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Teaser: Pressure Points and Stroke Analysis

A Jeon Jungkook Oneshot

🖋 Summary| Graphology is the study of handwriting. Learning the ways and strokes of handwriting allows us to understand the subconscious state of mind of the writer. Y/N is what you may call, a personal graphologist. This skill has been kept only to herself, never telling anyone about it.

However, her first fest at Yonsei University, she keeps a booth, a sparkly cardboard to cover her face and offers to psychologically decode every person that comes her way without letting anyone know who she truly is.

The newest addition to the frat, Jeon Jungkook takes up the challenge, and sits behind her flimsy visor and writes a sonnet. She reads him like an open book with a times new roman print. And now he's hooked onto a girl whose face he doesn't know.

🖋 Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

🖋 Genre: college!au ,fluff, comedy, jock x nerd

🖋Ratings & Warnings: 18 +, mature [details to come]

🖋 Word Count: To come

🖋 Status: WIP

🖋 A/N: As a graphologist myself, this is pretty close to my heart, let me know how long you guys want it in the comments I have a lot of time!

Date of Publishing: To come

sushispective

HI MY LOVELIESSSSSSS

i totally cant believe the amount of love ive received. it might be very less for other authors, but these are the first few popsts of mine that have taken off!

im so grateful that a few of you have decided to follow me and look forward to my works. its been a while since ive written, and since i obviously despise ai, its taking me a little while longer to write.

however last week i had posted a poll and from 57 generous votes, i will be releasing the oneshot pressure points and stroke analysis first out of the three wips that i have lined up!

i love you all and let me know if you guys would like a tiny snippet or the whole thing out in one shot! i will also be posting a link to sign up to my permanent taglist so lets hope you lovelies would be up for that too! thanks for everything <3

Très Très Désolé | Jeon Jungkook | 1

♔Chapter 1: Negative meets Negative

♚ Summary | a negative and a negative becomes positive. An irrevocably tasteless, distressful craze is who you are. For you perceive the world negatively like no other. Wherefore, a shadow mirrors your acts, Jeon Jungkook. He finds devotion and obsession like no other in your being. Whoever could predict the glacial assassin would find comfort in wintry you, when he stumbles upon you lurking in the dark alleys of the underworld. Il est très très désolé

♔ Pairing | Jungkook x reader

♚ Genre | psychopathy, murderer, depression

♔Tropes | killer!jk, depressed!reader

♚ Rating & Warnings | 18+/mature; depression, mentions of suicide, anger, violence, gore, graphic violence, killing, mental illness, pills, medicinal, mental asylum,claustrophobia, kissing, multiple orgasm, cunnilingus, graphic sex, missionary sex, slight voyeurism, nipple pinching, groping/kneading, dirty talk, unprotected sex, creampie, rough/intense sex, teasing, masturbation, undressing (you and him)

♔ Word count (pt)| 5.0k Word count (Series)| 5.0k+ to come

♚ Status: Ongoing

Life was bleak, just like the skies tonight. Without a mother from a young age, and a father who had disowned you to start a new family by himself, you were left with nothing, not even breadcrumbs. Without contact with the man who raised you for quite some time, you had been living, let's call it, a very depressing life.

You are the epitome of negativity. It's like the math equation that never made sense. You released adverse emotions, and life spit out horrendous situations, which you would think would result in something positive. But unlike the formula, nothing ever resulted in something good for you.

And so, you lived in a dusty abode, not quite conducive for a young woman but it is acceptable if the only other option was being homeless. A death like warrant, was what your job was.

Tending to cranky abandoned old people all day long who were cynical, oppressive and misogynistic is not what you would call an ideal day job, but it did pay. Very, very meek of course, but it puts food on the table, twice a day.

You had just finished a very important job. Yes, you were loitering around the psychiatric ward near a mental institution. Why? It was a government funded hospital, therefore the psychiatrists who worked there would sometimes open doors for people like you. Sad people who don't have enough money to seek help from professionals.

The dangerous part of said hospital was it was far away from the city life. On the outskirts for which you walked 4 miles from your place. But it was also the entrance to the forest, where many gangs and gang headquarters resided. There was a shady sign that told you it was a dangerous area. But that didn't stop you. It was government property after all.

But you couldn't do it. You couldn't go inside. You just weren't competent enough to take help. You stood for hours. But you couldn't make up your mind. You decided that today would be the day. You wouldn't need saving, for the water would gulp you and hopefully take you to the silver city.

Not a tear dropped when your brain told you it was time. You didn't look behind for a grim reaper. Nor did you make a plaque on your face. Whose house would it be in? Would anyone ever notice you were gone? Maybe the clerk of the store near your home might miss you for not buying more instant ramen.

And so, you laughed. Laughed in hatred and despise. It was a long way from home. And you didn't even know the way back. There was no reception for your phone, and so you just hoped that unlike Hansel and Grethel your footprints wouldn't have disappeared, so you could make your way back.

You walked with a grace, a poise that a third person couldn't place. It was like a walk or a dance, that a swan may act like. An interpretive dance of death. Kind of like when a supermodel serves the best look on her last runway. You served the best look of winter upon your face.

Billie Eilish couldn't write a song about you even if she tried her hardest. Which was stereotypical because Eilish made happy songs as well. A beautiful swan like you had so much potential. But without a place to stay, you obviously couldn't afford music classes.

You think back to the happy days, where you played your violin for your mother, and your father. Your mother clapped along while your father hid his smile behind the coffee he was drinking. He would then look at your mother, like how a man would look to his wife who painted the world.

That was your mother.

She made everyone proud. She made the people around you stand with love and respect, not just admiration. But you didn't have her long enough. Well maybe long enough to love her and then have her taken away from you like a wooden stake to your heart. Fate never smiled at you after.

You thought you could love a man. But you hid. Hid from everyone who posed a threat to your already frail heart that had somehow survived the worst. But today, it had cracked into fractals that resembled the thunder that took over the sky above you. And you needed a soft landing for when it truly broke.

You remembered the bridge over a lake full of rocky stones that was far enough for your departure but not far enough that no one would notice the morning after. you conclude that someone from the asylum would cremate you or would harvest your organs.

You never did drugs, but you would seem like a person who would have. Maybe they’ll test you.

Thoughts like these weren't new to you. They should be, but they weren't. To be unfazed by death should be studied. Guess the hospital won't ever get to diagnose all the disorders you have managed to develop.

You think it is because of the high number of expiry dates that you have been through during your work at the old age home. You hated the old people, but they had a life, and to pass away with none of their loved ones beside them. Just like you. You find comfort in the fact that you relate to people who have lived sixty to seventy years. At the young age of 22, other than cleaning and tending to said old people, you had no purpose.

None to love you, and no one to love.

You continue to walk away from the hospital. You feel a rising anger, at yourself and everything around you. Your hone was almost dead and fuck you didn't have connectivity here. You look around, trying to make your way through an unknown forest. 4 miles away from your home was not conducive at all.

You hear a sharp shout from a while away.

“Fuck what was that” you mumble. You follow the screams, and behind a bush you sit. You see three men, one with a baton in his hand, the other two punching the man whose blood is pouring out his body. Face covered in red, and teeth bleeding.

“Please, please I’m sorry, I’ll pay you back I-I pr-promise" the man stutters anxiously. “Fuck no, you betrayed us, this is your punishment Lin, be a man and take it” says a man, tall with black hair, a sharp jaw, a beauty to look at, and then he gives one blow to the back of the kneeling man.

He falls forward, unmoving. He was dead. You had just seen a murder. You wanted to feel fear, but you didn't. Disgust? Nothing. But then you feel something crawl of your calf.

You let out a scream.

All the three men look at you. You jump up, swatting away the centipede, but then you look up. You see the three men looking at you, one with his jaw fallen.

“I won't say anything” you shout and run. You look back to see all of them running behind you. You run, unable to find your way to the outside of the forest. You look back.

“Sunny go north” shouts the one with the baton. “I’m going up east” shouts the other, spreading out to catch you. You pause, and it seems your body knows the way better than you ever did, you spot the danger sign in the distance, you run.

The other you, would've given up and let them kill you, hell that's what you wanted. But it was a basic human instinct.

But you ran towards the sign. They were catching up with you. You go back the way you left from the stop sign. But you knew you couldn't win, you lived four miles, no vehicle to take you anywhere. They'll catch up with you and you know they’ll kill you. But you don't stop. You run. You try to survive. You look back and they’ve stopped at the sign. They should follow you.

But they don't.

You start jogging. And they leave your view. It was a long way from here. You'll be home by sunrise.

In approximately three hours you finally reach your dusty attic. It was a funny thing, you’re home. It was a small room, above a banquet that was never rented out as it was far away from the city life. The owner had disowned it informally as he was a real estate tycoon. He didn't even know you were living there. It was big for one person, you would admit. A bed on the floor, a rackety washing machine, a small stove and rickety utensils that were tearing apart.

A small shower that could barely be considered such., you had unlimited water and electricity, so you felt it was a score. But you had books. A good number of notebooks that you were collecting.

School children would throw them away, and you would take them from recycling shops. A lot of pages are still left in the unused books you wrote. Sonnets and haikus, about death and remorse. About guilt, fear and abandonment.

For no one in your life would ever write anything positive.

You stripped down and entered the shower. Never had you ever felt ungrateful for the free room you had gotten. So, you would use the lights and shower very rarely. But today was different. You felt the need to wash off the sins you had encountered.

But you hardly felt regret. You were religious. At some point in your life, mother would drag you to church to meet all her sweet church friends. They all said they would take care of you. But when your mother passed, they became nonexistent. They tried to exit as discreetly as possible.

The heat radiated off your body and fogged up the mirror. You finally felt sleep coming to you. Maybe that was a psychopathy you thought. Who would ever feel sleepy after seeing what you just did?

You drag yourself out of the shower.

You think of all the times you needed someone before. When you had a fever and brought 3 mugs of cold water so you could change and dip the cloth yourself to put on your forehead.

You think about the numerous times you had to fill in your panties with extra ones just to quickly run to the store and pads or tampons because no one could, and you hadn't planned.

You think about the times you had to slowly breathe and calm yourself down to avoid getting a panic attack because you couldn't afford to be vulnerable at night. You keep telling yourself you will end your misery. But you pause.

Hating the fact that you ran like a basic human on instinct after tonight, when you could've stayed.

You sleep far too soundly, never letting yourself be pampered, but you thought God wouldn't punish you if you felt nice on your last day.

That night you slept the most sound you had in years.

The next morning, you get to the old age home a little sooner. Your sad eyes bloomed a little more today.

“Finally found a boyfriend ___?” asked Mrs. Yun, a crocheting 70-year-old, new to the home. “No, Mrs. Yun, why would you say so?” you asked.

“You seem happy, girl, now go get me some tablets, i need to take my tablets” she commanded.

You struggle to keep composure.

“____ are you going to go off the rails today? Seems lighter” Mr. Kim asked with a kind smile. You smiled, “No Mr. Kim I wish I could”.

Mr. Kim was kind, but only to a certain point. He liked you, but it was only because you went through a hard time as well. He was as fit as a fifty-year-old man and had invested a lot in the home. He wanted to be away from his family. But it is like he was still running his company or whatever it was.

A star burns its brightest in its final days.

You make your way to the same bridge 4 miles away. Your heart begged you to walk towards the hospital and just give it one more chance. Maybe you could see a different perspective. Maybe you weren't as miserable as you thought. But your legs didn't move. You stood at the bridge.

You had 3 covers full of food. You were in your prettiest dress, and the only piece of jewelry you had ever owned. A pair of cheap ears, that kept the pierced holed apart, and your mother's necklace. Nothing fancy, just a necklace with small pearls the size of beads splattered asymmetrically over the necklace.

Your best pair of flats. The last of your lip gloss. So, you sat at the little bench and ate all the food you had bought. It would be your last meal. Your phone was dying but you wouldn't need it. Your tattered sling held your id and your note.

A note that you had written with your favorite pen.

A pen that clicked into 6 colors. And you had used all of them in your note. You had no idea if the ink was over, but yours was over for sure. And there was no refill for you.

You look out into the sea of trees, and crickets chirping. You see bats fly, and the street light flickers. You smile and laugh. You write your final poem in the last pager of your most recent notebook. You must go picking if you want another.

“Life had time Love was conditional for me but not for her My cells flew with the touch of my cat's fur Not with the clothes on my back Or the intelligence I lacked But I feel beauty today I find myself sway The music shows comfort The reaper smiles at my wings that soar He will give me company With the swan's symphony The skies were blue when I was younger But now my eyes repeatedly blunder To stare into ether that's empty So, I must see above it, simply”

Jeon Jungkook, oh the man he was. The second in line to everything his brothers had built. A sleek jaw that cut the throats of the untouchable, a nose sharp and dainty that was beautiful with his eyes.

Oh, his eyes.

Big and beautiful, deer like, lashes that suited him like, touch suited pleasure. so logical and yet inexplainable. His being held purpose and presence.

He was untouchable. A guard of his own, a master of fate, a writer of destiny, not his no, but others.

You'd see those beautiful eyes, once and only once, which was considered a gift for your departure. They were divine, and flashing, just like the clouds and what they surpassed above.

The angels would sing, while the demons danced, as his knife slowly made its way through his target's body.

He was special. One of a kind. He had a purpose, a sublimity that wouldn't be found amongst the people of earth. He was mortal and celestial simultaneously.

A body built like the statues you see in museums, his anger like the ones you see in fire, and his punishment like the ones you see in books.

He was different. Laughter was simple to him.

Nothing new, but nothing often. He went by Desolé, the part of Ira. A set of seven. They carried out punishments, and induced wrath into the beings of the underworld. They’d get to work in a frenzy, scared Ira would come after them.

As discreetly as possible.

But Ira was in the underworld. And to do so, they made a few friends in the government happy, by assassinating people in high positions.

But Ira was untouchable. The government could take them down, but why would they?

Ira was a gift to them.

Desole has been explained.

But who are the other six?

Ira’s Intelligence was Suga. If he had your name, he would also have your life, your relationships, your place, your work, your deepest secrets, hell he’d even know what you had for breakfast this morning. He'd hate you if the answer to that question was rice. Because according to him rice was always, always lunch.

Ira’s ammunition was Hobi. He was sweet but you couldn't trust him with a secret, because he had guns in his socks, pockets, behind his back, his clothes were layers of bullets, grenades, reloads and then a basic tee.

Ira’s diplomat was Park Jimin. He was all flared up at his lack of a code name, but his government name was how Ira was identified in the higher ups. Jimin's role was tackier than the others. He doesn't leave the house without a vest and a pen. He negotiates and makes friends with gangs, threatens officials, and brings secrets of those around him with him. He’d teach you how to be you.

Ira’s assassin was V. Today, you could be enjoying a family dinner with your third secret family, with black money ridged inside your walls, and tomorrow, the world wouldn't know you’ve existed. And even if they had known, you would be here to defend that, nor would your corpse be seen in a vicinity of the country. V was more precise and cleaner than the indent of your pen onto a paper, because he’d make sure the paper never existed in the first place.

Jin, the money lord. His mind could consume numbers like no other, he’d know who owed what and to whom. He'd know who was pretending to have actual companies, and how many of them were just shell companies. Your money wouldn't be yours if he didn't let it be yours. He makes the sexiest pancakes though.

RM controlled Ira. Ira was him and he was Ira. His personality was Ira, and it wouldn't be there today if RM hadn't molded each one of them, seeing potential and nurturing them into deadly warlords. He was God. And no one would question him. But the greatest part of him was he had never misused his power, otherwise, again, Ira wouldn't be here today. He loved Jungkook to death and he’d take bullets for him. He loved the others just as much, but he always felt responsible for Jungkook.

He was always down when Jungkook was. Jungkook didn't love like one normally did. He had love that was treacherous and prickled with thorns. Thorns that didn't pierce but would engulf you into itself. His pain was a well without water, but also a well without end. And RM would fill the well every moment.

Ira was pain. Glass engraved amidst embers that never extinguished.

And they were kings and horses and knights and whatever they did, whatever their purpose was, it was nothing more than a particle in the world, they knew. But they would make sure your particle wasn't bigger than theirs.

And that's all that one needed.

To be the biggest in the room.

But who was Jungkook then? Why Desolé? He apologizes for being clean and thorough. He apologizes because it was him being the one to take care of you. That V was clean, but he was cleaner. That you wouldn't know it was him until he wanted you to know.

He apologizes to be the one to push down the canyon of death, and that he didn't mean to. But there are a million things he doesn't apologize for, like how he wasn't responsible for your death, because you called to him with your wrong doings. Because you were so cruel to others, he was to be cruel to you.

It is difficult to be Jungkook. His past holds nothing to his present but neither does his future. How do you come to terms with that? But at the same time, it was a s simple as saying sorry.

How do you come to terms with that??

That your being was nonexistent because you had too much ego to accept and you had to make Desolé come to your rescue.

That was purely, purely on you.

Hurt was removable misery wasn't. Ira was a lovely underworld gang compared to the others. They took out bad people, but it doesn't mean they weren't bad. From drug trafficking to ammunition dealing, was done under Ira. But to be good you needed to know the bad and do the bad.

Classic wrong thing for the greater good. The children and teenagers in debt for cocaine, the old people on the streets for gambling away their savings to Ira, the banks that were under Ira who were pushed into also laundering money.

Just like now, when Mr. Lin would be punished for his wrong doings.

“You betrayed us Lin” RM’s voice boomed in the palace. “Unexpected but not surprising. You will pay”.

“Please Sir, I didn't mean to, I just needed the money please, please” Mr. Lin Pleads on his knees. “If you don't want to die, tell me why you wanted it?” He asks.

“I owed Wang some money,” Mr. Lin admits. “Wang as in Wang who deals with prostitutes?” Hobi asks. “Yes, I just had to pay off my nights RM, I will have the money just give me some time” Mr. Lin begs.

“You are paying off nights with prostitutes when your pregnant wife sleeps at home? You deserve death” Suga pipes up. RM twists his neck, anger boiling in his body. “I don't want your money after all” RM says.

Mr. Lin calms down. “Well, what do you want then?”

“Your death”

“V take Mika and Sunny and finish him in the forest. Be clean.” RM commands. V nods and walks towards the door. Mika and Sunny, both V’s helpers, pick up Mr. Lin and drag him behind V.

Jungkook plays with his knives. They were curved, a round hole at the stem of the knife, for his index finger to fit into. They were his favorites, a pair of bow karambits.

“Such a prick, banks” he comments lazily. “I didn't expect Lin would sell our accounts when he handles so many other gangs. The audacity!” Jin exclaims.

“You can't control what people do, but you can control how you take care of them” RM smirks. Everyone's lips tilt up.

It's so hard to say no when you’re dancing with Ira.

RM doesn't forgive; he makes examples. They all go back to their work after the drama. Jungkook blades away at his knives, while Suga codes on his computer. Hobi examines the new load of rifles and snipers that just dot descended from the trucks. RM resumes reading the newspaper, and Jin starts writing a grocery list. He should be writing accounts, but sue him, he’s hungry.

“Jungkook, bless the next one by finishing them, V’s already done two for you now” RM says. “Fine. You know it's not fun when it's known punishment” Jungkook laments.

He liked the surprise, and the fear when he walked into his killers' abode. He likes him struggling on the floor, looking for something to throw at Jungkook while he just moves to the side.

He likes the fear of having your life taken from you. People like Lin already knew what was coming. They would have only pathetic attempts at saying sorry in the end. They were noisy.

Ah well.

But the night shifts. It's been 5 hours and V isn't back. Nor is Mika or Sunny. RM wakes up, to check up on everyone. He wakes Suga when they realize the three of them aren't back yet.

Hobi runs down, and Jungkook comes out of the home gym, wiping his sweat away.

“We have a problem, V and the others haven't come back yet, encrypted phones are ringing but he isn't picking them up” Suga catches up with everyone. “Just track their phones,” Jungkook says.

“They're encrypted fucker, I can't, plus at least Mika's and Sunny's is cheaper. V’s is higher level; it’ll take months to even break the fucking code” He shouts.

“Shit” Hobi mumbles. Jin walks around looking for a solution. RM shouts, banging onto Jimin’s door. He was always a deep sleeper. Jimin opens the door in panic. “What the fuck RM what’s the problem!” Jimin asks briskly.

Everybody brainstorms on the situation when a loud banging on the front door interrupts everybody.

Suga looks at the camera surveillance of the front door. “It’s Mika” he announces as he opens the door. The titanium door falls apart and there stands Mika. Covered in dirt and mud with few leaves sticking out of his tousled hair, he pants like a dog.

“What the fuck happened and where is V?” RM asks.

“Well boss, we have a slight problem”

“YOU’RE TELLING ME A GIRL SAW YOU KILL LIN AND SHE RAN OUT OF THE FOREST?! AND YOU DIDN'T FOLLOW HER WHY?!” RM shrieks.

“Well, that's because it's out of the forest”

“Fuck I forgot to switch of the cameras” Suga admits.

“Shit!” Hobi says.

There were cameras outside the forest. One, was if anyone from the hospital ran away, they needed surveillance. Second, if there were no cameras, Ira’s palace would be suspected to be there, and so by keeping the camera, people would never think ira was situated there.

Suga whips out the camera footage.

V and Sunny enter the house. “We didn't want to leave the forest RM, Suga didn't switch the cameras off. I wanted to call you, but my antenna broke away. Sorry guys” V apologizes.

“I got her face,” Suga declares.

All the seven with Mika and Sunny huddle over Suga. Your face plastered over his monitor. A white sweater now dirty, fear consuming you. He plays the video, and they see you thinking and running. Running towards the right from where the camera was placed.

Jungkook sees your frame. Examines it. He thinks you would be beautiful to kill.

“What do you have on her?” Jimin asks.

“I only have an ID from her old school. The DMV mentions her name, but it's wiped out her face, so I can't place it as her. I don't know where she lives, so she must be homeless” says Suga.

“Why was she there in the first place? To visit the hospital?” Jin wonders. “She dropped out of school when she was 9. Mother dead. Father with a new family. No inheritance. No place to live. I'll run a program to check all rentals and houses in the two mile radius from here” and Suga does the same.

The search comes up empty.

“Are you telling me she doesn't live anywhere? That’s ridiculous” RM says anguished.

“She looks poor, and she is definitely not mental, so why is she at this hospital? For something that she can't afford and private city hospitals. Check in a 6 mile radius, she might be a squatter” V hypothesizes.

“Fine” and Suga gets to work.

For six hours Suga works tirelessly.

Jungkook gets his bags, with his karambits sharpened and ready to tear your body apart.

Jimin contacts the higher ups to see if anyone knows anything about you. Hobi trains the newbies to kill you, a guinea pig, maybe he’ll go with V and teach them how to gut intestines and bury in a way that you’ll decompose faster.

You were a perfect kill for them.

They'll find you. Your license was registered 5 miles away from the forest. Which meant you lived 2 miles from it, which meant you were 4 miles away.

Suga keeps browsing his computer until RM slams a pillow onto his face and asks him to go to bed.

Jungkook boxes well that night, he wants to gouge your eyes out and makes sure that you'll never see again, and then he cut you in ways where you'll feel pain until you breathe for the very last time. He was excited to finally have a kill.

Like a lion waiting for his gazelle.

This wasn't a fairytale, where you would be magically spared.

You were at the wrong place at the wrong time and that was no one's fault, but someone had to pay for that, and that someone was you.

Tonight, you’d sleep like a baby, but tomorrow you’ll sleep forever.

Jin made sure to look into any bank accounts in your name. You had one at some point, but you couldn't maintain the minimum balance, and you had closed it. This was 4 years ago. He assumes you were really trying hard to make it work. Too bad the poor remain poor and the rich become richer.

The world was a monopoly game waiting to wend. It was not easy to survive, and life hadn't treated you well. V was skeptical. You had fear in your eyes, but no anger. You had survival, but no need for it. He felt himself turning to look well into your eyes. The image of the surveillance camera was burnt before his eyelids.

You wanted to survive, but your frail body didn't seem like it wanted to.

He almost felt bad for you, but he had come across hundreds like you. Unlucky, meaningless and insignificant to the world.

Hobi utters your name under his breath a million times, knowing he’ll not miss a shot at you. You were too pretty to miss. Too bad you’ll be dead.

It was 6 o’clock the next day.

“I got a hit!” Suga calls for everyone's attention.

There you were, on a nearby camera.

A pretty dress, flats and a bag of takeout. Suga makes sure to cut off all the camera’s in the area, and while RM, Jimin, Jin, and himself stay back at the house, the rest pick up their bags and leave, ready to hurt you a little back, before bringing you back to the house to torture.

Jungkook, V and Hobi make their way to the bridge, only to see you eat the last bite from your tiny box, remove your sling and set it onto the bench. They wait for a second to see what you were trying to do.

Then you stand up and jump over the railing.

That's when Jungkook sprints.

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A/N: Hi guys, I hope you liked the first part of Tres Tres Desole!! My classes have started so it will be difficult for me to update but I think this series will have around 5 parts! I will let you know if I plan to add to it! Thanks for your patience! Please make sure to fill out the google form if you want to give me any review it will be linked on my navi <3

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