't a front.
But he also knows how to work a camera better than anyone in that room, how to time his shots, how to frame them, too. Top of the class, though modestly quiet about it (he's got a reputation to uphold, after all), he's curious to see who would be considered an even match for him.
"That being said, your experiences are also shared with those around you. For this assignment, with your partner, I want you to create a unique piece of film that captures what the city means to you. Think outside the box. Create something that excites, that invokes. You've got eight weeks. The partner list is on the noticeboard at the back of the hall. Dismissed."
Footsteps echo around the lecture hall as everyone trundles out of the room. You wait back, having already seen the list before you entered the class.
Instead, you pull out a pen - one of the ones that Jungkook hates, with a ridiculous fluffy pink pom-pom on top - and jot down your number. You aren't aware of his insatiable hatred, and either way, you don't really care.
He ignores you as you approach his desk, eyes only drifting upwards when you slide the torn-out piece of paper towards him.
"Mhmm?"
He's rude, you notice. Brows raised, expression flat, he's fed up with you before you've even said a word. Kinda hot, admittedly, but rude.
"We're partners," you say with an ambivalent shrug. Jungkook's jaw seems to tense, head tilting as he breathes out a short smirk.
Partners?
"You haven't even gone out to check the board."
"So what?" You scoff a little. He doesn't like your tone. The feeling is mutual. "I just made it up?"
It's his turn to shrug, now. "Dunno. You tell me."
His hair waves around his features, and you wonder how long it takes him to make it look so natural. The girls around campus swoon over his hair, like he's some kind of God. Other boys try to emulate it, but they can never quite pull it off like he does.
Another thing that all the girls giggle about are his doe-like eyes, but they're hard, now. Narrow, almost. Less of a doe, more like a dragon. Maybe if you get his nostrils flaring, he'll breathe fire, too.
Yeah, he's hot, you want to laugh to yourself, but not that hot.
"I checked before I came in. Didn't take a genius to work out what it was for."
He takes a moment before he nods. "Right. Well, you should probably know that I work better alone. Just let me handle the assignment, a'right? You can put your name on it, whatever, I don't care. Just let me handle it."
A control freak, you note. Nice.
You didn't transfer majors in your last semester, and face all the hardships that came with such a decision, just to sit back and let someone else do the hard work for you.
"With all due respect, it's a joint assignment. I'm not putting my name on work I didn't actually do."
A stickler for the rules, he assesses. Fucking fastastic.
"Look," he sighs, adjusting his body so that he's practically leaning halfway over his desk. As much as it sounds like he doesn't want to be a part of this conversation, his body language is oddly engaged. "I need to ace this class. You've been here, what? All of three minutes? Film what you wanna film, send it over to me for editing."
"I'm very much capable of editing-"
"And if you could do me a favour and keep the nail salon footage to a minimum, that would be much appreciated. Everyone's seen that shit. It's not interesting. Gangnam underground shopping centre B-roll, too."
It's a thinly veiled insult. Assumptions he's making about you based on the clothes you wear and the company you keep. He doesn't explicitly say it, but you know what he means: you're not interesting.
Jungkook doesn't mean to be an asshole. Not really. He's just got a lot riding on this course, and doesn't want to risk it all for the sake of keeping the peace with someone he doesn't particularly like in the first place.
"Like our Professor said, we all experience the city differently," you plaster a smile on your face, the plastic kind that Jungkook hates. "You might just be surprised at what I can offer."
Private tennis clubs and shopping sprees worth more than a second-hand car? Yeah, no. He'll pass, thanks.
"Whatever," he reclines back, giving your number the once over before tearing a strip of empty paper from the bottom of the note. His hand moves quickly, scrawling his own number onto it. He doesn't hand it to you, but instead tosses it down onto the desk as he stands. "As I said, I work best alone. Don't bombard me with messages about the project. I'll have it under control."
He vacates his desk with an air of arrogance that you don't think he's yet earnt. Sure, he's hot, and from what you've seen of his work, he's pretty talented, too. But no one likes working with assholes, and the whole point of being at college was to make yourself a desirable candidate for jobs.
Or at least that's what your parents had always said.
When they were still talking to you, that was.
Before they decided that you're a disgrace to the family name, all for the simple desire of not wanting to spend your life slaving over finances and spreadsheets.
Like inheritance and a slightly crooked nose (straightened out for your high school graduation gift), econ majors ran in your family - and just like you'd cut off your parents' dream of watching you become an economist, they'd cut you off. Full stop.
So as far as you were concerned, Jungkook could take his arrogant whining about your financial situation, and the hobbies you might have enjoyed as a result of your upbringing, and shove it up his ass.
You really wish he would. Shove it up his ass, that is. Might relieve him of the pent up tension he seems to have going on.
Swiping up his number, you tuck it into your back pocket, ruing the day you'll actually have to text it.
It comes as a surprise to both of you when, a week later, Jungkook is the first to type a message into your fledgeling chat window.
I'm filming tonight. Could use a Grip, if you're free. Dongdaemun Design Plaza, 7pm.
You wonder how much pride he must have had to swallow in order to send you that.
On occasion, during the past week, you've caught him looking at you in that slightly menacing way he always likes to do.
Part of you thinks he's unaware that he's doing it, just zoning out in your direction, but then you see him shake sense into himself - quite literally, a bunny with an itch behind its ear kind of shake - before he averts his gaze.
He does a similar shake of his head when your response pings through to his phone.
Can't do Tuesdays or Thursdays. Sorry. Maybe another time.
He doesn't reply.
REJECTION HAS NEVER been something Jungkook has taken well. It's why he works so hard, fearful of being told that he isn't good enough.
He'd only sent that text because he genuinely did need a Grip.
Well, no.
That's not quite right.
He needed a muse; a subject of his shots, a pair of eyes to catch the confetti of night market lights in. Someone's hand to film as they exchanged money with a hotteok stand server, another human to get lost and found all within the same shot.
But that felt awkward to ask, especially after his insistence that he could do it all alone, so he'd settled for pretending he'd needed a grip. Just someone to hold his gear while he took tricky shots. That's all.
Given your rejection, he was pleased with his choice.
"Familiar," Yoongi nods over lunch the next day, following Jungkook's gaze. "Yeah, I've definitely seen her around. Dunno where, though."
"Campus, maybe?" Jimin rolls his eyes, confused at the fixation Jungkook seems to have on you.
Yoongi shakes his head. "Nah... She looks like-" he glances over to Jungkook conscious of Jimin's listening ears.
"Like?"
"Just like a girl I see occasionally," Yoongi pauses again, making sure Jungkook's focus on him. "At work."
Jimin laughs. "So yeah, on campus. You work in the campus cafe, Yoongs."
It was the only legitimate place that would hire him. Dumb choices as a kid - and a questionable nickname that's now etched into his knuckles - prevents most places from seeing him as a viable candidate.
Yoongi laughs along with Jimin, but Jungkook knows Yoongi isn't talking about the once a week shift that he picked up as a form of extra credit.
Jungkook knows, because on paper, he doesn't have a job either.
On paper, he manages to survive on his scholarship bursary, The Holangi Honour, awarded to gifted students from underprivileged backgrounds.
On paper, Jungkook is the Korean dream of hard work and perseverance.
His reality isn't so pristine, but it never has been. He comes from a long line of high school dropouts with dubious morals and criminally reckless career choices. It was naive to have thought attending university would help him escape it.
Scholarship funds dried up pretty quickly, rent and t-money cards eating away at it, until Jungkook had no choice but to revisit old haunts.
Yoongi had told Jungkook that he didn't need to worry, that he could help him out if he needed money, but Jungkook was no leech, much to his older friend's despair. He didn't want the kid getting into the same trouble that he was in.
One meeting with Yoongi's old school friend, Hoseok and Jungkook was in the rat race again, delivering people's come ups for when the sun went down.
He'd always been good at running. Track, field, red lights, out of luck. Drugs, now, too.
Jungkook had managed a good year and a half on the straight and narrow. For that, he was proud. And sad.
But he's also determined.
Top grades mean top jobs in the future, which means never having to traipse around Daerim at ass o'clock in the morning.
He hates this part of town, but it's where business is currently booming.
Hobi texts him a drop-off list each morning, ensuring his nights are almost exclusively spent in Daerim.
This is how Jungkook sees the city: grotty back allies, groups of men huddled around a pack of cards and dice on the floor, cigarettes hanging out of their mouths, phlegm spat onto the foor. He sees the women of the night in the early hours of the morning, and the sadness in the smiles they give to the men who approach them on street corners.
There's only one club of any worthwhile note in the area, and between jobs, Jungkook likes to sit up on the fire exit that rests above the back entrance.
It's where Hobi works, assisting some other reprobate that Jungkook doesn't care to learn the name of. Nasty piece of work, or so he's heard. The son of some powerful motherfucker that Jungkook knows to stay away from. He isn't interested in joining any stupid fucking gang. He just wants to get his money, get through university, and forget about this place.
That's the big dream at least.
His current wish, which feels much more immediate, is to outrun the fucker who has been on his tail for the past half a mile. Jungkook's pretty fast on his feet, and he gives a mean left-hook, but the guy chasing him has a pocket knife and that doesn't really feel like a fair fight.
It's his fault, and he knows it.
As per usual, Hobi had texted Jungkook his drop off list. Six of them, all in Daerim. He had no business being down by Jungang Market, especially not on a Thursday evening.
He couldn't even explain why he was; he was just curious about what life could be like if he ended up flunking out of college. He wanted to see where the monsters liked to lurk, or if they hid in the shadows like boogeymen.
But reprobate recognises reprobate, and drug runner recognises drug runner.
So now Jungkook really is running, out of territory that he shouldn't have infringed upon.
He's not out of breath yet, but he is conscious that his heartbeat feels like it's in his throat. A few streets over, his motorbike is parked behind an industrial-sized trash can, and he prays that no thieving cunt has tried to make a get away with it. They wouldn't have managed it - it's his prized possession and he never leaves it unprotected.
When he spots it a few minutes later, he laughs, relieved. "You beauty," he praises the engine, pulling his key from the pocket of his leather jacket.
The fucker chasing him is nowhere to be seen, probably nursing a stitch or panting down a different back alley. Jungkook doesn't want to risk it, eyes darting all over the place as he unbuckles the chain on his bike wheel with muscle memory alone. The metal clangs through the iron bars that protect the banjihas down the alley from break-ins. He always feels a little bit of guilt for chaining his bike up to the only source of natural light for the half-basement dwellings, but it's quarter past two in the morning. Not exactly sunshine hours.
And yet his eye is drawn to the light pouring down from a street lamp at the entrance of the narrow lane.
Usually, you ignore the noises you hear on your walk home - but, as strange as it sounded for Jungkook's voice to issue a compliment, you're almost positive that it is his voice.
Dark hair, dark eyes, he doesn't recognise you at first. You're wearing black, and your hair is down, but your lips still have that stupid fucking pink lipstick on, the one he'd seen you blot away onto a tissue in the middle of a lecture a few days prior.
His eyes linger, the lights flickering in his glossy dark irises as if there are fireworks inside that pretty little skull of his. For a moment, he thinks you must have been filming for the assignment.
The lack of a camera proves otherwise.
"Get on the bike," he yells over to you, tugging on the sleeve of his leather jacket, pulling it down. Cognitive thoughts aren't something Jungkook's really working with, the adrenaline speaking for him.
That, and the fact that he's acutely aware of what men like the motherfucker who was chasing him down did to girls like you. Might not like you, but he doesn't want that on his conscience.
Plus, he needs your signature on the coursework documents, too. You're no use to him if you end up chopped into little squares and scattered in the river.
"Damnit, just get on the fucking bike!" He continues, noticing that you haven't moved a muscle. His jacket is off now, held out for you to take. He's impatient, eyes darting down the alleyway, as if he's scared of the rain that's pouring down around you. "Look, I ain't asking again. Just get on the bike, or I'll fuckin' leave you here. Some nasty fuckers about tonight."
And while you may not trust Jungkook, you don't trust the alleyways of downtown Seoul even more. You've seen the horrors. You know the dangers. Your mother didn’t raise a fool.
She also didn't raise you to bow to the commands of assholes like him either.
You ignore his jacket, hiking up your skirt, revealing far more of your thigh than most get to see. He doesn't make a comment, but you know he sees a flash of your underwear as you do so.
For once, sex seems to be the last thing on his mind.
Rain pools in the gutter by the drainpipes, trickling down, collecting in the ducts. A puddle sits on top, a tell-tale sign that the street is going to flood soon, but Jungkook also doesn't give a shit about that. Not right now - but he does make a mental note to check that the drains are unblocked by his place when he gets home.
He's a fellow basement dweller, dependent on the cheap rent. A banjiha boy with big dreams of getting out.
You hoist your leg over, ignoring the droplets of water on the leather seat, as your hand wraps around his waist. The front of his white shirt is damp from the rain, elevating the scent of his laundry detergent. You don't hate it. Quite like it, actually.
"Wet conditions," he rasps, voice still hurrying out of his mouth. "So take the jacket. If I slide, the tarmac will rip your skin off." He turns, wrapping the jacket around your shoulders. "I'm not your father. Dress yourself."
"I'd be a bit concerned if my father was trying to dress me at the ripe old age of 21," you bite back, as if the fabric of his jacket doesn't feel like it's melting into your skin on account of how bloody warm he is. You push your arms through the material, shaking it ever so slightly as Jungkook begins to rev the engine.
"Thanks would have sufficed," he bites back a scoff, not wanting to waste time arguing. "Try not to fall off, a'right?" He gruffs.
Some would have considered his concern endearing. You know it's just because he doesn't want to spend his evening scraping your flesh off the sidewalk. Not because he gives a single flying fuck about you.
"Hold on."
He doesn't wait for longer than a second, just enough time for you to wrap your arms around his waist, before he pulls down on the accelerator. His exhaust chortles, spitting out petrol as he goes, water from the ground splashing up against your bare leg. You can feel goosebumps forming, and yet your arms are completely warm.
Of course they are. Jungkook's chest is a fucking furnace, heart pumping blood through him faster than the speed of light. Forward, forward, forward, he pushes his bike on, away from the downtown area he found you in, and away from the demons who were hunting him.
The vibration of the bike is a welcome disguise. Beneath the motor's veil, you're shaking. Partly terrified, partly the victim of an adrenaline surge.
Hardly a surprise. You've never been on a bike like his before.
There weren't many men on motorbikes around your neighbourhood as a child, only Old Jinyeon, who had a Harley that he only rode on the weekends, or when his wife was away at that spa retreat that everyone knew was really code for 'rehab'. Prescription medication was her poison, mostly. There were whispers that alcohol was a bit of a problem, too.
It was a shame, really. She was a nice lady - she'd just married into a lifestyle that didn't suit hers.
Old Jinyeon's father had also been called Old Jinyeon, and his father before that, regardless of their age. The name wasn't the only thing inherited, but a fortune too. Old by name, old by money.
He'd met his wife at a gentleman's bar; gambled all of his chips away just so that he could keep talking to her as she worked.
But the good is rarely easy, and the easy never good. Women like her weren't supposed to be with men like him.
And girls like you aren't supposed to be on the back of boys like Jungkook's motorcycle.
But here you are, hurtling through the city at a speed you're pretty sure isn't legal, clinging onto him for dear life. Your eyes are shut, streaming with tears from the wind, mascara blotting onto his back.
"Left turn," he calls over his shoulder to brace you. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, stomach losing all stability as he rounds the corner. You've never suffered from travel sickness before, but now seems like the prime time to develop it.
The lights of the city all bleed into one kaleidoscope of colour. Your sense of direction has been rendered useless, only opening your eyes once every few seconds to make sure that this is real. And every single time, you're surprised to find that it is.
You expect it to be like a dream where you fall, only to wake up at the last second - but you've never had one of those dreams. You've only seen them in movies. You're not even sure they actually exist in real life. Perhaps this would be the closest you'd get to one. A main character moment - though this felt more like a crime-thriller than the rom-com you would have liked.
The feeling of damp wind in your hair like this is new, and exciting, but all you can think about is the fact that you're pretty sure one of your fake lashes just flew off. You pull your hand back to stroke at your lashes, just to check, but it's caught by Jungkook grabbing for it.
"I told you to hold on," he shouts, though he doesn't need to. The vibrations of his vibrato can be felt through his back. "So hold the fuck on, a'right?! I don't say shit like that for fun."
Jesus, you think. Who pissed in his cornflakes?
But he's right. You do need to hold on. He proves it by not warning you the next time he turns, the bike leaning so close to the tarmac that you're convinced you can feel rubber burn. He eases as soon as he hears you shriek, the grip you have on his chest so hard he swears you might puncture his skin. Reaching back, he cups your knee with his palm, checking for any sign of blood or broken skin. Negative. And yet his hand lingers before he retracts it. He's just making sure. Double-checking. Over-indulging.
"The fuck was that, asshole?" You all but scream.
"I told you to hold on, didn't I?!"
He did. And if you weren't doing so now, tighter than before, you'd have hit him so hard in the balls that he'd have no choice but to adopt in later life.
"You could have fucking killed me!"
"Oh, boo-hoo," he sneers, catching his tongue before he says something he'll grow to regret.
Jungkook would never have killed you. He knows these streets like the back of his hand, and how to ride his bike almost as well as he knows how to get himself off. It's second nature. Innate. A gift.
But before you can argue back, he draws to a stop, his exhaust rattling, the motor purring. As much as he'd like to tell you to get the fuck off his bike, he can feel you trembling now. A part of him - a very slim, deeply hidden part - feels guilty for being so hard on you.
He's grown up with bikes. Trusts them. Lives, breathes gasoline.
He doesn't imagine you know how to change a bicycle tyre, let alone anything with a motor.
The hand that had checked you for damage earlier returns, his fingertips warm against your goosebumps skin. He strokes lightly, once, twice, quickly. "You're fine," he tells you, and you want to believe him.
"Never said I wasn't."
He snorts a small laugh, then taps your knee, encouraging you off of the bike. His hand remains close as you do so, conscious of the fact that you'll most likely be unsteady on your feet - feet that he now notices are clad in the strappiest pair of heels he's ever seen in his life. Perhaps he doesn't need to worry about your stability at all. If you can walk in those, then you can surely handle a pair of wobbly knees.
Without much thought, you take his offer of assistance, his jacket dwarfing you as you stand, hand clasped in his.
"Where are we?"
The alleyway you're down is unlike the previous one he stole* you from (*rescued). It's cobbled and damp, yes, but the doors down here lead to dwellings, garages too. Not an industrial-sized trash cart in sight. And it doesn't smell like fermented piss either, which is a surprise. You thought that was just the standard for side-streets around these parts.
"Doesn't matter," Jungkook shrugs ambivalently as he unhooks his leg over the bike.
He wants to ask why you're wearing such stupid shoes.
That's a lie.
He doesn't think they're stupid.
He actually quite likes them. You've nice ankles. They look good.
What he really wants to ask is why you're wearing them on a school night. The pair of you might be in college, but it wasn't student night at the clubs, and he hadn't picked you up from a particularly nice part of town.
There are only three types of women he ever sees in Daerim: hookers, sugar-babies and addicts. You aren't any of those; you're a trust-fund baby who can get Percocet on private repeat prescription, if you really want it. He's sure of it.
So it then further begs the question: why the fuck were you there?
Sliding off his jacket, you offer him a small smile. It's the least you can do, you suppose.
It's funny, because you only ever see three kinds of men in Daerim: drunks, gamblers, and dealers. Jungkook isn't any of those. You might not know that much about him, but you know he's a scholarship kid, and that he won the winter film festival on campus for his documentary on back-alley gambling.
"We're not too far from campus," he eventually states. Few blocks over. He assumes you live on campus. Got the money for it.
"Cool," you nod, sure that you'll be able to find your bearings from here. You don't live on campus. Not anymore. No money for it. "Thanks for the lift, I guess."
The atmosphere is awkward, dewy mist in the air dampening both of you. He nods back, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
He knows he should invite you in, offer you somewhere to wait while you call a cab or something, but he's embarrassed. Of himself. His living situation. The fact that he doubts you've ever even been in a basement that isn't a wine cellar.
"Look I-"
"So-"
Jungkooks nose scrunches, cringing at the awkwardness. You glance down, self-conscious.
"What were you doing over in Daerim?" he asks rather out of the blue. He doesn't even process that he's asked until it's too late.
You clear your throat a little. "Just had some errands to run."
"At two in the morning?"
You nod.
"Right," he doesn't believe you, but can't think of a better explanation.
"Well, what were you doing there?" You ask, albeit a little more confrontational than intended. You were on the defensive.
His mouth is flat as he speaks, a narrowness to his eyes that makes your lips purse to suppress a smirk. "Running errands."
So you're both dirty little liars. Who'd've thought?
"Fairplay," you say with a smile. "Look, I still appreciate the ride. I'd have been fine," you add."But yeah, appreciate it nonetheless."
"Was nothing. I was headed in this direction anyway. If you take a left at the end of the street and follow the road down, there's usually a bunch of taxis waiting for the university cleaners to finish their night shifts. I'm sure you'll be able to get one."
"Take a left," you hum. "Cool. Will do." Bracing yourself to leave, Jungkook wonders if he should offer you a lift to your place too. "See you tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow?"
"Yeah, tomorrow. Class? That thing we attend during daylight hours?"
"Oh right. Yeah. See you tomorrow."
Bizarrely enough, if this is how awkward Jungkook is when he's being nice, you think you prefer him being an asshole. At least he has a little spark in him then.
Unbeknownst to you, Jungkook feels overloaded with fucking sparks, like someone's holding an axe grinder against the metal of his earrings, deafening him. The reality of his evening is kicking in, and the knowledge that he came a few metres from having a hole in his abdomen becomes overwhelming. He doesn't let it show, though.
"Thanks, again."
You make a promise to punch yourself in the face if you say thank you one more fucking time.
"It's fine, again," he smiles, with a small laugh, before focusing those eyes of his on the floor.
And so you leave, walking straight past the taxi rank and taking a shortcut to your apartment, which is a lot closer than you had realised.
Seven steps below street level, you jog down to your front door, petting the neighbourhood calico stray on your way down. The door closes with a slam, but you don't give a shit because the people in the apartment above never seem to give a shit when they stumble home at four in the morning.
Before he sleeps that evening, Jungkook wonders how much of the skyline you get to indulge in. Your dad works in the accounting side of one of the largest law firms in the city, he knows that much from his research. Knows that your immediate family has more money than probably all of his relatives combined. Alive and dead.
He just isn't aware that you're not seeing a single dime of it. Not since you dropped out of the economics and business side of school to focus on the creative arts. All that money your parents had 'wasted' on your education? Well, they weren't wasting any more.
Because you're a commodity, to be bought and sold, apparently. Not their daughter, who they should have just wanted to be happy.
So now you spend your Tuesday and Thursday evenings down in Daerim.
Because you are a commodity; and if anyone's gonna be selling you, then it may as well be your fucking self.
A stack of yellow 50,000 won bills sit on your desk. Twelve of them. 600,000 won. Not bad for a week's work. 6 hours.
Might have been cut off from your Dad's money, but your replacement 'daddy' wasn't a bad substitute.
The bluntness of such a statement usually makes you laugh, but not today.
If Jungkook knows the Daerim area like you think he does, then he'll be able to work it out soon enough. A bitterness fills your chest, like coffee dripping through a filter, forgotten about and left to go cold. You've been so good at playing pretend.
Secrets are so much easier to keep when they're not shared.
Perhaps that should be your project piece.
Secrets of Seoul: The Seedy Underbelly of The City.
After all, that was your unique view of the city; the side you saw that you were pretty sure no-one else did.
At least, no one else except Jungkook. Go figure.
"SEVEN WEEKS LEFT!" Your professor reminds the class as they dismiss you from your lecture. There's a little chatter, partners sharing ideas and friends discussing what to have for lunch - and then there's you and Jungkook.
He waits by the end of his row for you to walk to meet him, an inconspicuous look on his face.
The girl who he's watching neatly put a fluffy pen into her handbag looks a lot like you, but a hell of a lot different from the girl he gave a lift to last night.
Who the fuck are you?
Jungkook has always liked a little mystery. Seen the romanticism in the unknown. Still doesn't like you - but you've gotten him curious.
"You haven't sent anything over yet," he notes, keeping a slight distance from you as you walk together up the stairs.
"You told me not to bombard you," you remind him.
"Sending me video files once in a blue moon is fine."
"Once in a blue moon. Gotcha."
It's Friday, so he knows it's not one of your pre-determined days of having prior engagements.
It's only now that he realises that must have been why you were in Daerim last night; that your 'errands' are actually scheduled into your routine. It doesn't bode well for his 'not a hooker, an addict or a sugar-baby' theory.
"I was thinking of heading over to Dongdaemun this evening, seeing as you weren't free on Tuesday," he starts a little awkwardly, but the more he speaks, the easier it becomes. Being nice, that is. "I could still use a hand, if you're free? If you're serious about helping out, I mean. It would be good to make a start on things."
Relief washes over you. You've been fearing a conversation about the night before, but Jungkook doesn't want to talk about it just as much as you don't.
You meet him at seven o'clock that evening at Dongdaemun Design Plaza. You've always loved the green roof, how organic the landscaping looks above such a futuristic building. He listens as you explain this, eyes wide and in awe of the sloping pathways and curved walls, showing him your favourite of all the trees in the park.
Jungkook looks at you for a second, observes your hands, how they delicately move a few leaves to frame the shot you're taking. You've a Midas touch, and Jungkook wonders if your fingers would turn him to gold, too.
It's a silly, fleeting thought, but it doesn't stop him from focusing the camera on you as you roam Dongdaemun night market later that evening, lights cascading over you like glitter.
He thinks you're pretty in this light. Pretty when it's just him and you. No distractions.
Except there's hustle and bustle everywhere, a vendor chasing a thief, groups of high schoolers laughing on their way home from Hagwons, food sizzling, vapours making his stomach rumble. Perhaps you're the distraction, instead.
The pair of you spend the next week traipsing the city together.
Somehow, you only ever come together when the sun goes down, but it's fitting. You're a pair of nightcrawlers, swarming through the city when traffic sounds like a melody and destinations are unknown.
He learns that you drink your coffee black, no sugar, lukewarm. You learn that he'd rather rub coffee granules into his eyes than drink it.
And despite your preference for no sugar, he always tosses a little white sachet towards you whenever you order a coffee. He finds it funny. Insists that you have to be a sugar baby. It's the only way he can explain that night he saw you Daerim.
He's just joking. And you pretend not to, but you find it hysterical.
Mainly because he doesn't realise how bang on the money he is.
But also because you can't help but laugh whenever he does.
There's a comfort that grows between the pair of you, a familiarity. A casual ease that doesn't feel dangerous, not even when he's pulsing through the city on his bike, you holding onto him, his leather jacket wrapped around your body. You begin to like the way that the wind feels in your hair, and you stop wearing fake lashes. Jungkook doesn't tell you, but he likes you better with a few freckles showing, dewy highlighter and a little mascara being the only makeup you wear for the midnight city roams.
It's only because you can't be wasting resources reserved for clients on a boy from your film studies class. Times are tough, money is tight. No point in pouring funds into a boy you won't make revenue from. It's a bad business decision.
A few months ago, you did your makeup multiple times a day just for fun. Now you have to ration it. Life... life isn't what it used to be.
But Jungkook is ignorant to that, and you quite like it. Escaping from your reality. Becoming the version of yourself that he thinks you are.
He isn't sure which version of you he wants to spend time with the most; the too-good for him daddy's girl who dresses in Celine and comes with a pout, the enigma who lurks in the shadows that he thought he had a monopoly over, or the master director who seems to rival his talents for capturing moments of life in 4K.
As he watches your brows furrow while you turn your phone upside down, trying to understand a map, he decides that he doesn't care which version he gets.
Jungkook wants what he wants.
There's an impulsion to his desires and subsequent actions that he takes to obtain them. He's driven by gratification, and little else.
On the days he wants to feel wanted, he'll go to a bar. He never whispers false promises or pretends like he's after anything more than what can be achieved in a single night. The girls he goes for tend to see that as a challenge. They think they can convince him otherwise. It's not his fault when they can't. It's not his fault that they end up falling for him regardless. It's not his fault that he never has any intention of loving them back.
He tells them this. They ignore him. It isn't his fault.
On the days he wants to feel accomplished, he'll stay on campus until the cleaners usher him out of the room so that they can prepare it for the next day. Their insistence is lost on him - no amount of Cif can polish the dirt out of the walls. Once a shithole, always a shithole. He'll offer his apologies for getting in their way, and they'll coo over him like he's their own grandson. It's all very sweet.
They tell him not to overwork himself. He lies and says he won't.
On the days he wants to eat more than a single cup of ramyeon - which is most days, given his absolutely mammoth appetite - he'll send Hobi a text and request more drop-offs for that evening. Yoongi will give Jungkook a subtle look whenever a message from Hobi pings through, knowing it mustn't be good news. It never is.
Jungkook tells Yoongi to mind his business - but with a grin and a glint in his eye that eases his friends worry ever so slightly.
Disapproval never stops Jungkook from doing what he wants, regardless.
Not from his friends, from the cleaning ajummas, and especially not from you.
So he ignores the look in your eye, as he encourages you to follow him through a gap in the chainlink fence, which surrounds a disused water tower on the outskirts of the city.
Jungkook wants what he wants.
And right now, he wants to get a shot of the midnight city from his favourite vantage point.
"You said you've taken thousands of shots here," You hiss as a twig snaps beneath your foot. He smirks as you utter out a curse. "Surely you can just reuse one of those?!"
He guides you round, ignoring the ground level rubble, until you get to a ladder that definitely isn't safe for use. It's rusting by the bolts, and has a few vines trailing up it, undisturbed for months. Remnants of paint are flaking from the structure, collecting like ashes on the ground below.
"I have," he shrugs, unhooking your camera bag from your shoulder, popping it into his rucksack for safe keeping. He crouches, putting his palms upwards to offer you a leg up. "You haven't, though. You see the city differently to me, remember?"
He's taunting you. Reusing the phrase from your Professor that you had quoted to him on the first day of the project. Asshole.
Asshole with a smirk that suggests he's only teasing. Suggests that he's fond. Words that suggest he remembers the things you say to him. Memorises them, even.
Curious.
"Can't we just pretend like we see it the same way?"
"No can do, sugar."
"Oh my god, stop calling me that."
You're thankful for the midnight sky and the way it disguises your blush.
As if throwing packets of the white stuff at your face in coffee shops isn't enough, he's taken to calling you 'sugar', too.
"Give me a reason not to," he says as he tilts his head, encouraging you to accept his leg up. You check your feet for mud, then put your trust in his grip.
"I've already told you, I was just running errands," you defend yourself for the thousandth time. A short yelp escapes your lips as he boosts you up, your hands gripping onto the flaking bars beside the ladder.
He doesn't believe you for a second. He also doesn't believe that you're actually a sugar baby. It's just fun to fuck with you a little.
Once you're up, he waits for you to safely sit on the ledge, and then he makes the climb too. He's up a lot quicker than you, coming to sit beside you with his legs dangling over the ledge of the railings.
"Tell me it isn't worth it," Jungkook says a little airily, enamoured with the view.
And he's right. It is worth it.
A maze of city lights twinkle like the Carina nebula, interstellar, yet entirely of this earth. Bright whites, reds and greens speckle the horizon, and for a moment, it's easy to forget that you're looking at Seoul. There's a magic that can only be appreciated from a distance, far away from the scent of alleyways and the void nothingness of grey brick buildings. Skyscrapers tower above the skyline, but still look small from where you and Jungkook sit, silently, in awe.
"Look over there," he points across the vast expanse. You follow his trajectory, but you have no idea if you're picking out the right spot. "Daerim. Can always tell. Know the street layout too well."
"You're gonna get me thinking you're a sugar baby," you nudge your shoulder into his, and he laughs.
Reaching into his rucksack, you expect him to pull out your camera. Instead, his hand comes back into vision holding a pair of chopsticks and a tub of instant ramyeon. Uncooked.
He pulls the seal back, stabs at it with the chopsticks and offers you the small chunk he's broken off.
"It's good," he promises.
You know what dried ramyeon tastes like. You know it's good. You just can't understand what the fuck is wrong with him.
"Are you broken?"
He grins as he tosses the chunk of dried noodles into his own mouth. "Absolutely - but ramyeon is ramyeon."
You tell him he's weird, and he continues to smile, not resisting as you take the tub from him and break off a chunk with your fingers.
It's one of his favourite snacks. He's impatient and impulsive at the best of times. Waiting for it to cook? Too much effort. Cooking it at the convenience store and carrying it up the tower with him? Disaster waiting to happen. It's just easier this way.
And so the pair of you sit, not really saying much, watching the city roll by. Every now and again, he offers you a chunk from his chopsticks.
By the end of the night, neither of you have gotten any footage of the city.
And neither of you really care.
AS YOU SPRINT home after yet another spree around the city with Jungkook, running late for your Thursday evening appointment, you curse your inability to send his calls to voicemail.
You should really be working more. You need to be working more - but for the past four weeks now, you've answered every single one of his calls.
His messages? Yeah, you ignore those. He's learnt this, though. He messages you regardless, because... well, because he wants to, quite frankly. He doesn't give a shit if you respond.
He knows you read them.
He knows you saw that picture he sent of a flyer detailing a live art event last week. He knows that you noticed the veins on his arms.
You don't know that he'd spent a couple of minutes tensing his arm before he took the picture. Deliberately.
It's been said before that Jungkook wants what he wants - and what he wants more than anything, frustratingly, is your attention.
The way you study his arms the next time you see him proves that he's gotten it.
If anything, the delayed gratification makes it so much more worthwhile.
You have been thinking about him.
So as far as Jungkook is concerned, you can ignore his messages all you like, because you still always answer his calls with an airy 'hi,' as if talking to him takes your breath away.
The only time you don't answer is between the hours of eleven and two on Tuesday and Thursday evenings.
Chances are, if he just so happens to be in the area - which he always is - he'll catch you down on the wrong side of the tracks at just gone quarter past two.
He still calls you 'sugar', teasing you for the reputation of the area. You just roll your eyes and grin, then banter with him about how even if you were a sugar baby, he wouldn't be able to afford your prices.
He argues that he'd pay in ways that didn't include monetary value.
You don't ask him to expand.
But as you wipe your watery lash line in the bathroom of a shitty rental apartment in Daerim, you think about what he could have meant. If he actually meant it.
The TV blares from the living room, faint vapours of a mango e-cigarette wafting through the gap beneath the door. You've always thought mango smells like cat piss. Rancid.
Whatever Jungkook could have meant didn't matter. His flirty tone and angel eyes didn't pay the bills. The cash tossed down on the bathroom counter did - or more specifically, the widower, who occasionally wanted company from a pretty young girl, did.
A hundred thousand won for an hour, three hundred thousand total. It takes you just a week, two appointments, to make up the month's rent - but you still need to eat, to study, survive.
And so you return, every week.
It's not his actual apartment. He lives over in Gangnam, close to his kids' schools. More money than sense. He doesn't tell you much about his personal life. You think a lot of his small claims are lies, anyway - but you smile and flutter your lashes as if he's reciting bible verses.
Some nights are better than others. Sometimes, he genuinely makes you laugh. Occasionally, he'll ask you what you want to do. Takes you to museums. Fancy dinners. Theatre shows.
But he has a nasty streak, and in those three hours, you're his. He owns you. There's no sex, that's not the arrangement, but his hands have been known to roam, and the disparity of equality within your working relationship becomes apparent. You brush it off, tell yourself that it's natural for a man engaging with you in a romantic capacity to forget the rules. You tell yourself that it's okay.
The churning in your stomach and dis-ease of such a situation tells you that no, it isn't okay. But if you laugh at his painfully unfunny jokes loud enough, you're able to drown out the noise in your head.
The worst nights are the ones where he pays you extra.
There's no discussion anymore. The stack of notes is just thicker than usual upon arrival, and you know that at some point during the night, you'll have to sit in silence and watch as he sinks his hand down into his pants.
It's easy to forget the way it looks. Your eyes glaze over, and the discomfort, the slight disgust, indicated in your features gets him hard. He thinks it's taboo. Thinks you enjoy it too. That your panties look a lot like his hand by the time he's finished.
The snort-like grunts are what you find hard to forget. The wail of a moan that comes when he does. You hear that shit in your nightmares.
But it earns you an extra two hundred thousand, so you endure it because you don't have much of an option at this point.
Come 2 AM, cash stuffed down your bra, you don't have to think about it anymore. The fresh air of the city, a little smoggy and polluted, hits you like a freight train. You thank it.
When Jungkook enters Daerim that evening, he expects to find you. He normally does. You never look particularly happy - in fact, he often tells you that you've got a face like a slapped arse - but it's more so today.
He whistles from across the street, clad in black, a thick hoodie keeping him warm beneath his leather jacket. "Oi, Sugar," he calls, that boyish grin on his lips. Teeth so pretty you wonder how much novocaine it would take for you to be numb to the way it makes your stomach flip.
Eyes dancing up and down your body, he likes what you're wearing. Black tights, black dress that cuts off at your mid-thigh, a sweetheart neckline and chiffon sleeves that puff around your slender arms. He decides your boots are far more sensible than the heels you're usually in.
"That'll be twenty thousand, Jeon," you call back, arms folded over your chest as you change direction to walk towards him.
"Per hour?"
"Per every time you call me that stupid fucking name."
"What would you rather?" he goads, leaning against a window ledge on the back of a restaurant building. There's nothing down the alleyway, just trashbags and the distinct scent of fermenting piss. "Shugs? SB? Baby?"
You smirk, walking to the wall opposite him, mirroring his position, hands resting beside you on the ledge. There's a safe distance between the pair of you. A look, but don't touch type of vibe - but this time, unlike earlier on in your evening, you actually enjoy it.
"You really gotta make your mind up," your eyes roll, lips rising into a crescent. "One minute I'm a trust-fund princess with Daddy's money on tap, the next I'm a sugar baby with a different type of Daddy altogether."
Jungkook shrugs. "Just don't see why you waste your evenings roaming fucking Daerim of all places."
"Best dandanmian in the city," you say, referencing the abundance of traditional Chinese restaurants in the area. "Can't get the authentic stuff in Itaewon."
"Can't get hookers in Itaewon like you can in Daerim, either," he taunts you.
He doesn't really think you're a hooker, but he likes the way you grin whenever your eyes roll.
"Ah, so that's why you're here."
He holds his hands up to playfully admit defeat. "Guilty."
You laugh, knowing that there's no way in hell Jungkook will ever have to resort to hookers. Not when he looks like that. All doe-eyed and charming, floppy hair just begging for a pair of hands to run through it.
The pair of you let the moment simmer, droplets of water dripping from the drainpipe and into the sewer. He's lit by the neon light of a restaurant sign, red and yellow painting him like an impressionist masterpiece.
"You look cold," he acknowledges, but you shake your head and insist you're fine. Your hair is a little damp from the small shower you'd been caught in a little while previously, mascara smudged around your eyes. You looked like that before the rain, mind you. He shakes his jacket off and tosses it across to you, snorting quietly as it hits your face and crumples over your feet. "C'mon. I'm now about to ride home. I'll give you a lift."
He asks for your address, and you tell him that you'll just get a taxi from his place like you normally do. There's no need for him to go out of his way.
"The princess doesn't want the pauper to see her castle, huh?" he teases, always talking in bloody riddles.
"See!" you protest. "Always changing your mind! A minute ago I was a sugar baby, and now I'm a rich bitch again. Which is it, Jeon?"
"I dunno," he reaches behind himself, adjusting your legs and pulling you a little closer into his back, tapping your side to make sure you've got the jacket on. "You tell me, sugar."
He doesn't see you roll your eyes, but he knows you do it. You always do. Even when your pretty pink nails are clutching the fabric of his shirt, you pretend like you don't enjoy his company.
You've gotten good at playing pretend.
Jungkook only jokes about you being a sugar baby.
He doesn't fathom that you actually are one.
His engine begins to purr, and Jungkook kicks up the stand, setting off into the night.
The way you hold onto his waist is different tonight.
Physically, it's the same.
But it feels different.
And it is, because you're not just holding onto him; you're hugging him. Comfort in an old routine. You adjust your arms, keeping tight against his back, and he pretends like he doesn't notice the shift in dynamic.
He pretends as if he didn't notice your sad eyes earlier, too, and as if he can't feel the stutter in your chest as if you're trying not to cry.
Jungkook isn't a knight on a white horse, and nor does he want to be - but he doesn't mind being your rogue bandit who steals you away from the things that make you sad.
He's just an arc in your fairytale, not your happy ending.
But you've always been a sucker for a bit of a plot twist.
When you arrive at his, he wants to ask you to stay. He doesn't want an orange taxi cab to appear at the end of his lane and act like your actual knight in shining armour. He doesn't want you to ride into the sunrise with anyone but him.
And as luck would have it, your phone shares his desires.
Well, no. It doesn't. It's a mobile phone. It doesn't have cognitive thoughts - but it is out of charge.
"Different charging ports," he grits his teeth as he holds up his Samsung after you ask if he's got an iPhone charger. "I'm pretty sure I have an apple cable lying about though. You can come in for a second, get a little bit of charge just so that you're not stranded in a taxi without a way to contact anyone."
You nod appreciatively. "You sure?"
He doesn't answer, instead holding his door open and ushering you inside.
Jungkook cares in strange ways. He's practical, forward-thinking, trying to find solutions to problems that you'd normally shrug your shoulders at.
He's never told anyone that he loves them before, but he did once swap the hinges on his ex-girlfriend's bathroom door to the other side, so that it would stop hitting the sink basin every time she opened it. He shows his affections in meaningful ways, often without being asked or expecting anything in return.
Neither of you realise it yet, but this is one of those occasions.
It's not until you're perched on the worktop bench in his kitchen that he realises he let you in without hesitation. No longer embarrassed of where he lived, he kind of likes having you here.
You look out of place, silver pendant round your neck, expensive, and hair professionally coloured, nails done, toes, too. Not that he can see them. He just remembers a conversation you had once over chicken and a beer about the fact your toes always matched your nails.
Small details like that are what he thinks about when he's alone; like the way you blink a little faster when you're confused, and how you sprinkle Cheeto dust back into the bag off of your fingers instead of licking them like he does. He thinks about the way you laugh in his company, and how he's never heard you laugh like that with anyone else. And he tries to stop, but dammit, he thinks about how sexed up you look on those Daerim nights.
You're dressing like that for someone else, he knows that much.
But he gets to indulge in it too, when your body is pressed against his back as he takes you home.
He's stopped asking what you do in Daerim. He doesn't want to know.
For a few minutes a night, when he's alone, he likes to pretend what it would be like if he was the one you were dressed like that for. Only ever a minute or so. Gets him too hot. Finishes him off too quickly. Absolute sin.
"Kook?"
He doesn't even realise he's halted his movements until your voice breaks him from his thoughts. His jeans tonight are tight, and do a pretty good job of hiding the swelling between his legs. Fucking uncomfortable, though.
"Sorry," he doesn't turn to face you. "Was just trying to remember where I last had the cable."
"I was just saying that it's fine. It's really not that far. Don't wanna be a bother."
"Why'd you say shit like that?" he turns to face you, face twisted a little. He's annoyed.
"Like what?"
"Call yourself a bother. You do it a lot."
"I don't."
"You do," he insists, and you can't work out why he's so annoyed by it. You want to apologise all over again. "You just-" he takes a moment to find the right words. "I dunno who's conditioned you into thinking everything you do is bothersome, but it really isn't. If I didn't wanna help, then I wouldn't. It's not a bother. You're not a bother."
And you don't know why, but for some reason, you choke up a little. It's not like he said anything particularly groundbreaking, it's just for the last few months, your entire existence has felt like a drain on those around you.
The money you can live without, but you miss family dinners on Sundays, and face timing your little sister, more than you can even begin to explain.
And while no, you didn't want your parents' money, you didn't want to keep seeing a perverted old man just to be able to afford to eat, either. The flat rate was 500,000 now. Every single time. Without fail. You hadn't put the price up. He was just always paying extra. Always touching his prick. Always jerking himself off over your repulsion.
Earlier that evening, he had queried how much it would cost him to finish on your chest. You told him a million. He asked if you accepted bank transfers. You told him no. He offered 1.2 mil.
Part of you considered it. It's a lot of money. Not something to be taken lightly.
But when you ran into Jungkook, just like you knew you would, you were adamant you had made the right choice. He had scanned your body, getting a read on your mood, assessing what you needed, what you wanted, and then had offered up his jacket. All doe-eyed and sparkling. You finally got what all the girls swooned over, 'cause you were doing it too.
"Hey," he says softly, noticing the way your eyes are reddening. "Hey, hey, no. Don't cry, sugar."
You laugh through the first couple of tears. Stupid fucking nickname.
"I meant it," you sniff, wiping your cheeks with the back of your hands. He's standing closer now, hesitant to touch, hands hovering around you. "20 thousand won, Jeon. Pay up."
His fingers tenderly wrap around your wrists, keeping them from rubbing at your face again. He's smiling, eyes ever encompassing, cheeks so appled that you bet you could get drunk off the cider he'd produce.
"Can we do it on an I.O.U. basis?" he speaks quietly, playfully. "I get paid on Monday."
It's a lie. He gets his commission cut straight from his sales figures. There's 2 million won in his rucksack. He only gets ten percent. 200K. His job's not nearly half as lucrative as yours, but it's still nothing to be laughed at. He's making bank.
"Nuh-uh," you sniff again, letting out a little laugh. He laughs too. "Told you that you couldn't afford me."
And then it's silent. You can hear your heartbeat. He moves a little closer.
"Told you I'd just pay in other ways."
His voice is hoarse, as if he's scared.
As if he fears the consequences of his claim.
Your eyes drop to his lips. They're trembling slightly. Preparing.
The grip he has on your wrists loosens. He's giving you freedom. He's giving you the chance to back out, to run away.
But you don't.
"Pay up, then," you all-but whisper, lips closing on his.
Jungkook doesn't stall, no, but it takes him a second to respond. To realise.
And once he does, his brows furrow into the kiss, demanding that you know just how much he wants this. Wants you. Has done for weeks, now.
He pulls your body into his, needing you close. Your body curves, his arm hooked behind your back to keep you balanced.
A surge of intensity washes over you like crimson paint. It'll stain you, and everyone will know: That's her. That's the girl who let Jeon Jungkook kiss her like he actually meant it.
He kisses, and he kisses, and he kisses, and he doesn't stop, as if he knows his first with you will also be his last - and when he finally does stop, forehead on yours, the pair of you are breathing so heavily into each other's mouths that it's as if you're sharing oxygen. Keeping each other alive. Both capable of first-degree murder.
And so neither of you pull away. There's no way he's doing time for you. There's no way you're doing time for him. Looks like you'll just have to kiss forever. Shame. Such a hardship. However will you cope?
"I-" he begins, before cutting himself off, easing his grip on your waist. One of his hands lingers, while the other pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes wincing. "Shit-" he finally lets you go. "I don't know what that was. I'm sorry."
You want to tell him that it's okay, that you didn't mind, that he could do it again - but it's clear he doesn't agree.
"Just adrenaline," you offer, sinking down to perch on the worktop bench. Your defeated posture is hidden well like this. "Don't sweat it."
He stays silent as he turns around to resume his rummaging, looking for a charger that will fit your phone. He knows there's one in there, he just can't for the life of him remember when he last had it.
Everything feels a little awkward. You half think that you should fill the void with something, that you should break the ice, but what was the point? You'll be out of his hair soon.
And you are, home twenty minutes later. You had only charged your phone for ten minutes at his, just enough to get you home. It's about to die again. Not before Jungkook pings you a message, though.
He doesn't expect a response, but he lies awake until he sees your read receipt confirm that you've seen it.
Sadness doesn't suit you, sugar. I'm not gonna pry, but if you ever need a ride earlier than normal out of Daerim, give me a call.
He spent a good six minutes debating whether or not to end his message with a kiss, eventually deciding against it. No need to make the message any softer than it already was.
To his surprise, a bubble pops up on your side of the chat thread.
His heart twinges, your response saying everything he wished he had with just one simple letter:
x
JUNGKOOK HAS A terrible habit of taking out his stress on the people around him; the ones that he holds closest.
"I just don't see why it's such a big issue," Jimin says through a mouthful of salad greens. His teeth chomp so loudly that Jungkook thinks they'll have to swing by the dentistry labs later that afternoon. Which Jimin'll probably like, considering he won't stop fucking rambling on about a dentistry student at the moment. "She's hot, she's got guys practically falling at her feet and she's interested in you. It's one party. Stop being so fucking boring."
Yoongi casts Jungkook a sympathetic look. He doesn't work so much at the moment, what with his chemistry finals coming up, and especially not in the Daerim area.
That's Jungkook's market now - but he did happen to have a drop-off for a last-minute order a couple of weeks back. Territory isn't an issue between the friends, with Jungkook respecting Yoongi far too much to ever tell him to back off, or to not take deals in that area.
He had been about to approach Jungkook that night, when he noticed you crossing the street, a smile plastered on your face. He couldn't see Jungkook's face from the angle he was at, but he could see how raised his cheeks were. And so he left the pair of you to it, knowing better than to stick his nose where it wasn't wanted.
Unlike Jimin, apparently.
"Not boring," Jungkook retorts, tossing the wrapper his chopsticks came in at Jimin's face. "Got a bunch of assignments due in."
"Dude, you've been MIA for weeks. If we didn't have classes together, I'd have sent out a search party by now."
"You're being dramatic."
"You're being boring."
"Kids, settle down," Yoongi interjects, and wonders why he doesn't just find friends his own age. Logistics, he decides. The perils of having to save up for university before he could actually attend.
Jimin, being Jimin, then proceeds to bicker with Yoongi, leaving Jungkook free to find your face amongst the canteen crowd. You're sat with friends, none of whom he's ever met.
Your hair is up, like it always is during school, but you've let your grown out bangs frame your face. Pretty, he thinks. Prettiest girl here.
But then you stand up, and Jungkook turns caveman. Head empty. No thoughts. Just nonsense. Jesus Christ. Who gave you the right? God damn.
A few months ago, he would have looked at you in that outfit - a silky sage green playsuit over a white tee, sunglasses resting on your head like an alice band and a pair of white converse on your feet - and he probably would have scoffed. Wouldda said some bullshit about the fact you're dressed like a child, or that the weather isn't good enough to warrant such an outfit.
A few months ago, he was a fucking idiot.
You feel his gaze on you, just like you always do.
And you ignore it.
You've been getting good at that. Pretending as if you don't feel his eyes. As if you're unaffected, unbothered by the simplest form of intimacy: a single look.
He knows you've been keeping your distance. Watching from afar is all he can do when you slink out of class before he can catch your attention. He tells himself that he doesn't care.
Jungkook mutes the audio track of the editing software he uses when he stitches together your footage, so he doesn't have to relive your conversations or hear you laugh, or worse, hear himself laugh.
It's all a bit nauseating.
Maybe a party would actually be a good distraction.
"Tonight, did you say?" Jungkook pipes up out of nowhere, only dragging his eyes away from you when he sees you pull your phone out to send a text.
He pouts. You never text him. Not once since last Thursday.
And you were nowhere to be seen on Tuesday.
He had called you, and for once, you didn't pick up. He didn't try again. Decided that it was on you just as much as it was on him.
That being said, he didn't get home till four in the morning, two and half hours after his last deal. Spaffed away an entire tank of petrol. Rode in fucking circles. Just in case.
"Now we're talking!" Jimin grins. "Tonight. It's her birthday, she's rented a bar in Itaewon - Dad knows the landlord or something."
Jungkook didn't know who 'she' was. Hadn't been listening to that part of the conversation.
"Well, you kids enjoy yourselves," Yoongi sighs as he gets to his feet. "Can't risk my finals over a few crappy drinks in a shitty bar."
"Oh boo-hoo!" Jimin pouts. "Spoilsport."
When Jungkook enters the bar that evening, he's greeted with everything he expects. E-cigarette vapours cloud the air, a cocktail of flavours violating his senses as he heads to the bar, shitty EDM pumping through the speakers. It's been a while since he let his hair down, so to speak.
There's something about him that commands attention. People gravitate towards him, even through the smoke clouds and sweaty bodies. Girls buy him drinks. Guys buy him drinks, too. Anything just to spend time in his presence. Like leeches, they hope to share some of Jungkook's aura.
It's impossible, though. It's Jungkook's authenticity that gives him such charisma. Trying to emulate it only ever comes off as tacky - like the guy towards the back of the room who's permed his hair to look like Jungkook's. Pierced his eyebrow, too. Looks like shit. Jungkook doesn't want to judge him, but he's a few drinks deep, and being kind is what got him into that mess with you in the first place.
No good ever comes from being nice.
He takes a shot. Tequila. Chases it down with lemonade. The girl next to him is playing with the bracelets on his wrist. Her nails scratch a little bit, and he quite likes it, so he doesn't resist when pulls him onto the dancefloor. He observes the way she moves first, and isn't disappointed. She knows how to move her hips, and seems to like it when he puts his hands on them. He can't really feel the sensation when she kisses him. The alcohol has numbed his lips. Maybe Jimin was right to force him into this.
By the time he goes to the bar for another drink, he's faded. Off his tits. Helped himself to some of Hobi's stash that he was supposed to be distributing that evening. A little bit of coke never does him any harm. He knows his limits. Tastes like shit down the back of his throat, but he kind of enjoys it.
At first, he thinks he must be seeing things when he catches you with an espresso martini in hand, laughing with people he doesn't know.
You've this whole life that he's no part of. A whole entire world. He really is an outsider looking in.
You're one of the elite; an old-money heiress. The type to own a miniature dog breed and only fly business class. It was stupid of him to think your interest in him had been anything more than entertainment. A 'little bit of rough.' Excitement away from the confines of the life he's sure your parents must have planned out for you.
It might just be because he's coked up, but he doesn't care about any of that.
All he can think about is the fact he's pretty sure you've never looked more beautiful.
He feels so lost looking at you like this, as if he needs to be closer, for fear of losing sight of you entirely.
And so he sits beside you at the bar, orders his drink, waits for you to notice him. Which you do.
You'd spotted him the very second you walked into the bar, his hands all over some girl you don't know.
In all fairness, you didn't realise he would be there. Sohyun, the girl whose birthday it was and an old friend from high school, has been fawning over Jungkook for months. Just superficial drawling, comments about his thighs and the fact she'd quite like to be suffocated by them. Harmless, really. You know she's never actually made a move.
Sohyun doesn't know you're working on a project together. You avoid the topic of him altogether, especially with her.
But she does notice the way Jungkook is looking at you like he's seen a ghost; haunted and comforted all in the same expression.
"You're here," he finally says, and it feels as if your chest is about to cave in.
Turning to face him, you're casual in your posture. Unbothered. Completely unaffected by him, and the lipstick that's painting those lips of his that you like so much.
You raise your thumb and swipe it across his bottom lip. He's silent as you do so, watching you, holding his breath. His lip moves like rubber beneath your touch, soft and supple, springing back into position once you release it.
You raise your thumb to study the lipstick you've collected from him. "Plum's really not your colour, Jungkook."
He doesn't say anything, a little transfixed. It's barely ticked past midnight. You should be in Daerim.
In all fairness, so should he. Hobi had some choice words for Jungkook when he told him that he wasn't working that evening at such short notice.
You swipe open your phone and repeat the step, filming your thumb as Jungkook becomes captive to your touch. You want to look, to see how wide his dark eyes are, but you're too busy feigning disinterest.
"There," you smile, forwarding the video along before you lock your phone. "Just sent you a video of how I see the city tonight."
You've no right to be annoyed. You know that.
Jungkook can be in a bar with another girl's lipstick on his chin if wants to be. He can stay out all night, and he can stay in beds that aren't his. It's his prerogative.
But you are annoyed.
It's irrational, and pathetic, and you shouldn't be.
You barely know him. Not really.
After you'd shown him your favourite tree at the Design Plaza a few weeks ago, he'd insisted on taking you across town to Garosugil, a street in Gangnam lined with beautiful tall trees. He questioned why you only had one favourite tree, when you could have had an entire row of them instead.
At the time, you'd enjoyed the way his eyes looked beneath the lights of the designer stores that neither of you could afford. You didn't question what he had meant.
It seems like you found your answer.
"I'm not the city," he eventually says.
And he's right.
He's not the city.
Fuck it, no, he's not the city, but his eyes sparkle like Itaewon on Friday nights, and his hands are strong like the World Cup Bridge. He's not the city, but you find it so easy to get lost in him without a map, and sometimes wearing his leather jacket makes you feel like you're eating comfort food at your favourite breakfast bar over in Myeong-dong. He's not the city.
He's not the goddamn city.
But it feels a little like you'd accidentally anchored your navigation pin in him regardless.
All you do is smile, and tell him that he's right.
"Look," he begins, and you can smell the spiced rum on his breath.
"It's okay," you interrupt. Who are you to make him feel guilty for his promiscuous encounters?
He doesn't know what you do in the dark. Not really. If he did, he probably wouldn't have kissed you last week.
"No, I-" he cuts himself off like he always does when he doesn't wanna fuck up his words. The alcohol is doing him absolutely zero favours. "I dunno, sugar."
Your smile is sad, and he hates himself. You lean forward, press a kiss into his rosy cheek and whisper, "That'll be 20,000, Jeon."
And because he's drunk, and he wants to make things better, he reaches for his wallet. You were about to walk away regardless, but damn, if the boy doesn't know how to hit you where it hurts.
"Really, Kook?"
It's like he doesn't know you at all; doesn't remember how you banter with him, how you flirt with him. Or maybe you were just stupid for thinking that you'd been flirting with him in the first place. Maybe he just speaks to everyone how he speaks to you. Must have spoken to whoever was wearing that lipstick in the same way.
He doesn't answer, not verbally, but his brows pinch together and his lips develop a frowning pout.
When he stumbles home that evening, he asks himself the same question: really, Kook?
In the morning, he wakes alone, with no recollection of how he got home.
He doesn't remember the girl from the bar, or the fact that Jimin threw up in a fish tank, or that they're now barred from three different establishments for encouraging people to snort fish food (which Jungkook had stolen while Jimin was emptying his stomach). Regretfully, he doesn't even remember your arrival at the first bar. Doesn't remember how, for once, you'd dressed to impress just him.
His lack of recollection means fuck all though, 'cause despite his headache, the thing weighing down most heavily on him is guilt. He feels a sense of duty when it comes to you; duty that he hasn't performed lately. Were you getting home safe? Getting harrassed by scummy fuckers on the Daerim path of destruction?
Out of habit, he checks his phone, ignores the messages from unknown numbers and goes straight to your message thread to check the damage. He's surprised to find that he didn't drunk text you, but even more surprised to find that you'd messaged him. It's a video, just a few seconds, but it's enough to provoke some of his memories back.
He watches your thumb as it glides across his bottom lip. Watches it again. Notices the lipstick. Notices the thumb ring he never realised you wore before, and the fact that your nails are black now instead of their usual pink. There's something erotic about it; the way you touch him. The way you filmed yourself touching him. He'll probably get in trouble for it, but there's no way he isn't adding that to your project.
You consider ignoring his call when your phone flashes with his caller I.D.
It's only just gone seven, and you're still in bed, still try to make heads or tails of your life.
But you're weak, and so you slide your thumb across the little green icon.
"Hey."
"Uh, hey."
"You good?"
"So hungover, I think I might die," Jungkook jokes, voice hoarse. You wonder if he always sounds like this in the morning. "Just wanted to check in with you though. Barely seen you all week, and then I end up with a weird-ass video in our message thread that I don't remember."
Ah. You cringe.
"Ran into you at the bar," you shrug, not that he can see you. "Didn't realise you were friends with Sohyun."
"Hmm?"
"Sohyun... the girl who's birthday it was?"
"Oh. Right. Yeah. Nah, no, not really friends with her. Jimin forced me along."
You don't know all that much about Jimin, but from your limited interactions with him, it doesn't surprise you. Not in the slightest.
"Good night?"
Your question sounds forced and awkward, and he doesn't quite understand why.
"No idea," he admits honestly. "Remember fuck all."
He sounds as if he wants to keep talking but doesn't know what to say.
You don't know what to say either.
It's a mess. You liked it better when he hated you.
"Were you at the bar for long?" He asks, genuinely curious. "You're normally busy on Thursdays?"
"Just a drink. Had a last-minute change of plans."
"Oh?"
"Yeah..."
You know he wants you to elaborate. He wants more without having to explicitly ask for it.
Which is apt. Seems like it's a common occurrence with Jungkook.
"So what did you call for?" you change the topic, not wanting to dwell. The aversion doesn't go unnoticed by him, but it does go unquestioned.
"I-" there he goes again, cutting himself off prematurely. Coward. "Are you free? Now?"
Oh.
Not a coward. Just cautious.
"Now? I mean, yeah, I guess."
Jungkook takes a second, and then he bites down on the grenade pin.
"Can you come over?"
THE WAY YOU keep Jungkook hanging on tenterhooks is deliberate.
You're unsure of him, of his motivations, and what he does in the dark. And so, while you want to let your guard down, you can't. It's probably something to do with your parents - the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally - making their love entirely conditional and withdrawing it so suddenly.
It's the kind of shit you would have spoken about with your therapist, but you can't afford her anymore.
Can't afford much of anything, anymore. So much of the money you've earnt recently is tied up in credit card debt or rent.
Foundation was the first luxury that you'd compromised, and you're still yet to buy any more. Cheap stuff always makes you break out, and thankfully your parents did give you decent genetics, at least, so your skin was pretty clear.
It's the lack of make up that suggests to Jungkook you're opening up; not hiding from him anymore.
But it's also what tells him something is incredibly wrong, when you show up at his door half an hour later with a graze beneath your eye. Little flecks of reddened skin creep up your cheekbone, and Jungkook thinks it almost looks like carpet burn.
He hadn't noticed it last night, but it was dark, and he was drunk.
He lets you in, takes your jacket, offers you a drink. Everything that he knows he should do. Asks how you are, keeps a safe distance.
You don't know why you're here. Why you didn't say you were busy.
Except you do.
It's cause you miss him whenever you're away from him.
"I like these," you smile as you look at the artwork he has up in his room. The studio space is small, cramped, like all semi-basements are, but it's distinctly 'his'. A lot different to yours. Everything you own is still in boxes, not yet unpacked.
You've refused to come to terms with that being your life now.
"Thanks," he nods, watching you as you explore the box of a room he calls home. "They're from a guy down by the coach station. Has a little stall."
"You'll have to show me," you muse, turning to smile at him. It's saccharine, but the graze on your face is just so bitter. He hates it. Hates that he doesn't know how you got it. "Think I'd like some for my place."
"I have a feeling they'd look a little out of place in a princess tower, sugar."
Your shoulders shake as you laugh quietly, not correcting him. He doesn't need to know that you're a basement dweller, too.
"How's the editing coming along?" You steer the question away from your living situation.
"Nearly there," he grins, brimming with quiet excitement. Something about the way your camerawork looks with his editing technique layered on top just really works. He's always been confident with his final projects, and this one scares him a little bit, but in a good way. It's his best yet. Maybe he did need you after all.
"Can I see?"
"Not yet."
"Kook," you say, and - oh god - you're pouting. Jungkook suddenly begins to feel nervous.
It's that scary feeling again. A fear of the good stuff. Trepidation.
"What?" he grins, walking a little closer to you, letting his hand stroke against your back as he sits down on his bed. His fingers catch yours. It's fleeting, but enough.
You both feel it.
"Such a tease," you say, talking about the project, but there's innuendo in your words, too.
"Some girls like it," he flirts back.
"The girl at the bar last night seemed to like it."
Jungkook rolls his eyes, boyish and charming. It's annoying, you think, how impossible it is to be mad at him. It's not because you're weak, or because you can't resist his charms, but because he has a way of playing things off as if they're no big deal.
The girl at the bar? A nobody, his shrug suggests. She doesn't matter.
And it's so easy to believe, because you're the one in his apartment. You're the one he wanted here, the one that he missed. Or at least, the one that he was thinking of when he decided that he could do with some company.
It might be nothing, just something to pass the time, but it makes you feel wanted. Desired. Needed.
So you accept his hand when he reaches out towards you, pulling you closer, positioning you between his spread legs. You're standing, his eyes level with your chest, unashamed as he looks at your body.
"You look warm," he husks.
Just like he always uses your body temperature as excuse to give you his jacket, he's using it as an excuse now, too. The desired effect is obvious.
His AC switchboard is on the wall behind his bed. You'd clocked it when you were walking around, observing his possessions. Yanmar, the branding reads, the plastic outer frame beige. Once, it would have been crisp white. Age has dulled it. The monochrome monitor has a clock symbol in the corner, an indicator that Jungkook has his AC set on a timer. It suggests a sense of permanence. This is his home.
You haven't set your timer yet. You just flick it on when you get hot. It isn't your home.
He watches you as you move, curious. He's smirking, because he just cant help himself.
And because he knows that you like it whenever he does. Gets you a little bit flustered.
One of your knees hooks over his lap, and then the other follows suit.
He'd have said you were straddling him. You'd have argued that you were simply reaching over to the AC.
And you do exactly that, flicking the switch, watching as it lights up. "There. Much better."
Touche, he thinks. Smiles. Grips your thighs, as if he's scared you'll stand up again. Scared to lose you.
In all honesty, he had been hoping you'd take your shirt off, but he isn't going to complain with you in his lap, instead.
Doesn't matter if you mix the eggs with the milk first, or the flour. You still bake a cake at the end of it all.
Jungkook looks at you in such a way that you find yourself thinking maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be so horrible to let someone in. His eyes are honest, void of ulterior motives. He's doing this because he wants to. Because he wants you.
Wants that feeling back. The one where his lips are cushioned between yours, his tongue licking into your mouth.
Jungkook wants what he wants. Jungkook gets what he wants.
And, fuck, if it isn't bare minimum - but you know this, and you don't care. Bare minimum tastes pretty fucking good when you're licking it from his lips.
His hands roam, and you let them. He's rough with his movements, but the fleshy pads of his fingertips are soft, like silk against your skin. It's almost like he's afraid, filled with the knowledge that he can bruise, if he really wants to.
But he doesn't want to. He wants to ask about the graze that's sitting pretty where blush should be. Jungkook doesn't wanna hurt. He wants to heal.
"I catch you looking, you know," you tell him before he gets a chance, wanting to see how he responds. "Every now and again..." He hikes you forward in his lap. Places you dead centre over his cock. You can feel it. He can feel you. "...I catch you looking at me." He presses a kiss against the base of your neck, obsessed with the way it vibrates when you speak. "Why are you always looking at me?"
The fact that you're sat in his lap, grinding your hips against a solid bulge, should be indication enough.
Jungkook isn't going to spell it out for you. The eroticism of suggesting he's a fucking voyeur makes him want to laugh - but the way your nipples are tenting the shirt you're wearing distracts him.
His teeth graze your throat, hands creeping round to your tummy. His fingers are long, practically the length of the expanse between your hips and the underneath of your plump tits. Just a little further and he'd be holding them, cupping them, caressing. Just a little further.
"I look at you-" His hands continue their exploration as he leans back, watching the movement beneath your shirt. It somehow feels forbidden - like he can touch, but not look. After all, your question had sounded quite a lot like a telling off. "-because you like me looking at you."
He's fucking with you, trying to get a rise.
"Do I?"
The way that you whimper as he brushes against your nipples has him pulsing his hips. Your eyes close, head tilting back ever so slightly. You like this. The way he does it.
"Uh-huh," he mumbles, lips wet against your neck. His fingers knead into the flesh of your tits, nipples hard in his palm as he relieves his stresses. "Bet you think about it all day, don't you? Think about the way I look at you when no-one else does."
Yes.
"All day?" you smirk between dulcet moans. "You're lucky if I pay you any attention at all."
"I think you're lying," he declares rather boldly, hands all over you. "I think it plays on your mind. I bet you fall asleep thinking about it, don't you?"
Yes.
"Ddaeng."
"I bet you get yourself off thinking about it."
Maybe you do.
Maybe you've whispered his name in the dead of night, imagining how it would feel to have his body weight on top of yours. Maybe you get intrusive thoughts of that kiss every single time you try to draw close. Maybe Jungkook has made you cum without ever laying a single finger on you.
But even if he has, you won't tell him.
And you don't need to, because his phone buzzing on the bedside table behind you cuts the conversation dry. Jungkook glances towards it automatically, then back up to you. His frustration is evident, jaw tense.
"I gotta get this," he mumbles, encouraging you off of his lap. You don't resist, accepting the last five minutes for what they were: a momentary lapse in judgement. He sighs as he stands, adjusting his trousers, swiping his phone and putting it to his ear. He strolls just far enough away that you won't hear what or who is on the other line. "Hobi. Speak to me."
Hobi, you muse. A friend? A colleague? Another girl?
You swallow back the nauseating feeling in your throat, pretending as if the prospect of Jungkook with someone else doesn't chip away at your self-worth a little bit. It wasn't like you thought you had anything special between the pair of you.
But he was right. You did like him looking at you.
More than you had realised until the prospect of him looking at someone else arose.
From the corner of the room, you could hear Jungkook trying to interrupt the person he was talking to. The first syllable would escape, and then he'd hush again, never quite managing to get the words out in full.
"Ho-" His nostrils look quite cute when they flare, lips pursed, a pair of unique dimples becoming evident. They're different to the usual ones you notice. Full of surprises was Jeon Jungkook.
"Hobi, can I-"
He runs his hand through his hair, already dishevelled from your hands.
"Hobi will you let me fucking talk!"
Attaboy.
The pause that follows Jungkook's outburst would suggest that Hobi had said 'no' - and then a few more choice words. If Jungkook rolled his eyes back any further, they'd surely get stuck.
"Look, I'm a bit tied up right now- no! No, not that. Who? No. I don't know a Taehyung, and even if I did- Huh? Ain't got nothin' to do with Holangi. Don't know a single one of 'em."
You try to decipher the conversation, but fail.
"You're a real fuckin' cockblock, yanno?"
You blush.
"Fuck it, fine. But you owe me. I'm not saying yes next time."
He glances over to you, catching your raised brow. Next time?
A smile catches on his lips. You thought this would be a one time thing?
He's barely hit second base. If there's one thing you're yet to find out about Jungkook, it's that he loves to win. He won't be satisfied until he's got a home run.
Any other girl, and he'd have probably been running laps for fun by this point, but you... yeah, you didn't bowl him easy hitters, that was for sure.
Jungkook moves with confidence, like he always does, as he strides over to the sofa, the bulge in his pants considerably softened but still present. "Take a picture," he grins. "It'll last longer."
You roll your eyes, but it doesn't stop you from asking if that's an offer. He laughs - that soft, gentle thrum of his vocal chords that sounds so heavenly in your ears - and tells you to behave.
"I just gotta help a friend out," he says as he reaches over you to grab his rucksack. It's heavier now than it ever is at school, the jingle of crushed tin foil rustling as it briefly catches on your knee. He pretends not to notice the curiosity in your eyes. Pretty eyes, though. He quite likes them, especially when he's towering above you and can see the whites just above your lashline. Yeah, he likes them alot. "I'll only be an hour or so. You can stay here, if you like?"
The way he phrases it is so casual that it's almost like you're old friends.
That, or Jungkook's just used to having women he doesn't know very well stay at his place.
You're unaware of the mental gymnastics he's putting himself through. If he could kick himself without looking like a twat, then he definitely would.
Shrugging, you give him a polite smile. "I don't wanna overstay my welcome."
"Nah, you're fine. I can give you a lift back to yours when I'm home? I'll be an hour. Two, tops."
Finally you agree, watching as he leaves like a lovesick puppy, listening out for the familiar rattle of his exhaust pipe. There's a cough and splutter of petrol spitting onto the sidewalk as his motor roars into action, and then he's gone.
You don't hang around for much longer.
You tell yourself that you will. That it would be nice. That you and Jungkook might not be so ill-suited after all.
But as the clock ticks by on the wall, you find yourself getting antsy. You find yourself asking stupid questions. Who exactly is Hobi? What was in Jungkook's bag? Why is he always down in Daerim? Is that where he's gone now?
The thoughts grow, adapt, intrude. Before you know it, you're considering what you'd find if you opened the top drawer of his bedside cabinet.
Realistically, you know it would probably be a wank sock and a tub of vaseline - it doesn't matter though. Your mind is wondering. You need to scratch the itch.
Just a little peek. He'll never know.
Oh, how you loathe your brain.
What's the worst you could find? A revolver? His ex-girlfriends panties? Love letters? A crack pipe?
Somehow, you'd rather find a pipe than panties.
It's not that you want Jungkook to be a crack addict. It's just the more that you think about it, the more you come to realise that you really, really don't like the idea of someone else feeling how warm his torso is, or how his upper teeth always nip slightly when he starts kissing you, until the pressure of his pecks plump his lips. You've only experienced it a handful of times, and it's stupid to get carried away, but he just makes it so easy.
He didn't ask you to stay, you tell yourself. He asked you if you wanted to.
Moments of instability like this are exactly why girls like you don't spend time with boys like him. It's stupid. Futile. A game for fools.
You leave his apartment as you found it, with not even a note to say thank you. He's had a squeeze on your tits. You deem that thank you enough. If anything, he should be thanking you.
When he returns, just half an hour after your departure, he can still smell your perfume. He tosses his keys down, calls out your name, and is met with silence. It takes him a moment or so to realise that he's alone.
There's a sinking feeling in his chest that he doesn't recognise. Doesn't like. Hates, in fact.
But fine. Fuck it. He didn't want you there anyway. He'd just been doing a good deed. Being kind because - if your face was any indication - obviously someone else had been particularly unkind to you.
Jungkook thinks he knows who, now.
Daerim nights have always been sketchy, but the days are no better.
He's just the lowest rung on a long ladder of criminals who turn a profit when the sun goes down in Seoul.
Hobi had asked him to drop the stash in his rucksack off at a club, some gang-run joint that Jungkook doesn't know much about, so that he could get them back to his boss.
That had been the plan, at least.
He slings his bag down, now empty, and sinks into the sofa, not bothering to get a rag to clean himself up. No point. The dried blood will just wash off in his shower. It's not the first time this has happened. He doubts it will be the last.
Jungkook's nose is currently bleeding, dripping down his chin and hitting the ceramic tiles of his apartment with small slaps. A bruise is forming above his left eye socket, and his knuckles are red.
A punch to the face means very little to Jungkook.
He's young, but he's strong. Fast, too. It could have been a lot worse if he wasn't.
He pushes the back of his hand against his nose, sniffing, before unlocking his phone, and dialing a number he knows now by heart.
The dial tone bleeds out, just like his nose.
And so he hangs up, and calls the only person he knows he can rely on.
"Wassup, kid?"
Jungkook doesn't mean to sob, but he cant help it. He knows Yoongi has finals coming up. He doesn't need his bullshit on his plate, too.
"I got jumped Yoongs."
Fuck.
"You alright? Sound pretty bad? Where?"
"Daerim-"
"The fuck you doing there at this time of day?"
"Hobi wanted me to drop off my stash."
"Kook..." Yoongi speaks slowly, coming to a horrific realisation. A few punches had never bothered Jungkook before. Something bigger was at play. "The stash...?"
Jungkook can hear it in Yoongi's voice: fear.
"Gone."
Yoongi sighs down the line. "Hobi know yet?"
"No."
"Alright, get outta your flat," Yoongi begins, not wasting time. Now is not the time for emotions, and it's clear that Jungkook isn't capable of that just yet. "I need you to go somewhere safe, somewhere you can lie-low for a little bit alright? Let me sort it-"
"Yoong-"
"Let me sort it. I got you into this mess. Don't sweat it."
"Ple-"
"Kook. Seriously. Trust me with this."
Yoongi doesn't let him debate it any further - and it's just as well he doesn't, because as soon as he hangs up the phone, another call comes through. Jungkook wants to answer it. Really, he does.
Jungkook's just very aware of the fact that the guy who jumped him had almost been waiting for him. Right by the entrance of the apartment block which he always picked you up from.
In between blows, he'd warned Jungkook to 'stay the fuck away from the girl'.
The girl who's now returning his call.
"Hey," you say animatedly, having not expected him to call. You thought the pair of you would resume your usual awkward routine of pretending like nothing ever happened. "Sorry, I was in the shower. You good? Sorry I left, I just did-"
"I need a favour," he doesn't bother with formalities.
You want to banter with him, to flirt, but the tone of his voice warns you not to. So instead you tell him that you'll do whatever he needs.
"Can I come over?"
Fuck. Anything except that.
"Please."
YOU DON'T EXPECT to say yes. You don't expect to care more about him than you do about protecting your own dignity. You don't expect Jungkook to traipse down the stairs that lead to your slovenly open door with a glum look on his bloodsoaked face, as you stand there waiting for him.
But he does.
He makes no comment, no remark about the building. Just wraps his arms around your head, cradling you against his chest as you stand in your doorway. You can hear his heartbeat, thud, thud, thud against his ribs.
Go somewhere safe, Yoongi had told him. It was a no brainer.
"I'm sorry," he says, eventually pulling himself away from you. "I didn't know who else to ask."
You tell him it's fine, and you mean it. Keeping up pretences doesn't really matter so much anymore. Perhaps honesty was overdue from the both of you.
"The fuck happened to you?" You ask, tenderly reaching up to stroke away some of the dried blood from his lip. He winces, hisses, body tense, but he lets you continue. "Sorry."
"Could ask you the same, sugar," he speaks kindly, not wanting you to think he's being critical as he nods to the entryway behind you.
You grit your teeth together and let your hand rest on his shoulder. "King kicked the princess out of the castle."
And, suddenly, it doesn't seem embarrassing anymore. In fact, it seems perfectly apt that Jungkook knows. He doesn't pry, don't push for further clarification. Just nods. Accepts your reality.
"Castles are overrated, anyway," he presses a kiss to your head, and gently guides you through the threshold. The corridor is short, opening up to an open plan studio. The layout varies from Jungkook's, but it's similar in size. Small.
"Ignore the wallpaper," you say of the awkwardly granny-ish floral print. It's beige, so not totally offensive, but dear god, you think it looks like vomit.
"No," he grins. "It's... wow. Your landlord really knows how to make a statement, don't they?"
You perch on your bed and cringe. "A statement... a crime against interior design. Whatever you wanna call it."
Jungkook continues to pace around your room with a curious smile. He's partially deflecting from the fact he knows you're probably dying to ask about his face, and why he was so desperate to be with you, but he's also interested in the life you neglected to share with him.
Brown cardboard boxes are piled high in the corners, your possessions not yet unboxed.
This place is just temporary.
You've got three and a half million won sat on your desk. A couple more weeks, just a few, and you'll have enough for a deposit on a decent flat. Then you can get a regular job, something stable, and you won't have to worry. You could work through the summer and then figure out what to do next. Just as long as you keep on moving upwards, you'll be happy.
"So," you begin gingerly, as you head to the kitchenette beside your bed, wetting a cloth beneath your tap. "You gonna tell me what happened to your face?"
He takes your previous position, inviting himself to sit on the end of your bed, anticipating your return. There's light coming in from the thin windows by your ceiling, hitting directly onto your back. He thinks it's apt. Thinks you're the kind of girl who deserves a spotlight. Thinks that Mother Nature agrees.
Jungkook shrugs, in that lazy, boyish way he so often does, as you walk towards him. He spreads his legs, encouraging you between them, letting his hands graze your thighs. You pretend not to notice as you press the damp cloth to his cheek. Tiny crows legs appear at the edges of his eyes, face wincing from the contact. It's painful.
But being alone would be more painful. He chose to be here. To be with you.
And so he tells you what happened, with as much honesty he can muster. There are some things better left unsaid, his occupation being one of them. You listen attentively, dabbing at his wounds, a frown etched into the lines of your face.
"Stay away from the girl, huh?" you muse, avoiding his eyes as you study his face. His nose is still bleeding, but every time you tell him to tilt his head towards the ceiling, it ends up back in its original position. He can't see you as well with his head tilted back. Doesn't like it. Doesn't wanna do it. "Could be any girl."
Jungkook's dimple forms in his cheek. "No. No, it couldn't."
His fingers that have been grazing at your thighs squeeze tenderly, letting you know he means it. More than he thinks you know. More than he knows he should.
There's a chance that any words spoken between the pair of you could be misconstrued. He doesn't know what his feelings for you are, and you don't really understand yours for him - but you understand your body, and the electric current running beneath your lips, dying for a connection. A little spark.
So you do the only thing that makes sense: you kiss him.
And he kisses you back. Slowly, tenderly, deliberately. His lips melt into yours, hand pulling your legs closer. He encourages you onto his lap, as if he needs to be insufferably close to you. Once you're positioned how he wants, just like you were earlier, he grips your waist, keeping you stationed there.
Jungkook knows he should stop.
He knows he should have paid attention to the pair of fists that warned him off you as his skull hit the pavement earlier that morning, knows he shouldn't let himself get so wrapped up in such a red flag - but he just can't help himself. It's like you're laced in the narcotics he deals, and slowly but surely, you've gotten him addicted.
He's craving. Dying for a hit. Just a little taste of your tongue on his, the scent of your shampoo in his nose.
Red flags, red stop signs, pretty red lips all plump from the kisses he's smothering them in. Red blood, too. His nose is still a little damaged, and the way he's painting your cheek in crimson should repulse you.
Should repulse you.
Like fuck it does, though. You can smell the copper twinge through his plasma, and suddenly it's as if the Cullen's had the right idea all along.
When he pulls back, only for a moment, hands clutching at the side of your face to assess the look in your eyes, he notices it too. Hard not to. You blush all the fucking time, so much so that he knew the shade by heart, and the rouge on your cheek is far too vibrant, too scarlet. It's his fucking blood on you.
It should scare him, he knows. But the way you're looking at him, eyes all wide and glassy, lips swollen and waiting for more, has him unable to think straight. It has him obsessed, the way you don't care. The way he's covered you in blood and you still seem to want more.
But there's a softness to the way in which you're looking at him, mild confusion, as if you've got the same strange warmth running through your veins as he does. It's not a feeling he recognises, pulsing through his bloodstream with every beat of his heart.
Perhaps it's nothing. Jungkook tells himself that it is. Just adrenaline, probably.
You look at his lips, all crimson and blushed, and realise you much prefer the shade of his blood to the plum lipstick that had tainted them the night before. You're delicate as you wipe your thumb along his pouted bottom lip, just like you did in the bar. Except this time, the jealousy that had blossomed in your diaphragm is nowhere to be found. There's still a pinch beneath your ribs, but this time it's in your heart, and it's far more aching. This time, you feel his hurt.
Jungkook reaches down to where you left the damp cloth on your bed. It's wet and heavy in his hand, a little warm, too. He brings it to your face and dabs silently, cleaning you of the mess he's made. Fixing you. Restoring you to your former glory.
Its futile, 'cause his nose is still fucking bleeding, and you don't plan on leaving it more than a moment before you kiss him again. You simply don't care. Want him for all that he is, blood, sweat and tears.
But still, he insists on ridding you of his stain. Doesn't want to tarnish you. He's soft with the way he presses the cloth against you, mirroring how tenderly you were with him earlier. He's learning from you, adapting to you. Wants to be like you. Wants to be 'better'.
You watch as his eyes scan your face, brows twisted like they always do when he's about to say something but stops himself. The vertical groove just above his cupid's bow is red, blood tacky as it dries. If he kisses you now, he'll leave a stamp; a mark that says 'you're mine.'
It's too much. Far too much. You aren't his, and he knows this. He never wanted you to be his, in fact, for the longest time, he had wanted to be anything but yours.
But now he sits beneath you, crestfallen, heart in his throat, blocking him from speaking.
This was never part of the plan. He was never supposed to end up here. He was supposed to escape from the trenches, to get on the path of straight and narrow. Thrive. Succeed.
And it's not your fault, he knows this, but there's a little part of him that wonders what could have happened if he hadn't seen you that night in Daerim, hadn't seen the way your eyes look beneath night market lights, hadn't heard your laugh as he looked at his favourite view of the city.
You whisper his name, your palm resting flat on his chest, and his brows soften.
It doesn't matter what could have happened, anymore.
All that matters is what is happening.
The shortness of his breath, the flutter of his lashes against your cheek, the swelling between his legs. You can feel it, feel him, and he knows it. The way he's pulsing his hips upwards is testament to that.
It's a comfortable position, you sat on his lap on the end of your bed, not one that either of you wishes to break from. Not even as he begins to breathe against your lips, unable to properly control his reactions thanks to the friction beneath his briefs.
"Want you," he mumbles, pressing his lips into yours, the air in his lungs giving itself up to you. "Want you so bad."
You shake your head, brows pinched just a little. "I'm bad news for you."
And maybe that's it. Maybe he just wants you because he knows he shouldn't - but fuck it, if he can't let himself indulge in simple pleasures, then why bother getting himself beaten to a pulp over you?
"I'm bad news for myself, sugar," he husks against your lips, tickling them as he slips his tongue into your mouth. Deeper, deeper. Closer, closer. He wants it.
Wants it all.
Wants you naked.
Wants to know what it feels like to have you gasp in his ear as his hands roam beneath your panties.
Wants to know if you'd still look at him like you're stargazing even when he's railing you.
Wants it. Wants you. Just wants.
And what Jungkook wants, Jungkook gets.
He slips his hand up your shirt and pushes it upwards, before letting it crumple to the floor. You know that you should be more bashful, a little bit ashamed, but it's impossible when he's looking at you like this.
He has a visual now that he didn't have earlier. The glow of your skin beneath his bruised knuckles looks almost sinful, like he's plucking forbidden fruit from its tree. He'll pay the price for this, and he knows it, but he just can't resist.
Jungkook has always been a boob guy, always loved the way he could get girls moaning with just a little pinch, but never had he had a pair quite like yours. So full, so round, he's not sure his hands are big enough, and that doubt makes him throb. Soft and pillowy, he groans as he watches his fingers sink into them, utterly enthralled. His hips adjust, pushing upwards, pressing himself into you. He wants this. Wants it so bad.
You can feel the metal of his rings against your skin, and then you can feel his lips, his tongue, his teeth as they graze against the plush skin of your chest. He licks around your nipple, letting the air cool the wet trail, hardening you for him.
He's utterly obsessed.
His mouth pulls at the sensitive skin, suckles, sucks. His lashes are splayed on the tops of his cheeks, lips pouting around your nipple as he does so, small groans of pleasure vibrating against you. It will be a miracle if he can't already feel you seeping through your panties.
You whimper as his teeth graze your hardened nub, and his eyes flutter open. He doesn't detach himself, but instead, he keeps your gaze as he sucks. The pressure varies, and then it's hard. Really fucking hard. So hard you'll think he'll somehow give your nipple a hickey - but fuck, if you don't love the sensation.
"Christ," you gasp, before biting down into your bottom lip.
"Too hard?" He mumbles against you, peppering you in kisses and soft licks as if to apologise.
"No," you pant. "Was good. Was great. Just - fuck."
You laugh, soft and airy, and Jungkook smiles from the sound.
He likes this. Likes how you react to him.
And while he’s patient and gentle with you in a way that he isn't with other people, Jungkook has only ever known how to have sex in one way. It's ingrained into him, as if he was made to fuck like it; like he doesn't give a shit about the person he's screwing.
Jungkook doesn't do love, and you know this. He trades. Works in transactions. Settles debts. You don't really know this part, but you aren't stupid. You know he's never in Daerim for any good fucking reason.
You don't question it as his hands move south, slipping past your underwear. In fact, you're smug as he curses when he feels how wet you are, fingers slippery in your panties.
He pushes a finger into you, and closely follows it with a second. They curl ever so slightly, and it's at this point that you realise Jungkook is absolutely going to ruin you. Just a few pumps. Just to ease you up.
He's bored of waiting. Wants you now.
The pair of you move fluidly, minimal discussion needed, just occasional checks of 'you good?', or 'this okay?'. The answer is, always, without a doubt, 'yes'.
He gets you on your back, panties pulled off, legs not quite hanging off the edge of your bed, but nearly. He strips himself of his shirt first, and grins as he notices the way you whine.
"What?" he toys.
"Nothing," you flirt. "Just wish you'd hurry up. I'm a busy woman."
"Oh yeah?" The sound of his buckle coming undone is enough to make you fucking leak. "Busy doing what?"
You neglect to tell him. Not because you don't have a witty remark lined up, but because he's fucking naked now.
What a sight to behold he is. Body lean, honey skin flawless, muscles defined. You pretend like you're looking at his body, but your eyes are drawn to his cock. You'd expected length, but not the girth - and he has both in abundance. The tip of his cock is blushed and wet, with Jungkook just as aroused as you are.
Noticing your gaze, he rolls his eyes, and toys with your pussy again, lightly running his fingers up and down your slick entrance. When he pulls back, his fingers are still connected by thick clear fluid. His cock throbs.
"You're gonna get me so dirty," he hums, as he crawls onto the bed above you, before holding his fingers to your mouth. "Clean them."
Part of you wants to say no, but the other part of you can see his darkened gaze and the way his cock is twitching. You can't refuse.
His fingers are on the tip of your tongue, the tip of his cock nudging so close to your entrance that he may as well just do it. You raise your hips, encouraging, but he retracts a little just to tease.
The fingers that were in your mouth come to grip at the soft flesh of your cheeks, his thumb on the other side. "Don't you fucking dare."
There's tepid aggression to his movements, and it makes you feel vulnerable - but you like it. You like the way he's gripping your face, the ways he's looking at you with narrow eyes, just like he used to do across the lecture hall. You like being reminded of when you were nothing to one another, because it makes the satisfaction of feeling his stiff cock jump a little against your pussy as you moan so much more worth it.
He used to hate you, now he can't wait to bury his fat cock in you. Victory is yours, even if he's trying to act like he's the one holding all the cards.
You don't correct him, though. You let him think he has the upper hand. You'll play pillow princess just this once if it means you get to see him a little bit mean again.
"Dare what?" you pout, cheeks still squished between his fingers. He grips a little tighter, your chest rising as you gasp. He pulls your face towards his, sinking down into your lips, until he decided he's done with you.
He stands by the edge of your bed, and yanks your ankles towards him, pulling you close enough to the edge for him to fuck you like this.
The loss of his grip is unwelcome by you, a frown forming. He isn't looking at your face now, eyes down on his cock, which he's rubbing between your soaked pussy lips, but he can almost hear you brace yourself to whine. He smirks, one side of his mouth lifting, head knocking to the side slightly.
"Don't you dare try and set the pace," he finally husks, still not glancing up towards you. He's taking his time, making sure the head of his cock kisses every inch of your exposed mess. "Nearly got my nose fucking broken for this pussy-" he spits, hard and fast, right onto your clit, spreading it with his cock. "- so I'm gonna make sure I get what I'm owed."
He spreads your thighs back, his fingers gripping harshly just how you like it. Perhaps you should pretend to be embarrassed by the fact your cunt is leaking for him, begging for him, but the way he hisses at the sight, chest heaving, prevents it.
Jungkook's thought about this before, about how pretty and pristine you'd be, about the mess he'd hoped you'd make. Thought about it so many times. Fingers wrapped around his shaft in the middle of the night when no one can hear him chant your name as he spills over. Yeah, he's thought about it a lot.
His imagination has never done you justice. One look and he's obsessed. Wants to spend hours touching, caressing, licking you.
"Take it," you whisper. "What you're owed, Jungkook. Take it."
He looks up now, brows threaded together. You don't recognise the contemplation his face is laced in, but he doesn't give you the chance to question it, for you begin to feel that burn. The one your fingers can never give you. It's alien, and yet familiar, inherently natural but intrusive nonetheless.
"Shit," is all you can manage to say, eyes locked on his.
He wants to watch himself sink into you, watch as his fat cock forces your slick wetness out of your pussy, but he can't. Not when you're looking at him like that. Not when your chest is heaving and your eyes are watering beneath tense brows. Not when your mouth is hanging open and just begging to be fucked like your tight little pussy.
And then he starts feeling something a little strange. A little unfamiliar. A little bit like his heart has stalled to beat in time with the contractions of your chest. And though he's not in pain anymore, too busy feeling you, he's aware that it hurts. Aware that he can't fuck you like he wanted to, 'cause his chest needs to be against yours. Needs to feel the beating drum beneath your ribs.
He doesn't even realise that he's paused until you whine a meagre, "please."
"That's more like it," he hums, as he pushes into you, the base of his thick cock plugging the weeping mess that he's made. You know that as soon as he pulls out, you'll be whimpering, begging for the tip of his cock to kiss your walls once more. "See how nice things can be when you just behave yourself, huh?"
His hips push just a little deeper, and he knows that it hurts. Knows that the little gasp isn't entirely from pleasure. He's seen his cock. Doesn't take a genius to work out that it can do damage.
"You can take it," he tells you, and like a pathetic, whimpering mess, you fucking nod. He's still inside of you, still deeper than you thought possible, and then his hand is on your stomach. He grabs your hand and places it beneath his. "You feel that?" He retracts just a little, pushing back in just as deep. Beneath your hands, there's a bulge. External or internal, it doesn’t matter. It's him. He does it again. "You feel me taking what's mine?"
Whatever the fuck you moan is incoherent, but he doesn't give a shit, 'cause he's ploughing now. Bucking his hips into you like pneumatic fucking drill. Shit. He's done this before. Got it mastered to a fine art. Momenta worthy of a museum exhibition.
Your tits are pillowed on your chest, nice and round, wobbling as he takes command of your body. He slaps one of them, just to watch it ripple, before that firm grip of his is on it. "Perfect tits," he growls the compliment, not really meaning for it to come out. "Gonna put my cock between them later," he tells you. "Gonna cum all over them."
He doesn't tell you that he'll also clean them with his hungry tongue, before delivering his cum into your mouth. Figures he'll just let you find out. His brain is working at a mile a minute, trying to reign back thoughts of sharing his cum with you in such a filthy manner. God, he wants to do heinous things to you. With you. For you.
But for now, he needs to focus on his cock. It's rubbing inside of you, nuzzling. He knows he's weeping, and that his precum is getting mixed with your slick juices. Knows he won't last long if you keep whining like that. Mewling. Purring.
He stalls his hips, letting go of your tits as they jiggle back into position. Your cheeks are flushed, imprints of his fingers reddening your skin. Lips pouted and resting ajar, Jungkook thinks they've never looked more fuckable. More kissable. More whisper-sweet-nothings-against-able.
"You ever shut the fuck up?" he teases, but is quick to notice confusion flash in your eyes. He didn't mean it as an insult, but it's easy to read the hurt in your perplexed features, and the way you begin to try and push your legs together. It's futile. His cock is keeping you open.
But you feel embarrassed, as if your natural reactions to him are a turn-off. It's silly, because he's quite literally inside of you, fat and solid, using you to milk himself. Of course, he's not turned off, but you're hyper-aware of how vulnerable you're feeling right now. It had been fun to pretend like you were in control, but as soon as he slipped inside of you, all sense of power had evaporated.
He doesn't realise this though. Doesn't realise that his cock is nudging so deep into you that it's practically knocking against your heart. Knock, knock, knock. Who's there? Your mind taunts, but you daren't answer.
"Hey," he coos, one of his large palms stroking on the inside of your thighs. That uncomfortable, obscure feeling is back again. The one that tells him he needs to be closer to you. This time, he doesn't ignore it. His hips pulse, just the once. A reminder he's still very much into this. Into you.
His hands grip your waist, softly this time, as he manoeuvres himself onto the bed with you, keeping himself snug. Your head is by the pillows, Jungkook's knees on either side of your ass, his chest flat against yours as one of his hands cradles your jaw. He presses a chaste, airy kiss against your lips, and whispers, "I love the way you sound." He kisses you again, hips rocking. You're trying not to, but you whine. "Fuck, sugar. You're my favourite fucking sound."
Your legs hook over his back, and he groans now. The angle change lets him delve deeper, your walls massaging him so well. Jungkook thinks he might have died and gone to heaven. He's slipping in and out of you with minimal force, skin slapping together. He makes sure to let his moans roll off his tongue and into your mouth. You eat them up and give them back. The pair of you aren't kissing anymore, just gasping and humming into one another's mouths. He's stuttering.
There's a pause as he adjusts his grip, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of your thighs. He likes it, the way you seem to melt around him in all capacities. His lips nudge against yours as his steady hips begin to rock into yours again.
You groan as he pushes down on your legs, pushing you as far apart as your bones allow. It's typical of him, seeing how far he can take things. Push them to the limit. Always gets him in trouble. There's a click, as air escapes from the socket where your leg meets your pelvis.
"You good?" He checks and you respond with a kiss. Hands tangled in his hair, you hope it conveys the fact you've never felt better. He laughs a little, soft and serene, into your mouth, the weight of his body keeping you trapped beneath him.
You're morbid in your thoughts, and consider how nice it would be for Jungkook to suffocate you like this; steal you of the air you breathe with his tiny giggles of satisfaction. So, so nice, you think.
And so you tell him. You tell him that you want his hand on your throat. He takes a second to respond - not because he doesn't want to, but more so because he can't believe you actually asked.
He doesn't normally fuck the girls he cares about like this. Then again, he never really cares about the girls he fucks.
"God," you moan as he pushes one of your legs over his shoulder. His body is clammy against yours, skin hot and damp, chest lean but built. He's working hard; not just for his release. For yours too. Rams into you, stuffing your cunt with his cock, dipping his head to lather your clasped throat in wet kisses.
"That's it, sugar," he growls as his teeth graze your neck. "Need to hear how good you feel. Need to hear what my cock does to you. You owe me."
You want to laugh. You're about to laugh. But then his head dips down to your chest, and he latches onto one of your pebbled nipples, sucking so hard that all you can do is tremble. He knows you like this. Knows it makes your pussy all creamy and slippery for him - and like clockwork, he's proven right. The sounds are lewd. He loves it.
"On your back," you husk, punctuating your instruction with a whimper as he suckles even harder. He shakes his head, eyes closed, mouth vibrating and full of your tit. Not a chance, he tries to say, but it just sounds likes he's forgotten how to speak. Too busy. Too close to spilling himself into you. Doesn't wanna get distracted.
So focused, he doesn't realise you're pushing him over until you're on top. He frowns as he detaches from your nipple with a pop, but his hands are running all over your body regardless. Obviously doesn't care that much. Course he doesn't. That ache in his chest has settled.
Until he starts thinking about it, and oh god, it's back and it's fucking unbearable.
"C'mere," he pulls you flush against him, as your hips begin to work against him. His hands cradle your face so he can kiss you as deeply as he likes, tongue slipping into your mouth, as his cock slips up and down your pussy. This, he thinks, is it. This is what fucking should feel like.
"Shit," he whispers. "Shit."
The friction of his surprisingly neat hair that rests at the base of his cock is nice. Real fuckin' nice. You're not even fucking him anymore, just grinding against it. Using it, using him, to get yourself off.
You think you're being slick, like he won't notice - but he does. Of course, he does. He's obsessed with your body.
"God, yeah, baby," his back arches, pressing his chest against yours, eyes closed. "Use me like that. Use me," he bites into your shoulder gently. "Fucking use me."
He means it. Doesn't give a shit about himself anymore. Just wants to feel you tremble as he holds you close. Wants to press kisses against your lips as your moans become undignified. He needs to be the reason you cum; needs to be responsible for your oxytocin rush.
You sit up a little, and Jungkook holds back a pout from the separation - but how can he complain when you're sat like that, his cock buried inside of you, hair a mess and with eyes like his favourite constellation? He's hypnotised as your boobs begin to bounce, pussy working up his shaft like the true Daerim woman of the night you are. He's forgotten about all of that, now. Can't think about anything except for how to not fucking cum.
He can't and he won't. Not until you do. But you're bouncing, and it's wet, and he can hear it, and it feels so fuckin' good. His toes are curling, torso tensing, eyes half-shut, pretty little pout hanging open. He's fucking whining. "Yeah like that," he encourages. "Gonna milk me so well, baby. Gonna... ah. Fuck. Gonna-"
Jungkook can't fucking speak. He wants to. Wants to tell you how fucking beautiful you look, how he wants this endlessly, how he never wants to let you go. Needs to tell you how right this feels, how good you make him feel, how he doesn't understand his feelings but fuck, just that he is feeling. Feeling so much.
You're not sure at which point he started calling you baby, but you're actually convinced that the name alone could tip you over the edge.
The pace of your hips is slowly, savouring. He doesn't quite get it. You were so close. Why stop?
The stillness of your movements makes way for something new. He feels a throb around his fat cock, which is begging for release. Notices the way your chest is shaking like you've got hiccups, tiny whines of pleasure making themselves known. Your pussy was always warm, but it's hot now, contracting around him.
And then he gets it.
"Oh, shit," he mewls, his hips slowly pumping upwards. "Yeah, that's it, baby. Let yourself cum. All over my dick," he encourages, hedonistic and self-serving. "That's it. Cream for me."
His slow movements as he fucks up into you amplify the sensation, the tip of his cock nudging languidly against your tight walls. Your entire body shudders, the feeling rippling from your chest right down to your toes. You rasp out moans, the sensation all too powerful, a creamy mess pooling at the base of his shaft. There's a jerk as your muscles spasm, your orgasm well and truly delivered. He pulls you down and into his chest, his strong arms wrapped around your back.
Your body rests on his, spent and sensitive, and he can tell you can't hold out for much longer. He pushes back the hair that's sticking to your clammy face, and presses kisses into your temple.
"So big," you hum, voice hazy, eyes shut.
"Just a little more, baby," he promises. " You're doing so well. Just a little..."
You've considered how Jungkook would orgasm on more than one occasion - and you're pleasantly surprised to find that your imagination was wrong. There's no grand declaration, nor large grunt. He's not aggressive, either, like you'd half-hoped he would be.
Instead, Jungkook kisses you as his hips begin to stall. His brows are creased, moans muffled against your lips. His torso shudders, abdomen as tight as his balls. "Baby," he drowsily mewls, and then it's happening. His cock pumps into you, unloading thick creamy spurts with every stroke of your pussy. The first one is so desperate that you're almost positive you can feel it paint your insides. You moan along with him, utterly obsessed with this, him, whatever the fuck just happened.
He doesn't withdraw immediately. Just lays there and kisses your skin, absolutely spent.
You don't move a muscle. You don't want it to be over. Don't wanna lose this. Lose him.
When you tilt your head to look at him, he's smiling. Eyes closed, cheeks appled. Serene. In a state of fucked-out bliss.
You tell him that he's pretty, and he lets out an airy laugh, covering his face with one of his hands. You move his hand and watch him fondly, enthralled with the grin that he's struggling to fight.
He turns to look at you, and the smile he's been boasting amplifies. "God, you're gorgeous."
It's not a new observation; just one he's never voiced before. One that he was able to resist saying. But you're naked now, chest pillowed against his, eyes glowing and nose blushed.
You hum, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. "I'm glad you chose to come here."
Just like that, there's a knot in Jungkook's stomach that seems to anchor that feeling he keeps having.
"Yeah," he nods. "Me too."
IT'S THREE IN the afternoon by the time you wake from your post-fuck snooze. Jungkook's never had one of those before. Hated being sticky after sex with anyone else. Always had to shower - but with you, he wants to stick to you like glue.
"Should have filmed that," he hums, the tips of his fingers stroking up your arms. You aren't sure if he's joking or not. "Would have given us a unique take on the project. Probably wouldn't have gotten us very high grades, mind you, but art is subjective."
"Some would argue that the critique of art is��objective," you muse back, still blissfully cum-drunk from the events prior to your nap. Jungkook's nose has stopped bleeding, and the pair of you have almost forgotten the reason he showed up in the first place. "Documentary maker by night, porn star by day," you flirt. "Although it's cute that you think you fuck like a porn star."
"I felt you shaking," he says, knowing there's no possible way that you didn't enjoy it. His nose feels a little cold after all the trauma of the morning, so he buries it into your hair. "Can't fake that."
"That's what I'm saying," you simper, pressing a kiss against his bare torso, just below the meeting of his collarbones. And then another, simply for good measure. "Porn stars never actually look like they're making the woman feel any good." You trail down his chest, tongue licking gently at the darker skin around his nipple. "You... yeah you don't fuck like a porn star." And then you suck a little. He hisses, in the best possible way.
"Don't," he says. "Not ready to go again."
You laugh.
Jungkook thinks he's reached Nirvana. Almost certain, in fact. Never had a girl do that to him before. He loves to give it, but hasn't ever thought to receive it. Wonders what other things you'll do to him that he's never had done before. He can feel his cock fucking twitching again, achy and sore, definitely not recovered yet from how hard he went earlier - but god, he wants it. Wants to bury himself inside you again. Belong to you.
His hands paw at you, one gripping on your chest, the other on your ass, pulling you closer. Your leg hooks over him, and he can feel how wet you still are on the side of his thigh. His balls fucking tighten. He can feel it happening, blood rushing to his crotch.
Yet despite it all, he just kisses you. Softly. Tenderly. Merely his lips languid between yours. Withdraws slowly. Keeps his eyes closed. Bliss.
"The fuck have you done to me, sugar?" he whispers, dark eyes opening to look into yours. His speech is husky, like he trying to steal the answers of a pop-quiz from you. You can't help him. You don't have a clue what the answer is. You're just as stuck as he is. "Got me feeling all fuzzy 'n' shit."
"Just a sugar rush," you smile. "It'll pass."
You're both acutely aware that it won't, but that will be a problem for another day.
"Tell you what," Jungkook muses, though his thoughts are shallow. He's not digging deep. Just talking for the sake of it. "I might not fuck like a porn star, but you don't fuck like a hooker."
He pulls your arm up so that he can study the crease of your elbow. You let him move your body like you're a barbie doll. You'll be his toy, you think, if he wants. No bother.
His fingers press at the thin skin that covers your veins, inspecting.
"Not a scratch," he assesses. "So you're not an addict either."
You laugh, slightly amused. "No? Maybe I just don't inject."
Jungkook gives you a stern look. Hopes you're joking. Tells you that you better fucking be joking. The sweetness of your laughter tells him that you are.
"So?" you press. "I'm not a prostitute and I'm not an addict. It's your lucky day. What of it?"
Jungkook tilts his head down so that his nose is nestled into the crown of your head again. Comforting, he thinks. Smells like laundry. You must have washed your sheets recently.
His next statement takes you off guard.
"Only ever see three kinds of women down in Daerim."
And you know.
You know he knows.
You can feel it in the way he protectively presses his lips into your skull, as if he's Prince Charming trying to rid his Sleeping Beauty of the nightmare she's been living. Wake up.
But Prince Charming rides a white horse, not a petrol-spitting, air-cooled, steel-framed shadow that rips through the city at night.
There are no nightmares, either. You're already wide awake. There's no saving you.
He sighs against your head. Pauses. Resists, and then confronts.
"I know what you do in the dark, sugar."
You don't say anything for a moment, and then you're pulling away from him, reaching for your shirt. He doesn't like this. Misses your warmth, but doesn't stop you. Instead, he follows, sitting on the edge of your bed, the corner of your comforter lazily protecting his modesty. His muscles are relaxed now, a little crease in his stomach from the way that he's slouching, hands in his lap. Those Bambi eyes of his are peaking through his hair, cheeks red and grazed from the morning encounter he'd had in Daerim.
He watches as you pull your shirt over your head, hair just as messy as his, and a graze on your cheek to match. He was pretty certain before that it had been carpet burn, but now that he's seen it up close, softly rubbed his thumb against it during pretty kisses, he's sure of it.
You avert his gaze. Feel shameful. Hate that he knows. You never cared before. It was just a fun little secret, the fact that he didn't know you were no angel.
But you want him to think that you're one, now.
For a moment, you were sure that he had.
Instead, now, it feels like you're falling from grace.
He reaches for your hand, but you pull it back. "Please don't."
And so he doesn't. Just sits for a little while instead. "Do you want me to get dressed?"
You really don't.
But your tongue is lodged in your mouth and it won't budge. You turn away, internally furious with yourself. It's been a while since you've gotten like this; so dreadfully panicked that you can't talk. It's a once in a blue moon kind of thing, the early onset of a panic attack, but you're hoping it won't reach the stage of no return. Praying.
"Babe?"
He sounds worried now, and it's making it worse. Feels like you've just reached the top of Bukhan Mountain without taking a second to catch your breath.
Has your chest always been this tight? Or has someone just been wrapping rubber bands around your torso without you noticing?
It isn't possible, and you know this, but it feels like it and - oh God - you can hear him shuffling, the buckle of his belt clanging. He's leaving, he's leaving, he's leaving, your ribs cackle as they close down on your lungs.
There's a light hum behind you, like a wasp is coming to send you into a state of anaphylactic shock and then it stops. His jeans are tossed to the floor once more.
"Yoongi?" Jungkook speaks quietly behind you into the receiver of his phone. "Wassu- Yeah, yeah, I'm safe. I'm good."
I'm safe.
I'm good.
"Where are- Yoongi stop. Stop it. I'm being deadly fucking serious-"
You don't realise it, but your chest begins to mellow as you listen in to his conversation.
"It's my mess!" He shouts now. "I'll fucking fix it. I don't give a fuck what Hobi says. Where you at? The Zoo? I'll be there- Yes, I will. Don't do anything fucking stupid."
And then he hangs up, chucking his phone into your bed with more aggression than he'd ever wanted to show in your presence. You don't see it, back still turned, but you hear it, the way his phone rebounds against the springs of your mattress.
"Shit," he hisses, and when you turn to face him, you find that his head is in his hands, elbows on his knees.
Crouching by him, your chest expands. You don't give a shit about yourself anymore. Your palms rest just behind his elbows, eyes anchored below his, looking up.
"He's got his fucking final in an hour," is all Jungkook says. "He's gonna miss his fucking final."
He lifts his head, tender lips pouted, eyes bloodshot from the pressure he's been placing on his palms. Looks right at you. Decides he'll never trust another pair of eyes more.
"I know what you do in the dark, sugar," he relays. "But I do worse. So much fucking worse. And I've just gone and fucked it all up."
And while he blames it all on himself, you know it's your fault.
He didn't stay away from the girl. He tempted fate, tugged on the red string, and accidentally snapped it.
Forlorn, he slumps, tongue wetting his bottom lip as he bites down on it. It's only to stop it from trembling. Clouds lurk in his eyes, trying to block his vulnerabilities from you, but it doesn't take a genius to work out that he's scared.
"Take it," you say, lips in a flat line, eyes stern. You nod towards the pile of cash on your desk, and his eyes follow. "Take it. Pay your debts. I can earn it again. I don't have a deadline. You do."
He shakes his head.
"I'm not taking the money you've earned."
"Yes, you are."
"I'm not," he protests and you've got it in your right mind to slap his pretty face silly. "Gonna be totally honest," he adds, "Don't really want your sugar baby money. Kinda resent it a little. Resent the fucker who gave it to you."
Jungkook hates him.
Doesn't know him.
Loathes him.
"So then give him the middle finger and take it," you plead. "He got you fucked up into this mess, he got you jumped, he got your stash stolen. Take his money and get yourself and Yoongi out of it. You don't have time to be fucking arguing with me."
He wants to fight back. You stop him.
"We can argue later," you promise.
And that ever-present effervescent feeling is back in his chest.
"Sugar," he speaks quietly. "Don't do this."
"Kook," you respond, voice much firmer than his. "You gotta do this. Yoongi shouldn't be fixing your mistakes and you know it. We can work it out on an I.O.U. basis. It's okay."
"I.O.U. suggests I'm gonna keep seeing you for a while," Jungkook mumbles. He isn't feeling as confident in himself as he had done earlier.
You stand, offering your hand to him so that you can pull him up with you. Neither of you acknowledge the fact that he's stark bollock naked. It's really not the time. Nothing you haven't seen before, after all.
"Well, yeah," you shrug with a straight face, but there's a glint in your eye. "I'd hope so. Pretty sure you said you were fuck my tits later? Gotta hold up your end of the bargain, sugar."
And despite it all, he laughs, toying with your hands before slipping his finger between yours. "Don't call me that."
"Why not?" You squeeze his hands. "You're technically my sugar baby now."
"That's not how it works."
God, he knows he shouldn't be fucking about, wasting time flirting, but he just can't help himself.
"No?" You question, equally distracted.
"No," he says. "If you're paying me, and I'm fucking you, then that makes me a hooker."
He's not wrong.
"Oh, that's kinda hot," you smile, pulling gently on his hands to encourage him to lean down. He does as he's told, and kisses you like it's the most natural thing in the world.
"You're so fucked up," he whispers against you, knowing that it's exactly why he enjoys you so much.
You don't let the moment linger, though, tossing him his clothes and going to grab the money while he dresses himself. You stack it together, all nice and neat, using the desk to straighten the edges. The wedge is thick in your hands. Yellow 50's are laughing at you. Stupid girl thought we'd fix her problems, they chatter silently to one another.
"Three and half million won," you hold it out to Jungkook. He hesitates, so you force his grip around it and let go. It's his problem, now. Not yours. You smile so warmly that Jungkook can't help but let that feeling in his chest simmer. Your hair is still messy, mascara still smudged. He wants to kiss your cheeks.
Jungkook hasn't disclosed what exactly was in his bag.
But in the same way he knows there are only three types of women in Daerim, you know there are equally only three types of men.
There's only one demographic that he belongs to. Yoongi, too.
You don't say it explicitly, not like he does.
"Holangi are nasty fuckers," you acknowledge. "I know they raise the stakes just for the fun of it. Whatever got stolen, the street value doesn't matter. Take it all. You'll need it."
Take what I owe you.
When he kisses you goodbye, it's just like the first time; all breathy and needy, lips parted and pouting. Again and again, he presses down into your lips. His brows furrow, hands on your cheeks, chest pressed against yours.
The crimson paint that had stained you from his very first kiss returns. You're painted in red for the second time that morning, but this time only you can see it. Only you can feel it.
That's her. That's the girl who let Jeon Jungkook kiss her like he actually meant it.
But it's funny now, because you know that he does mean it.
When he finally leaves, his nose is blushed, his cupids bow too. Eyes glassy. Smile forlorn.
Disappointingly, as you close the door of your apartment when he's no longer in your line of sight, you remember exactly how Jungkook had kissed you for the first time:
Like it was going to be the last.
And it consumes you, because the kiss you just shared felt exactly the same.
Your chest is uncomfortable again, but it's not rubber bands this time.
It's that stupid red string that Jungkook had tugged too tightly on.
The one that he'd snapped right in half.
WATTPAD // AO3 // KO-FI // CARRD
#jungkook#jungkook angst#jungkook smut#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#bts fanfic#jungkook imagines#jungkook scenario#jungkook fanfic#jungkook oneshot
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13: Little Life
Lando Norris x OC (Violet Sinclair)
same group friend, unrequited love, acquittances to lovers, ski trip, love triangle, life as lovers
Words: 4.1k
Warnings: a lot of fluff
a/n: any guesses of what was the gifts Lando gave her?? just a miracle I had any ideas of what to write bc i'm sick lol :)
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Never in my life I imagined I would be that nervous. I wasn't nervous during my graduation from college, nor during my job interview where I had to translate a really complicated text. I was nervous the last time I had to face my ex, that man that tried to force me on my birthday. But it wasn't the same nervous feeling as the one I have right now.
Waking up on Christmas Day felt different. As a kid, the first thing you do is run out of bed and go to the living room to open all the gifts under the tree.
But now, waking up next to him, felt different. Today I was going to his parents house, with gifts for them in our hands.
“Morning” he whispered, burying his face in the space between my neck and shoulder, pressing a soft kiss in my skin. “Merry Christmas”
“Merry Christmas” I smiled, moving closer to him. “I have a present for you”
“I have one for you too” he whispered. “I left it under the tree”
I giggled softly and looked at him, cupping his cheek with my hand and kissing his lips softly.
“You are the first guy that slept in this bed” I confessed. “I never imagined I would say something like that to you”
“Why?” he smiled weakly, brushing the hair out of my face.
“Well… As you may remember, I moved to this apartment a year ago, after the incident…” I sighed. “And since that I never felt comfortable around anyone except for Harry”
“Owen…” he sighed and somehow I flinched after hearing his name after a long time, making him wrap his arms around me tighter. “Look, I know sleeping in the same bed as someone else is already hard. But… I just don't want to force you, okay?”
“I mean… I already gave you head, silly” I whisper. “I feel really comfortable with you, I swear”
“I'm glad to hear that” he smiled, kissing my forehead. “Just know that I would never ever force myself into you. Never”
I looked up at him and smiled, pecking his lips softly. I just wanted to show him how much he means everything he's doing for me, how grateful I feel for the love he gives me, and how easy he makes me to love him.
“Let's go open the presents” I whisper, sitting on the bed and stretching my arms, feeling his hand running all over my back.
I smiled and looked at him, kissing him again and again before getting up. I put on my joggers and his hoodie and tied up my hair in a messy bun, waiting for him to get out of the bed.
This felt good. Sleeping with him felt good, having breakfast together felt good. Somehow, being with him all the time felt good, and I don't want to complain about it.
We sat in front of the tree, looking at the bags. Max and Pietra left their gifts for us there, so there were three presents for each one.
“Open mine the last” he said, making me look at him and frown. “Come on! Trust me!”
I sigh and smile softly, leaving the bag with his name next to me and opening the other two with Max's and Pietra's names on it. Pietra gifted me a book nook to put on my shelves and a bag, Max gifted me a reading journal and a book I was looking after about legends and myths.
“Am I that obvious?” I laughed looking at the presents.
“I think your collection of one specific book and your office are a clear example that you love books” he smiled.
“Harry hated that I spent money on buying books” I sighed. “He always said that I should buy something like a Kindle to carry it with me”
“You know the answer to what I think about him” he sighed. “He always said shit like that to everyone, saying that he doesn't spend much money, that he only buys what he thinks he needs. At this point I think he's a narcissist and an egoist, always talking about himself and how good he does things”
I smiled weakly and nodded. I didn't tell him that I saw him yesterday while doing groceries. And I think I won't tell him, yet
“Open mine” he smiled excitedly, looking at me.
“What, you want me to say that it's the best gift?” I smirked looking at him, watching how he was looking at me with happiness in his eyes.
“Oh, I think I know it will be the best one” he joked. “And I have to admit that it's has its merit because I had the idea for it yesterday”
I look at him and shake my head, smiling while I open the bag. There was an envelope and something more wrapped with paper.
“Open the wrapped one” he said, resting his head on his hand.
I frown and grab it, shaking it a little. It sounded exactly like the box of a videogame. I looked at him and rolled my eyes playfully when he wiggled his eyebrows, making me chuckle softly. I tears off the paper, laughing when I saw two blue boxes of a videogame for the PlayStation.
“What? What is this?” I frown looking at the two games. “Assassin's Creed Origins and Odyssey… Oh! Are those games about Greece and Egypt?”
“Correct” he nodded. “Open the Origins one”
I looked at him and smiled, watching that the box didn't have the security plastic. I bite my lip and open it, frowning when I didn't see the CD of the game itself but a few papers folded.
“What…?” I frown, unfolding the papers and gasping when I read what was on them. “No way. Lando! Are you crazy?!”
“Now open the Odyssey one” he chuckled, excited to see my reaction.
“You are insane” I mumbled, opening the other box and finding the same things I saw in the other one. “Lando…”
“I have a lot of free time” he said, grabbing the envelope and placing it in my hand. “And you will too, because I know you can work at distance, that you can translate things without going to the museum because that's what you did while we were on the snow trip”
“But Lando, this… God, this is too much” I said looking at the papers, smiling weakly when I read what was inside the envelope.
“I made you smile, that's the most important thing, Violet” he smiled holding my hand.
“You are crazy” I smile softly, feeling tears in my eyes. “God, you are making me cry! This… this touched me a lot. No one did something like this for me”
“I hope you are crying of happiness” he said, pulling me to him, bringing me to his lap and wrapping his arms around me. “I will do anything to make you happy, Violet. I swear. The money is not important at all, I have enough of it, it's not a problem”
“But my gift is really insignificant compared to this” I sighed.
“I don't care” he whispered. “Besides, this is something I will enjoy too and you will help me enjoy it more”
I smile and kiss his cheek softly, peppering kisses over his jaw and cheek until I touch his lips. The last few days I discovered myself longing for his kisses, to have his lips pressed on my, to feel his lips peppering kisses over my cheek, forehead, shoulder or temple. Kissing him is like a new drug I never want to leave.
“You are amazing” I whisper against his lips.
“I'm just trying to be enough for you” he said. “To be what you deserve”
“You are enough” I whisper.
He smiled and broke the kiss, kissing the tip of my nose before grabbing the bag with the gift I made for him. He opened and smiled, looking at the two boxes inside of it.
“Oh! You noticed” he smiled when he saw the box with his favorite perfume.
“You left the bottle in my room this morning” I said. “I saw that it barely had liquid so I just wanted to get you a new one. And I love the smell of this perfume. I love smelling my this scent in the pillow when you leave, or bury my nose in the neck of this hoodie and smell you”
“Thank you” he smiled, kissing my cheek softly. He opened the other box and smiled, looking at the necklace on it. “At this point I'll only have jewelry you gifted me”
“I would gladly do that” I chuckled. “Do you use rings?”
“I mean… Not all the time” he smiled. “I forget to put them back once I take them off”
“Mhm” I nodded, biting my lip. “Okay”
“Why?”
“Oh, just wondering” I smiled.
We stayed like this for a while, in each other's embrace sitting on the floor, surrounded by presents and broken papers. His hands placed on my back held me tight to him, his thumbs drawing abstract figures over my skin made me relax, his chin resting on the crook of my neck with his breathing in my skin, were the best thing I could feel.
Until now, I never realized that with him I felt safe. Not only now that I'm giving up and letting my walls down for him and that I can finally see how things truly are since I knew how Harry was, but since the first time I saw him. He always looked at me with a soft gaze that now made me regret thinking all those things about him just because Harry said that he was bad news. He always took care of me from the distance, giving me reasons to smile only by sending me books or gifts. He always asked me how I was doing even if he knew that I didn't want to be around him. He was always there for me even if I never noticed.
“Let's make breakfast” I whisper, rubbing his back.
“Okay”
I got up, immediately missing his warmth, and walked to the kitchen to make us something for breakfast. He followed me like a lost puppy, helping me with everything and trying to steal moments to hug me while the pancakes were on the pan.
“You are so clingy” I whispered, placing my free hand on top of his.
“You never complained” he laughed, kissing my cheek.
“And I'll never do it”
Having him here felt good. Being this domestic with bim felt good. Being with him feels good.
We had breakfast in silence, reading things on our phones, showing memes to each other. And the moment I washed the dishes, my mind realized that the next place I will go is to his parents house. And somehow, I started to panic.
“Lando?” I called him.
“Yeah?” he smiled walking towards me. “Hey, you okay?”
“I… I'm going to your parents house” I said looking at him. “Like… I mean, I know them. I met them during your races and that. But… this is a completely different situation! I'm going there for Christmas”
“Yeah, so what?” he frowned, confused.
“You are bringing a girl!” I said. “A-and, well…”
“We're a soon to be couple, right?” he said, holding my hands. “It's completely fine, I promise. They knew about my feelings towards you, and somehow I told them that we have been working on it since the ski trip. It's okay, Violet. Really. Don't worry about it”
“But then I have to make a good impression, Lando” I said. “Like… What if they don't like me? What if they think I'm not enough?”
“Hey” he smiled, cupping my cheeks. “They love you, yeah? Everything will be okay. Take a deep breath”
I sigh and nod, looking at him. In my previous relationships, meeting the parents was hard. They all had something bad to say about me: I wasn't as skinny as they would have liked, his ex was better, I don't have enough status for him. I know Lando's parents, I met them a few times as well as his siblings, but somehow it didn't feel the same as now meeting them as someone that is more than a friend for Lando. What am I supposed to answer when they ask what we are? We're not a couple, I don't want to rush things. We are friends, yeah, but friends that sleep together in the same bed and act like a couple all the hours of the day.
“It will be okay” he said, kissing my forehead. “And now, go get dressed”
I sighed and nodded, going to my bedroom followed by him and we got changed. I felt his eyes on my back while I took off my clothes, making me blush. He never saw me fully naked, only in a bikini, neither that last day in the snow when we thought we were going to have sex.
“I'll turn around if you feel uncomfortable” Lando said when he saw I stopped undressing myself.
“Stop being perfect” I joked when his back was facing me, throwing him the shirt I was wearing, actually his shirt. “You can look”
“I don't want to make you uncomfortable, Violet” he said.
I smiled and walked towards him, hugging him. I pressed my body into his back, my hands on his abdomen. I trust him, I really do.
And I love him for that.
I felt him take a deep breath when he noticed that I wasn't wearing a bra and kissed his shoulder. He relaxed in my arms, letting out the breath he was holding.
“I know I'm not perfect” I whispered. “That I don't go to the gym and have a healthy diet, that I'm not fit like a model. I know that I don't have a body worthy of a fashion show. But I am how I am”
“Don't change” he said. “Never change. I love you how you are. You are perfect, Violet. I don't care if you are not a model. In my eyes, you are a goddess, can't you see?”
I smile and unwrap my arms from his body, letting him turn around and not caring when his eyes look at my body, scanning every curve of my anatomy.
“You are perfect” he smiled, placing his hands on my waist and pulling me closer to him.
I smile and wrap my arms around his neck, closing my eyes and letting him hold me. I know this is not the moment, this is not the time to have our first time, but the fact that I took a step forward to start this relationship, made me happy.
“You are my favorite person, Violet” he whispered.
“And you are mine” I whisper back.
And somehow, that felt like saying that I love him.
Going to my parents house was a road trip of two hours and a half. Two hours of driving my car with Violet next to me, letting me hold her hand or place my hand on her thigh.
Taking her to my parents house was something I always wanted to do. They knew about my feelings for her since the moment I realized I had them, and now that she is finally with me, I just wanted to introduce her to them.
We are not a couple yet, and I don't know when I will ask her to be mine. But what we have right now is perfect, I don't need anything else.
The present I gave her was something I knew she would love. She only travels when she's invited to our trips, she always said that it's her first time in a place when we arrive there. And I wanted to change it. I want to show her the world, to make her see in real life all the art she studies, to let her see in real life that thing she only sees in museums or on the internet.
“What did you buy for your family?” she asked me.
“Correct, we bought” I smirked “For my parents and Savannah and Oliver, one of those SmartBox for a spa weekend. For my younger sister a set of jewelry and for my sister Flo a new helmet that will have the same design of the one I'll have next year”
“Oh! That's nice!” she smiled. “I bought Athena and Mila some things from the store of the museum like a book with drawings of the paintings and then some little toys for them”
“See? You do the job of auntie pretty well, hm?” I joked, making her doll her eyes and laugh softly. “I'm serious!”
“You are lucky I love Mila and Athena” she said, and somehow when she started talking I had a little heart attack.
I told her that I love her, I never stop telling her. And it's not that I want to hear it immediately, but the way she acts around me makes me think that she in fact has those type of feelings for me.
But… is this fair? I planned everything, I wanted to confess my feelings during the trip, but I never expected it to turn out the way it did. I never expected it to work, to have her with me in my car or sleep with her in her bed, to kiss her whenever I wanted and hold her in my arms. Somehow, this felt like a dream. Too good to be true. But if this was a dream I don't want to wake up, never.
When I parked the car next to my brother's I looked at her, holding her hand.
“Are you okay?” I asked her.
“Yeah… I think so, yeah” she nodded. “Do they know that I'm going?”
“Oh yeah” I nodded. “My mom even made your favorite dish”
“Really? No way!” she gasped.
I chuckled and nodded, opening the door and going to the back of her car to grab the bags of the presents. She helped me, holding the smaller bags with one hand.
“Let's go” I smiled, kissing her temple.
She was perfect. The moment we walked inside the house and she took a deep breath, I could feel how she immediately relaxed. My mother welcomed us, and the moment she saw Violet next to me, her smile grew wider.
“Oh, Violet! It's so nice to see you” she smiled, hugging her, winking at me.
“Merry Christmas” she smiled, hugging her back.
I walked towards them and smiled, watching how my mom unwrapped her arms from Violet and imme hugged me.
“You deserve this” she whispered. “My good boy”
I chuckled softly and kissed her cheek, hugging her tightly. My sisters and dad came towards us and we all went to the living room, where my brother was already with his wife and his kids.
“Oh, hey!” Oliver smiled, standing up with Athena in his arms.
“Baby Athena!” I heard Violet giggle, talking with the high pitched voice she always used when she was around my nieces. “Hello, baby girl!”
I smiled when Oliver looked at me surprised, letting Violet hold his younger daughter. I smile hugging him, patting his back and pulling away just to look at Violet holding Athena close to her.
God, is it too soon to talk about babies? It is, right?
My family welcomed her as she has been here since forever, and I was so grateful for that. My sisters included her in their conversations, even my mom let her help clean the dishes instead of making her stay sitting like she was a special guest. And watching her getting involved with them, filing and talking with them, made me fall even harder for her.
“I really think she's the one” I told Oliver, sitting on the couch, watching how Violet played with Mila and Athena. “Every fight and argument with Harry were worth it. I fought for her”
“And I'm so proud of you for never giving up on her” he smiled. “When are you going to ask her to be your girlfriend?”
“O-oh, well…” I smile, biting my lip, grabbing my phone and showing him my screen. “I kinda have it planned”
“Of course you do” he laughed softly, hitting my arm.
I smiled looking again at Violet, getting up and walking towards her when she smiled at me, sitting on the floor next to her and playing with Mila.
She's the love of my life. I would do anything to make her happy.
We spent the rest of the day with his family, and it felt good, amazing. The way they welcomed me and never judged me was so heartwhelming.
Athena and Mila insisted on being around me. The older little girl held my hand all the time, leading me wherever she wanted to go with her, showing me all her toys and books her parents brought, making me sit on the floor with her between my legs.
I liked this. I liked being treated this way, like another one of the family.
Lando's sisters talked with me like we were friends. Savannah trusted me enough to hold her daughters and have her younger one sleeping in my arms. Lando's mom asked about my work and studies like a mother, getting interested in whatever I said. Even his dad and brother got in the conversation, asking about my job in the museum and when they can go to visit me.
Is this how it feels being in a healthy family? One that doesn’t judge you, that thinks they know what's better for you?
“Well, I think we should go back to London” Lando said, looking at his wrist watch, stretching his arms and wrapping his arm around my shoulders.
“Oh! Why don't you stay the night?” his mom said with a big smile, clapping her hands happily. “In that way you two can rest and go back there in the morning”
“Mom, she has to work tomorrow…” he smiled weakly looking at me.
“It's okay” I said smiling, placing my hand on Lando's knee. “We can stay”
“Are you sure?” he whispered looking at me.
“Mhm, yeah” I smiled, kissing the tip of his nose.
“Okay, then” his mom smiled. “Lando's room is clean and the bed is made too. You can sleep there”
I smile and nod, leaning on him and wrapping my arm around his torso. I relaxed in his arms, taking a deep breath and looking at the fire dancing in the fireplace. His fingers played with my hair softly, making me cuddle him and rest my head on his chest.
“Do you want to go to bed?” he whispered, kissing the top of my head and I nodded my head.
He got up and held my hand, pulling me to him. We hugged his parents and siblings good night and then walked towards his room.
“This is my childhood room” he laughed softly. “Obviously reformed”
I chuckled and looked around while he grabbed a shirt for me to sleep on it. He walked towards me, wrapping his arms around my abdomen, pulling me close to him.
“Today was perfect” I smiled, turning around to wrap my arms around his neck. “Thank you”
“I’m glad” he whispered, leaning closer to mez resting his forehead against mine. “Because this, Violet…This is what I want for you, for us. A healthy environment, a healthy family. People that support you and won't judge you”
I smiled and nodded, kissing him softly, holding him tightly against me. We got undressed slowly, taking off our clothes and leaving them on the floor, not wanting to pull away.
“I don't think it's a good idea doing this with my parents around” he whispered, taking a deep breath when we stood naked in the middle of his room, only wearing underwear.
“Then we won't do it” I whisper. “But we can just get in the bed, feel each other's body and kiss, right?”
“Oh yeah, please” he chuckled, jumping on the bed and opening his arms for me. “Come here”
“Silly” I chuckled, crawling towards him and kissing his lips, feeling his hands over my body and pulling me close to him.
violetsinclair
liked by landonorris, maxfewtrell, pietra.pilao, savnorris and 698 others
violetsinclair I think I like this little life🧡
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pietra.pilao that little life suits you very well
violetsinclair I think so, yeah🥰🧡
landonorris
liked by maxfewtrell, pietra.pilao, oscarpiastri and 258.735 others
landonorris This little life
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maxfewtrell I think Athena has a new favorite person
landonorris for once I don't mind
oscarpiastri when are you bringing her to the garage?👀
landonorris who? Athena? She's too young for that😌
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Heart, Body and Soul || Tommy Shelby x OC
PART V
Summary: As they get closer, Tommy and Nina start to realise that their time together is limited. However, an unexpected event makes the tables turn.
Warnings: mentions of arranged marriage, slow-burn, small age-gap (Tommy’s 30, Nina is in her early 20s), time-typical misogyny, mentions of war, mentions of mutilation, this chapter contains triggering themes, such as sexual assault and violence. Read at your own risk.
A/N: I hope this is worth the wait! Useful information: in the first part of this chapter Nina is 17. She’s depicted as naive, maybe a bit too much for a seventeen-year-old, but bear in mind that she grew up in an extremely conservative environment. Also, I wrote all the dialogues in English because it would’ve been too much of a mess to switch between the languages, so keep in mind that whilst the dialogues between Nina and Agnese could be in both languages since they’re bilingual, the ones between Nina and Stefano are technically in Italian. Last, some things from the previous chapters are really important for this one. I do not claim any ownership to the dialogues excerpts taken from the show. English is not my first language.
After this way too long note, I hope you enjoy this chapter☀️
PREVIOUS PART
SERIES MASTERLIST
Gif credit
Dividers credit
1915, five years earlier
“They say Italy might join the war soon.”
It was the first time Nina voiced her concerns. She always had the feeling that if she expressed what was troubling her out loud, it would inevitably, irrevocably become true. But she had been bottling up that fear of hers for weeks now, and it had been growing and growing, consuming her from the inside. The weight of the basket she was carrying was nothing compared to the weight of uncertainty, of not knowing what to expect.
“They say that at your school?” Agnese asked absentmindedly, looking in the windows of the small bakery they always used to stop by when they were children, because they knew the owner would give them freshly baked biscuits for free.
“They say that everywhere,” Nina murmured, kicking a stone with her foot.
Agnese had heard about that possibility, and it scared her as well, but she didn’t fully understand the extent of the seriousness of the situation. No one ever bothered to explain it to her, and every time she asked questions about it, her family would just brush it off. She shouldn’t trouble herself with such nonsense, they said. And although she could ask Nina, she never found the courage to do it, far too ashamed of her own ignorance. Her cousin knew lots of things, talked about serious matters, had opinions that contrasted with everything they had ever been taught, and most of the times Agnese had troubles following the things she said. But she said them with such conviction, such mastery that she couldn’t help but agree with her. And she suspected that the reason why no one ever listened to Nina was because they had troubles following her as well. There was something unsettling in her cleverness.
“I’m worried about my brothers,” Nina admitted. “They’re old enough to be enlisted.”
Agnese shifted her attention back on her cousin, sending her a sympathetic look. “Maybe we won’t enter the war. And even if we do, maybe they won’t have to go. Your father can find a way to-”
“They’re not cowards,” Nina interrupted her with resolution, shaking her head. “The Spinietta brothers are cowards. Pietro and Salvatore are not like them.”
“What do the Spiniettas have to do with it?”
“I heard my father say that if we join the war, Mr. Spinietta already knows who to talk to to make sure his kids are not enlisted. He’ll shake a few hands, make a few threats, and they will be safe and warm in their houses. He might even send them to America, they have relatives there.”
Truth was, Nina wished they’d be sent to America. She wanted them to be as far away as possible from her, from the village. They walked around as if they owned every street, every shop, every person; as if everything was owed to them, because they had money and power. But everybody knew where that money came from. And even though she was aware that her family wasn’t any different, that their own money was mostly blood money, she still believed that her brothers were better than them.
“They’re cowards. Cowards and bastards, that’s what they are,” she gritted her teeth.
“You can’t say things like that,” Agnese hissed with wide eyes, frantically looking around to make sure no one was there to hear her. “Lower your voice.”
“I’m just telling the truth. They’re bastards. Sick bastards. You’ve seen how they’ve dragged that poor girl in their car, last week.”
Nina watched as her cousin pressed her lips together, avoiding her gaze. The episode had left both of them with a bitter taste in their mouths, and a feeling of powerlessness that haunted them still. They didn’t know why they had done what they had done, what they would do to her, but somehow they knew it wouldn’t be anything good. Because despite the kind smiles they were wearing and the false gentleness with which they had guided her into the car, it was clear that they were forcing her. The two cousins heard some girls say that she wasn’t the first, and probably wouldn’t be the last, and that the reason why they targeted her was because she had no father nor brothers.
Everyday since that day, Nina cursed herself for not intervening. Would things have gone differently, if she had said something? Would she have been in trouble as well? What kind of trouble was that girl even in? She didn’t have the answers.
Now she carried a pocket knife with her. If they even tried to get close to her, or to another girl in her presence, she wouldn’t be afraid to use it.
“You still can’t say things like that.”
“It’s not like they can do anything,” Nina shrugged.
There was a delicate balance between the families, assured by mutual fear and by the possibility of a bloodbath that wouldn’t suit anyone. But even that wasn’t enough to guarantee peace, one wrong step was all it would take to disrupt that balance. It was like a bomb waiting to explode.
“I need to buy some thread for my mum,” Agnese changed the subject, stopping in front of a shop. “Wait for me here.”
As her cousin disappeared into the shop, Nina placed the heavy basked on the ground to clench and unclench her sore hand. She slightly rubbed the red marks which were appearing on her palm, wincing at the pulsating sensation. The rev of an engine came to her ears, and before her mind could register what was happening, a car stopped in front of her. Stefano Spinietta stuck his head out of the window and sent her a smile, showing a perfect set of white teeth. “You want a ride home?”
Nina frowned, trying to suppress the feeling of disgust that came over her at the mere sight of his face. “No.” She said firmly, the lump in her throat preventing her from saying anything else. She had always hated how nervous she was when he spoke to her, when he looked at her. He always looked at her as if he wanted something from her. What it was, she could not tell, but it made her feel incredibly uneasy. His handsome features and immaculate manners didn’t fool her.
“Don’t worry, I don’t bite,” he taunted her, getting out of the car. “Let me help you with that.” Stefano reached his hand towards the basket, but before he could take it, Nina pushed it away with her foot. A glimmer of amusement flashed through his eyes, lighting up his face.
Her hand went to her pocket, and she clutched the small knife tightly, the weapon giving her a new found sense of security. She looked right into his eyes, and spoke enunciating each word carefully. “I said no.”
“I just wanna take you home,” Stefano insisted, his stupid smile still plastered on his face. “C’mon, get in the car.” He took ahold of her arm, slightly squeezing it as if he wanted to reassure her.
A wave of uncontrollable rage coursed through Nina, and in a matter of seconds she had him pushed against his car, her blade grazing his throat. Surprise spread across his features as he looked down at her.
“Touch me again,” she said through gritted teeth, “and I’ll cut your throat.”
Silence fell between them as they glared at each other in an unspoken competition, both of them waiting for the other to cave in. Nina forced herself to keep her burning gaze on him, while every muscle in her body urged her to run away. Instead, she didn’t move, head high, hand steady. She wouldn’t bend. She couldn’t bend. Stefano slowly held his hands up in surrender, the shadow of a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. Under her confused look, he slightly leaned forward, causing the blade to pierce his skin, and a trickle of blood seeped from the small wound, red, thick. It ran all the way down to Nina’s hand, and its slimy texture almost made her flinch. Stefano, on the other hand, had regained his composure, as if he was the one in control of the situation, as if he didn’t have a knife pointed at his throat.
“I’m sorry,” he breathed out, staring at her with an indecipherable look in his eyes.
Nina hesitated for a moment, then, with a swift movement, she took a step back and placed the knife back in her pocket, suddenly aware that she had held her breath the whole time. Stefano sent her one last glance, before turning around and going back in his car without saying another word.
As he drove away, she glanced down at the crimson stain on her hand with wide eyes, her heart thumping in her chest. When Agnese walked out of the shop, unaware of what had just happened, she closed her shaking fingers in a fist, and hid her hand into her pocket.
“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” her cousin chuckled, looping her arm though hers. “Let’s go home.”
Present day
“I swear to God, I swear to God…she gave me sixpence. She sends me to the shop for margarine, eggs and bread. When I came back…”
“With a top hat and a coconut,” Nina shook her head, a laugh escaping her lips.
“And that was all the money we had for the whole fucking week,” Tommy stopped to lit his cigarette, then he raised his eyebrows, a smirk growing on his face. “And me mum beat me with a fucking frying pan.”
“Why the hell did you buy a top hat and a coconut?”
“‘Cause I thought she deserved it. I thought we all did. And I could never understand,” he hit his hand on the table, a hint of some old anger creeping into his voice, “why people like us only had bread and fucking lard. And I wanted to be different. That’s what I wanted.” Silence fell between them as he took a drag from his cigarette, his gaze getting lost in old memories.
Their late-night chats had become a habit now. The night after the first one, for some reason, Nina went downstairs to make herself a cup of tea, and, for the same unknown reason, Tommy went into the kitchen with a dry throat. Just like every night since then. They stayed up late, sharing thoughts, doubts and memories, whispering them into the night and letting it take them away. Over the past week, Nina had come to realise that there was way more than Tommy let on behind his stoic facade, and she found herself wishing to know more. As for Tommy, he liked hearing her talk. She had something to say, and she wasn’t afraid to say it. It was refreshing, and a nice change from the hordes of people who repeated somebody else’s words like parrots, without fully understanding their meaning.
“And you are different, aren’t you?”
The depth of Nina’s eyes became too much to bear. For the first time, Tommy suddenly felt exposed. It was as if she was reading right into him, as if she had him completely figured out, as if every thought, every fear, every unspoken word was no longer a secret. It scared him.
He cleared his throat, stomping out his cigarette. “I heard your brothers also fought in the war.”
“Yes,” she nodded. “They were at Caporetto.”
Pietro and Salvatore still bore the marks of that defeat, both physical and mental. Pietro, the older one, had almost lost an arm in combat, and even though two years had passed, sometimes it still hurt. But in exchange for the arm, the war took something else away from him. There seemed to be nothing left of his once caring nature, and his innate attention for details had turned into a urge to have everything under control. As for Salvatore, the war had enhanced the restlessness that had always distinguished him. He was angry, easily triggered, spiteful. And now he had a deep scar which crossed the left side of his face, making his expression appear even more grim. However, in Nina’s eyes, Pietro was still the boy who fought for her to keep on going to school, just like Salvatore was still the playful kid who took advantage of their size difference to sweep her off her feet and spin her around. But they were not those kids anymore. A line was drawn between Nina and her brothers, and that line became a breach, and that breach had continued to open up until an abyss yawned beneath their feet.
Nina took a sip from her cup of tea, sensing that it might be time to change the subject. The war was clearly a sore point for both of them, although for different reasons. “Agnese told me you like horses,” she sat up straight in her chair, her gaze lighting up with curiosity.
“Yes, I do like horses.”
“When I was a child I wanted to learn how to ride. I even asked my father to buy me a horse for my birthday,” she reminisced, a small laugh escaping her lips. “My mum threatened to leave for good if he ever dared to come home with a horse.”
“So you didn’t get the horse.”
“I didn’t get the horse.”
“You know, I’ve got horses, I could teach you how to ride one,” he proposed, the words escaping his mouth before he could think about what he was saying. Then he realised, and he paused for a moment. He wouldn’t get to teach her. A faint, bitter smile appeared on his lips. “I mean, when you come to Birmingham to visit your cousin.”
Nina couldn’t explain the strange effect his words had on her, the sharp stab of sadness that hit her right in her chest. She brushed off that feeling, telling herself it was just the thought of not seeing Agnese - her only friend and the only ally she had in that family - to cause it.
But Tommy recognised the stinging sensation that was rising up inside him, a sensation he had already felt before. A sensation he couldn’t admit, not even to himself.
“How are things with Tommy?” Nina casually asked her cousin, struggling to hang a bedsheet on the clothesline to dry in the shared backyard.
A sly smile flickered on Agnese’s face as she glanced at the black-haired girl, keeping on folding the dry clothes. “You call him Tommy now?”
Her question made Nina’s movements come to a stop. She shut her eyes for a moment, cursing herself for letting the man’s name slip out of her mouth. She hadn’t told anyone about how she and Tommy were on better terms, about the frequent conversations that had brought them to that point. She had been extra careful not to show the slightest hint of friendliness towards him in public, for she knew people would talk. She couldn’t risk Agnese getting the wrong idea. “Only when he isn’t around,” she murmured, starting to hang the laundry again.
That wasn’t too far away from the truth, though. Although Tommy did call her by her first name, she didn’t remember ever doing the same with him. She didn’t call him Mr Shelby anymore, either. She just didn’t address him. For some reason, calling him by his name seemed too personal. It felt like crossing a line that was not supposed to be crossed.
“I almost thought you were starting to approve of him,” Agnese joked, letting out a small giggle.
Nina forced a laugh, shaking her head, and a sense of guilt rose inside her. She told herself it was just an innocent, white lie; those secret conversations didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t even a lie, just an omission of truth. A justified omission of truth.
Then why did she feel so bad?
Agnese fiddled with the necklace Tommy had given her, pondering her words. “He doesn’t seem to be…taken with me,” she revealed, a glimpse of worry shining in her green irises. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s a gentleman, and he’s been nothing but polite to me, but… I don’t think he likes me.”
“Agnese, are you joking?” Nina hung the last shirt, before turning towards her cousin. It pained her to see her like that. She was the most beautiful person she knew, inside and out, and she didn’t deserve anything less than being happy. “I’m sure he does. How couldn’t he?”
“What if he doesn’t love me?”
“Love will come with time,” Nina walked up to her to take her hands in hers with a reassuring smile. “Everything will turn out for the best. You have to believe that.”
She felt relieved as Agnese nodded, worry starting to fade from her expression. Truth be told, even Nina didn’t fully believe her own words. She couldn’t be sure that Tommy would grow to love her cousin, nor that they would have a happy marriage; she couldn’t be sure that the war that would follow with Sabini would end well for them. But she said what Agnese needed to hear, because she didn’t have the heart to to make her fears seem even more real.
“Thank you, Nina.” Agnese whispered, wrapping her arms around her. When Nina awkwardly returned the embrace, patting her on the back, her cousin couldn’t hold back a chuckle. It was no secret that Nina wasn’t big on physical affection, but for a few selected people - that she didn’t have the courage to push away - she brought herself to tolerate it. At least she tried.
“I need to help my mum with lunch,” the brown-haired girl said, breaking the hug to grab the basket full of dry clothes. “She’ll have my head if I don’t.”
“You’d better go, then.”
As Agnese walked back to her house, Nina finished hanging the laundry, humming a little song to herself. She tried to keep her mind busy with futile thoughts, like what Winston might be doing in that moment, what she would eat for lunch, which book she would start to read after finishing the one she was currently reading. She thought about anything and everything in order to keep her mind off Tommy, Agnese and their departure, off her father and what he had told her that day in his study, off the uncertainty about how her life would turn out. It was a nice day, and she didn’t want to plague herself with such worries. However, in the back of her mind, all of that was still present, poisoning even the nicest of thoughts.
When she turned around, the figure of a man leaning against the wall of the house made her flinch. Stefano Spinietta was standing there in silence, observing her, and she had to fight the urge to ask him how long he had been staring at her. “What are you doing here?” She frowned, collecting herself.
“Business meeting. Your father gave me permission to spend some time with you, while he talks with mine,” he explained, pushing himself away from the wall.
A scowl formed on Nina’s face, and a new wave of irritation ran through her, this time directed at her father. All that speech about him wanting her to make the decision for herself was, indeed, just speech. Words he had said to keep her nice and quiet as he indirectly pushed her down the path he had charted for her. “What makes you think I want to spend time with you?”
Stefano’s lips curled in his ever-present grin, as if he found great amusement in her reactions. But that was exactly the point, to some extent. It had become a game to him, some sort of dark, twisted game. The more she rejected him, the more stubborn he became. Something that had started years ago as a mere interest, had slowly taken a different turn. He wanted her, he had been wanting her since she had drawn a knife at his throat. She was carved under his skin just like the scar her blade had left on his neck. There was something about her. Maybe it was her defiance, her refusal to bend, to mould herself into what she should be. He could make her. He could smother the flames of her fierceness and turn her into a quiet pretty thing. “Why do you always have to be so hostile?” He asked her, squinting his eyes.
His question made Nina’s annoyance grow even more. As if he had no clue of how much he had pestered her all those years. Now he had the courage to act all innocent, to play the part of the nice, polite guy who was just courting a girl he liked. He might’ve fooled everyone with that act, but he had never fooled her. “You asked my father his blessing to marry me.” She snapped, taking some steps in his direction. “Did you really think he’d say yes?”
“He never said no.”
“I did.”
Silence fell between them as they stared at each other, once again refusing to be the first to cave in. But this time it didn’t take Nina any effort to keep her eyes on him. She wasn’t a naive seventeen-year-old anymore. Now she knew what it was that he wanted from her. And his gaze didn’t intimidate her anymore.
“Listen to me, Stefano, and listen to me carefully, because I’m not going to repeat myself,” she said in a low voice, coming even closer to him. “You disgust me. You and all your kind,” she spelled out, making sure to emphasise each word. “And I’d much rather jump in front of a train than marrying you.”
Stefano didn’t say anything, at first. He just clenched his jaw, and his hands balled into fists by his side. Then he broke into a half-smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes, trying not to let his wounded ego show. “I’ve been nice to you, and yet you keep on insulting me.”
This time it was him who got closer, towering over Nina. His eyes darkened, and he looked at her with such contempt that for a moment she had the impression he might hit her. With a quick, sudden movement, he grasped her jaw, and before she had the time to react, he turned to push her against the wall. She looked up at him, trying not to show an ounce of fear as her heart increased its speed.
“My patience has limits. And you shouldn’t forget who you’re talking to,” Stefano gritted out through clenched teeth, digging his fingers in her cheeks. His whole body shook with anger, and the mask of politeness he always hid behind began to fall apart. “You’re playing with fire.”
The same uncontrollable rage that years ago gave Nina the courage to point a knife at him now gave her the strength to stomp on his foot, making him hiss and take a step back. Taking advantage of his distraction, she darted forward, but as soon as he tried to escape, Stefano forcefully slammed her against the wall again, holding her in place by the throat. A sharp sting of pain flashed through her spine at the impact with the cold surface, and a whimper escaped her lips as the air was knocked out of her lungs. Fury flared in Stefano’s dark eyes, but then something changed in his expression. His pupils dilated, and he seemed to lose any kind of control over his actions as his hand left her throat to slowly wander down her body.
An overwhelming sense of panic started to rise inside Nina. She wriggled, trying to free herself from his grasp. “Stop,” she raised her voice, but Stefano promptly covered her mouth with the other hand, pressing his body against hers. She squeezed her eyelids shut when his hand became more insistent, squeezing her small breast in a painful hold, then travelling down to her hipbone to keep her still with bruising force. His hot breath burned on her skin as he leaned over her, bringing his face closer to hers. Nina tried to turn her head in response, but the hand he still had on her mouth wouldn’t allow it. She emitted a muffled sound, bringing her hands to his chest to push him away, but he was too strong, and twice her size. All her desperate efforts to put some space between them were useless. He was a rabid animal, a wild beast devoid of any rational thinking as he ground against her, trying to slide his filthy hand under her skirt. Nina’s face scrunched in disgust, and her whole body stiffened under this touch. A whirlwind of thoughts swirled around in her head, endless, confusing, as if she couldn’t exactly register what was happening.
Then he stopped. Much to Nina’s surprise, Stefano suddenly seemed to come to himself, and he took his hand off her mouth. But there wasn’t a hint of guilt, or regret, in his eyes. On the contrary, he looked almost satisfied. And then she realised. He had been in command of his actions the whole time. “What, you don’t talk anymore?” He asked provocatively.
Nina’s wide eyes rested on Stefano in shock. The lump in her throat kept on growing and growing, making it impossible for her to utter a single sentence. She swallowed, trying to regain some kind of control over her emotions, to force herself to speak, and when she did, she faked a confident tone. However, the trembling in her voice betrayed her fear. “Once my family hears about this, you’ll-”
“I didn’t do anything you didn’t want, love,” he interrupted her, furrowing his brows, his face assuming a perplexed expression.
“What…” she batted her eyelashes in confusion, her voice barely above a whisper. “No, I didn’t...” the words died in her throat as the awareness of his implications started to set in.
Stefano leaned in, bringing his hand to her cheek to caress it with fake tenderness, and a terrible smile made its way on his face. “Who do you think they’ll believe?”
Nina shook her head, a feeling of helplessness she had never felt before taking over her. She just wanted him to leave. She wanted him to take his hands off of her. She wanted to kick him, to scream at him, to dig her nails in his face deeply enough to make him bleed, and yet all she could do was look at him in silence.
But then someone must’ve heard her prayers, because Stefano was abruptly pulled away from her. It was as if some kind of supernatural gust of wind had ripped him away from her body, freeing her from the heavy weight that had her pressed against the stone surface. Except that it wasn’t some supernatural force. The person who had grabbed Stefano by the collar of his shirt was very much human.
“The fuck are you doing?” Tommy growled, his knuckles turning white from the tight grip he had on the man. Stefano, not understanding a word he had said, just raised his hands, as if to show that he meant no harm.
Tommy had recognised the guy. He was the one they had met two weeks ago in the city, the one who had given him a bad feeling as soon as they had met. He couldn’t explain the pure rage he had felt when he caught him holding Nina against a wall. Her scared, helpless expression was all it took for him to see red and launch at the Italian man. The thought of what could’ve happened if the meeting with the Ferrantes and the Spiniettas had finished just a bit too late made his skin crawl. Still holding him by the collar, Tommy raised his fist, driven by the sudden urge to break his nose, but before he could land the blow, Nina’s voice stopped him.
“Don’t!” She exclaimed, causing him to look in her direction. “He’s Spinietta’s son,” she frantically explained, getting a bit closer, but still keeping herself at safe distance.
Tommy shifted his eyes on the Italian man again, his fist still in the air, and pondered for a few seconds. Although Stefano couldn’t understand Nina’s words, he probably had a vague idea of what she had said, because the corners of his lips tugged upwards as he stared at Tommy steadily. Nina held her breath, her heart skipping a beat at the Italian’s implicit provocation. Tommy was really close to doing something that might put him in a dangerous situation, and it seemed like Stefano was doing everything in his power to encourage him. It was part of his fun, of his sick little game.
Feeling his hands itch even more, Tommy charged again, nostrils flaring, almost letting his impulse win. Fuck Spinietta, he thought to himself. But he was not in Small Heath. Begrudgingly, he lowered his hand and let the guy go with a violent push, making him stumble backwards. “Fuck off,” he snarled, pointing towards the path that led to the main garden to get his message across.
Nina sighed in relief, and she wasn’t sure whether it was because Tommy had made the right choice, or because that situation was over. Stefano took the time to straighten his shirt with unsettling composure. Without saying another word and keeping on watching them, he walked past them, his wicked eyes shining with amusement.
The adrenaline started to wear off, leaving Nina in a growing state of dizziness. The panic, the disgust, the anger. All of that became a single, indistinct mass aiming to engulf her and suffocate her. Her ears started to ring, and she had to fight the instinct to cover them and scream at the top of her lungs.
“Are you alright?” Tommy’s voice came to her ears, snapping her out of her trance.
“Yes.” She nodded, blinking a few times. Now aware of her surroundings, she felt as if she was re-entering her body after rising out of it, and the reality of what had happened was crashing on her. Bile raised in her throat, and she knew that if she had had something in her stomach, she would’ve thrown up. “Yes I’m alright.”
“Nina, you’re shaking,” Tommy noted with a hint of worry in his voice, his own heart still racing in his chest.
“No, no I’m fine,” she insisted, turning her face to hide the tears welling up in her eyes. She tightly crossed her arms over her chest, hoping that her hands would stop trembling. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine.” He shook his head, tentatively reaching out to hear. He was approaching her slowly, almost with apprehension, with his palm open, like one would do with a scared stray cat. “Come here.”
Nina hesitated for a while, torn between what she needed and what she was supposed to do, instinct and reason endlessly fighting. For once, she chose to act without thinking. Cautiously, she pulled Tommy into a hug, resting her head against his chest. Hit by an implacable wave of tenderness, he gently wrapped his arms around her, placing his chin on the top of her head. It didn’t make sense, but having her safe in his arms brought him a sense of calmness and security, and his tense body began to relax.
The warmth of his body, his scent, the reassuring sound of his heartbeat, the unfamiliar softness he was showing her; the combination between all of that gave life to a feeling Nina had never felt before, and she couldn’t put a name to it. Between all of that, she was relieved by the awareness that, at least for that moment, she didn’t need to be strong. Tears began to spill out, and her facade fell for the first time.
When a suffocated sob escaped her lips, shaking her slender shoulders, Tommy’s heart painfully clenched in his chest. His hand found the back of her head, and he started to soothingly run his fingers through her soft dark hair. He wanted to say something, but he knew that there was nothing he could say that would make it better. So he held her tighter, as if he could shield her from harm with the sole strength of his arms.
“Breathe, love,” he whispered when he noticed that, in an attempt to hold back her sobs, she had tensed up a bit too much. “Breathe.”
Nina took a deep breath, focusing on Tommy’s deep voice and the delicate motion of his fingers through her hair.
“There you go,” he murmured encouragingly, feeling her calm down against him. She sniffled, snuggling even closer, and, once again, Tommy was overwhelmed by the need to protect her.
They couldn’t care less if someone saw them. In that moment, their embrace was the only thing that mattered.
Laying on her side with her knees drawn up, Nina stared at the shadows created by the small lamp on her bedside table. She could still feel the heaviness of Stefano’s hands on her, the burning of his hot breath on her skin, the suffocating smell of his cologne. She only wanted to get rid of those hands, that breath, that smell. She would gladly rip off her whole skin if it meant to forget.
She hated herself for allowing him to make her feel small, weak, for he had made it quite clear that was what he wanted. Because even though for a moment he had indulged in the temptation, he wouldn’t actually dare go through with it, not in her house. His purpose was to show her that he could overpower her at any time.
But then came feeling of being wrapped in Tommy’s arms, of being pressed against his strong frame, the feeling she had been desperately trying to give a name to. Until it occurred to her. Safe. She had felt safe.
A soft knock on the door of her bedroom pulled her out of the vortex of thoughts. She sat up on the bed, crossing her legs beneath her. “Come in,” she said, but her voice was so feeble that she doubted the person on the other side had heard her. Still, the door opened, and in the dim, warm light, Tommy’s figure appeared on the doorstep.
He had never been in her room, but somehow it was exactly like he had imagined it. Ivory-coloured walls covered in a pattern of small flowers, dark wooden furniture, lace curtains. Handwritten sheets of paper scattered all over the desk, along with pens and pencils. It was bit messy and full of books, and it smelled like her. A mixture of lavender and honey.
When that night Tommy had come out of his room, the first thing he noticed was the unsettling silence. No rattle of pots coming from downstairs. But a half-light shone through Nina’s bedroom door, and he found himself desperately needing to know how she was. She had been avoiding everyone the whole day.
“I just wanted to check up on you,” his deep voice came out in a low sound, and it held some kind of uncertainty. He wasn’t sure that going to her had been a good idea. Maybe she didn’t want to see him, maybe knocking on her door was too much.
His doubts faded when the ghost of a smile formed on her face, and she motioned for him to come in. He carefully closed the door behind him, then went to sit on the edge of the bed, keeping his distance. A vice-like grip held his stomach when he noticed her puffy eyes and red cheeks. How many times had she cried?
“You’re paler than usual,” Nina teased him to ease the tension, but her voice didn’t hold the bantering tone he had grown used to hear. “You should get some sleep.”
Tommy half-smiled, shifting his gaze on the floor for a moment. But instead of spitting out a retort - contrary to Nina’s expectations - he just nodded. “You’re right,” he conceded.
A sigh escaped Nina’s lips, and she nervously fiddled with her own fingers. He was walking on eggshells, and she didn’t like it, not even a bit. “Please, stop treating me like that.”
“Like what?” He furrowed, looking at her again.
“Like I might break at any moment.”
Tommy said nothing. He could see why she didn’t want to be treated any differently, but she did look like she would break. Not once had she shown a single shred of vulnerability until that day, and it was disarming. Truth was, he didn’t know how to act.
“I’ll forget it ever happened,” she spoke again, this time with resolution, but she didn’t sound fully convinced of what she was saying. “And you should do the same. No one can know about it.”
“You should tell-”
“No,” she firmly interrupted him, Stefano’s veiled threat still echoing in her ears. “I can’t,” she continued, her voice becoming softer.
Tommy suddenly remembered what she told him a week earlier at the beach, and everything became clear. It was all it took to make his blood boil again. The room went quiet, but the silence was soon broken by a faint rustle of sheets, as Nina left her spot to sit closer to him. Honey and lavender filled his nostrils, and he had to restrain himself from inhaling deeply, eager to feel more. More than the light brushing of their arms, separated by the thin fabric of his undershirt. They were barely touching, and yet his skin burned. As hard as he tried to suffocate that feeling, to extinguish that fire, the flames kept on flaring, higher than before. He couldn’t fight it. She placed a hand on his shoulder, and that feather-like contact was enough to send sparks of electricity through his body. “Promise me,” she whispered, “you won’t tell anyone.”
Tommy turned to look at her, and the proximity allowed him to spot a small scratch on her cheek. Without thinking, he delicately ran his finger on it, and he was almost surprised by the feeling of her soft skin under his rough hand. Slowly, even hesitantly, his hand went to cup the side of her face, and he gently rubbed his thumb along her cheek. “I promise.”
Tommy’s hoarse voice, along with the warmth of his hand, sent shivers down Nina’s spine, and her pulse started to race. She couldn’t explain how the closeness of his strong body was making her feel, nor the effect his masculine scent had on her. Aftershave, cigarettes, and a hint of musk. And she couldn’t help but wonder: if she pressed further into him, if she let herself be held by him again, would it lift the weight off her chest? Would it take away the pain, the revulsion, the shame? Would his touch be enough to replace Stefano’s hands?
When he felt Nina unconsciously get closer, Tommy closed his eyes, drowning in her scent, and he could swear there was fire running through his veins. It was as if some unknown force was pulling him towards her, drawing him nearer, and when her soft lips brushed against his, his mind went blank. Every cell in his body was begging him to give in.
No. It wasn’t right.
Nina was vulnerable, too vulnerable, and probably unable to make any conscious decisions. He couldn’t take advantage of her like that. It took all his strength to move away and bring her in to press a kiss on her forehead instead. He lingered there for a few seconds, savouring the moment. When he let his hand fall from her face, the warmth left him, and it seemed to him that his fingers had sharply gotten cold.
Feeling her confused eyes following him, Tommy got up and walked to the door, ignoring the invisible string that was pulling him in the opposite direction. He couldn’t stay in that room any longer. If he did, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to restrain himself.
“Goodnight, Nina.”
NEXT PART
Tag list: @iamngoclinh08 @lilywinchesterlove @fandom-puff @capitanostella @caelys @lucillethings @peakyxtommy @queenofkings1212 @lyarr24 @kmc1989 @call-sign-shark @jomarch-wannabe
Heart, Body and Soul tag list: list: @zablife @queenofshinigamis @raincoffeeandfandoms @call-sign-shark @kmc1989 @babayaga67 @kmhappybunny240 @diorrfairy @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @gaslysainz @brummiereader
Tommy Shelby tag list: @50svibes
#peaky blinders imagine#peaky blinder imagine#peaky blinders fics#tommy shelby imagine#tommy shelby x oc
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Pleaseee can you write something on radioapple ? or radiosilence ?
I love these ships a lot and I wasnt to see your perspective about it :)
No.
Uhm so...I might loose likes and readers but I need to day this.
I absolutly despise Radioapple and any ship with Alastor. As I aroace person I feel like any ship with Alastor is just....not fine.
I know Viziepop has said it's alright to ship him, but let's be real. Viziepop is already a really problematic person and of course she would say things like that.
I prefer to not write Alastor with a partener because it's clear in the show that he has no desire for sexual or romantic relationships. And shiping and sexualising him just ruins the characters and is mischaracterrization.
RADIOAPPLE
Is one of the worst ships I have ever witness. I just hate that it's excused by the enemy to lovers trope. Like no, they will never be lovers and if they end up togheter just because the internet says it I'm going to unalive myself.
First, they clearly hate each other and Alastor is type of character that is an amazing manipulator and I believe he just tries to take over hell. And no, Lucifer doesn't fall inlove with him because Alastor is ''taking care'' of Charlie. Lucifer still wears his ring, that makes me think he still loves Lilith.
That's why I never see them togheter, they literally hate each other because Alastor manipulates Charlie and tries to do the same to Lucifer.
RADIOSTATIC
Again, I don't see them togheter because I think that when Vox asked Alastor to join his team he also confessed and Alastor just laughed and made fun of him and rejected his confessions.
I prefer one-sided radiostatic because I think Vox wants to make fun and try to make Alastor react to his actions but Alastor just doesn't care.
I like to think Alastor still makes fun and says mean stuff about the Vees when he broadcasts just to laugh and make fun of Vox's reactions. He just doesn't care what he thinks.
And any other ships make me cry. Like Radiorose because those people who ship them are the same kind of people that think if a girl and a boy are best friend they are dating. like no ??? Alastor and be best friend with Rosie even tho they aren't togheter. Plus I think that Alastor is using and manipulating her aswell because of her power.
The same is with Charlastor and other ships like those. Chalie is togheter with Vaggie and Alastor is just manipulating her.
I know that I, myself have written Alstor x female reader but it wasn't something suggestive or just implied ships. It's alright to write canon x oc. Plus reader is aroace in that one-shot.
Anyway, I think I may write something for Carmilla and Zestrial but I am not sure.
Thank you for reading, darling.
#hazbin hotel#alastor#hazbin hotel alastor#hazbin alastor#ships#aroace#no I won't write for any ships with Alastor#no I won't write for Radioapple#radioapple hater
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Late night thoughts but, y'know what I really love in media? Imperfect relationships.
And no I don't mean relationships where they argue a lot or don't completely click together.
One of the tropes that I happen to dislike is the idea of people in love being each others "perfect half", that "complete each other" and "fill the gaps within them" (no innuendo intended).
Sure its sweet, heart warming, and gives off a sense of hope but, realistically, nobody truly completes someone!
Which is how I came up with my own little term for my favorite relationships; Kintsugi relationships.
For those who don't know, kintsugi, also known as kintsukuro, is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery using gold, silver, or platinum dust! This creates a rather beautiful but imperfect appearance to the pottery, showing the lines of breakage while holding it together, but never truly healing it all the way.
One of my favorite current ships, Vashwood (aka Vash the Stampede and Nicholas D. Wolfwood from the Trigun franchise) reflect this type of relationship to me!
Both Vash and Wolfwood suffer from their own individual traumas, being filled to the brim with metaphorical and physical scars that eat away at them.
Vash struggles with hundreds of years worth of trauma, reflected upon his whole body after trying to save countless lives from death and violence. Some caused by bandits, some caused by his own brother, and some... Caused by him.
He struggles with nightmares and PTSD, remembering the incidents and death that was all his own fault, mourning the unknown lives that he had taken by accident during both the fall of SEEDS, the July incident, and the destruction of the moon. He relives it, and makes it his whole purpose to avoid those incidents from ever happening again.
And he suffers in silence, hiding behind a fake smile, under a red damaged duster and protective armor, with nobody truly knowing what goes through his head as he lives day by day, trying to provide some hope to the world.
Wolfwood also struggles with quite a lot of trauma, feeling the leftover scars deep within his bones, even though nary are visible upon his flesh. He remembers each bullet wound, each knife stabbing, each bit of blood that was shed before he drank a potion, forcing him back to life to continue fighting.
He also remembers the torturous abuse he went through to become a member of the Eye of Michael, to become their Punisher, forcing his body to age and grow beyond its means and become subhuman.
And even though he denies it, he remembers all the death he has caused too. All the bandits he's fought, all the targets he's followed, all to appease a faceless man to protect his childhood home at the orphanage. He drinks and smokes the pain away, never truly opening up to people while acting like a saintly priest, knowing how much pain he's caused for a cause he didn't believe in.
At least.... Until they met, and left together to search for Knives. And slowly but surely, unlike any other person they met, began to unravel and slowly heal each others open wounds.
The two of them find comfort in each others trauma, their battle scars, their imperfectness, spending every moment as they travel No Man's Land together. The bicker, they fight, they laugh, they smile, they rest and share tears. But they never try to fix each other, only bide their time and ignore their own pain, while finding a purpose in life to live and fight.
They are each others kintsugi, the gold that holds them together, that doesn't completely heal the countless imperfections, wounds, and trauma. But they don't care, because they'd rather share each others tomorrows and feel human for once, even for but a moment in each others presence...
The same applies to a pair of ocs my friend and I have developed for quite some time, with the two ironically mirroring Vashwood in terms of relationship! They both struggle with their own individual traumas, and while they can't completely heal the metaphorical and physical scars, they can mend and soothe the leftover wounds.
They both suffer in silence in their own ways, but find comfort as they unravel each others hidden scars. They're imperfect, they're damaged, they go through highs and lows... but the fact that they have someone to fill part of those gaps with love and comfort makes it all worth it.
And that my friends, is the key to a kintsugi relationship; Embracing and loving imperfection, and healing wounds but never getting rid of them
Also another really cool and similar example that my friend brought up was the Sashiko sewing technique, which like Kintsugi, is focused upon repairing damage on a piece of fabric by creating unique stitches!
To quote from them, “Nothing is perfect nor does it last forever but there is beauty it’s the wounds and cracks that it bears. Showing them healed and not fixed brings a humanness to things that otherwise wouldn’t have it.”
And man...
If that doesn't represent Vashwood's whole relationship in their story, I don't know what does!
They also mentioned, "Something born out of necessity but bringing beauty to it anyway, really does scream Vashwood," which seeing by this quote is absolutely true!
Anyway, for anyone who reads this, thank you for taking the time to do so, and have a good night/day!! Maybe in the future I'll discuss some more fun things with Trigun, my ocs, or maybe another fandom of a certain fantastical variety? 👀
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Tom kaulitz-
[ 2008 but can be viewed as any Era ] - [ oc is Isabella but you can pretend it's your name ]
I just got back from a signing and I'm going back to the hotel that all of us are staying at. I pulled into the lot and got out, I imedietly went to me and Tom's shared room.
Once I got there I opened the door and locked it when I was done. I breathed a sigh of relief finally free from all of the stress and anxiety but most of it came back when I saw Tom's face. He looked pissed.
" what's wrong baby ", I asked taking off my heels. " whats wrong, what's wrong ", he said angrily before scoffing. I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion, " I don't understand did something happen ", I asked innocently. He rolled his eyes, " I don't know you tell me, you were the one with some dudes hands all over you ".
I looked at him confused, " wait what ". He groaned, " seriously Isabella, that guy with the black hair that had his hands all over you ", I tried to think back to figure out what he was on about but came up empty handed, " I'm sorry baby I don't remember that ", I said taking my blonde hair out of the clip it was in for the half up half down.
He scoffed again, " you don't get to call me baby after practically cheating on me ", he practically yelled standing up. I turned around startled my blue eyes widening, " why are you yelling at me ", I asked. I took off my jewelry, " because your completely oblivious to the fact that you cheated on me infront of thousands of people ", I scoffed.
" I never cheated on you I don't even know who your talking about ", I said offended at why he would even suggest that. He chuckled angrily, " right your a fucking liar Isabella ", I furrowed my eyebrows, " no I'm not do you have a picture or something ", I asked wanting to see whatever evidence he had.
He pulled out his phone, " ya I do ", I walked over, " let me see then ". He showed me the photo, it wasn't even a photo recently I'm just wearing a very similar dress, I giggled. " why the fuck are you laughing is this shit really funny to you ", he asked angrily. I stopped, " m'sorry, Tommy , that's a picture from 2007 look I'm not even wearing the same dress ", I said and he looked closer the realization coming over his features.
" oh, someone sent me this saying you were cheating on me ", I laughed, " who would say something like that ", I asked and he shrugged, " I don't know ". I kissed his cheek, " I would never ever cheat on you tom because I know what getting cheated on feels like and because you mean so much too me ", I said smiling.
He smiled back, " I know I don't know why I reacted so badly I'm sorry ", he said putting his large hands on my small waist. " it's okay just next time something like this happens don't blow up so easily ", he nodded, " okay I promise I won't ", I nodded and muttered a small " good ", before kissing him.
He kissed back eagerly and after a few minutes I parted from the kiss breathing heavily. " fuck I missed you baby ", he said and I giggled, " I missed you too ", his hands started wondering my bmdress clad body, " fuck ", he muttered his brown eyes turning almost black from last. " want me to make it up to you pretty girl ", he asked and I nodded breathlessly.
" yes please ", he smirked and took my dress off me. He pushed me onto the bed and I bounced slightly. I giggled and bit my lip as he started kissing my neck. I moaned lightly when he hit my sweet spot, he smiled against my neck and started sucking a hickey onto my neck. " oh ", I gasped.
He parted breathing heavily as he looked down at my body and noticed the matching white lace set I'm wearing, " fuck baby your so beautiful ", he said running his hands up and down my frame. " thank you Tommy ", I said and he smiled. " no problem liebe ". He gripped my tits through my bra lightly, he uncliped it with one hand and threw it somewhere.
He started at my chest for a few seconds before putting his head down and sucking one of my little buds in his mouth sucking and swirling his tounge around it, " oh fuck ", I moaned as he started tweeking and pinching the other one. He switched boobs and di the same with the other, after a few minutes of kissing and sucking on my boobs he traveled down my stomach kissing his way down to the waistband of my underwear.
He looked up at me asking for permission, " please ", I whispered and he smirked he slid them off me and threw them somewhere in the hotel room. He spread my legs gently and moaned at the sight of my dripping pink folds, " so fucking pretty ", he said kissing my pussy. He swirled his tounge around my clit before pressing a little kiss to it making me mewl in pleasure.
He started tounging my entire pussy, after a few minutes he swirled my little hole with his tounge and pushed it in. I arched my back and moaned. He put his hand on my waist to push me down keeping it there to stabilize me, " yeah fuck my pussy with your tounge ", I whispered gripping his dreads.
After a few seconds he parted, " fuck baby your pussys so sweet ", he said starting to suck on my clit as he sunk to finger in my pussy and started thrusting them fast curling into my gspot, after a few minutes I could feel myself about come, " fuck Tommy I'm gonna cum ", I moaned and he smiled against my pussy.
" cmon liebe cum all over my tounge ", he said and went faster. I moaned loudly my thighs shaking and my eyes rolling back, I'm surprised I didn't rip the sheets. After my high finished I looked at him smiling, " fuck that was so good ", I said and he nodded. " now can I fuck you ", he asked and I nodded. " please ", he took off his boxers and his long cock slapped his stomach and I smiled seeing it.
He put my legs on his shoulders and slapped .y clit with his cock a few times making me shudder. He put the head on my hole and slid in both of us moaning in the process. Once he finally bottomed out he waited for me to give him the go because no matter how many times I take his cock I can never fully get used to the stretch. I nodded at him and he began thrusting in and out of me at medium pace.
I moaned, " so fucking good ", I moaned and he chuckled but it was cut off by a groan, " little pussy squeazing me so good ", he said. After a few minutes I bit my lip, " faster Tommy ", i moaned, " yeah you want it faster ", I nodded, " and harder ", he chuckled and wrapped his hands around my thighs pushing them to my chest beginning to thrust in and out of me at and ungodly pace.
" oh fuckkkk ", I screamed. " so good so good so good ", he groaned. " little pussy feels so good around me baby, rub your clit for me liebe, cmon rub you clit with your pretty nails ", he said and I slid my hand down my body and started rubbing circles on my clit. My legs started shaking, " of fuck yeah baby cmon give it to me ", he groaned.
" fuck fuck fuck I'm gonna cum ", I moaned. He kissed my cheek, " me too liebe cmon cum for me ", he said and my eyes rolled back as I came almost imedietly after feeling his hot ropes of cum hitting the back of my pussy.
A few minutes later he kissed my lips after we both calmed down. " you okay ", he asked and I nodded sleepily. He chuckled " good I'm sorry for bieng a dick earlier ", he said and layed beside me. " it's okay baby I understand ", he pulled me onto his chest and covered u with the blanket. " get some sleep babygirl I'll be right here ", he said softly and I nodded falling asleep shortly after.
[ hey pookies hope you like this one sorry if it sucks I'm not good at this but ilysm, please for the love of all things holy leave me requests most of the time I don't post cause I have no ideas. ]
#tokio hotel#tokio hotel x reader#tom kaulitz x reader#tom kaulitz#bill kaulitz#itsmealaiah#tom kaulitz smut
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That! give me lore of your OCs!
Omg with pleasure >:]
I actually wrote some stuff here and on my sheets before but honestly I like to share my thoughts and lore because it evolves a lot everytime so it's really cool
So basically the main setting of this story is in a post apocalyptic world where humanity destroyed everything, and on top of that they had to go through a spacial disaster with meteors and all. Almost all the planet has been completely destroyed and shattered and that led to a lot of damages and deaths. Humanity almost disappeared but survived thanks to magic that appeared at this specific moment. Spirits from legends as we know today decided to show themselves and defend the world, including protecting living beings. Other main weird magic appeared but this one if pretty much unknown from everyone.
After thousands of years humanity survived but the world is completely different and not shaped as it used to. It's a peaceful age where only small groups of humans called "tribes" remain, with some other species that survived and evolved too (I got a lot of inspiration from Yokohama Kaidashi Kikou on that part). Nature took over everything and beings have to adapt to it.
Ever since the disasters, some group of humans gained a strange magic they call "light" (name might change) that allowed them to survive everything. Ever since it first appeared, all living beings started to gain that magic at some point, always as kids. No one knows what it is or where it's from, but one thing is sure, it's that this magic "fuses" with the soul of the individual. It becomes one and it becomes your essence and never leaves you until your disappear. It acts as a shield to protect you from harsh weather as nature is really wild and the world is really hard to live in. It also protects you from harm and heal you, and also grants you a special magic unique to the person (similar to a Semblance in RWBY).
The thing is that Gris is the first being since the disasters to never receive any of that magic as she's supposed to, which leads everyone to think she's bad luck or cursed and a bad sign. Humanity became really scared and got more faith that ever in spirituality or even religion, even if nature is more considered that before.
Fauve is a very unique species as she's half human and half spirit. Her human ancestors made a pact with spirits when the disasters appeared to protect the world together, and this led to create a special bond between the two. As a result and as a gift, spirits gave these humans some of their magic and permanently allowed them to have a spirit form. This transformation also changed their human appearence, and that's why they're not humans anymore. Her tribe still has a very special connection with the spirits.
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Gris and Fauve live in groups called tribes, that basically can seem very similar to our cities except that it is very different since it's a world that mixes modernity/ technology and magic.
So Gris lives in one of the tribes of the exploded islands of the north, aka the old Europe, and Fauve lives on another continent, aka the old American continent with plains and mountains (as everything is a little shattered from previous sheets for world building)
Gris is a little alone and excluded by others because of her particularity, so she makes a bit of her life between her house and her parents who support her as they can, odd jobs here and there (because the system has still been rebuilt after all the disasters but not capitalist, I still need to explore that part), and she does a lot of research at the library to try to understand what's happening to her (as said before, since the disasters the remaining humanity has become extremely believer and rooted in traditions at the spiritual level, without denying all the changes of past centuries (people are not homophobic or what but just very much focus on rituals, spiritual/religious traditions etc)
Ah and she also makes trips between the different islands that are connected by trains, it is a network that has been built over time to keep the link but the technology remains very sober and as much as possible in accordance with the environment/ ecology for fear of new disasters.
Fauve's tribe is very spiritual because of her bond with the spirits, and of their role of guardians of the role. They live near a giant tree.
Spirits forms are varied, and some characteristics specific to the spiritual form of each one are also seen in their human form (for example, Fauve's tail), and it can be very varied as there are all types of creatures, chimeras (Fauve is largely a lion/ big feline, but there are also types like griffins, cervids, equidae, other mammals and even dragons, there is everything and it will be fun to imagine)
Random facts to end this big ramble for now : Fauve snores, Gris is quite weakened by her condition but she has more resources than she looks, Fauve supports her a lot on this side, because in addition to her spirit form Fauve also has her own magic, Gris loves to harvest plants, Fauve loves to climb trees, Gris is afraid of her at first but they end up getting along very quickly, Fauve is not afraid of her and does not judge her despite her lack of magic and the fact that she is less resistant
Enjoy reading lore :]
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How. How does one make good character design and pleasant color palettes. How to make a color palette without reusing colors. How to make patterns or designs?? 😭🙏
cracks knuckles. you see theres but one trick i reuse over and over.
✨color theory✨
(well, at least i think it is. i never learned this stuff properly, so i dont have names for these things)
its gonna get a little long so ill put all of this below the cut, but tldr be aware of certain color combos relating to their positions on the color wheel + remember scales (??? they prob arent actually called that erm) + fuck it we ball with markings
OKAY SO im typing this at 1:21 am on my phone and my right eye is hurting so pls forgive any typos and mistakes, and if i sound like i know my stuff but i dont PLEASE point it out to me so i can correct myself ;;;;
first of all, color combos. yes, all the stuff u learned in grade 5 art class actually works.
take a look at this bad boy. (i use autodesk sketchbook to draw, not ibispaint, but its the same on both programs)
color combos are always relationships between any given color with other colors based on their positions on the ring around the diamond.
for example, complementary colors are always opposite each other on the ring.
i use this for opah (my oc)’s design, with her dark blue-green and orange.
(as far as i know color combos dont care about the diamond in the middle, just the ring, so the actual colors themselves are pretty flexible)
(bonus auklet)
theres a lot of other combos besides complementary but you can research that urself, ill just provide an example if i have one of the most common ones
—
triadic
ermm i actually dont use this one very much so im just gonna put a hilda (which is an AWESOME show that has INSANE color theory)
(this isnt technically triadic but its the best example i have and vaguely in a triangle trio formation okay…….)
—
analogous
this is my FAVORITE combo ever, because it lets me stay in the strict wof tribe color range while still being interesting. honestly u could take any design of mine and 99% chance theres analogous in there
if u wanna know more combos just google color theory schemes, theres more than i could ever remember and i dont really bother to use them all; for wof, i usually just stick with analogous and complementary.
uhm i dont know if tumblr has a word limit but i dont wanna make this too long so i shall reblog with part 2 soon !!!!!! (if u dont hear from me in the next hour i fell asleep)
#tumbly stop eating my fucking drafts challenge impossible#i have so much to say about color theory#i did not check this over so if u see any mistakes#reblog or comment nd point them out plssss thank u#ava rambles#ava askbox
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random RL headcanons: game night edition
Mia is weirdly and inexplicably good at charades/any similar games. just anything to do with abstract communication. Poetry With Neanderthals is a personal favorite of hers.
(silly OC addition: Mia and Caldwell have a game they created for parties that's essentially just an alternate version of charades. Caldwell, who is cursed and cannot speak coherently, draws a prompt from a hat, and has to try to explain it. the audience is split into teams and attempts to guess the prompt. Mia, who is an expert at interpreting Caldwell's speech, is usually barred from playing (the exception being themed rounds where the theme is outside her specialties) and acts as a judge/curates the prompt list)
Angie is both very, very good and very, very bad at Monopoly Cheater's Edition. seems to get better the more she's had to drink, of course. gets caught cheating 90% of the time, but usually manages to pull off something insane near the end of the game.
Bela is surprisingly killer at games like Cards Against Humanity. nobody ever expects her to play the cards she does, no matter how many times they've played with her. equally an expert at games where having a good memory comes in handy.
Cassandra excels at games of deception, trickery, and mindfucks. playing a game like Werewolf with her is honestly insane. will attempt to "seduce" (i.e. distract) players she thinks are close to figuring her out. she's also decent at trivia games, but likes to narrow down the categories if the other players are cool with that.
Dani mostly likes chill, shorter games (the kind where you can play multiple rounds in one sitting), especially card games. I can see her enjoying Here To Slay, Muffin Time, and Happy Little Dinosaurs. on a semi-related note I think she low-key went through a magic trick/sleight of hand phase, but these days she doesn't usually do tricks unless she's had a couple drinks and someone brings it up.
Miranda prefers 1v1 games... on the rare occasion where someone (*cough* MC *cough*) convinces her to play. she's decent at actual chess, but is prone to starting out overconfident, only to end up getting flustered towards the end because she overthinks her moves. do not play checkers with her. she will win. you will lose. you will lose by an embarrassingly large margin.
Alcina is only slightly more interested in games than Miranda, and usually uses them as an excuse to socialize. likes big group games where there are opportunities to chat with other players while someone else makes their turn. probably plays the kinds of games that I've seen on TV a lot (classics like Mahjong) but don't personally have enough experience to talk about.
Donna kicks ass at pool, but almost never plays. you (and Angie) would have to talk her into it. totally worth it tho, because she'll have a lot of fun, especially if you're on her team and let her "show you the ropes". if you catch my drift ;) aka that thing where she'll lean a lot of her body against you, her arms alongside yours, helping move you into position. that thing tv shows/movies do to increase sexual tension between two characters.
Mia is also unfairly good at darts. it's honestly really attractive.
#I've been watching too much Smosh Games while doing art#it's my whole brain right now#resident lover#the angie hc is somewhat ironically inspired by angela from smosh#that shit she pulled in monopoly lives rent free in my brain
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Find my way back to you pt 2
previous chapter || next chapter || series page
Pairing: Sam Carpenter x Fem!OC
Summary: Sam and Estelle met eight years ago after Sam stupidly takes harder drugs than she can handle.
Warning: Drug use and cursing
notes: this was a bit more boring than i expected but this is how they met! pls lmk what you guys would like to see more of:)
word count: 3034
“yo, come on” Elias called for his sister as she approached him slowly. the muscular boy was sitting on the hood of ‘69 Mustang in the parking lot of the school as he smoked a cigarette. he was sitting with his two friends, Alex and Xavier among them sat their girlfriends who were all chatting with one another.
the three boys each were tall with dark hair and tattoos littered around their body. typical cliche gang bangers yet all of their girlfriends were either on the cheer time or live in the rich side of town. probably the most cliche part of it all was the fact that they even surrounded themselves with drug dealers like them.
Estelle rolled her eyes, “why the fuck do you even make me carry it?” she said annoyed as she took off her black backpack and threw it on the ground in front of her brother.
Elias and Alex were the only ones with cars. Alex had an up to date Yellow Mustang that he loved to show off at any moment and time. they were all seniors although they were barely even in class which confused Estelle on how they planned to graduate.
“cause the cops are up my ass lately. they ain’t ever gonna check you” he said with a chuckle. Estelle rolled her eyes again as she moved his brother to the side so she could sit beside him, the blonde on his left sending glares toward her, only fueling her annoyance.
she never liked Anna, she was head of the cheer team and always made her existence fucking miserable the moment she came out her freshman year, now a year later she bit her tongue but that mostly had to do with the fact that Elias would kill anyone who made any comments toward his sister. Estelle always preferred Elias ex girlfriend, Natalia, but they had broken up a year ago when he first got arrested for jumping two guys who wouldn’t pay him the money they owed him.
she missed her. Natalia had been her only friend, everyone else was too afraid to even talk to her, the fear of her brother fucking them up or being around someone as dangerous as him made her a people repellent.
she only ever talked to her girlfriend Valerie but they were off and on every other week so the feeling of being alone all the time never really went away.
“whatever” Estelle scoffed, “hurry up. i have to get to class” she said crossing her arms and tapping her pointer finger against her hand rapidly. she was nothing like her brother, unlike him, she wanted, needed to get a good education so she could get the fuck out of Woodsboro. it’s not that she hated the small town but her name had been trashed around for years, for reasons she never cared to talk about.
“chill. i just gotta sell these and you’re free to go” he said holding up a small ziplock bag with three pills inside. she knew what they were instantly causing her eyes to widen.
“since when do you fucking sell Oxy?” she said in a low and rushed tone. her eyes searched the parking lot to make sure there wasnt anyone looking. the only person she saw was a raven haired girl walking toward them.
the girl had on a black jacket with a white crop top underneath, her toned stomach was slightly peaking out of it and her jeans hugged her curves like nothing Estelle had ever seen before.
she swallowed silently as she watched the girl approach them slowly.
“since someone’s willing to pay double it’s worth”he said with a smirk. the dark haired girl was standing in front of them seconds later.
“one-fifty, right?” she asked. she didn’t seem nervous or fidgety meaning this wasn’t her first time buying from him. she must know one-fifty for three fucking pills was ridiculous but then again she must’ve been desperate to buy them.
“yeah” Elias said, his eyes surveyed the area around them in one quick motion before he reached his hand out and grabbed the money at the same time that he placed the small bag in the girls hand.
it was then that Estelle realized she knew who she was. Samantha Carpenter, she was in the same grade as her and they shared two classes together. she never pegged her as a junkie but that seemed to happen a lot ever since Elias made her hold his drugs. since then she was always there for the dealings and she had seen a lot of rich kids as well as shy and nerdy people buy from him which surprised her greatly.
Sam nodded as she looked down at the bag to make sure it was all there before she moved her hand and put it in her jacket pocket. she was about to turn and leave when she turned toward Estelle, her eyes stopping on her as they trailed up and down her body in one full swoop.
Estelle raised a brow at her, confused on why she was still standing around. Sam took one last look at her before turning her body and walking away.
Estelle isn’t sure why her heart began to race when Sam looked at her the way she did or why her hands began to feel clammy or even why she felt her face heat up, either way she didn’t want to know.
“whatever. i’m leaving” Estelle announced as she pushed herself off of the car and walked away.
“have a good day baby sis!” Elias called out causing Estelle to hold her hand up and give him the finger without turning. she heard her brother laugh along with his friends which made her lips curve into a small smile.
two hours before school was over Estelle was in the bathroom fixing up her makeup. she applied her lipgloss carefully before she looked at herself in the mirror to make sure she looked good. once she was done she put the tube inside her makeup bag and zipped it.
her day was pretty basic, she took notes and tried her best to finish her homework so she wouldn’t have to worry about it later and have the time to see her girlfriend.
just as she was about to leave the bathroom the door swung open and a certain raven haired girl threw herself inside, her body colliding with the wall before she laughed.
Estelle pinched her eyebrows together as she quickly rushed toward the girl. she expected to see the look like she was in pain considering how harsh her body hit the wall but instead Sam looked dazed a lazy grin on her lips as she laughed softly.
she was completely out of it.
“fuck” Estelle whispered as she tried to have Sam supper her body on her own. “are you good?” she asked softly hitting the hispanic girl on her arm.
“i’m fucking amazing” she breathed out.
Estelle shook her head, “come on, i’m taking you home” she said as she grabbed Sams arm and swung it over her shoulder. the hispanic girl didn’t seem to mind as she laid her head on Estelle’s shoulder.
the shorter girl tried her best to ignore the nervous feeling she got in her stomach at the action as she tried her best to walk out of the school without being caught by administration. although her brother was ever teachers worst nightmare, they all had a soft spot for Estelle and she did not want that to change by being caught for ‘cutting class’. god, why the fuck would she do drugs during school hours?
the pair reached the exit of the school in enough time that none of the administrators were able to see them. Sam was saying incoherent things and laughing at her own words making Estelle hush her every couple of seconds.
Estelle reached for the back of her pocket and pulled out her car keys. unlike her brother she own a beat up Camry that she had bought with her own money whilst working at the theatre during the summer.
the shorter girl gripped the handle of the passenger side door and opened it, slowly and carefully she helped Sam inside.
“can you put your seatbelt on?” Estelle asked as she was bent down so she was at eye level with the girl.
Sam shook her head, "can you put your seatbelt on?" she shot back.
Estelle huffed angrily, "lean back" she said as she reached across the taller girls body with the seatbelt in hand and clicked it in. once she was securely inside Estelle pulled away and stood. as soon as the door closed Sam leaned her head against it and closed her eyes.
this is not how Estelle was hoping to spend her day and yet here she was, driving a stranger home because she took too many fucking pills. her brother would be hearing about this.
she took a deep, exasperated breath and walked to the drivers side. she opened the door and got inside, immediately putting the key inside the ignition and turning the car on. it wasn't too hot or too cold, the crisp fall air making it so you'd only need a jacket but Sams body temperature was abnormally warm and she did not need to have an incident where she needed to take her to the hospital or something worse.
"i need to know where you live" Estelle said and turned her body to face Sam. the girl didn't budge, her chest rising and falling evenly hinting that she was most definitely sleeping. Estelle cursed silently as she pulled out her phone and went to her brothers messages.
Sis: where does Sam live?
fuckface: who tf is Sam?
Sis: r u serious? the girl u literally sold drugs to two hours ago???
fuckface: ohhhh lmao. idk some rich neighborhood. i think i got the address let me check.
Estelle tapped against the steering wheel impatiently as she waited for her brother to text back. she glanced at Sam periodically to see if she would wake up but she was completely knocked out.
shit.
Estelle reached over the console and placed two fingers on the girls neck to search for a pulse, a breath of relief leaving her lips as she felt it pounding heavily against her fingers.
Estelle had never really dabbled in drugs, at least not hardcore ones. she would sometimes smoke weed with her brother or at parties but that wasn't all that often. she just never saw the hype. the first time she smoked weed made her have a full on panic attack so every time she smoked now, she made sure it was way less than what she had done that time. she didn't care much to judge others for doing them but if she could choose between having them in her life or not, she'd choose the latter. she hated that her brother sold them, in fact she had tried to convince him to get a real job with her instead but he always said no. selling drugs made him way more money than a regular nine-to-five. plus he didn't have to get off his lazy ass and do much in Estelle's opinion.
the girl drove in silence, the radio turned off as she followed the map on her screen. she arrived at her destination ten minute after leaving the parking lot.
once she pulled up, she looked out the window in slight awe. the house wasn't huge but it was nice, extremely so. it looked like the typical suburban home, the kind you see in movies with two loving parents and their kids. dinner every night and breakfast before school and work, the kind in which they have family game/movie nights and they spend their summer time at some island. all of the things Estelle had never seen.
she sighed softly as she turned toward Sam and shook her awake, it took her a couple of seconds until she finally stirred.
"five more minutes" she groaned softly causing Estelle to roll her eyes, a small almost nonexistent smile ghosting her lips.
"come on. we're at your house" Estelle said. once she said those words Sam jumped and looked at her surrounding.
"how did i get here?" she asked and snapped her head toward Estelle. the young girl could tell she was still high by the way her eyes were shinning and how erratic she looked. she just seemed a bit more sober compared to when she stumbled into the bathroom.
"i drove. probably shouldn't give your address to your dealer. come on, you need to get out" Estelle said as she took the girls seatbelt off.
Sam shook her head and whined softly, "no. i don't want to"
Estelle closed her eyes as she breathed in and out as she tried to calm her anger. she didn't want to be babysitting a fifteen year old girl but it looked like she didn't have much of a choice. the house looked empty, no cars on the road or the driveway signaling no one was home. she could just have Sam go inside on her own but there was still the very prominent fact that Sam was high off of her ass and she couldn't barely walk with Estelle's help, let alone without it.
"fine" Estelle sighed out and took off seatbelt impatiently. she yanked the keys out of the ignition and opened the door in own swift motion. a few steps and she reached the passenger side with Sam peering up at her. she opened the door softly, careful so that Sam wouldn’t be leaning against it and fall out. Estelle pointed at the seatbelt, “can you take it off?”
Sam looked down at where Estelle had pointed and nodded. she did so slowly and once it was off Estelle held her hand out. Sam looked at it curiously and slowly her eyes met hazel ones. Estelle sighed again.
“come on, you can barely walk” with that much of an explanation Sams hand slowly landed on Estelle’s where she shifted all her weight and got out of the car. Estelle helped her as she gripped onto the end of her arm and held her stance firmly.
once the taller girl was standing upright, Estelle closed the car door behind her and locked it with her key before putting it in her back jean pocket. the action reminded her of something she hadn’t thought about beforehand, “do you have keys?” she asked hope laced in her voice. otherwise she had no idea what to do.
Sam nodded as her free hand moved behind her body and into her back pocket, the sound of keys jangling grabbing Estelle’s attention. Sam said nothing as she handed Estelle the keys.
the walk to the door was slow but a lot more steady compared to the walk to the car at school. Sam wasn’t laughing and talking to herself, instead she was extremely focused on getting one foot in front of another.
at the door Estelle tried two different keys before she finally got the right one, she pushed it inside the lock and moved it to the right, the sound of it unlocking reaching her ears. she carefully reach for the doorknob and twisting it, once so she pushed it open.
instantly she was hit with a scent of vanilla and a slight earthy aroma much like what Sam smelled like - not that she was paying attention. obviously.
Estelle helped Sam go inside first before she followed. the two girls were inside and Estelle closed the door behind her, locking it in the process. “where’s your room?” she asked craning her neck as much as she can to look at Sam.
Sam motioned upstairs earning a nod from Estelle. she walked toward it, telling Sam to hold onto the railing with her other hand and take one step at a time. once they were at the top she stopped and waited for Sam to tell her where to next.
soon they were in the girls room and Estelle tried her best to not look around and seem nosy. she wasn’t Sams friend and she did not care about who she was. all she was doing is simply helping a person in need. that’s all.
“come on” Estelle said as she took Sams arm off of her shoulder and practically shoved her on the bed. Sam didn’t protest as she immediately cuddled into her pillow.
“you gonna be okay?” Estelle asked.
Sam moaned, “yeah” she sighed.
“great” Estelle said simply and began to walk toward the door and get the fuck home so she could get ready for cheer practice when a small almost unintelligible groan reached her eardrums.
she groaned silently and looked up. fuck.
she quickly turned around and saw Sam with her eyes closed and a small frown on her lips. why couldn’t she be like her brother and not give a fuck about what happened to her?
with a slight eye roll she approached the bed and began to unlace Sams boots. she did one at a time before she took them both off and placed them on the ground softly, careful to not make noise. once done she grabbed the blanket thrown on the bed and placed it on Sams sleeping body. the girl stirred a little but slowly her breath began to even out once more.
if she was this out of it, it’s likely she wouldn’t be remembering anything about that day let alone how she got home. without another option Estelle walked toward the desk with a closed laptop and books along with notebooks littered around messily. she grabbed the black notebook and ripped a page out before reaching for a pen. she scribbled something down and placed it on the girls nightstand.
once done she walked out of the room without another glance back.
i brought you home cause you’re high as fuck. drink water and don’t you dare take anything else until you’re feeling normal again.
-Estelle
#sam carpenter#sam carpenter x reader#scream v#scream series#scream#scream x reader#tara carpenter#amber freeman#chad meeks martin#mindy meeks martin#ghostface#gxg#lesbian
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I Will Always Love You (Dr. Spencer Reid x OC) *Halloween Special* 🎃
Summary: Rossi throws a Halloween party at his mansion for the team and some close friends, and Reid loves a certain costume a coworker’s wearing… maybe leading him to finally confess his feelings.
“So… what kind of costumes do we wear? Matching? Scary, funny…?” I ask.
“Whatever you feel comfortable with,” Rossi replies. “But I will ask if you can keep it down to PG13. I’m looking at you, Garcia.”
“I can’t believe my costume last year was deemed inappropriate!” The blonde agent complains from across the room.
“It is when you’re dressed as a playboy bunny and pretend-flirt with Morgan even more than usual,” Hotch says dryly.
She huffs. “I was staying in character! Halloween is when you can pretend to be someone else!”
“Yes but in this job we have to maintain somewhat professional, even if it’s at a party. So please follow the guidelines.”
I can’t believe I’m invited to an actual party! Throughout high school and college I was never involved with the popular kids, and had little friends to begin with. But ever since I started working in DC I’ve made lots of connections, with one being the one and only Agent Rossi from the BAU. He’s thrown a few get-togethers for the team, and this year I’ve been invited to an official Halloween party! And what’s best is that I’ll get to hang out with my coworkers outside of the work environment! I’m really looking forward to it, especially since Reid will be there. Call it cliché and pathetic but I’ve grown romantic feelings for the ingenious doctor, but no matter how hard I’ve tried I can’t get rid of them or gain the courage to tell him. It’s best to suppress them and hold onto the steady relationship we already have.
I pack up my things and start walking out, then Rossi calls: “You’re coming tonight, right Rita?”
“I’ll be there!”
I’ve already got a costume in the works, one I’ve been planning since June. It’s a bit of a stretch, but I guess I’ll have to see what happens…
3 hours later…
Reid’s POV
All the costumes so far have been awesome! I wish Halloween was more than once a year. Between the cool decorations and outfits, how can anyone not like it? This year I’ve chosen to go as Sherlock Holmes as a tribute to one of my favorite fictional detectives.
I keep looking around for Rita, almost disappointed that she isn’t here yet. I’d never say anything, but in the last few months she’s worked with us it’s been near impossible to not notice myself acting strange around her. Of course Morgan teases me about anything awkward I do, but even I have found myself acting strange around Rita. Increased heart rate, scattered thoughts, and the nagging feeling of wanting to make sure she’s doing ok. But isn’t that what any friend would do? Look out for one another?
I shake the confusing thoughts from my head and continue to look around. And next walks in- oh. Wow. Oh wow! An almost direct clone of Dolly Parton struts into the room, wearing a silver rhinestone suit, heeled boots, and clutching a white guitar. Who on Earth is that…?
“Hiya, darling!” She walks up to where I’m sitting and plops down next to me, and when I get a better look at her face it finally clicks.
“Rita? That’s you?” I gape.
“Sure is, Spencer!” She says in a practiced southern accent. “Dolly’s been a hero to me for a long time and I figured it’d be a fun costume. It took a while to put together, but I found…”
I try to keep up with what she’s saying, but my mind keeps wandering to how accurate her costume is. Her blonde hair is teased and piled into a giant updo, complete with some glitter sprinkled on it. And the suit fits her perfectly… it seems wrong to think like that, but I can’t help looking at how her chest sticks out. Has she always looked that way?
Thankfully Garcia shows up and starts asking the questions I’m too scared to ask.
Rita’s POV
Thank God Reid’s here, because so far I don’t know a single soul here. It’s nice to sit and hide in a corner to chat, and eventually more of the BAU members start to show. When Penelope sees us she makes a beeline over and starts gushing about our costumes.
“I love the Dolly getup! Are- are those real?” Penelope asks and gestures to my chest.
My face flushes red. Of course it would be Garcia to ask something so blunt. I’m not offended in the least, but I’ve always been insecure about my larger than normal bust. But that’s why Dolly’s been so inspirational, because she’s proud to be so outstanding.
“Yes, they’re real. And if you wanna joke about it then please ‘follow the guidelines,’” I mock Hotch’s instructions. “I am as God made me and I ain’t ashamed.”
Garcia smiles again and continues to talk about her costume, which is a giant cupcake. By now more people are starting to arrive and Garcia goes off to greet more guests just as JJ and Emily walk up to us. JJ has chosen a simple pumpkin shirt and top, while Prentiss is wearing a white dress complete with eerie doll makeup.
“You chose Annabelle?” JJ gives her a strange look.
“What can I say? My comfort films are weird.” Prentiss shrugs.
“I’m guessing you’re dressed up as Sherlock Holmes?” I finally ask the genius sitting in the chair behind me.
“Elementary, dear Rita. He’s one of my favorite literary characters.”
It’s strange. Reid keeps looking at me funny, then shifting his gaze to avoid my eyes. He’s normally not this scatterbrained.
“Oh that’s a dork-able, Reid the brainiac is dressed as a brainiac!” Morgan, wearing a skeleton costume, walks up and smirks. When he looks at me Morgan gets a confused look and I can tell he doesn’t recognize me. “And who might you be, Dolly?”
I stifle a laugh and exchange looks with Reid, who seems to wanna laugh just as much as I do.
“I’m surprised you ain’t noticed yet, Agent Morgan,” I say in my southern accent.
Just like Reid, Morgan’s face explodes in bewilderment and he gives me a second look-over.
“Wait, wait. You’re telling me that this gorgeous twin of Dolly Parton is our Rita?” He looks over at JJ and Prentiss, who start laughing. “Tell me I ain’t the only one who’s blown away! Damn, you look good in that! Nice costume!”
He gives me a high-five and goes off to find Garcia, and I notice in the corner of my eye that Reid’s stiffened up a bit, muttering an excuse I can barely hear and striding off before I can speak. What’s wrong with him?
Reid’s POV
When Morgan started praising Rita’s costume it felt as if my chest was being squeezed. I don’t know why. It’s as if every time I think about Rita my brain doesn’t think clearly, and I go through anger phases when I see someone else with her. Isn’t that normal friend behavior?
That’s when I make a new diagnosis: I have a crush on my coworker.
It’s something I’ve been avoiding, pushing away thinking I’d never have feelings for someone. With my job it’s too dangerous to have relationships, plus the fact that I’m an awkward nerd doesn’t help. Besides, a beautiful girl like Rita probably already has a boyfriend.
After Morgan’s off to find Garcia I quickly excuse myself, going off to the hors d'oeuvre table and finding a cocktail labeled ‘witch's brew.’ I’m not one for drinking, but I need something to clear my head.
“Reid, are you ok? You never drink.” Hotch walks up from behind.
What am I supposed to say? Tell my boss I’m in love with my coworker, something that’s thoroughly discussed as a workplace rule?
I give a shaking nod and put the glass to my lips. It’s not strong, but I can still feel the alcohol sending electricity down my throat. “Y-Yeah. Just a bit tired. Shouldn’t you be trick-or-treating with Jack?”
Hotch shakes his head. “He’s at a party with some friends from his school, so I got the night off. But don’t avoid the subject. You’re not tired. What’s really wrong, Reid?”
There’s no escaping it now.
“IjustfoundoutI’minlovewithRitaandI’mscaredshe’llhatemeandIdon’tlikefeelinglikethis!”
Everything comes out so fast. There’s so much I want to say. At first Hotch looks confused, but after having a minute to translate my gibberish he gets a somewhat amused look on his face.
“I know, Reid. We all do.”
His words leave my mouth gaping. “Y-You do? But- but why didn’t… how- why am I the only one who didn’t?”
“Because when it comes to social cues you’re not much of an expert,” Prentiss says as she joins us. “We’ve all seen how you’ve been acting. It’s cute! You and Rita make a great pair.”
I groan as I hold my head in my hands. “But I hate feeling like this! What if I screw up? What if somehow my job gets her in trouble? You remember what happened with Haley!”
Hotch’s face darkens a split-second, but instead of brooding he puts a hand on my shoulder. “Spencer, just because our job is dangerous doesn’t mean we can’t allow love into our lives. It’s not healthy.”
“And you deserve to have a loving girl like Rita,” Emily adds.
“But doesn’t she already have a boyfriend?” I ask uneasily.
She frowns. “No. Where’d you get that idea? Rita’s incredibly antisocial besides hanging out with us.”
How on Earth does Rita not have guys crawling over themselves just to talk to her?
By now Morgan and JJ have joined us as well.
“He’s confessed?” Morgan asks Prentiss and she shakes her head. “Reid, will you please just go and tell her? We’ve been waiting for a month! It’ll be a nice change to not have you giving me the murder look whenever I high-five your girl.”
The team ushers me away, so I can already tell there’s no going back now. Even if I don’t say anything, Penelope will tell Rita herself. I at least want this to be done on my terms.
I take a deep breath, then calmly walk back to the living room. I see Rossi chatting with some other guests and he gives me a wink. When I reach the doorway, Penelope passes me with an eye roll and points to the balcony.
“She’s out there. It’s about time! I can only distract her for so long! Now go get her, loverboy! Go go go!”
Ok, this is it.
Rita’s POV
For my first Halloween party I must say it’s… a bit boring. Sure I’ve gotten lots of compliments on my costume and been able to eat some good food. But without Reid the conversation’s shifted to JJ and Emily talking about some random guys that flirted with them at a bar last week, making me wish they’d stop bringing up romantic stuff. I’m not one for lovey-dovey talk, and with me being single it’s adding salt to the wound. Thank goodness they both go off to get a drink, but then Garcia pops over again and starts chatting about a new pair of shoes she found.
“Really? Some new Oxfords? Cool… Um, be right back. I need some air.”
Garcia gives me a wave and I quickly scoot out the side door to the balcony. It’s a chilly night, but my suit and wig keep me warm. There’s a sky full of bright stars and slight mist draping the landscape beneath me. It definitely feels like Halloween. I just wish I didn’t have to spend it the “grown-up” way. Right now I’d rather be back home, eating popcorn and watching Halloween. Anything but avoiding Spencer or having to listen to chats about love stuff.
“Mind some company?” A soft voice asks.
I grip my guitar and spin around, nearly chopping off Reid’s head. “Jesus, Spencer! Don’t sneak up on an FBI agent!” After seeing there’s no big danger I set my guitar down. “Sure, I guess? But why’d you leave?”
He leans over the railing and seems to think over his response. “I had an intention that I was needed elsewhere, and then the team gave me a case.”
My eyes widen. “You mean, like a profile case? Is someone in danger? Are we gonna have to leave-?”
Reid holds a hand up to quiet me, then with the other he takes my own hand. “It’s not a criminal profile. They gave me your case, Rita.” This leaves me even more confused, and almost don’t notice Spencer slowly leaning in closer. “There’s been something I can’t get out of my head, and you need to know. Now, if you don’t agree I’ll forget it but please don’t hate me. I- I…” He takes a deep breath and looks at me. “I’m in love with you, Rita.”
If it weren’t for the railing I think I’d fall, almost having to grab Spencer’s coat to avoid stumbling. This can’t be a joke… can it? Am I bold to assume that Spencer’s feelings mirror mine? What type of probability is that?
“Could’ve said something sooner,” I mutter just loud enough for him to hear.
His head perks up. “So- does that mean…?”
I throw my head back and laugh, nearly losing my wig. “Yes, Spencer! I’m in love with you too, and I could never ever hate you. But why not say anything until now?”
He nods his head side to side. “Well… I didn’t actually figure out I loved you until about 20 minutes ago. I- I’m good at profiling others, but not so good with my own emotions. I always thought that this job wouldn’t be a healthy way to keep a relationship, but the team agrees that we make a good pair- that is, if you want to?” He asks quickly.
I don’t answer right away and instead wrap my arms around him for a soft hug. “I’ve never been more sure of anything, Spencer. No unsub in the world could make me rethink that.”
He leans back with teary eyes. “Really? You’d put up with an awkward geek?”
His cute expression makes my heart melt. “You’re my awkward geek, Spencer. You never have to worry about disappointing me or putting me in danger. You being you is more than plenty. As the Dolly song goes, ‘I will always love you.’”
Spencer chokes back a sob and before he can get any more teary, I harness my courage and kiss his lips. This surprises both of us, but once we get past that we deepen the kiss. Once again I’m thankful for the railing because now we’re both leaning against it, and soon Spencer seems to grow just the tiniest bit desperate. We pull apart and he looks as if he’s about to beg me for more but is too afraid, so I save him the trouble.
“Wanna get outta here? I’ve got Halloween on 4K at home,” I smirk.
Reid grows a thankful smile. “Only if you’ll let me complain about the bad strategy choices the victims make.”
My own smile widens. “You do that too?”
Reid shrugs. “It’s kind of their own fault that they die! I mean, how could they not notice that someone was in the house?”
I take his hand and we make our way to the exit, but not before hearing a big celebration cheer from the team.
Happy Halloween, Spencer.
#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds imagine#criminal minds#spencer reid criminal minds#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid x reader#david rossi#aaron hotchner#jj criminal minds#derek morgan#penelope garcia#emily prentiss#dolly parton#halloween costumes#halloween
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[ 001 ] it's all felix's fault.
⎯⎯ PAIRING: han jisung x reader/oc
⎯⎯ TAGS: rockstar!3racha plus jeongin, non!idol au, lovers to exes to enemies, one tour bus instead of one bed trope, subtweeting but in songs dropped during concerts, right person wrong time, whole lotta angst, lots of anger, mutual pining
⎯⎯ RATING: 18+, mature
⎯⎯ WARNINGS: none this chapter! let me know if i missed any
⎯⎯ WORD COUNT: 3k (3,683)
⎯⎯ SUMMARY: it’s been three years since the break up, three years since leaving the band you helped start, three years since you’ve even talked about your ex. not only have you been able to avoid talking about him, but you’ve been able to avoid him all together. until that same band you helped start decides to change labels and not a single person warned you that your safe place was about to be invaded by three men you’d do anything to avoid.
[ masterlist ]
“It’s not like we’re going to see them all the time.” The words are a mimic of Felix from months ago. Admittedly, he was trying his best to cheer you up and offer some sort of reassurance that just because 3RACHA was joining Shadow Side Records, doesn’t mean that Jisung and the others were going to immediately be forced into your life again.
“This is all your fault.” Seungmin speaks up from the back of the room, zipping up his suitcase for the fifth time. Minho had absolutely insisted on double checking what he’d packed- according to Minho the youngest in the band had a habit of packing no socks but overpacks on shirts. The argument that followed had brought a smile to your face for the first time in days.
“It’s not Felix’s fault. He didn’t use his magic powers to force us to tour with 3RACHA,” Lily interjects. She’s quick to come to his defense, reaching out to hold his hand. “Don’t worry Lixie, no one really blames you.” The softness in which Lily handles them all makes you melt every time and you’re grabbing his other hand. Putting it on your heart, you smile at him fondly.
“I promise, Lix. I’m not mad at you at all. The universe is just a cruel bitch sometimes.” Your reassurance does the trick it seems, the smile that brightens his face and makes the freckles on his skin contrast beautifully against the light flush in his cheeks. “You’re precious and I could never ever be mad at my Sunshine.”
“Instagram Live coming through!” Hyunjin shouts through the door, giving all of you less than a few seconds to scramble to make sure nothing incriminating or spoiler–wise is laying around the room before he’s walking in backwards with the camera pointing at himself. You and Felix are the first one’s in the frame and light up.
“Hi Hues!”Felix greets the viewers with a wave. He was the one to come up with the fan base’s name and you had found it too cute to argue. You and Hyunjin were quick to adopt the name but Minho had taken some convincing. Seungmin had only caved thanks to the peer pressure of the rest of the band. You’re sure he secretly loves it though.
The comments in the video scroll past so quickly that you’re unable to keep up. Hyunjin had taken to livestreaming as often as he could with fans, even if it was just small check-ins and quick conversations. It’s done well for the fanbase, you realize, having them feel more engaged with the band members. You’re almost always in the streams with him, even if you just sit and annoy him while he tries to talk to the fans.
“Who’s ready for the tour? Everyone got their show tickets?” You poke over Hyunjin’s shoulder with a grin, arm looped across his back to cuddle into him. A wave to the camera, you’re laughing at the influx of excitement you can see in the chatters. “We can’t wait to see you guys out there with us.” The excitement of the fans only elevates your own until you’ve forgotten the whole reason for this tour in the first place. For the Hues you could do anything, you would do anything for them. Without them you wouldn’t be given any of the opportunities you had and their continual support is what lets you do what you love everyday.
“Sorry guys, we have to go. Time to hit the road in a bit and I should save Cherry from Lino before he’s stuffed into his own suitcase.” Hyunjin makes a quick sign off before doing just as he said, running to Seungmin’s aid to shield him from an annoyed Minho. You catch the word underwear and immediately decide it’s not something to concern yourself with.
・❥・
Okay, so there is one thing you can’t do for Hues. “I cannot share one bus with them.” Hands slam on the table top, those closest to you flinching a little at the sound of palms slapping as you stand up. You point to the four on the other side of the table. “I agreed to the tour but I refuse to share a space with them.” Eyes cut to your old band, people you once called friends, maybe even family. “Sorry, Jeongin was it? I’m sure you’re lovely and all.” He gives you a sad smile and wow you almost feel bad for lumping him in with the other three. None of it was his fault at all, you didn’t even know him. “But our,” you gesture to your band. “Last two albums went platinum and you’re saying we can’t afford a separate bus?”
“It’s just a few months. It’s not like we’re telling you to move house together.” Lily’s ever patient nature was wearing thin and you could tell by the slight narrowing of her eyes. You’re pushing it by arguing this and there wasn’t a way around it. “The label just agrees that one bus is best right now between the equipment being transported in the other vehicles and the cost of rental and paying a driver plus full time security for the road and any flights.” She puts up a hand to stop your continual arguing, shaking her head. “Trust me, I tried. I really did okay. They’re set on this. Unless you want to sleep with the drums in the truck, you’ll just have to deal. The bright side is that when we stop at hotels they are spending the money on suites for each band so you’ll have that to look forward to.”
“Fine. I’m getting the back room and not the bunks.” Your agreement makes her smile but your declaration of the only bedroom has a few people around the table jumping in to argue. “With Lily! Her and I are the only non-men on the bus and we get the only bedroom with a real door and if you want to argue about it, argue with the fucking wall.” You drop into your seat with a huff, arms crossed as you glare at anyone that might look like they want to argue the point but it’s hard to when the logic is there. The rest of the bus will be full of men, you and Lily deserve at least a little privacy from them.
“With that out of the way- On to the rest of the details. The trucks are being loaded right now. We have all the gear you guys went over with the crew, wardrobe will be at the venues but you’re mostly in charge of whatever you want to wear. You should have all been fitted for your new earpieces.” She looks down at the paper in front of her and checks off things as she goes over them. “So I will be the general tour manager as well as the personal manager for Ultra Violet. Until we can get a manager settled for you guys long term, just come to me for anything you’ll need okay?” She glances between Jeongin, Chan, Changbin, and finally settles on Jisung for a little bit too long before moving on. “Are there any pre-performance or show rituals I should prepare for? Or let the venues know of it?”
“Jisung gets really nervous and needs a group hug right before going on.” You speak up without even realizing it, like an old habit coming back. Nine pairs of eyes turn to stare at you in varying degrees of surprise and confusion. “Unless that’s changed.”
“N-no. I, yeah, I still do that.” He stumbles over his words a bit, blinking in surprise still before looking at Lily with an apologetic smile. “But we have that handled, don’t worry about that.”
“No, it’s okay. If you need anything just let me know. It’s my job, it’s what I’m here for. Anything else?”
“We have a war cry or chant we do.” Chan speaks up, taking the lead of the conversation while Changbin and Jisung huddle back together, sharing whispers. You don’t miss the glances your way from the pair but you pretend not to notice or care, instead just watching Lily and Chan talk about what 3RACHA would need for this tour. Smaller details like diet requirements, allergines, and other arrangements before the checklist is complete.
“Well we have about an hour before we have to hit the road so just be at the busses in the next forty five minutes, okay?” She dismisses you guys and you’re the first to stand and bolt from the room, leaving your conference room chair spinning in the haste of your exit.
・❥・
“Want to talk about that earlier?” Felix lays next to you, arms wrapped around your waist as he cuddles you closer on the bed. It’s been a few hours on the road already, the quiet of the bus is tense and uncomfortable. Your band is mostly unwilling to mingle with the other four just out of solidarity to you, even though you can tell it’s painful for Felix to not be welcoming to the others. Hyunjin too, he’s looked over at the four more than a few times wanting to join in their games.
“I’ve known him since we were in high school, Lix. Some things just stick around, you know? Like his favorite snack is cheesecake, he laughs with his whole soul, and when he’s super anxious he bounces his leg.”
“Those are very specific things to know.” The new voice speaks up, sticking his head in the door of your room. Minho smiles teasingly, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. “You two aren’t as quiet as you think. We can hear you in the bunks, just so you know. The walls are very thin on this bus.”
Mortified, your face flushes deep red before you’re hiding in Felix’s chest with a groan. Minho laughs and sits on the edge of the bed, hand rubbing on your back as he continues to giggle. “Shut up, Min. I’ve managed to make a fool of myself twice already. This is fucking stupid.”
“I don’t think the others heard you. They’re in the front swapping embarrassing stage stories. I heard something about ripped pants and left.” Both you and Felix erupt in laughs over this, his body shaking yours while he holds you. “Seungmin was roasting Changbin about some voice crack on stage and that’s how it started.” There’s a bit of pride in your chest at that.
“Lily just texted and wanted to talk about dinner plans.” He holds a hand out to you both and hauls you off the bed with a dramatic grunt. The back of your hand meets his chest in a playful hit while laughing. You’re thankful for his steady presence, he’s been there for you since you two had met. His love was a bit different than Hyunjin and Felix but you knew it was there nonetheless. Seungmin, you still questioned every once in a while.
“Thanks for joining us. Changbin was starting to whine about being hungry.” Hyunjin is sitting next to the mentioned man on one of the couches, turning to look at you when the three stepped into the small living room space at the front of the bus. You glance around and notice the only empty seat is next to Chan or Jisung so instead you drop to sit on the floor, back leaning against one of the half walls sectioning off the kitchen.
“Do you guys have any first night traditions for tour?” Hyunjin asks excitedly, leaning forward a little to glance around at 3RACHA. You open your mouth but close it quickly, realizing that it’s not for you to answer and lots of things have likely changed in the three years since you were on tour with them.
“We budget for a huge dinner with the whole crew, any opener that might be with us. Everyone that worked to get the tour started and make it happen.” Chan offers in answer, making her head snap up and eyes go wide. You hadn’t expected that answer at all- you’d been the one to start that. Your first ever tour with 3RACHA years ago, back when the music was still considered underground or indie, when the tour was the four of you in a van and two or three friends in another van with all the instruments.
“Really? We do that too.” Felix is all smiles and sunshine, happy to hear that they have the same tradition. Three sets of once familiar eyes look in your direction, one of them coming with an inquisitive eyebrow raise before looking back to Felix. “They were so insistent on it, saying that the label could take the cost out of their personal earnings but it was their way of thanking everyone they could that supports them behind the curtain.”
“It’s cool to hear that you kept up with that,” Jisung says. He smiles at you, that disarming smile that makes his already round cheeks puffier and you just want to pinch them off his face. You can barely meet his eye and give him the stiffest of nods before looking pointedly anywhere but at him.
“What about getting a few pizzas and we all hang out together? If we’re going to be in a bus together for months without much space, we might want to get to know each other and set up some rules.” Minho is quick to offer, cutting the awkward silence before it could settle over everyone. You’re thankful, shooting him a smile and he just gives you a wink. He can read you like a book, often calls you so easy to read it’s like a picture book.
・❥・
“I’m so serious, Jinnie! If I see one more pair of your underwear on the bathroom floor I will choke you with it.” You’re leaned over, on your knees reaching for him to prove your threat. After getting all the pizzas everyone wanted, you had all agreed to sit on the floor so that everyone could sit to see everyone else. There are elbows and knees invading personal spaces but once the tension was broken with the first joke it all seemed okay for the most part.
“Hues will be devastated to hear the most handsome member died!” He dramatically protests, laughing as he falls backwards to get away from your reach.
You pause, suddenly serious. “I didn’t threaten Minho.” The devious smirk curls up your lips gives away the teasing as you settle back in between Felix and Jeongin, smug at the incredulous look on Hyunjin’s face. Everyone broke into laughter then, the sound loud and full of warmth in the small space.
Lily returns from the driver’s cab of the bus, smiling at all the laughter. “I know everyone’s having fun but there is one serious rule we should go over. Normally this is a private conversation between talents and their managers but since I’m both we’re just going to do it here and rip off the bandaid.”
A few of you groan and fall back, making various half-assed arguments about how she didn’t need to speak it outloud. “We’re all adults and the label understands that things happen. Still, the executives wanted me to make it clear that there can’t be dating or sex between you guys while on tour. Given the,” she hesitates before sighing. “Given the history of the bands, they think it’s best that things are kept strictly platonic.”
You tense at the mention and the laughter dies in your chest. Suddenly the tears in the corners of your eyes aren’t from laughter and they burn more than they did a second ago.
“What you decided to do outside of that, is your decision. Please use discretion and for security it’s not to be brought to the bus. As you know each venue we’re playing more than one night so you’ll have a hotel suite in every city to do what you want, that’s a conversation between you and your bandmates.” Without waiting for a reply, Lily heads back to the driver’s cab of the bus and closes the door so the two bands are left alone. Work mode Lily is a person made of no nonsense but also the most level headed and trustworthy as well. She’ll joke and laugh with you guys through the tour but she won’t let being friends get in the way of her doing her job. You respect the hell out of her for that.
“So that means no trying to kiss Chan, Hyunjin,” Seungmin breaks the silence in the best way he knows how: roasting his best friends. Hyunjin sits up and throws what you assume is a pepperoni at him, shouting about how he absolutely does not want to kiss Chan of all people. “Well don’t kiss me either.” Cue more laughter, though it feels a little empty in your chest. Forced.
Clearly you’re not the only one who thinks so, Felix looking over at you with concern. You shrug, answering his unvoiced question. Looking away from him you finally let your gaze wander to Jisung who seems to have had the same idea. You two catch eyes and you swear your traitorous heart beats a little faster looking into his eyes. He looks like he wants to say something, so you just shake your head ever so slightly to dissuade him to do so.
“I’m going to head to bed.” You want to make a quick exit, get out from under his stare as fast as possible. You can feel it, each time you two meet eyes, the cracks in your heart threatening to grow. You had barely put yourself together the first time, you were still healing from it. To know that he can have you weak kneed with a look and have your heart racing with a smile shakes you, throwing you off kilter. You just needed to sleep, to put space between you two and remind yourself why you left three years ago.
“Actually that’s a great idea. I think we should all go to bed, there’s a lot of work to do in the morning when we get to the first stadium.” Chan is the natural leader, always has been. You remember when it was him directing around your ragtag team and now he seems even more mature.
By the time everyone has settled in their bunks, you in your bedroom, the bus is quiet. The only sounds are the hums of the road, the small fans set in the bunks, and the soft whispers of different conversations. It’s comforting to hear the familiar sounds, to be back on the road doing exactly what you always dreamed of.
There’s a soft knock at your door and you assume it’s Lily checking that you’re still up so she can come get ready for bed herself. “I’m up.” You sit up in bed, flicking on the small lap next to you as Jisung walks through the door slowly. He’s barefaced with glasses on, looking just the right amount of comfortable and beautiful.
“I was hoping we could talk.”
“About what?” You're pulling your legs up, gesturing at the foot of the bed if he wants to sit. He declines with a shake of his head.
“I assume that your friends know everything about us-” You cut him off with an affirmation, stating that they do in fact know every detail of you and Jisung’s history. “That explains why Minho looks like he wants to kill me.”
“That’s just his face.” The quip is so natural you don’t realize you’re being comfortable with him until he laughs. “What did you want to talk about? Please, I want to get some sleep before tomorrow.”
“Just- thanks. Thanks for giving us a chance.” He rubs the back of his neck, looking down as he talks.
“Let me be very clear here, Ji. I am not giving you any kind of chance. This tour is good for my band’s career, this situation has nothing to do with you or Chan or Changbin.” You’re trying not to raise your voice. “I was perfectly happy to never have you around again, to never have to speak your name or see you ever again. When I left and closed that door, it was meant to stay shut forever. You hurt me, in ways that I am still healing from and probably will be for the rest of my life. You broke my heart and my trust.”
“I’m so sorry. I never- I didn’t mean to. I promised you I would never hurt you and I still did. I hate myself all the time, every day, for what I did. You deserved so much better than what I did.”
“I do, you’re right. I don’t care about your apology. This isn’t anger, Jisung. This is indifference. You no longer matter in my life. You, 3RACHA, all of it is the past. I’ve moved on.” You don’t realize how raised your voice has become until a few bodies are shoving their way into the bedroom. Hyunjin is immediately at your side, Felix crawling in on the other side of the bed. The two sandwich you in a hug and you relax.
“Come on, Ji. Leave them alone.” Changbin is soft, reaching for his friend’s arm to guide him from the room. He catches your eyes and you know that he sees it, that every word you just said is a lie. You will never be able to stop loving Jisung. You will never move on from the love of your life. The one you were meant to spend forever with. Sealed with a ring and a kiss and your best friends as the only witnesses.
“Angel, why did you lie?” Felix brushes your cheeks, wiping at the tears you hadn’t realized were spilling over your lashes.
“Because if he stops looking at me like he still loves me, then maybe I can convince myself I don’t love him too.”
taglist!
@borahae-reads @shoverse @katsukis1wife @hanjis-blog @kpopsstuffs @chaotic-world-of-the-j @justletmehavethenamemarsomfg @ylixbok @eternitywaveshello @pearbunny @pinkskzs
#jisung x y/n#han jisung x y/n#jisung x reader#han jisung x reader#jisung x you#han jisung x you#han jisung angst#jisung angst#jisung fic#skz fanfic#skz x reader#skz x y/n#stray kids x reader#stray kids x you#skz writing#skz imagine#skz x you
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what's your opinion on the big 3? When I was hyperfoxed on this series they were the thing I care Abt the most (I enjoyed season 4, obv I'd change some stuff now but I still remember it being atleast ok)
I hate how dirty they did my girl nejire, as far as I'm aware they didn't even do anything with her after the whole pagent thing she just got a small backstory about how she was sad (don't know all of it I haven't been keeping up that well w the manga)
mirios not having a quirky and having to save eri (a girl who I can't imagine would be that skilled at the age she is and has been training on lizards to give his quirk back all together, I'd imagine it taking a few more months but bnhas time is shit so) and coming back in the war arc to punch one person and then basically do noting iicr
The only decently written one was amajiki, I wish they had more going on I think they have a fun dynamic (w them helping taking care of eri and me rlly liking idk what it's called but I love the fluff it brings) :(
Lots of mixed feelings, in all honesty. Lots of mixed feelings.
I'll admit, a big part of my mixed feelings about them is they showed up as the latest, 'Stomp on Izuku's everything' at the point in the story where it was becoming obvious that there was always something stomping on Izuku, and that gave me a bad first impression on them I've never been able to shake... which isn't helped by how they're connected to the clusterfuck of Nighteye, of all people, which is kind of my whole thing with Mirio (warning; I am biased):
As a person, he's obviously nice, but as a character, basiclly his entire reason for existing was, 'give Izuku an existential crisis' and I don't think I've ever forgiven him for that, really. His entire character is just bigger, stronger, older, happier, more capable, more confident, more successful, more loved Izuku, who had a Quirk his whole life and only had to dig deep to find out how strong it, and he, was all along.
Unironically. It's....
It's a really bad look, to be blunt; he feels kind of like a bad fanfiction character written by a bad writer who wanted to put their super special OC in the story, except he's canon.
Since we've never seen him even think something unheroic, there's really nothing that distinguishes him from that impression factual statement, which, again, makes it hard for me to give a shit about him, or even remember him... which is a problem Hori seems to share, lol. It doesn't help that I loathe Sir Nighteye and that most of his development time is spent admiring him, to boot, and that his parts of the story are either empty or focused on a living plot device I can't quite like no matter how hard I try because of how blatant the emotional manipulation is about the biggest story breaking, SOD shattering plot device until Stars and Stripes showed up.
If he ever got any kind of development to flesh him out a human being rather than being either Izuku and/or a heroic archetype, it'd help, but beyond all of that his biggest personality trait is liking jokes, and that barely even comes up. Or, rather, considering both the Final Arc and his response to Bakugou's name, along with Nighteye's own tendencies, 'jokes', maybe.
He doesn't deserve it, I admit it, it's not his fault, but I just can't get past that. He also doesn't deserve to just be forgotten until his big moment of a butt joke, but... MHA, everyone. In all honesty, I'd just like him better if his entire story arc didn't exist in and as some of the worst parts of the Overhaul arc, but he's tainted by that fact.
I freely admit that I am unfairly biased against him, so take all of that with a mountain of salt.
As a side note though, god, the story doesn't seem to realize how badly Nighteye is using the poor kid; Mirio thinks Nighteye is training him because he's worthy, while Nighteye mainly seems to be doing it because he's the closest thing to an All Might clone he can get, bar him actually cloning All Might, even if he grew to like him for who he is. I'm not sure Nighteye ever thought of Mirio with just his Quirk as anything more than a temporary situation; even at the start of canon, when on his own merits he's rising to fame with how successful he is, Nighteye's overall focus is still about getting AFO into the kid.
I almost wish I could see Nighteye explaining how all of his training came down to getting All Might's Quirk, just to see MIrio react and tear Nighteye down a peg about it, except Hori's history of handling these kinds of things means he'd never be allowed to be properly offended on his own behalf, the poor bastard.
Moving on, Tamaki. Out of all of them, he's had the biggest of an on-screen story arc, and in a intellectual way his Quirk is easily the most interesting. Unfortunately, while he has a personality, it feels so bland at times that he's far easier to remember for his Quirk than who he is.
I liked his story, really, but at the time it was overshadowed by Mirio and his everything, and by the time he showed back up it was clear how irrelevant it and he was, so it was more about how (admittedly, very) cool he get his Quirk to be than it was about him, and with some brutal honesty, it's probably because his Quirk is so interesting that he even got that much focus beyond that initial arc by Hori.
And... Nejirie.
In a combat sense she's easily the best of them, really; Mirio is almost purely defensive, which limits him (especially if he's not surprising someone with it) while Tamaki's Quirk, while flexible, is so conditional in ways that can easily hold him back (we only ever see him fight with full preparation; if he's not gearing for a fight he'd be easy to ambush), and like a lot of things in the Final Arc, his big laser canon thing is.... questionable.
Nejirie, though, is just simply powerful. In a setting where everyone has one power and one main application of that power, where you either fly or blast things, but not both, she's the closest I've seen to a 'traditional' super hero, like you'd see in Marvel or DC.
At the same time, though, out of the three of them she least has a story, for obvious reasons, and it's a disgrace, really. If Hori had just spent some time on her, on the her backstory that apparently exists (yeah, I'm not sure where that is either), she could have been so interesting... but really, all she is is the Girl Teammate. Her personality traits are The Girl Teammate's personality traits. She's just The Girl Teammate stamped over all of the interesting stuff, and it's such a waste, it really is.
And finally, as a unit? The Big Three is a shiny toy that Hori forgot in the corner somewhere as soon as he got bored with it. He spent a few minutes oohing and aahing over them, focusing really hard on developing interesting powers, how they could be used, and how strong they were, only to start to lose interest as soon as those powers were established, and he was writing the three of them off before their introductory arc was even over.
#ask#bnha critical#mha critical#nighteye critical#izuku deserves better#my deeply conflicted feelings on Mirio's everything#he doesn't deserve it but still#he's the true victim of the Overhaul arc#i hate nighteye ever so much#hori's chronic hatred of women#the big three is big wasted potential
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