#“What does that have to do with the art” nothing! Hope this helps
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
posting this before I decide I hate it
#idk if the white n gold thingies r attached to his coat/cloak but I refuse to draw it so#my art <3#obey me mc#obey me nightbringer#obey me#obey me solomon#selfship#Yknow I’m mostly ashamed of my bts phase but bro pied piper is SO GOOD listen to that shit#“What does that have to do with the art” nothing! Hope this helps#do u guys think I like Solomon be honest#solove
47 notes
·
View notes
Text
i feel like im not making any sense but does anyone else feel like there are stories that let u run with them and ones that spell everything out for you
#im reading that post that says artists are directors of audience reaction and not its dictator:#'you cannot guarantee that everyone viewing your work will react as you are trying t make them react. a good artist knows that this is what#allows work to breath. by definition you cannot have art where the viewer brings nothing to the table ... this is why you have to let go of#the urge to plainly state in text exactly how you think the work should be interpreted ... its better to be misinterpreted sometimes than#to talk down to your audience. you wont even gain any control that way; people will still develop their opinions no matter what you do#im thinking abt this again cuz i was thinking maybe the thing that lets adventure time work so well the way it does is cuz it doesnt#take itself too seriously that it gives the audience enough room to fuck with subtext and then fuck with them back yknow. i think it was#mentioned somewhere that they werent even planning to run with the postapocalyptic elements that are hinted in the show but changed their#mind after the one off with the frozen businessmen and dominoed into marcy and simons backstory. on the other side there are stories that#explain too much to let the story speak for itself and i think it ends up having to do more with the crew trying to lead ppl in a certain#direction than expand on what they have and i see a lot of this with miraculous. like when interviews and tweets are used as word of god in#arguments and it becomes a little stifling to play around with it knowing the creator can just interject. u can say its the crews effort to#engage with its audience but it feels more like micromanaging. and none of this is to say there ISNT room for stories that spell things out#theyre just suited for different things. if sesame street tried abstract approaches to themes and nuance itd be counterproductive#a lot of things fly over my head so i need help picking things apart to get it- but it doesnt have to be from the story itself. ive picked#picked up or built on my own interpretations listening to other ppl share their thoughts which creates conversation around the same thing#sometimes stories will spell things out for you without being so obvious abt it that it feels like its woven into the text. my fav example#for this might be ATLA using younger characters as its main cast but instead of feeling like its dumbed down for kids to understand why war#is bad its framed from a childs point of view so younger audiences can pick up on it by relating to the characters. maybe an 8 year old#wont get how geopolitics works but at least they get 'hey the world is a little more complicated than everyone vs. fire nation'. same for#steven universe bc its like theyre trying to describe and put feelings into words that kids might not have so they have smth to start with#especially with the metaphors around relationships bc even if it looks unfamiliar as a kid now maybe the hope is for it to be smth you can#look back to. thats why it feels like these shows grew up with me.. instead of saving difficult topics for 'when im ready for it'#as if its preparing me for high school it gave me smth to turn in my hands and revisit again and again as i grow. stories that never#treated u as dumb all along. just someone who could learn and come back to it as many times as u need to. i loved SU for the longest time#but i felt guilty for enjoying it hearing the way ppl bash it. bc i was a kid and thought other ppl understood it better than me and made#feel bad for leaning into the message of paying forward kindness and not questioning why steven didnt punish the diamonds or hold them#accountable. but im rewatching it now and going oh. i still love this show and what it was trying to teach me#yapping#diary
98 notes
·
View notes
Text
ever since i was a little [redacted] i always wanted to be a person who has a place in society
#vent in the tags#the older i get and the worse everything gets im just like#how does anyone do anything#how does anyone be anything#without being born rich#and am i doomed to poverty forever as punishment for being an artist#as punishment for not being born wanting to be a doctor or a lawyer and having all the capabilities and resources to do it#or doomed to work a full time job i hate that has nothing to do with the things i love or who i am#just for like. mediocre health benefits. if that#or doomed to spend my whole life striving for a career anywhere in the arts that will take me and running myself ragged trying to get there#or doomed bc i have so many interests and so few resources to never have the chance to feel fulfillment by trying everything i want to#and still be able to financially support myself#like. i think when you die thats it. and i have so little control over the amount of things i get to experience already#but i want to experience everything as much as possible#and i've just been grieving this for the last like three years#and i know most people in the world are so much worse off and this is a super privileged position to be in at all#im just grieving my own lived circumstances#and a lifetime trying to combat the constant nihilism from my mother that everything is always going to be bad no matter what doesnt help#but anyway. i hold onto hope as a weapon against the alternative. im just so exhausted already#and i havent really even started#fellow artists if u read this far how tf are we supposed to live lmao#artists in the broad sense as well im interested in literally every medium
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
...
#sorry i cant shut the fuck up today. i think i just feel worse on the weekends bc i kno i shoulf b relaxing#ppl r telling me to relax. take a break. let me kno how i can help. let me kno if theres a problem. bc my behavior is apparently ya kno like#visibly somethings not right. but how tf am i supposed to relax when i have so much to do#so im stuck spiraling like dont work but also think insistently abt working. but get nothing done. its horrible#mostly rn im stressed abt all the grading i havent done and the work on my masters data i havent done#but its like. something in my head is on fire and it's burning thru all my cognitive energy. i am just trying to keep existing#how tf am i supposed to find the energy to read 45 lab reports? im like illiterate#and idk i just feel bad about coming into a new lab being so sick. i just dont like being a problem#it also does not reflect well on my future career that im being such a flake on things. like sorry if i have to work on my research#assistant data rn i might die ✌️ ugh. itll b fine. i just need to find a way to effectively manage my head#and i keep hearing my dads voice in my head talking abt personal responsibility but like i dont even kno how to employ that. i could suck#it up and double down on productivity but that way leads to burnout and self destruction. do i doubke down on relaxing?#i dont kno how to do that. like u would probably just have to drug me. which is y i do not partake in substances. that way also leads#to self destruction. so what am i do to? cross my fingers and pray for a fluctuation in my general mood?#hope that aliens invade and that an incoming invasion sharpens my focus onto only one single thing?#idk. but my sister is finally working on the fish i askrd her yo draw me. so i gotta think of how i wanna get it tattooed#bc shes not an art person and its an act of indulging chaos to get an imperfect image tattooed onto me#so i might have to do some things to make it make me not insane. i asked for this bc i like causing myself problems. also i was in a#slightly altered state of mind when i asked lol but i stand by it haha. anyway. idk things r just annoying and hard rn as i knew they would#b. and im good at catching myself before things get dangerous but it sucks that i feel like a ticking time bomb of destruction. ugh.#unrelated
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
Essentially what it is all boiling down to is I have fully realized I am bad at being a person, that will always be true, and I don’t know how to handle that
#I’m going to be depressing and self depreciating in the tags so. fair warning to anyone who reads them#I’ve known for a while now that I don’t know what to do with my life. I’ve thought of a few ideas but none of them seem to be working. and I#think a good chunk of what it’s boiling down to is that I am quite literally just stupid when it comes to an actual useful real life skills.#and it’s frustrating because I can’t even talk to ppl I know and confide in them that I feel dumb and stupid without them being like ‘nooooo#don’t say that! you’re not stupid! you were top of your class in hs!’ (that is their favorite thing to fall back on) but like. the thing is#I wasn’t even smart in hs. sure I did good but that’s because I cheated my way through and got lucky a lot. I never actually learned anythin#I never understood what I was being taught or how to apply it. I was good at English and art classes and that was it those were the only one#I truly felt I knew what I was doing in and grasped the subject matter well. I know I’m good at those two things and smart when it comes to#those subjects. but the thing is. in real life. both of those are useless skills. I can’t make money with them and it is highly unlikely#that will ever change. and yes I know not being able to make money with it doesn’t mean it’s useless but like it kinda does. capitalism#sucks. I know that. we all do. but that doesn’t change that we live in a capitalist society and it’s unlikely to actual change in my lifetim#so I’m stuck to try and figure out how to live in it. but I have no skills I can make money with so I will live my entire life poor and#miserable and working dead end jobs that make me want to kill myself. I’m not good at socialization I’m so fucking bad at it so I can’t work#any kind of job that hinges on networking or sales or human interaction which is MOST JOBS but I’m also too stupid for anything related to#STEM. I tried two different stem degrees and flunked out of both of them because I am a FUCKING IDIOT and I know there’s no point in trying#to go back to school for another one. but no degree in anything I naturally have a knack for will help me find a decent well paying job. ill#just be wasting my money to go to school for something like that. and then like. I don’t even think I’ll ever get married and I def won’t#ever have kids. so I can’t even put any hopeful stock in just being happy with a family one day. I know a lot of ppl who don’t like their#careers but they’re fine with that because they’re happy with their family but like I don’t even have that and I won’t ever have that. I#have NOTHING to strive for and NOTHING I am good at that’s meaningful I’m going to fail at having a career and a family and I know that#doesn’t mean I won’t be happy in theory but by societal standards I am and always will be a fucking failure of a person and since I do live#in this society yeah. it’s kinda fucking true. and I don’t know what to do about that. I’m just tired. I’m tired of being afraid and#struggling and going through patches of wanting to kill myself because of this because like what’s the point. I’ll never have anything#better so what in the actual hell is the point of me existing. and I know I’m being ridiculous and my brain is eating itself and none of#this is probably even true but that doesn’t change that it FEELS like it is a lot of times and esp right now and I don’t know what to do#to anyone who reads this I’ll be fine tbh prob as soon as tomorrow like dw about it I just need to get it out so I stop stewing in it.#I’m just. yeah. not having a great time rn but I left work so I’m gonna cry and then maybe sleep for a bit and hope that helps#kaz rambles
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
the winner takes it all
Art x Reader x Tashi
summary: winners deserve rewards, and Tashi is more than happy to spoil her star athlete with the help of her ever-dutiful husband.
word count: 2.7k
rating: mature/explicit/18+
warnings: porn no plot (deep breath) m/f/f dynamic, threesome, dom!Tashi, switch!Art, sub!Reader, p in v, creampie, overstim, hair pulling, titty play, use of toys, praise, teasing, spanking, orgasm denial, oral (fem receiving), oral (reader giving fem), face sitting
note: hope you enjoy! my first non-HOTD related fic!
link to other stories from me!
To be notified when I post something new, be sure to follow @sapphire-writes-updates & turn notifications on 💙
Your match had taken place several hours ago. You’d been anxious the entire time, but ended up winning, much to you and your coach’s pleasure. The ride back to the hotel was torturous, as well as the following mandatory ice bath, sauna, shower, and footage review. It was the routine you’d followed ever since Tashi began coaching you.
She was nothing if not thorough.
After tying up several loose ends, including Tashi grilling you for every point you missed, every fault she could see when she paused the footage, you now found yourself in a more pleasurable position.
Art held your legs open as he continued his even thrusts, cock sliding against the walls of your pussy at a torturous pace. Tashi sat beside you, clad only in a silk robe and lace panties, brushing some hair from your face that was sticking to your forehead with perspiration.
You had the suite to yourself for the night. Tashi and Art’s little girl was safely tucked away with her grandmother in another elegant suite on the other side of the hotel. Another part of the routine.
“Tash….”
“You did well out there today,” she interrupts, reaching beside her to the end table drawer and pulling out her Hitachi wand. It buzzes to life as she turns it on and a strangled whine leaves your throat as she presses it to your clit, “See what happens when you put in the extra time? That backhand of yours is a lethal weapon now.”
“Fuck!” is the only response you’re able to give as Art moans at the vibrations as he continues to pound into you.
She likes you best like this, fucked dumb on Art’s cock, mindlessly agreeing to her plans for future matches, eyes rolling back in your head. Different moves she’ll have you practice. How hard she plans to work you on the court the following morning.
“Come on, come for me,” Tashi insists, hand trailing over your breasts, “What’s my girl need to come, hm? Need these pretty tits attended to?” She pinches your nipple for emphasis and your jaw slacks, a pleasurable current in your gut winding tighter and tighter with the continuous stimulation.
Art slings your left leg over his shoulder, pressing a tender kiss to your calf as he does so.
The new angle sends him deeper inside of you and you clench, mouth falling open with an uncontrollable moan.
“That’s it,” Tashi murmurs, eyes never leaving your face, “Feels so good doesn’t it? Art knows how to treat his girl, huh? Don’t you baby?”
“Yes,” he hissed between clenched teeth, beads of sweat forming on his brow, “Fucking perfect pussy, god—”
Tashi removes her hand from your breast, taking hold of your chin.
“Look at me.”
Your eyes water with pleasurable tears but you do as she asks, always keen to follow her instructions. The tennis court, the bedroom, it was all the same playing field in the end.
“Come on baby,” she murmurs, leaning down and pressing a kiss against your lips, “Come for me, you’ve been such a good girl, you deserve it.”
“Fuck!” Art courses as your pussy tightens around him, “Oh uhhh—”
“I’m cumming,” you helplessly whimper, the words nearly a sob, “Tashi…..fuck….Art fuck feels so—-“ your abdominal muscles tense as your reach your peak, white-hot ecstasy flooding your body as a shudder rolls through you.
Tashi smiles as you come, fingers dancing down your neck. Art fucks you through it, leaning forward to pound into you at a harder rhythm, chasing his imminent release. It’s only then Tashi glances at him, her smile dropping slightly.
“Don’t cum.”
Art’s hips stutter as your walls continue to flutter around his thick length, his jaw slacks, eyes watering as he looks at his wife.
“Tash—”
“I said no,” she insists, shutting off the vibrator and throwing it to the side. Leaning forward, she captures your lips in a kiss. She sits up, a smile on her face as she kisses Art as well. He whimpers against her lips, hard and pulsating inside you still. But Tashi never changes her mind.
“You want to come, you should try winning.”
“Tash please,” Art’s voice was strained, Adam’s apple bobbing, his expression pained, “please let me come.”
“Yeah?” She taunts moving up to kiss him. She brings her lips close to his, his eyes fluttering shut as she barely brushes the soft pout of her mouth against his. His lips part, head tilting to chase her.
You watch from below them, still trying to slow your breathing. You like watching them dance, this push and pull they have. It’s hypnotizing, the effect she has on him. On you. Tashi pushes his chest and his eyes flutter open.
“Sit.”
Tashi nods to the chair in the corner of the room. Art hesitates and she raises a brow when he doesn’t move quickly enough. Teeth clenched, Art unsheathes his aching cock from your warmth, hissing as he pulls completely out. Your breath hitches at the loss of him, and you gaze up at Tashi waiting for her next instruction.
Fully naked, Art walks to the chair, cock hard and swinging between his legs as though he’s nothing more than a scolded pup.
Tashi stands walking over to him, and Art tilts his chin to meet her eyes. Slowly, she lets the silk robe fall from her shoulders, and she takes her time removing it and placing it on his lap. You can see his erection through the soft purple fabric.
“Hold that for me, would you?” she asks, turning back to face you.
You can’t help it as your gaze falls to her breasts; supple and mouth-watering, dark nipples taunting you. The dip of flesh between her abdominal muscles, a spot you’ve run your tongue along countless times now. Tashi rejoins you on the bed, lying next to you, looping her thumbs in the waistband of her lace panties.
“You want a taste, baby?” she asks, smiling slightly at you.
You nod eagerly as she beckons you with a tilt of her chin. Scrambling into a kneeling position you slot yourself between Tashi’s toned legs, replacing her fingers and gently pulling off her lace panties, tossing them to the side and revealing her glistening sex.
Two things turn Tashi on. Telling you and Art what to do, and tennis.
Tashi brings her hand down her front tracing down her toned stomach until she reaches the soft curls that frame her pussy. She takes two fingers and spreads herself before you.
“Come on, baby,” she murmurs, her voice low and seductive, “Eat up.”
She’s an enchantress, you swear, using some sort of siren song to pull you in. Even here between her legs, she’s in charge; it’s you who’s helpless. You lower your face toward her pussy, already drunk on the scent of her even before your tongue reaches her warm slit.
You couldn’t hold in your moan of pleasured relief even if you tried as your tongue dipped lower, parting her lips and dipping inside her right entrance. There’s something about her, how she feels, how she tastes. You’ll never get enough of it. You nuzzle closer to her, nose bumping against her clit and she rewards you with a breathy sigh.
“Art,” she calls as you eagerly continue lavishing her pussy with attention, “How’s the view?”
“Fucking breathtaking,” he answered, his voice strangled, “Tashi please….”
“She’s so good,” Tashi praises, nails taking against your scalp sending pleasurable tingles down your spine, “Put that pretty mouth of yours where it counts. Show me how badly you want it.”
Your tummy flutters with excitement and you suction your lips around Tashi’s clit, sucking the sensitive button as you hear Art stand up.
“Put that ass up,” Tashi instructs you, her voice airy, nearly breathless. You arch your back, leaning forward into her as Art’s hands cup the front of your thighs.
You wiggle as he kneels behind you, his breath on your pussy before his lips meet your pussy. You moan against Tashi’s cunt as Art trails his hands up your thighs, spreading your cheeks wider as he feasts on you, tongue dipping inside of you and then up to circle your clit.
“I’ll make you a deal baby,” Tashi purrs, back arching off the bed slightly as your tongue circles her pearl, “If you make her finish before I do, I’ll let you come.”
Art groans against you, finishing with a frustrated whine as Tashi chuckles. You glance up at her, drinking in the blissed-out expression on her face, that sly smirk that reaches her eyes.
“Deal?”
Art doesn’t hesitate, he simply redoubles his efforts, tongue entering you with desperate precision. Your lips falter, the pleasure messing with your coordination as Art ups the ante. You feel him pull away from you, and hear the wet pop of his fingers entering his mouth and leaving just as quickly. Then he’s breaching you, fingers slipping inside you with ease from the continued attention following your first orgasm.
“Oh fuck,” you whimper, squeezing your eyes shut as Art fingers you. He sets a rough pace, placing his opposite hand on your asscheek and squeezing the soft flesh.
The two fingers he has plunged inside you to the knuckle curl perfectly against your spongy walls, hitting that sweet spot inside you every time he curls his fingers.
“Come on,” Art murmurs, slapping your ass, “I know you want to come again.”
“Yes she does,” Tashi agrees, unable to help herself.
“Greedy girl, never satisfied with just one, huh?” Art teases and Tashi chuckles at his efforts. Art never speaks to her like that, only you. Tashi prefers the more dominant role over both you and her husband.
Still eager to please her you sloppily continue eating her out, lost in the sensation of Art's fingers in your pussy, Tashi’s fingers in your hair—
“Come on baby,” Art encourages, though there’s a hint of desperation in his tone. He wants to come just as badly as you do.
“Such a messy girl,” Tashi coos, propping herself on her elbows, “Oh but so so good. I’m getting close…”
Art slaps your ass again, curling his fingers against your g-spot, and it’s no use. Your jaw slacks and your head lolls against the softness of Tashi’s inner thigh as your walls clench around Art’s fingers, your release barreling through you like a freight train. It knocks the air from your lungs, a desperate cry leaving you as Art makes a noise of triumph.
“So you are capable of winning,” Tashi snaps, a little too cold to be simply a bedroom taunt. Art stares at her, before she sits up, “I haven’t come yet.”
“Let me,” you murmur, looking up at her, still lying on her thigh. She smiles down at you, stroking your cheek.
“You’re a sweet girl,” she praises, “But Art won. I think he deserves to finish in that sweet little pussy of yours. Would you like that?”
“Tash…I can’t,” you whimper, still sensitive and tingly from your previous orgasms, “I can’t come again.”
Her smile fades back to that familiar smirk. She glances at Art, nodding at the bed. Cock still standing at attention Art joins you both, lying on his back. Tashi’s hand winds its way in your hair, tugging you not so gently from your resting place. You follow her lead like a puppet on a string.
“Don’t be ungrateful,” she accuses, pushing you towards Art’s lap, “This is a reward. You deserve this.”
Art’s cock pokes at the soft plush of your inner thighs as you straddle him. His hands move automatically towards your hips, rough thumbs brushing against you leaving goosebumps in their wake.
He looks at you with wide, watery eyes, blonde hair a tousled mess.
“One more?” he asks, and you know at that moment if you tapped out, he’d respect it. Art was never one to make you feel uncomfortable in any way, shape, or form.
He rubs your hips again, a soothing motion, and you lean into his touch. Something deep inside you tightens with want. You need him. You need her. You inhale a shaky breath and lift your hips, lining the swollen head of his cock with your entrance. Sinking onto him slowly like this is something else. The way he stretches your insides as you come to rest against him is a feeling you’ll never get used to.
“Good girl.”
Art’s head falls back against the pillows and then Tashi pulls them from underneath him. Her husband knows immediately what she’s after and tilts his head back as she climbs onto his face.
Tashi sits on her husband’s face as though it’s her throne. As though he was made for her and no one else.
She pulls you closer as you lazily begin to ride Art. Lips crashing against yours she kisses you passionately, rolling her hips at the pace you began. Soon you find your rhythm, moving in sync together as Art moans beneath you, happy to pleasure both his girls at once. Tashi’s hand finds your hair again and she tugs your head back, latching her lips against your neck.
She’s fond of leaving marks. Art is hers through their marriage, but she likes to remind you that you belong to her as well.
Art bucks his hips up into you, the head of his cock nudging perfectly against your sweet spot, just as his fingers had moments before. A whine leaves your lips and Tashi laughs against your neck.
“He’s good at that, yeah?” she murmurs, placing soft kisses up your neck and returning to your lips, “Good with his cock, good with his…his tongue.” Her eyes squeeze shut in ecstasy as Art does something you can only imagine.
He moans again, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise as he decides the pace you’ve set simply isn’t enough. Art’s hands dip below the curve of your ass right where it meets your thighs, lifting you with ease up and down on his cock. He meets you halfway, thrusting up into you as he slams you up and down.
Your whines increase in volume, turning into elongated moans swallowed by Tashi’s kiss. You can feel her nipples pressing against your own and you reach out to caress them. Tashi gyrates her hips on Art’s face and his pace becomes more frantic as he plants both feet on the mattress fucking up into you harder, faster, deeper.
“I—”
Words are lost to you as your mind goes fuzzy; that familiar pressure in your gut builds, a wave of pleasure cresting deep within you. Tashi’s mouth captures yours once more as she snakes a hand down your front, nimble fingers circling your clit giving you just what you need to reach your end. Again.
With that the rubber band in your belly snaps and you come with a startled cry, pleasured tears leaking from the corner of your eyes as you clench around Art’s thick cock. His hips falter only for a moment as he chases his own release, and soon you feel his cock twitch within your warm walls, his spend blooming inside of you.
Tashi smiles proudly as you and Art ride out your highs, the pair of you moaning, limbs jerking from the exertion. Everything’s a game to her. And she always wins.
“Just like that,” she murmurs, hips still swirling around Art’s face, “Oh god I’m—”
You watch as her thighs tense, her head dips and her eyes squeeze shut as her orgasm crashes over her at last.
Carefully you ease Art’s softening cock from within you and lay between the both of them. Tashi on your left, Art on your right. You’re facing Tashi, watching as she comes down from her high, feeling Art’s chest press against your back.
It’s quiet for a moment, the soft sound of a kiss being pressed to your shoulder the only noise in the room. Art snakes a hand around your waist, fingers brushing the soft skin of your tummy. You giggle slightly at the ticklish sensation which causes him to bite down gently on your shoulder. Tashi simply watches, wetting her lips.
“On the courts at five tomorrow,” she says, before standing, “I’ll run us a bath.”
Art sighs and you can’t help but agree with his subtle frustration. Back to business.
“Whatever you say, coach.”
likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated but never expected 🩵
#art donaldson smut#art donaldson x reader#art donaldson#challengers x reader#challengers#challengers fanfiction#challengers smut#challengers fic#challengers film#challengers movie#challengers 2024#challengers x you#art donaldson x you#art donaldson challengers#challengers imagine#art donaldson fic#art donaldson imagine#tashi duncan#tashi x art#tashi x reader#tashi duncan x reader#tashi duncan smut#mike faist#zendaya
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
So, I haven't stopped thinking about the dyslexic Wade headcannon- like at all- so here is the second part/expansive of this post!
I really like the idea of him being really insecure about it but slowly accepting it more and being more open about it.
I also wrote from my experience, and I'm not officially diagnosed don't come at me, but I struggle alot with reading and writing so yeah!
Anyway, enjoy. Please. I hope everyone likes this as much as I do!
---------------------------------
It isn't that Wade can't read- or that he doesn't want to- it's more that it's a massive fucking struggle. Most of the time anyway.
He's always had trouble reading (and spelling, but he can avoid that with emojis now! How technology grows!) ever since he was a kid.
And maybe it's because he didn't grow up in a great environment, or maybe it's because he was never really encouraged, but Wade never ever mentions it. Not to anyone.
He never told anyone when he was in school that sometimes words didn't really make sense to him, and that he was behind in work because of it, not because he would sit and talk (though he did that too). He never told anyone that he preferred art over english because it was easier to understand a picture to him than it was words. He never told anyone that he struggled to spell simple words like "bakery" and "shopping" but could spell "because" and "beautiful" because of a stupid rhyme he had heard once.
It was just something he had grown up with- something he had assumed other kids dealt with- u til he got to high school. Suddenly, he was surrounded by people writing 3000 word essays like they were nothing and people reading 200 page books during lunch, all while Wade still hadn't finished a single book he owned. While Wade still struggled to understand words that weren't in a specific font or colour- something he had realised shortly after turning 10- and everyone around him could just do it. They didn't take 10 minutes to finish a page of a book. They didn't get headaches from the concentration he had to use while staring at a page trying to figure out if the word "wandering" was spelt correctly. They didn't struggle to read the teachers writing because of the cursive writing. They could all just do it and Wade had to just sit and try.
Naturally, people noticed that he would read slowly and awkwardly when they read aloud in class, or that his work always came back covered in red pen from where he had misspelled simple words. He quickly became a target for bullying. Honestly, he probably wouldn't feel as self conscious as he does if that hadn't happened. If teachers had just stepped in and helped- noticed that something was wrong- he would've gotten some help and grown up with accommodations that would've helped him succeed. But he didn't get any of that. He got bullied for reading slowly and being dumb. He got kicked and punched because he had been spotted reading a book meant for younger kids (big mistake).
Wade tried. He did. He read books as often as he could to try and make his brain click- and it never worked. He would try and spell random words- and sometimes he got them and sometimes he didnt- and eventually he gave up. Eventually he succumbed to the voice in his head telling him he was stupid and that he was just going to have to go through life suffering.
And as he got older, he figured out stuff that helped and stuff that didn't. He managed to find a few fonts that helped, a few overlays that made it easier, and a few things to remind him how to spell certain words he usually struggled with.
He also got better at hiding it. Wade would tell people he preferred calls over text. He would open birthday cards and smile at the writing even if he couldn't quiet make out what it said. He would avoid anything that involved him reading in public.
And again, not because he couldn't read, but because it might take him alittle longer than it should, and the idea people would notice made his stomach fill with anxiety, sending him right back to being that scrawny kid I high-school who got beaten up every lunch time.
All of that only got worse after his accident. Well, the cancer and the torture and the murders, but ya know.
Now people were staring at him anyway. People would look and gasp and gawk as he walked down the street or went to the store to get groceries. Everywhere he went people stared. Everywhere.
So instead of being slightly worried people would notice him focusing too hard on reading, he was fully aware people were staring at him constantly because of his skin, and he liked to avoid giving them anymore reasons to stare.
To his suprise though, moving in with Al had helped. She was the only person he had told, and she was the only person who seemed to understand, telling him about something called dyslexia and telling him that his brain just worked alittle different than his. Then proceeded to pass out after using the last of her cocaine- but the thought was still there.
And she didn't seem to mind that he read alittle slower sometimes, because she still asked him to read her mail to her, and sometimes write letters or cards. Wade would have to ask her how to spell the words, but she never seemed to get angry about it, and she always seemed to know how to spell them. Plus, if anyone noticed it wasn't spelt right, they could blame it on her being blind (how was the recipient to know this letter hadn't been writing by Al? She could probably write stuff if she wanted. She's blind, not stupid.).
When he started to gain friends and family- somehow gaining a little group of them- he didn't feel as bad about them noticing. He still didn't say anything- didn't make it obvious- but he wanted them to know he read there cards. Make sure they knew he read the group chat messages. Make sure they knew he did care (and for some reason, probably because the writer loves this headcannon, it seemed like alot of him showing his cared had to do with reading and spelling), writing them birthday cards and Christmas cards, and responding to every single message.
He found a quick way around the messages. That was easy. Emojis, memes and gifs quickly became his best friend. They were easy to dichiper most of the time, and Wade loved them, so it was a win win! He did write things too, and auto correct usually helped if he was struggling that day, but he was getting better thanks to Al and her bossing about of writing letters to her grandkids.
Writing cards took a little longer, but he spent alot of time on each one, making sure everything look neat and was spelt well. It always made him proud giving someone a card that he knew he spent so much time on, perfecting every last word.
When Logan moved in, it was a topic Wade was trying to avoid. He knew he should tell him- they were getting closer and closer each passing day- but he always felt so stupid trying to explain it. It made him feel stupid, even if he knew he wasn't. Most of the time.
Luckily, it doesn't actually come up for awhile, not until they have moved into their own place and Wade is handing Logan a birthday card with a huge grin on his face, practically bouncing on his feet.
And Logan opens it and reads it, and smirks a little because "I don't think the word awesome is spelt like that" and suddenly Wade's smile is wiped off his face.
He really had tried- maybe he didn't read the word properly off his phone or something- because Wade is taking the card and trying his best to quickly read it but can't, and he let's out a grunt of frustration because rambling at Logan apologetically. "I really tried to fucking spell everything right- I'm the idiot for fucking trying to read the word to spell it- I mean, who does that when you can't even read properly? I can re-do it- gimme like an hour and a half to go get a new card and get Al on the phone to just ask her how to spell it and then I can give you one that isn't fucked up-"
And Logan shuts him up with a small kiss to the forehead, telling him that he "likes this one just fine, has more charm" and Wade wants that to feel reassuring but it somehow doesn't, and it just makes him more annoyed.
So after a small melt down and a good cry in the shower for fucking up Logan's birthday, he explains it to Logan. Tells him about how he sometimes struggles with reading and spelling, but he really did try with the card. He really does try to read and write properly but some days it's hard and some days he can do it easier, and that he never really told anyone until he met Al. He messily rambles about everything- including the bullying- and Wade expects to be met with some laugh or ridicule. Though, this is Logan- and somehow this man loves every other part of him- so why wouldn't he love this part too?
And Logan just apologises to Wade that he made him feel bad about misspelling the word awesome- makes a joke about how it's a hard word to spell- and that Wade shouldn't have been bullied for something he couldn't help. Tells him that it's nothing to be ashamed off, and that he shouldn't let it hold him back. Tells him that if he ever needs help with spelling something he can ask Logan, that if he ever can't figure out a word that he can ask Logan, asks if there are any accommodations he uses to help him.
And Wade tells him the things that help, the things that don't, thanks him for the offer of help, and suddenly it doesn't seem so terrifying that Logan knows. Suddenly he feels better about it. Sure, Al had helped, but hearing this from Logan made him feel less afraid to hide it. Made him feel better about telling his friends so they knew.
And Logan stays true to his words. He helps him when he is struggling with a word- never jumps in a reads stuff or spells things without being asked first- and even uses some of the accommodations. He has his phone set to a font Wade can read easier, and his next birthday card is in big bold writing (Logan's writing is normally really scribbly and hard to read) and on a colour that helps him focus on the words more.
And he tells his friends and they understand, they do the same. They help if asked, they don't rush him in reading their cards or messages- Yukio starts to use more emojis and Collosus tries his best to give Wade mission debriefs in person or voice messages- and it helps him immensely. He gets more confident about his reading and writing, and he starts to work on ut even more. And yeah, he can't get rid of his dyslexia, but he can try and find new ways that help him. He can find books in safe fonts and listen to the audio book as he reads to help (Though, he does prefer listening to Logan read to him, because his voice is so smooth and gruff somehow, and he could listen to it for hours).
Wade hated that stupid part of himself for so long, but now- even if he is 47- he doesn't really mind it anymore. He makes jokes about his spelling errors or words he missreads, and he works on finding new things to help with Logan, and everything is alittle bit easier knowing he isn't going to be ridiculed and judged.
(People who said they wanted this, I hope you enjoy! @wadewnstonwilson @logictoinsanity @zerotoqueero @superbattrash @spoopderman @klszkas @ohitsthemindstuffagain @mangoob @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes (tagging yall who said you wanted to read it!))
#so i really love this headcannon#dyslexia#dyslexic#dyslexic wade my child#dyslexic wade wilson#deadpool and wolverine#poolverine#wade wilson#deadclaws#deadpool 3#logan#deadpool#wade winston wilson#wade x logan#logan howlett
749 notes
·
View notes
Text
MASTERPOST
Synopsis: Beast Ancients AU [BAAU] explores an alternate universe where the ancients corrupt into beasts. With the looming presence of the original five beasts as well, the cookies of Earthbread must grapple with the threat of ten beasts vying for power, domination, or annihilation.
This Masterpost is updated as of 10/24/2024.
GENERAL
RULES
DM rules
Save for a few exceptions, DMs are generally not allowed. Those exceptions include requests for references or help with writing a fanfiction set in the universe. The creator only engages in long and/or frequent DM conversations with mutual followers and friends.
Do NOT DM if you are under 16 years of age. This is a 16+ blog for its general tone.
NO CHARACTER AI / NO AI
Creating a Character.AI or any other chat AI of any BAAU-related character is strictly condemned and nonconsensual. This includes creating a private chat AI and feeding any BAAU related work, or the creator’s art, into any generative AI. NO AI MEANS NO AI.
Fanart
Fanart is allowed, including art including OCs/self inserts. Shipping is also allowed, but explicit NSFW art is not.
[Fanart Tag] - #beast ancients au fanart
Fanfics
Fanfiction within the BAAU universe is allowed with the same rules as fanart. X readers are also generally allowed as long as they are not NSFW.
[Fanfic Tag] - #beast ancients au fic
Please note that lore created for fanfics and fanart should not be interpreted as canon to the primary AU itself. Lore includes anything from worldbuilding to individual character ideas. All canon information and lore regarding BAAU and its world comes from the creator.
TAGS
[Main Tag] - The tag for main BAAU related posts. #beast ancients au
[Askbox Tag] - For questions asked about the world, including its story and characters. NOTE: As BAAU develops, certain information will be outdated. Older asks have a higher likelihood of this. #beast ancients au ask
NOTE: I do not answer askbox questions through DMs. Refer to the exceptions under DM rules for what will and will not pass as a DM question. If your question does not pertain to them and the askbox is closed, please wait until it is open again or else I will not answer!
THE CAST
THE BEAST ANCIENTS
Otherwise known as the Neobeasts, these once noble heroes have turned into shadows of their former selves. What was once a tight companionship has become a fragile alliance between powerful entities whose ambitions clash and contradict with each other; but they have a vested agreement that their original counterparts must be defeated. Their personal goals also spell dread for the rest of the world in their own dangerous ways.
Saint Vanilla Cookie - Beast of Penance
The king of the Vanilla Kingdom was once gentle and selfless, wishing nothing but peace, love, and healing for the world. However, his hopes would turn to despair as pain and hardship began to consume him. Deducing that only he could be the one to save the world from its endless cycle of pain and torment, the Hero of Truth formed a messiah complex that turned his caring, selfless nature into a toxic compassion for the emburdened. His self proclaimed destiny is to bring salvation to the entire world: but where he sees the liberation of souls, the unfortunate feel the agonizing pain of disintegration. For the Beast, it is all in the name of his penitent love.
A never ending stream of tears flows from his face. Some think it’s his immense empathy for the pain and suffering of cookies across Earthbread.
He purifies with his touch. It is painfully lethal, and affects anyone who has a soul. The bodies purified turn into faint white sparkles, but their souls disappear.
He can see through any vanilla orchid that has been planted by gazing into the eye of his staff.
He is next to never angered; he pities what would upset anyone else, including those who villainize him. His smile is also semi-permanent, though it can fade in serious situations or moments of deep thought.
His final goal is to ascend to that of a god: with divine power in his grasp, he could finally bring salvation to the whole of Earthbread. However, he is yet to find a means of doing so, and he’s aware that it will be a long and arduous path. However, over the timeline, his appearance changes the closer he gets to godhood.
He has a group of followers known as the Lambs of Penance.
He was the last to corrupt.
[TAG]
Midnight Lily Cookie - Beast of Sovereignty
Awoken into a world scarred by her hands, Lily struggled to heal the wounds of both it and herself. With the death of one of her closest companions the rise of an unfathomably powerful force, and the threat her other half continued to pose behind the scenes, she forged an ironclad autonomy for herself that disregarded true morality in the name of fixing what was broken. The new guardian of the Silver Tree soon became a queen of darkened lilies, turning her entire kingdom of loyal fae into willing tools of corruption. She will not rest until she has delivered her retribution, and will scower the ends of Beast Yeast and Earthbread to find and wipe the blemishes she created; and if cookies and their civilizations are choked by her invasive vines and parasitic flora, the end simply justifies the means.
Lily is called the Silver Queen, Queen of Midnight, Guardian of the Tree, or Lady Lily. The silver fae have many affectionate names for her.
She has chlorokinesis, and uses her powers for both good and harm. She has made the forest around the kingdom a nigh-impenetrable shield, with blades of grass capable of turning into impaling skewers at the flick of her wrist. The reason for the darkened lilies may also have something to do with it.
Though the Beast of Sovereignty believes in the value of free will, she can just as easily take it away. The Silver Kingdom is a sleeping hivemind, its inhabitants capable of going from autonomous individuals to mindless drones if Lily trills it so.
Saint Vanilla visits her often. In the beginning, the Beast of Penance wanted to purify her first out of his immense care for her, but the queen convinced him to let her witness his ascension instead, the last to go if the time came. Saint agreed, and has now become her closest ally. Being with her exposes how touch starved he really is.
[TAG]
Dragonberry Cookie - Beast of Pride
No greater Passion was the Queen mother’s passion for power, fueled by the desire to stand up to any and all threats that came her way. That gluttonous desire drew her attention to the power of the Red Dragon and their kind, and she soon made it her mission to become a dragon herself. With her soul jam and the legendary power of a dragon, nothing could stand in her way. Blinded by draconic obsession, she imprisoned her former ally, and turned her attention to the rest of the conquerable world. Wherever Dragons had been, her legion of researchers and soldiers would follow, their new prime objective to help their queen ascend. In the meantime, she’s happily enjoyed staying in power on the Hollyberrian throne, drinking lavishly as her family act as mere puppets under her will.
Even as a beast, she’s vey jovial.
While Royal Berry and Jungleberry Cookie are still technically the rulers of the Hollyberry Kingdom, they’re entirely in Dragonberry’s pocket. She will give them direct orders if she feels like it, and they are made to listen.
Despite this, she still has a genuine fondness and love for her family; the thing is that her pride, ambition, and the way she treats her family make it hard to tell. She’s even fond of Pitaya, but it doesn’t stop her from treating her equal like a pet half the time.
She ritually drinks doses of poison to build her immunity to it. It’s gotten to the point where assassins can’t tamper with her juice anymore.
She’s stronger and heartier tenfold, capable of tackling giants out of the sky and leveling armies by herself. She’s always eager for a good fight, which is why she holds the gladiatorial matches and combats uprisings in her tributaries.
[TAG]
Frigid Cacao Cookie - Beast of Solitude
The licorice sea was once the greatest threat to the Dark Cacao Kingdom. All of that changed when its resolute king, against all odds, tamed the nightmare. It was a period of historic celebration in increasingly bleaker times, but it wouldn’t last forever. The king slowly regressed into isolation, falling silent, and one day became completely immobile on his throne. He was still aware of the world, however, aware enough to know that his entire kingdom was beginning to freeze over in dark permafrost. As fleeing Cacaoians were consumed by ice, not even the king’s closest advisers could reach him, until all but the citadel were frozen over. Ever since that day, remaining within the walls has become the new normal for everyone. Licorice creatures roam the streets, and the sea slowly expands beyond the kingdom’s borders. While his servants’ wavering loyalties to him remain, they can only live oblivious to the chaos lurking underneath Frigid Cacao’s shadowed eyes. He is solitary, but soon he will be everywhere; and everywhere will feed the abyss.
He rarely leaves his throne, and all but the First Watcher and a few of his advisors are not allowed into the throne room without summons. Even still, no cookie is allowed to touch him.
While he is stationary most of the time, he is sometimes seen in the hallway or outside in the snow. When he’s outside, on some occasions, he’s seen staring at a frozen Cacaoian, an unreadable expression on his face. Sometimes he touches it, or even kneels.
He rarely shows up to Neobeast meetings, sending the First Watcher instead. However, even those instances are rare, and thus Cacao’s seat in the council chamber is almost always left vacant.
Licorice creatures are always docile around him, and will follow his every command. Cacao’s subjects wonder how…
[TAG]
Celestial Cheese Cookie - Beast of Conquest
It wasn’t enough for Golden Cheese to let go of her kingdom and those within it. No, she didn’t need to cling to desperate hopes until the day she could have her golden city back. She could start right then and there, reviving her kingdom of Abundance into an entire empire, powerful and unstoppable. Not only that, but she could keep going. If the world was her entire oyster, then why not indulge in that fact? Among the desert sands and badlands sits a new and expanding kingdom, touting itself as a safe haven from the ills of the other Beasts. Cookies are encouraged to become part of the empire, contribute to the radiant Sun’s grand design, but she’s aware she’ll have her detractors. Fortunately, they’re all taken care of: she turns them to gold and decides their fate accordingly, whether it be another golden decoration in her palace, an automaton to do her bidding, or another alloy used to forge the weapons of her conquest. And for those who aren’t in her celestial bubble, conquest is all they’ll ever taste.
Her Golden City still exists, kept in an altered state by highly protected servers. The souls still kept within them exist in an in-between state of awake and asleep.
Her appearance changes constantly, especially when presenting herself to others. It’s likely she has avatars of herself, though it’s unknown if her main appearance is her true physical self or yet another one of them.
She can summon countless arms, all with the ability to turn anything to gold. If one arm is cut off, two grow in its place.
She and Dragonberry have a fragile relationship. On some days, they antagonize the other for being a callous conqueror, but on other days, they have the tightest alliance of any beast.
Her eyes frequently shine bright rays of light, making it hard for people to look her in the eye by design. However, her eyes are normal underneath.
[TAG]
THE ORIGINAL BEASTS
The first five fallen heroes, observers of the Neobeast’s rise. They see the new faction of beasts less as new allies and more as obstacles that have made their striving for their soul jam halves more complicated. In turn, the Neobeasts are still interested in defeating them and taking their soul jam halves as well.
Shadow Milk Cookie - Beast of Deceit
As the first Beast to awaken, Shadow Milk was there to see the first four ancients fall to corruption. Believing he could use the despair of Pure Vanilla to acquire his soul jam, his plans were muddled when he became a beast himself. Further still, the body being baked for him was completely destroyed, leaving him a specter in need of another vessel. With his options thin, he’s had to resort to more unconventional means of getting what he wants…
For some ulterior purpose, he’s become Strawberry Crepe Cookie’s benefactor, helping them navigate the world in ways Choco can’t. He sees a common adversary in Saint Vanilla, and claims he needs Crepe’s help in order to defeat him.
It’s unclear if he remembers their name.
Silent Salt Cookie - Beast of Silence
Information TBD. Relevant to Lily Saga
Eternal Sugar Cookie - Beast of Sloth
Information TBD. Relevant to Berry Saga
Has a connection to the protagonist of the saga, might come in after the timeskip.
Mystic Flour Cookie - Beast of Apathy
Information TBD. Relevant to Cacao Saga
What is known is that she views Cacao with more pity than disgust, interested in putting him out of his misery.
Burning Spice Cookie - Beast of Destruction
Information TBD. Relevant to Cheese Saga
Has a connection to Yellow Feather.
THE PROTAGONISTS
Each Beast Ancient has affected someone in some way. The protagonists of their respective sagas grapple with their influence, whether it be to actively fight against them, avoid them at all costs, or seek to understand a deeper plot that leads them right into their hands.
Strawberry Crepe Cookie
Once a magichanical prodigy within the Vanilla Kingdom, Crepe’s sense of safety was shattered the day they became the sole witness to the Beast of Penance’s rise. They escaped with their life but at the cost of their prized headset, leaving them completely defenseless, on the run, and alone. They were eventually found and taken in by the estranged Cacaoian prince, and while they ultimately seek safety together, Crepe’s ingenuity may just carry a key to defeating the Neobeasts; and that fact has not gone unacknowledged by one Beast in particular.
When they ran, they left their headset behind. It had protected them from Saint’s touch, and was the only way they could summon their arms and wafflebots. Before Choco, Crepe had been on the run with nothing to defend themself.
Saint Vanilla is looking for them.
They struggle to stay strong amidst their trauma. They thought they didn’t need anyone, but losing two people who made them feel welcomed made them realize that they had been taking closeness for granted.
[TAG]
Dark Choco Cookie
The missing prince of the Dark Cacao Kingdom, finding his personal redemption. When his father tamed the licorice sea, he was happy but insecure of whether or not his father and the much stronger kingdom truly needed him anymore. Straying far from the mountains, he didn’t know of the fate that would befall his father and the kingdom until he caught wind of the news, which shocked and unnerved him. Deep down he wants to know why his father became a Beast, but with his newfound responsibility in looking after Crepe, he has other priorities. However, the shadow of his father continues to loom over him, and one day, it may finally get to him.
Sometimes he hears the Strawberry Jam Sword calling to him.
He’s hesitant to return to his kingdom.
He’s become crepe’s new guardian of sorts, providing food and warmth for them. Choco also keeps them out of danger while they’re still without their headphones, but he and Crepe are looking for ways for them to defend themself, since he knows they can fight.
[TAG]
Princess & Knight Cookie
Princess was aware of what her family was becoming after her grandmother’s corruption. Complacent, afraid, and submissive under the Beast’s influence, when they were once happy and loving. She yearned for the old days before Hollyberry turned, but she was forced to live in the present, expected to sit and look pretty as her parents were puppetted by Pride. Her tolerance of the new situation could only go so far, and on one fateful night, she donned a cloak and slipped out of the palace, escaping into the dark. Now on the run, she searches for help in taking her kingdom back. Alerted to his princess’s disappearance, Knight Cookie was quick to scramble for her. While he initially tried to convince her to return home, Princess’s headstrong nature ultimately made him choose to stay by he and protect her. At the end of the day, his job is to be her guard…
They are eventually joined by Tiger Lily.
Princess is stronger than she looks, which may have helped her escape Wildberry a couple of times.
There’s no incentive to bring Knight back safe and sound, nor is there any telling what Dragonberry would do to him if it does happen.
[TAG]
Crunchy Chip & Caramel Arrow Cookie
The two had sworn an oath to stand by their king's side to the bitter end. They fought with him as he protected his kingdom from internal collapse. They watched with elation as he brought the Licorice Sea to kneel before them and never threaten the kingdom again. However, when the Beast of Solitude replaced their resolute leader, their vows were put to the test as the kingdom was soon claimed by permafrost. While Crunchy Chip cookie had seen the writing on the wall, Caramel Arrow Cookie remained steadfast even as everyone froze around her. In her desperation to get through to the king, Caramel Arrow Cookie made the mistake of stepping out of line, her arm consumed by ice the moment she reached out to him. Crunchy Chip Cookie was quick to pull her away before she could be frozen entirely, and the two fled into the mountains. Crunchy Chip Cookie has been looking for someone to help bring his confidant back to good health before the frost completely engulfs her, and not only that, but he has been questioning their duties as Cacao’s protectors ever since. If they want to find a way to return their kingdom to normal, what—or who—might they need?
Caramel Arrow Cookie is unconscious most of the time, but she experiences lapses of consciousness, especially when around a heat source. Crunchy Chip’s cream wolves will huddle around her to keep her warm.
The two are looking for someone with deep knowledge of ice, whether it be an ordinary cookie or an elemental who could hold the answer to everything.
[TAG]
Yellow Feather Cookie
In the middle of a harsh golden desert, a single cookie awoke among the sands. She carried no memory of how she got there, much less who she was before. Vague memories of sprawling skylines and illustrious lights dotted behind her eyes, but she couldn’t fathom what they meant. She wandered aimlessly through the dunes until she was found by a friendly team of cookies working under the Celestial Cheese’s exploration and research collective. Given the name Yellow Feather Cookie, she was brought into their fold as a member; but even with her new name and new friends, the burning question of what happened to her still remains painfully unanswered. And when the amnesiac cookie experiences strange phenomena like glitches, digital aberrations, and foreboding visions of a cookie with burning red eyes, it only drives her further to learn the truth.
She is an iteration of Rich Cheese Cookie, a concept cookie for CRK who was ultimately scrapped. Unlike her concept version, Feather is neither a child nor Celestial Cheese’s daughter.
The few memories she has are of the Golden City, which little to none of her cohorts have heard of. They usually assume she’s referring to the kingdom itself.
She doesn’t know who or what the Beasts are, let alone the Ancients. She knows there is a world beyond the kingdom, but her knowledge comes from word of mouth and books she’s read. Perhaps it explains why she’s not alarmed by the visions she gets.
[TAG]
[Lily Saga Protagonists TBA]
SIDE CHARACTERS
These are all the known side characters. More will be added later.
SIDE PROTAGONISTS
Clotted Cream Cookie
The Consul of the Crème Republic, one of the last large safe havens present in Earthbread. With his former allies turning into adversaries, he has had to lead the resistance against the forces of darkness largely by himself. It’s caused a lot of stress for him, but he has tried to retain his strength as much as possible for the sake of his people, even as the walls slowly close in.
Gingerbrave
Has been assisting the resistance in the Crème Republic, working closely with Clotted Cream, the other councilors, and his own friends. While he nervously worries about and for the ancients, he retains his focus on helping those in need in the city, encouraging them to stay brave. He’s become a beacon of optimism among the nervous masses.
Custard Cookie III
The Nephew of Clotted Cream Cookie and close friend of Gingerbrave. After Pure Vanilla’s corruption, he questioned his aspirations to be king. He’s done everything he can to help his uncle’s people while learning about what it truly means to be a leader.
Madeleine Cookie
The Knight Commander of the Crème Republic. Despite everything that’s happened to him and his people, he’s retained his smile and his courage as best as he can. However, a tall shadow hangs over him.
Tiger Lily Cookie
A cookie who has lived in the jungle her whole life, watching from the brush as the Hollyberry Kingdom shifted under the new beast. She finds Princess and Knight while they’re on the run, and joins their party as a guide. Neither her nor her long lost sister are aware of their connection to one another.
Pitaya Dragon Cookie
Chained deep underneath the Hollyberry palace, the Red Dragon is the beast’s highest profile prisoner. To further her mission to become a dragon, they are researched and experimented on day in and day out, while Dragonberry sometimes stops to play twisted games with them. Such include dragging them out to fights, sparring like old friends, or giving them the illusion that they’ll ever have a chance to escape her.
Wind Archer Cookie
Sworn to vanquish the darkness no matter the cost, he has made it his mission to bring an end to all ten beasts who threaten Earthbread. However, some of his beliefs in how to defeat them conflict with the protagonists’, and if he sees anyone as obstacles in the way of his mission, including them, they will need to be cleared.
[Post for Princess, Pitaya, Crepe, Chip, Carrow]
SIDE ANTAGONISTS
Wildberry Cookie
Dragonberry’s right hand and loyal bodyguard, who has retained his sworn oath to be by her side since before her corruption. Where Dragonberry is bold and valorous, Wildberry is cold and lethal, dealing with the Beast’s messes lest she chooses to involve herself in them. Even though he is aware of what his kingdom has become, his loyalty to his adoptive mother keeps him at her side. He was in charge of monitoring his rambunctious niece when she was in the palace, steering her away from her grandmother’s personal matters; but on the night she ran away, he had discovered her plot far too late. Dragonberry has ordered him to track her down and retrieve her, and no matter how many times she escapes him, he will never let up until his duty is fulfilled.
First (Second) Watcher Cookie
After Caramel Arrow’s departure, the Second Watcher was appointed to the new First Watcher. When the Neobeasts hold meetings, he is sometimes sent in Cacao’s stead. More information TBA
Cream Wafer Cookie
The right hand of Saint Vanilla, bishop of the Lambs of Penance. He is in charge of all of the cult’s operations, aiding in fulfilling his lord’s wishes. Saint Vanilla himself has little involvement in the operations beyond certain rituals and appearances, as the bishop and his followers do everything for him in his stead. It gives the beast time to walk the world by himself, dedicating time to the affairs of the other Neobeasts among other personal goals. Despite preaching peace, love, and pacifism, there’s a gleefully dark glint in his eyes when pain is delivered in the name of the light.
Like Saint Vanilla, Wafer uses a vanilla orchid as a wand. However, he can’t see through it; instead, it’s used to mark souls for purification, drawing the beast’s attention to whoever gazed into the flower.
Before Saint, he was likely from the Crème Republic.
Holy Dart Cookie
The lambs’ best marksman and surveillance operator. Once a sister of the Pastry Order, she found a new name and purpose under Cream Wafer, and serves him in the name of Saint Vanilla. Because the Beast frowns on the notion of killing, the darts she uses to snipe from the shadows merely tranquilize; it’s the only thing keeping her from being regarded as one of the most dangerous assassins to wield the bow. Her knowledge of the world around her makes her formidable; since she wears her honorary bandages, her senses are incredibly keen, and she can tell where her target is from the slightest noise or change in the air. Victims of her darts are taken back to the lambs themselves, for whatever purpose the bishop has sought for them.
OTHERS
Black Raisin Cookie
Pure Vanilla’s old friend and Strawberry Crepe Cookie’s found guardian figure. She had been by the ancient’s side as he declined, doing everything she could to ensure he remained hopeful. However, not even her kindness was enough to save him. One day, she was embraced by the light, leaving nothing but her raisin crows behind. Many of them now follow Crepe around.
Espresso Cookie
Strawberry Crepe Cookie’s lab partner who entrusted an important journal for them to keep.
Silverbell Cookie
One of Midnight Lily’s closest friends and guards. Despite his loyalty to her, he’s been quietly questioning the state of his kingdom under her.
The Triple Cone Trio - TBD
The Legendaries - TBD
NOTE: As of current update, the whereabouts of the Cookies of Darkness are still TBD.
THE STORYLINE
NOTE: The official timeline of BAAU is a long way from being finalized. However, the AU takes place across a vast stretch of time, so there are plot points and elements that happen before and after a time jump. It’s unclear when BAAU properly begins, but there has been a gap in time long enough for the Neobeasts’ presences to have become the new normal for Earthbread.
The Vanilla Saga - The storyline that revolves around Saint Vanilla Cookie.
Features Strawberry Crepe and Dark Choco as the main protagonists. This is considered the “main” storyline.
The Berry Saga - The storyline that revolves around Dragonberry Cookie.
Features Princess, Knight, Tiger Lily, and later Pitaya as the protagonists. They are traveling Earthbread while evading Wildberry and the Hollyberrian guards sent after them.
The Cacao Saga - The storyline that revolves around Frigid Cacao Cookie.
Featues Crunchy Chip, Caramel Arrow, and later Dark Choco as the protagonists. They are searching for a cure for Carrow’s permafrost injury, which may also be the way to heal the entire Dark Cacao Kingdom. However, there may be someone they need to find—but who knows if he is the key to helping them, or an instrument that will make everything much, much worse.
The Cheese Saga - The storyline that revolves around Celestial Cheese Cookie.
Features Yellow Feather as the protagonist. The story follows her as she seeks to recover her lost memories and remember who she is, drawing her into the battle between the beasts of Destruction and Conquest. One of them is hiding a secret, the other is hiding a truth.
The Lily Saga - The storyline that revolves around Midnight Lily Cookie.
Features two protagonists who are to be revealed in the future.
THE WORLD
The Kingdoms of the Beasts
The Vanilla Kingdom
Founded, destroyed, rebuilt, cleansed: when Penance awakened, his light awoke in every corner of his kingdom, and sparkling dust drifted through the air like a sea of stars. Now, the kingdom has become the base of operations for the Beast and his loyal followers, many of them descendants of his royal subjects. No one else but them live here anymore; in some places, it’s easy to think it’s a ghost town. However, the moment one steps through the gate, they will always have the feeling of being watched. The Council Hall is the primary room where the Neobeasts gather for meetings, but the unsettling feeling never leaves the others.
The Hollyberry Kingdom
Things about this kingdom have changed in ways ranging from subtle to drastic. Its lively culture of partying and drinking have remained, imbued with a bigger emphasis on strength and battles. No place is this more apparent than the coliseum that hosts events every week, where the strongest warriors from across the kingdom and the ones captured outside it are brought to fight each other for the amusement of the Beast and her citizens. On special occasions, the Red Dragon themself is brought out for her to show off and subsequently defeat - another one of her mind games that keeps them subservient.
The Dark Cacao Kingdom
Choked by blizzards and permafrost, it’s hard to navigate through the tundra the Beast of Solitude has made the place. Licorice creatures skulk the kingdom’s snowy plains and the frozen streets. Most Cacaoians have been frozen where they stood the day the frost consumed their homes, but those who survived live within the Citadel itself, the last haven where all the Beast’s servants and warriors remain. They are hesitantly loyal to their King, believing he will someday wake up from whatever nightmare plagues his mind; until then, they remain unaware of the darkness and hunger that lingers beneath the seams.
The Celestial Kingdom
Even those who antagonize the Beast regard her kingdom as a desert miracle. Celestial Cheese revitalized her kingdom, spreading it across the desert and beyond and welcoming anyone and everyone into its fold. Some even regard it as a safe haven in itself: it’s guarded by warriors made of gold, flanked by advanced proximity sensors. Those the Beast of Conquest doesn’t want, such as Lambs or Hollyberrian spies, are warded away before they can pass through the walls. Life feels normal, like a dream even, for all of the cookies who live there: cookies who once belonged to their own villages and settlements in the desert, now taken in by the Beast and given everything they wanted and more. It keeps them happy, it makes them believe that her conquest is just—and it keeps them oblivious to what happens to those who refuse to be conquered. Those who reject her grand design end up part of it, one way or another; and next to no trace of them or their settlement survives.
Some of the residents in Cheese’s kingdom include Cacaoians who managed to escape during the great freeze.
The Silver Kingdom
Isolated from the rest of the world. Through the hostile, deadly forest that protects its borders, and indeed much of the safest entries to Beast Yeast, lies a kingdom ever at work. Ordinary silver fae live most of their days doing what they’ve always done, caring for themselves and their kingdom in whatever duty they have. Under the Beast of Sovereignty, their individuality freedom is as valued as their devotion to her. From ordinary fae to Silver Tree knights, they are as dedicated to the kingdom’s protection as they are their queen. While she is no conqueror, her kingdom is expanding its reach through its spreading flora, kudzu-like walls that overrun and choke anything and anyone it reaches. Others living in Beast Yeast have become increasingly aware of the Silver Kingdom’s presence, but direct means to either negotiate or attack the fae have been unsuccessful. On the other side of the world, Crispians like those in the Creme Republic have failed to reach the continent, its ships struck out of the sea and sky by vines and plants. Many cookies who venture near there are never seen again.
The Safe Havens
The Crème Republic
One of the two largest safe havens in Crispia. Maintained by the Convocation of Elders, the republic’s internal differences have been mostly set aside as they unify under the need for stability and safety. In the shadow of the Beasts, there is only so much they can do to remain out of harm’s way, but the Elders and the Consul know that they will one day have to fight. Until then, the Republic has prioritized its citizens’ safety, harboring and maintaining contact with resistance groups, and researching any way to end the threat of the fallen heroes.
Parfaedia
Protected by high walls, this city has stood vigilant against outside enemies since the time of legend. However, the Beasts pose its biggest threat yet: housing ancient research and relics, Parfaedia has no doubt drawn the attention of a few of them. It remains in close contact with the Creme Republic, and the two cities share information and updates about anything related to the Beasts, their movements, or internal affairs that require assistance. Both are also aware that the third magical city, Scovilia, once part of their triple alliance, cries for help underneath its new ruler. Both cities strive to liberate it one day, but they need to prioritize keeping all citizens and refugees within their borders safe.
Others
Scovilia and Dragon’s Valley
Annexed into the Hollyberry Kingdom’s expanding territory. Dragon’s Valley in particular is the site of Hollyberrian dragon research, and the Beast has made it a pastime to frequent the place and quash any revolt before it has the chance to grow. Dragonberry is very fond of Scovilia in particular, its strongest champion added to her collection of gladiators.
The existence of the Cookie Kingdom is still being decided, as it has little importance to the game’s story.
EXTRA
MISC POSTS
The very first BAAU post [original neobeast references]
Full picture of the masterpost banner
Average neobeast meeting [meme]
All I Ever Wanted [animatic]
X reader headcanons
TAG LIST [for easier access]
Main tag
Askbox tag
Fanart tag
Fanfic tag
Old Masterlist [Includes links to more specific asks/questions]
Old FAQ
Creator’s note: Thanks for reading!! If any of the links above do not work, please let me know. -CJJ
#beast ancients au#temporary pinned#special thanks to the vanillaverse crew for proofreading!#beast ancients au masterpost#masterpost#crk au#cookie run au#cookie run kingdom au#cr au#cjj arts#cookie run#crk#cookie run kingdom
709 notes
·
View notes
Text
wave | lee donghyuck
pairing: lee donghyuck x fem reader genre: college au, academics rivals to lovers, kinda fake dating, forced to work together on a project, smut, fluff, humor (idk), music major!haechan, music major!mc | not really requested but thank you 💌 anon for the inspo summary: your indifference toward Lee Donghyuck, also known as Haechan, becomes rivalry when he decides to sabotage you. The battle turns into a war, the war turns into a plan, and the plan, well, the plan fails miserably... or succeeds wonderfully. After all, it’s all about points of view. Or, Haechan thinks he found a way to distract you and be better than you, but doesn’t think it thoroughly and screws it up. warnings: smut, mentioned weed consumption, alcohol use, fingering, oral (receiving), unprotected sex, public sex, jealous sex, bickering, teasing, etc | inclusivity notes: reader wears different hairstyles (no mention of texture, type and color), no mention of body type (but haechan lifts her a few times), no mention of skin color, no use of y/n wc: 22.4k (out of 42k)
a/n: finally i’m back! i started this fic more than a year ago so seeing it finally come to life means everything to me. i had so much fun writing it, so i hope you’ll love it too. please, let me know with comments, reblogs (that also help reach more people), or anon. i love knowing what you think. enjoy! also if there are formatting mistakes please let me know cause i’ve been having problems posting this and i copied it without editing it once again.
masterpost (with visuals and playlist) (i can’t post the link or else the post doesn’t show up in the tags, but you can find it on my profile)
Being number one in your academy isn’t a want, but a need.
You didn’t spend your entire life crafting your skills and splitting yourself between the books and the training room for all of that to be swept under the rug when you finally made it to your dream university; Neo Arts Academy.
Surely, with the prizes promised to those on top, you aren’t the only one with that racing passion to drive you through each day. Tons of people try their best, and even put their health at risk to reach the biggest success, but you manage to focus on yourself and keep your life in a pretty healthy balance.
You managed to focus on you… until something, well, somebody, started to come into your way.
Lee Donghyuck, also known as Haechan, his stage name —if he ever made it big in the industry he wanted to be already known.
You never paid him much attention. Honestly, you never paid attention to anybody, your only goal was to take care of your small garden and top everybody else, but when his competitiveness got the best of him, you just couldn’t push him in the back of your mind.
Apparently, his goals are the same as yours, and that isn’t a nice thing considering how competitive your world is. You first truly glanced at him during a songwriting lesson, when he huffed a bit too loudly behind you while he announced to his friend, probably named Mark, that he sucked at writing songs. However, you only chuckled mindlessly that time and went on with your day.
That was your first year there and everything went fine. Then the second year arrived and you applied for your minor degree in dance and that was when Donghyuck’s presence started to be louder. You had nothing against him, but you quickly learned he couldn’t stand you for some reason. Rumours were quick at flying around, being passed from mouth to ear and you knew them.
You simply couldn’t care.
Yet.
Haechan doesn’t hate you. He could never do that. After all, he doesn’t even know you. But he does know something about you. He knows your name, and how it is always on top of his in any ranking. He knows you will always win the contests he wants to win so badly. He knows you are good at theory and practice. He knows he just can’t win with you.
He also knows nothing can touch you. Not because you are unreachable and believe you’re superior to others. Actually, you are very modest about all your academic success, but you always walk straight on your road with the goal perfectly in the line of view.
Haechan doesn’t hate you. Though, lately, he has a strange feeling in his body every time he sits at his desk to study and his only motivation is to surpass you. Nothing different than the first months there, he got pretty soon you were going to be a tough but nice competitor, but fuck he never imagined you would be so hard to beat. Now that after a year he never won or got the top grade and always came second after you, you aren’t motivating him, you are driving him insane.
He doesn’t have many distractions, but he has friends, some hobbies outside of university, and even a part-time job. But you? Is there something that is distracting you? Is there anything that could distract you? He has no idea, not now that he is watching you walk into the room, ready for the classical ballet history class —yes, of course out of all the minors, you had to choose his— and sit a few rows in front of him, all alone as always, taking out your lilac book note and your pen.
Haechan has no idea, but he is going to find out something that can easily distract you and push out of your path.
You know people think of university as a moment to socialise, but being on your own has never been a problem for you. You have contacts with some of your hometown friends, and most importantly, you don’t mind doing things alone; you can go to the cinema when you want, you can pick whatever restaurant you like, you can take a walk, or stay at home.
You’ve always been comfortable in your bubble, and you’d like to keep it that way, but life has strange plans.
“Damn, always on a rush.” You recognize Haechan’s voice, but you don’t bother turning around because you’re sure he’s not addressing you. You think it’s weird he’s sitting next to you, but you blink the surprise away and grab your tablet from your bag. “Whoever put music theory at 8:30 in the morning on a Monday needs to go to jail.”
You chuckle at his comment, subtly rolling your eyes before opening the note app to go where you left it in the previous lesson.
“You write a lot.” This time you’re quite sure he’s talking to you, so your neck turns to look at him and you find him closer than you’d like him to be.
“I annotate, it’s just the essentials.”
He scans the notes quickly before scoffing. “The essentials? I don’t write as half as that.”
“Well, I think this is essential, but we all work differently,” while you’re answering him, you don’t even notice that his friend is not beside him, and you get lost in him for a second, mostly in the scent that’s filling your nostrils now that his brown jacket is so close to you.
“The professor talks too fast, how the fu— how do you get everything?” He stops himself from cursing and backs away, finally making you breathe some air that is not filled with his intoxicating perfume.
“I rewrite phrases. And, to be sure, I record the lessons, so I can re-listen to them in case something doesn’t make sense when I study them. And then I also re-write the not—”
“You record the lessons?” He almost snarls with his eyes bulging out of his skull as he, once again, stands too close to you.
“Is it illegal?” Your head tilts to the side as genuine curiosity blooms on your face.
“No, it’s… it’s…” he sighs, throwing his head back and cursing something under his breath in a tight dialect you don’t recognize. “I never thought about it.”
“Oh, well, it helps me a lot. Sometimes when I’m too tired to read I just play the lessons and memorize stuff while I do other things,” you smile, moving your hair to one side of your neck before grabbing the pen when the professor walks in. “You should try.”
“Oh, you can be sure I will.”
Haechan can’t be so stupid. He can’t believe he can be so stupid. Why didn’t he ever, ever, think about that? That’s a smart idea, better than crying and cursing when he tries to understand what he wrote down on paper when he revisits the notes, or asking Mark if he wrote some phrases he had marked down with several question marks or dots to fill —dots that he never fills.
But he’s still sure he can’t be a terrible student, he had always been on top of his classes, always aced them and his study method worked… but what if yours worked better? Given the results of the past year, and the start of this one, the answer is clear: yours do work better.
But he doesn’t think that it’s the only reason you are beating him in everything. What if you have other tricks?
Haechan is going to find out.
You always believed your only competition was yourself. You never liked to engage with other people and fight them or fear them. But Haechan had given you no choice.
It was an open threat at you when he purposefully told you a different day to turn in an assignment when you were sick, you had no choice but to fight back.
That was when Haechan truly became your rival. He had always been, you two were always at the top, fighting for the first place and the big prizes, but now it was a matter of pride.
Haechan had officially made it on top of your blacklist, at least he could arrive number one in something, not like there was a big competition to be in there, in fact, you didn’t even have one before he pushed your last nerve.
Fucking it up with you wasn’t Haechan’s plan, he wanted to befriend you and trick you into giving him some magic tricks, but things went… wrong. With Mark by his side, it was impossible to sit next to you. During songwriting you got up and sat on another seat in the middle of the lesson with the excuse of ‘not seeing from afar’, and he couldn’t approach you in any other circumstances. So, when you got sick for three days, he thought he could, for once, steal your spotlight.
He wasn’t sure you were sick, but he was sure enough you weren’t going to miss lessons days to study or work on projects; you never needed extra time, unfortunately, he knew it well. So the only thing that could lock you in your place was an illness of some kind. He did feel bad when you came back four days later and asked him if you missed something, he could see you still weren’t at your best, and he could’ve tried his luck by telling you the truth, hoping that the precarious state you were in was going to make you come up with a terrible essay on an instrument of the 18th century, but his eagerness got the best of him, and he lied.
So he had officially screwed his plan of getting closer to you.
“You are an asshole,” you scream, slamming the books in front of him on the table in the garden, not caring about his friends staring at you in shock. “And don’t look at me with that face of ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’ because you know what I’m referring to.”
“I don’t, though…” he whispers, trying to keep a distance between you because you look scary —half bent on the table, furrowed forehead, pointing finger— and he thinks you are very motivated to reach over his neckline and strangle him.
You roll your eyes, groaning in annoyance. “You told me Professor Kim left an essay for Monday, I thought I could use the weekend to do an amazing job and he called me to his office because I was three days late.”
Haechan gulps, and the table goes silent, you feel his friends’ gazes on you but they are the last thing in your mind.
“Mind to explain?”
“I… I didn’t do it on purpose?”
“You have to ask me if you are an asshole because your mother didn’t put a brain in your skull?”
“Hey, take it back!” He warns with a pointing finger, glaring at you.
“No,” you retort, crossing your arms on your chest and standing up straight. “You sabotaged me.”
“You are making things up. Maybe you should be in the creative writing major,” Haechan taunts, a shit-eating grin on his face.
You gasp offended, clenching your fists to avoid wrapping your hands around his neck. “You — you — ugh,” you huff. “This paper was graded! And you knew it, it’s part of the mid-course work he adds to our final grade. Why would you do that to me?”
“You think I did that on purpose?”
“When did you turn it in?” You ask and when his eyes widen you scream at his face. “See! You turned it on time. I fucking hate you!”
“I didn’t answer,” he tries to defend, a challenging edge in his voice, getting to your nerves more than the look on his face.
“First of all, I can see it in your face. You’re trying to look surprised and even scared, but you’re having the time of your life because, guess what, you can’t surpass me if you don’t play your stupid games.”
He snorts offended, gulping before leaning closer. “You think I can’t beat you?”
“It’s not what I think, it’s what the rankings say, it’s what our professors say, and it’s what all the external opportunities I’ve got say. But if you want to try to prove facts wrong, bring it on,” you shrug, grabbing your things and taking a step back. “No more dirty games from now on, Lee Donghyuck. Trust me, you don’t want me to start playing them too, you might not even see the top three if I do.”
The months to come are fire. You should keep minding your business but as soon as he opens his mouth in class you can’t press your lips together and fake it. You try, every time, but you fail.
“I just mean that the melody is what attracts people,” he argues during a discussion in the songwriting class.
You huff, shaking your head. “People care about the lyrics more.”
He scoffs loudly and the professor glares at him for the reaction but he still goes on. “People won’t listen to a song if the production sucks.”
You turn around, eyebrows pressed in a furrow. “And they won’t listen to a song if the lyrics are dumb, or tell a bad message.”
“Really? Catchy pop music is a thing even if you want so badly to maintain the purity of the art of music with only lyrical depth.”
“I love catchy pop songs, but there’s something objective in music and something subjective, if you paid attention to any of our classes you should know, right?”
The class holds back a laugh and the professor coughs, making you utter an apologize, more addressed to her than your enemy.
“Oh, trust me, I paid attention to class,” he retorts, mockingly smiling at you. “And we’re not talking about the quality but the appeal. People remember the rhythm of the song or the tune more than they remember the words.”
“And words can hold so much meaning for someone they will stick to them forever. Also, lyrics can have different interpretations and if you’re a good writer you can make one song fit for more occasions.”
“That’s dumb,” he says, looking at you up and down after scoffing. “Notes can transfer different emotions, what you said just doesn’t make sense, please.”
“Can we tone it down?” Professor Park warns, glaring at the both of you.
You nod and mutter another apology before speaking up again, “I believe that a good melody can easily attract people at first listen, but if we talk about the long run, a memorable song also needs good lyrics. And Mariah Carey herself said how being a songwriter makes your career last more, so I think it’s telling coming from one of the best voices ever.”
“I think you both make a great point,” the professor cuts the conversation off before you can jump at each other’s throat again. “It would be interesting to make a deeper analysis and maybe break down songs and compare data over time. If it was possible to keep the decorum…” she whispers the last word and you want to disappear because you hate the scene you gave. “But we need to move on with our lesson, so, as I was saying…”
Out of all the heated discussions you had in class, the one about the importance of production and lyrics, led to your worst nightmare, working on a project with him. Professor Park was so nice to pair you together because she wanted to see how your different points of view would’ve worked in the song you had to write and produce and even if you smiled and said, ‘it will be really motivating,’ to avoid yelling at her face, now you want to die.
You’re sure the first two knocks on the door don’t even reach the other side; your hits are too weak and the small apartment in that complex is too loud for anyone to hear. Is this the environment you have to work in today?
You roll your eyes and knock again, this time making sure it’s impossible for them not to hear you. You wait there only for a few seconds and then the door opens, revealing a boy your age you can’t remember.
“Oh, hi,” he cheers, big toothy smile beaming at you. “You must be here for Hyuck, right?”
You hum, nodding and murmuring, “Yes, I have to work on a project with Haechan.”
“Come in.”
You step inside the house and look around briefly before your eyes fall on the table in the small living room; there are books everywhere, headphones on the ground, boxes of food and empty water bottles, and most importantly talks too loud for four boys that were supposedly studying.
“Mark, can you lower the music?”
“Music is what I’m studying, I can’t,” the man you know well replies. “Why don’t you keep your pencil close to you? Jesus, there’s graphite everywhere.”
“You’re so annoying, I can’t go in my room, Jeno still didn’t take down the light boxes,” the brown-haired replies, sending a death glare to the boy at his side who quickly replies to his defence.
“Hey, I finished shooting half an hour ago and now I have an essay to write, leave me alone.”
“They’re entertaining, aren’t they?” Haechan’s voice brings you out of the haze of his bickering friends, their conversation fades in the background while your anger level rises just seeing his face when you turn around.
“Surely more entertaining than you,” you retort before taking a step forward, pretending to know where to go in that house.
Haechan rolls his eyes, thanking his friend who opened the door —Jaemin— and coming next to you. “You don’t know where my room is yet, so if you’d like to follow me.”
You trail behind him, waving at the men around the table but it’s clear that none of them even noticed your presence. Luckily for you, Donghyuck’s room is at the end of the corridor and the mess that goes down in the other room is not hearable enough to make your day a living hell.
“So, do you have anything in mind?” He asks after you sit at one of the chairs at his desk.
You shake your head, fixing your skirt and pulling out some things you might need from your bag. “Wanted to hear from you first. Since the melody is so crucial, we should start from that,” you mock in a fake-sweet tone, and you feel his glare on your skin.
“You truly are a pain in the ass, you know?” He scoffs, moving his hair out of his face, gaze fixed on you.
“And for what? Because I agreed with your theory?”
“If you have a melody in mind it’s easier to make the words flow.”
“If the melody has nothing to do with the idea, you only have some notes and not a song.”
Now that there aren’t rows of chairs dividing you, the heated argument has led you face to face, literally. And you feel your heart pound in your chest from the anger and, also because it’s weird to be this close to a stranger you can’t stand.
“Okay, Miss Taylor Swift, why don’t you enlighten me and show me what you got?”
You glare at him but he’s unfazed, holding the eye contact proudly. “My lyrics will be better than your production.”
“And are those lyrics in the room with us?”
“God,” you groan, throwing your hands in the air and your head back. “You drive me insane.”
“And you are pretentious and still never prove all the things that that little, bratty, annoying mouth of yours says.”
Deep creases show on your forehead, and you have to turn around because if you see his face for a second more you will slap him. But you want this project done, you have four weeks to turn it in, but you want this torture to be over as soon as possible, so you know you have to put the pettiness aside.
“If we want a great result and good grades, we need good lyrics and a good melody,” you say, calmly facing him again, slowly watching as his face softens. “My words and your production. I don’t care what comes to us first, if you think it can be useful, we could even brainstorm some tunes and catchphrases and then build it around it.”
“Now you’re making some sense,” he exclaims, smiling widely before patting the top of your head. “So that head is not empty.”
“Oh, seriously? I’m trying to have a truce, and you fuck it all up again?”
“No, sorry, I just think you’re really smart when it comes to college but a bit annoying when it comes to life.”
“You’re just mad you can’t beat me.”
“I can,” he retorts smugly.
“Then why don’t you do it?” You tease, cocking your head to the side.
Haechan scoffs, lips twitching in a quick smirk before he wets them. “I didn’t yet, but are you so sure I won’t?” He whispers, breath colliding with your lips and nose brushing yours, your brain doesn’t even register his hands on your legs right away, only when his fingers caress your bare skin right above the hem you wake up from the haze of having him so close.
“Time will — time will prove us,” you say, turning to the desk and scratching your neck. “Time will tell us, not prove us.”
Haechan snickers, moving closer to see on your tablet where you opened the notes, and smiles smugly. He thinks he found a way to distract you.
The project isn’t done in the first week, and to put a cherry on top, Professor Park decides to make it the big project for the end of the class, adding a cover for the single, a plan to sponsor it, and, if someone feels brave enough, even to record it. Even if you wanted to, a thing this big, and now with so much weight on the final grade, can’t be done in one week.
Yet, you think you’ll have to deal with Haechan only on your weekly meet-ups for that project and during lessons, you never imagined you would have to deal with him even during your library study on Wednesday.
“Why are you studying in the middle of the week?”
“You know, if I had to replicate a sound every time we start a conversation it would be ‘and now, I just want to sit back and relax and enjoy my evening, when all of a sudden I hear this agitating grating voice,’ and that is the sound that plays in my mind, actually.”
“Grating? Really?”
“Well, it’s the quote but it fits,” you reply sternly, bringing your attention back to the book. “Also, the question is not, why am I studying, but why aren’t you? How will you beat me if you don’t?” You wink, laughing under your breath. You don’t even need to see his reaction; you know his jaw tenses and his nostrils flare for a brief second every time you tease him.
You hear the chair in front of you scratch on the floor, and deeply hope he’s not sitting on it. But Haechan is sitting on it, staring at you as if he could steal the information from your brain and pass it to his.
“I am studying.”
“No, you’re not,” you reply, eyes widening when he rips a page from your notebook and a pen from your case. “So, what have you learned since now?”
You fight the urge to roll your eyes to the sky and instead run a hand on your face while sighing deeply. There’s just no way to get rid of him, right?
“You don’t even know what I’m studying.”
“Sound design,” he replies promptly, and you look down to see if he could’ve gotten a grasp from your books but there’s a paper on it and there’s not much written on it. Haechan smiles and moves to the chair next to you. “It’s because I started it too, there are too many notions, it would be a suicide to wait for the finals.”
“Oh, so you do something else other than think about me,” you tease, nudging him with your leg.
“Hey! I don’t think about you,” he replies firmly, frowning.
“Sure,” you huff, waving him off. “So, what do you know?”
“Well, all the basis we learnt last year, so the definition of sound, the path it follows, how it’s perceived based on the medium and how fast it travels through them, slowest through gases, faster through liquids, and fastest through solids, and that temperature effects it as well.”
You smile, content with the reply but you want to test him more. “What about the five characteristics of sound?”
“You think that’s a difficult one?” He asks, almost disappointed at the easiness of your question.
“Well, if you want to impress me so bad, I could ask you to list all the types of compressors?”
“You already know that?” He questions, quirking a brow, trying to think why he doesn’t remember them. “Wait, we didn’t do that in class.”
You laugh. “See, you’re witty. No, we haven’t done that yet, but since you love producing so much, I thought you knew it as personal knowledge.”
“Why do you talk as if you don’t want to do the same job as mine?” There’s a bit of annoyance in his tone, but there’s genuine curiosity in his eyes.
You shrug, pressing your lips together before diverting your gaze.
Haechan gasps. “Don’t tell me you don’t know what you want to do, yet, because I won’t believe it.”
“It’s not that I don’t know,” you reply, a low huff leaving your lips. “I’d like to try different things out, being a PR manager sounds interesting too. And I’m also pretty good at dancing, so that could be a career path.”
“It’s a shame we didn’t start practical courses, I would love to see you dance.”
“Yeah, sure, so you can mock me some more,” you groan.
He shakes his head. “No, you wouldn’t enroll in a program if you weren’t absolutely perfect at it, so I can’t come at your skills.”
“You’re so kind, I think I might love you,” you mock, moving closer to him and pouting before pushing him away with a light push on his chest and focusing on your papers again.
“And by the way, I know the characteristics of sound,” he says, right next to your face.
You smile and think to yourself that this might be fun. “Good, go on and tell me.”
You don’t get why Haechan’s roommate bicker so much. Not that you could lecture them when, as soon as you walk inside his room, your talks won’t be much different than theirs (worse, probably). But you think you and Haechan, at least, have a reason to fight so much. His roommates are… weird. They are close. They all are, in an annoying way almost, always moving in packs and breaking their back to meet up even if their institutes are scattered around in the Academy. Yet, they get heated pretty easily when they sit in the living room, and you can only blame it on stress as you chuckle, standing against the countertop with a glass of water in hand.
“Donghyuck left you all alone?” Jeno enters the kitchen, distracting you from Renjun screaming at his painting and Mark cursing while he tries to come up with a melody for a small assignment you decided to not worry about —you have Haechan to worry about now.
“Yep, told me to be here at 2 pm just to be in the shower instead,” you reply with a tight smile on your face that makes him laugh and scroll the black hair out of his face.
“My fault,” he explains while pouring himself a glass. “I convinced him to stay at the basketball field when we finished and he couldn’t meet up with you smelling like rotten leftovers forgotten under the august sun.”
“Creative writing?” You ask after you chuckle at his description.
“Nope, photography, Renjun’s worst nightmare.”
You laugh. “It’s because you leave all those big things around his room, right?”
“Our room,” he says, empathising on the first word.
“Okay, communism king, your room but I don’t think your comrade is happy about it.”
Jeno laughs, and hums before gulping down a sip of water. “I’m not rich yet to afford a studio so he’ll have to deal with his bestie working, sweating, and crying his way to the top.”
“You could’ve been a nepo baby and have everything handed to you.”
“Sucks not to be one. I wouldn’t even bother being in Uni, just leaving my best life with my camera and daddy’s money.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Haechan says entering the kitchen, hair still damp and casual housewear on.
“None of your business,” you reply, placing the glass in the sink and walking to the door. “Come on, we have a song to create. It could be our first Billboard number one.”
Haechan sighs, snatching the bottle of water from Jeno’s hand, briefly confused at his grinning face, and then follows you quickly.
“Are you trying to hit on my friends?” He asks, closing the door behind.
“Would you mind?”
“Yes, I’d hate having to deal with you in our group hangouts.”
“You already deal with me. More than you should since you always come to me even when we could not be together,” you say, tilting your head to the side, and sitting on your assigned chair. “Are you perhaps jealous? Do you want me all to yourself?”
“Nah, you can go and fuck all of them right no—”
“Okay,” you don’t even let him finish and you’re at the door, but he springs after you and stops you.
“What are you doing? I was kidding!”
“Why? Since when you can tell me what to do?”
Haechan groans and drags you back to your place, but he doesn’t sit just yet, he’s bent over to be close to you. “I need you here with me to work on this goddam song, and then you can go and have a gangbang in the living room, I don’t care.”
“You’d be mad you won’t be part of it,” you joke, having the time of your life watching his pissed-off expression as he stomps loudly back at his place. “Accept that you will never win with me, and maybe you won’t be so triggered every time we talk.”
“Shit, it’s late,” you murmur, lifting your head from the lyrics you’re trying to write down. Now you got the theme —it’s a love song that you hope won’t turn lame— and even a faint idea of a tune, and while Haechan tried to get inspired by other songs and tried instruments he wants to add to the track, you worked on the words.
“Don’t you think we’re trying too hard?” He whispers, placing the guitar on his bed before standing up and stretching.
“What do you mean?” You ask, lifting your neck so you can look at him after you turn around on the rotating chair.
“Music should come to you, it should be… spontaneous.”
You’d want to roll your eyes, mostly for the spontaneous part, but he’s right. Most artists don’t think about the songs they make, the song comes to their mind when they’re not thinking about it.
“Yes, but do you think we’re doing such a shitty job with this?”
He shakes his head, walking closer to you. “Not totally, I just think that if we want to be on top, we have to work around it differently.”
You gulp when he hovers over you and grips the side of the chair tightly. “Like?”
“We should… relax. Take our mind off of it and just wait for it to come,” he glances at the desk, studying the crumpled tries you gave up on and the only three phrases you were happy with written on the tablet. “We should get inspired,” he whispers, and you’re once again so focused on his face that you don’t feel his hand on your thigh, under the long black skirt you’re wearing, it surely must’ve been on you for a while if the fabric was already crumpled up and his fingers teased the hem of your panties between your hips and stomach.
“Is — is this how you inspire people?” You ask, glancing down with a rising chest but for some reason not pulling away.
“Don’t know, I’ve never done it before,” he chuckles, slowly moving closer to your core, observing the small signs of your body. “Should we see if it works?”
You hate him. You should be working on that lyric for the last half hour you have left. You hate him. He’s making it impossible for you to stick to your ‘minding my business’ plan that had worked through all your school years. You hate him, you do, and yet you nod, humming a feeble ‘yes,’ in response.
“Good,” rolls out of his lips, and it sounds so different from his usual tone, you can’t help but feel hot.
Your nails sink in the chair when his fingers slip right against your clit after he had your consent and starts teasing it.
“So, it’s a love song…” he says, and you frown, heart pumping louder as for a second you think he led you on and you looked like a pathetic horny loser, but his hand is still playing with your pussy and his face is still close to yours. “Chose that because you have somebody in mind?”
“We literally picked it for a reason last week, you —”
“God,” he shushes you up, pushing the panties to the side and teasing your entrance, it’s already damp, but not enough how he wants it. “Can you stop being so rational for once? I know why we picked it; remember I’m trying to inspire you.”
“Wait, you really think some fingering can inspire me to write a love so—” your words shut down when he places a hand on your mouth, eyes widening but pussy leaking an embarrassing amount of cum.
He quirks a brow in surprise and, shortly after, a smug smirk curls his lips. “Oh, so you’re into that?”
You can’t reply, but even if you could’ve, you’re not sure you would’ve said anything.
“So, anybody in mind?”
You shake your head. Your love life has been anything but exciting, and after a few tries, you were sure it wasn’t what you needed to focus on, especially because nobody sparked your interest. Nobody was worth moving your focus from your studies.
“Great, so I guess that’ll have to be me.”
“What?” You mutter muffled, closing your legs and moving on the chair.
Haechan rolls his eyes in his skull, keeping you in place. “Oh, come on, you can fake it for a few minutes. Don’t act disgusted, I’m knuckle-deep inside you,” he says.
“Not yet.”
“I’m knuckle-deep inside you,” he retorts after he pushes into you with two fingers, staring right into your eyes.
You bite back a moan and a curse under your breath. “Fine, but I don’t want to think,” you say. “Just, prove it to me. If you’re good, I’ll be inspired and I’ll come up with the lyrics, if you suck, we’ll go back to our original method.”
Haechan hates that he constantly has to prove things to you, and he hates even more that he does it, almost as if he’s your dog and he has to follow your orders while you keep him on a leash. But if this will work to come up with a great song, and in his outer-songwriting-course-plan to distract you, he won’t complain.
Honestly, he couldn’t complain even if it only meant to finger you. He might want to fight you every time he sees your face but, damn, what a face.
“Shit,” you moan. You don’t want to give him too much satisfaction, but he knows what he’s doing and it’s been way too long since someone touched you like that. Damn, even since you touched yourself like that. Maybe the whole ‘staring at your goals’ was taking some funny things away from you.
“Do you want to turn the song into a Hozier song?”
You huff, you just asked him one thing and his mouth is running again doing the opposite. “You wish you were this good to inspire a Hozier type of song.”
“Really?” He taunts, pressing his thumb on your clit, starting to tease the throbbing nub in circles.
“Yes,” your voice trembles, but your face shows confidence.
Haechan snickers, quickening the pace of his fingers, watching you fight against yourself to not show how much you’re loving it. “One second of this mouth on your pussy and I’d make you change your mind,” he whispers right against your ears, hot breath fanning your skin. “It’s a shame you don’t deserve it.”
You groan, head rolling back in disappointment, and that makes him laugh.
“You have to think twice before running that mouth, babe. Especially with me.”
“Never,” you talk back, opening your eyes and regretting as soon as they meet his. His gaze is too intense, and your brain is too far gone to keep it up.
Haechan only grins, enjoying your wrecked face and the sounds your pussy is making as his fingers keep working on you. You might try to deny him, but your body is speaking to him, and deeply so are you. It’s in your eyes, and your lips trembling, and in the beautiful moans that are rolling out of your tongue.
“Are you close, brat?”
You don’t have it in you to complain, or retort, the orgasm is right around the corner and you fear he would ruin the experience if you said something out of line.
“Answer me,” he orders, lightly slapping your thigh.
“Yes,” you breathe out, biting your lower lip to prevent the whole house from hearing you.
“Good,” he replies, smiling proudly and starting to move faster in and out of you, hitting your sweet spot every time he reaches the base, and torturing your clit with his thumb. And when it’s too much for you, you come. Body trembling against the chair, and legs pushing up as the shocks of pleasure run through you.
“Acid when you talk but sweet to taste,” he hums after pulling out his fingers from his mouth and you only glare at him as you quickly try to get yourself together again.
“It’s late,” he says, staring at the clock. “Go home and let me know if this was useful somehow. And not by replaying it in your mind at night wishing I was there with you.” He winks and you slap his shoulder hard. “What the hell!”
“I won’t come up with anything on purpose, and I swear if you keep being so annoying, I’ll be terrible at this.”
“You would never, this makes up like 80% of our final grade.” He challenges you with a glare.
“If I go down, you go down with me,” you retort, face to face, fiercely looking into his eyes.
“It’s not smart of you.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” you smile sweetly before it drops from your face. “It’s a threat.”
It’s not like you’re trying to avoid him after what happened, but that’s exactly what’s going on. You don’t regret the act per se, you just can’t believe it was so easy for you to agree to do that with him. And you know he will use it against you for eternity.
A very dumb move from your side to give him the possibility to tease you even more and about something you couldn’t defend yourself from.
But if you try your best to change corridors when you see him from afar, walk quickly back to your dorm room, and sit on the opposite side in class (you fail at keeping your mouth quiet, but you need to discuss with him during lessons), it seems like he’s doing everything he can to be on your path.
“I’m starting to believe you’re a stalker,” you huff, clearly scaring him when you stop abruptly in the middle of the library and make him stop in his tracks.
“I’m not.”
You raise a brow, staring at him until he huffs and throws his hands up in the air. “Fine, fine, I was following you but only because I wanted to know what you will study.”
“Why do you care so much about what I study?”
“So I know how to beat you?”
“Isn’t it more exciting if you beat me only using your brain by putting some knowledge in it without seeing my cards?” You say, pushing a finger on his chest and making him walk backwards until his back hits the bookshelf behind him.
“I think sneaky games are funnier, though,” he whispers, hand moving to rest on your side. “Especially with you.”
You scoff, rolling your eyes, and taking a step back, freeing yourself from his hold. “The games you’re playing are not sneaky. Why are you always in my business?”
He shrugs. “Why not? So, what are we studying today?”
“We are not studying together.”
“Why? Isn’t it funny? The same study method, same hours, but one of us will be better than the other. That’s a truly equal comparison.”
You run a hand on your face and keep walking to find what you need. “If you didn’t distract me every two seconds, I would’ve already been like five pages into my studying session.”
“Oh, please, you are wondering around the library anyway. I’m just keeping you company.” His body follows yours like a shadow, his heat radiating so close to your skin that you think you might go insane.
“I don’t want your company,” you say, moving your eyes swiftly over the books in front of you as you try to find what you are looking for in the sociology section. When you finally find it, reminding yourself you have to buy it so you can annotate directly on yours, you walk back to your table, but Haechan is still beside you like a puppy on a string. “Can’t you just leave me alone?”
“I could, and I’d want to, but I can’t,” he says, sitting at your side, smiling widely when you glare at him.
“This is a useless lesson for you,” you try to dismiss him.
“Is it? Because we have the same ones.”
“Jesus, okay, fine,” you give up, throwing your head back and raising your voice enough to make some heads turn in your direction. His biggest talent is to exasperate you. “But we give ourselves a timing, and then when we’re done, we’ll have to answer five questions.”
“And who answers to them all?” He asks, there’s a taunting edge in his voice, and a grin on his face.
“Is the best,” you reply as if it’s obvious.
“Yeah, but there should be a prize.”
“Being better than you is the prize.”
Haechan scoffs, and he hates to admit in his mind that he finds your snarky remarks so fucking hot, if you weren’t in a public library and if his job on earth wasn’t to detest you, he would’ve already had you bent on the table.
“I love how you’re always so sure of being better than me.”
You snicker and send him a flying kiss. “Honey, I am better than you.”
“Wait, I just left out a detail!” You almost scream when you compare your answers for the nth time because you can’t believe he has done slightly better than you.
“That detail is important,” Haechan replies unfazed by your indignation.
“No, it’s not. We would have the same score if this was graded,” you insist, feeling more angered than you should. It’s nothing serious, it shouldn’t be serious, but with him, there’s your pride on the line.
“But this is between me and you, so I win. Also, my phrasing in the second answer is better than yours.”
“Shut up, it’s not.”
“It is, and you just have to admit you lost,” he insists, leaning over, staring at you with a challenging raised brow.
You swallow, eyebrows furrowing, and then you sigh. “Your advantage is minimal. And you only won a battle, because I’m winning a war.”
“Fine, Napoleon, I still won and you’re coming to my place even Saturday so we can do this some more.”
“Hey, Napoleon sucked! He lost the most important battles, the only ones he should’ve won.”
“That’s why I called you that,” he winks, clicking his tongue mockingly.
“Oh, you think you will win the war? You’re wrong, honey, Waterloo is yours.”
Haechan laughs, standing up after putting his things in his bag. “I’m waiting for you on Saturday…” he says and before you can complain he starts singing, “Waterloo, I was defeated, you won the war…”
“Oh, shut up!” You say, hitting his arm as you push him away, but he giggles and walks away continuing with the tune.
“Waterloo, promise to love you forevermore. Waterloo, couldn’t escape if I wanted to…”
And you think that if only he didn’t try to sabotage your final grades in Music History, you might even find him funny.
Haechan hates you.
If he was sure he didn’t before, he is sure that he does now.
He can’t wrap his head around the fact that you, Miss zero social skills, and negative 100 friends, can be so good at debating. On every fucking topic. You’re well-spoken, witty, smart, somehow it looks like you know everything about everything. And even when you don’t know (and you always specify it — which he shouldn’t find so hot, but he does) you always come up with perfectly thought theories and analyses coming from the small knowledge you have on the topic. The thing he also hates is that you never sound like you’re showing off your skills, it’s just really nice to listen to you and —when he’s not the one intervening against you— you’re the sweetest person ever and everybody in every class absolutely adores you.
He wonders if you’re a robot. Maybe you’re some sort of artificial intelligence sent there to conduct studies on humans’ stupidity, and he was unlucky enough to start a fight with you. You just don’t seem real. And he’d love to dig deeper but he doubts he will find anything relevant.
You might be smart, but you also look incredibly boring. He tried to find out if you had interests, or anything that could distract you, but his research led nowhere. The biggest problem is that he hates you, but not to the point that he wants to get you suspended from University, so he has to find another way to make you slip.
Apparently, you’re playing the same game, but even at this, you are thinking faster and smarter.
“Where the fuck are all my anthropology notes?” Haechan mutters as he looks through his library, moving books and notebooks around, thinking he has gone insane. “Mark!” He screams, rushing to the desk to search again but he knows where he left everything; on the second shelf of the small library in his room, on top of the music theory book that hasn’t moved since a week.
“Yes?” His housemate peaks from the door only with his head.
“Did you mistake our notes?”
“What notes?” Mark furrows, backing away from his friend who looks out of his mind.
“The anthropology notes,” he says, voice full of annoyance because, why does Mark never know anything? He’s in the same course and, yet, he’s always somewhere else with his head.
“Man, I don’t even take notes during that lesson.”
“What do you mean you don’t? Ugh, never mind,” Haechan groans, rolling his eyes because he can’t believe he can’t count on anybody. “Have you seen them somewhere?”
“Nope,” Mark replies, entering the room. “I mean, I don’t know what they look like.”
“You know right we have a test tomorrow? The winter break is close, and some courses have it. You are studying, right?”
“Yeah, just not every…thing…”
Haechan rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “Why don’t you like it? I mean, I know it’s not really music related but it teaches you so much about other cultures and there’s a whole part about how music is different from culture to culture.”
“Next semester, we didn’t get there, yet. It’s a bunch of complicated terminology and theories I just don’t get,” Mark defends. He never understood why Haechan loved studying so much. He is only there for the music, and a few other theoretical lessons, but some courses don’t make any sense to him.
“So you plan on being terrible tomorrow?”
“I just want a decent result; I don’t strive for perfection like you and your girlie.”
Haechan almost chokes on his saliva. “My girlie? Who’s my girlie?”
“That girl in class you always get into heated arguments with, and then she comes here and I’m pretty sure you make out when no one’s watching,” Mark says so calmly it infuriates Haechan more than if he was teasing him.
“Shut the hell up! She’s my mortal enemy and while you have been paired with Yangyang for the song project, Professor Park thought it was nice putting her and me together.”
“Yeah, you can still make out with your mortal enemy,” he snorts, hitting his friend with a playful elbow hit.
“Mark, shut up and leave, I have to study,” he tries to cut short, pushing his friend out of the room.
“With what notes?”
“I don’t know. I left them on the shelf, and nobody entered my room since Saturday when she — Oh, my God.”
When your name resonates in the empty classroom after you’ve taken the anthropology test, your blood freezes for a second.
“Haechannie,” you cheer cheekily, turning around and pushing your tote bag far up your shoulders.
“Don’t,” he warns, lifting a finger to stop you from starting anything. “I have to talk to you.”
“Sure, the test was easy, right? You might have beaten me this time,” you say but you have to hold back a laugh when you scan his furious, pissed-off expression.
“Yeah, if you studied, it was,” he retorts venously.
“And you surely studied,” you say, faking innocence.
“You can study when you have something to study on,” he says through gritted teeth.
“Yes, and you do,” you still play dumb, but when he calls your surname, you know he’s not joking anymore. “Yes?”
“Do you, perhaps, know where the fuck my notes are?”
You look around, shrugging. “Where are your notes, Donghyuck?”
“I don’t know, I’m asking you for a reason,” he retorts, plastering a fake smile that doesn’t reflect in the darkness of his pupils.
“They might’ve mixed up with my stuff when you invited me over Saturday?” You sing-song, tilting your head to the side and shrugging.
“Might’ve,” he repeats, a hint of bitterness in his tone. “It was just a coincidence.”
You shrug again, pushing your lower lip in a pout. “Sometimes… things happen.”
“And if it wasn’t on purpose, why couldn’t you just text me?”
“Because I didn’t notice,” you reply innocently, batting your lashes, knowing it will get on his nerves even more.
He groans, closing his eyes to calm himself down before he speaks again, “then how do you know?”
“Don’t know, just making assumptions,” you say. “It turns out I’m really good at it.”
“I swear, I — I want to… I want to —”
“To what? Choke me because I got my revenge? Oh, it turns out it’s really not that funny when someone plays with you?” You mock, and in doing so you get closer to him.
“Goddamn,” he groans before your back meets the hard wall of the room and his lips meet yours in a heated kiss, his hands on your body and yours limp at your side as you’re too shocked to react. “I want to — I want to kill you, actually.”
You smirk, chuckling straight at his face. “Filled the space with the wrong letter, ‘cause you’re kissing me.”
“Maybe my kiss is lethal, maybe there’s poison on my lips.”
“Oh, you’re so romantic you’d die for me?” You coo, placing a hand on your heart.
Haechan groans, throwing his head back. “Why are you always so, so, so, God,” he curses, running his fingers in his hair. “I want my notes back, now.”
“I don’t have them,” you say, grinning because he looks wrecked. You know it wasn’t very morally mature for you, but it was only fair. Also, you know he doesn’t arrive last minute with anything, he had already studied everything and you’re sure he had answered everything on that paper, he just couldn’t revisit.
“My notes back when you pass by for the project or it’s war.”
“It’s already war,” you retort when he walks past you to leave.
Haechan turns around, locking his gaze with yours. “Oh, honey, it can get so much worse than this.”
You felt like testing your luck when his notes weren’t back on his desk, but you had no idea it could get worse than that, until it got.
When he deleted an essay from your computer and you had to remake and finish the work of five days in five hours, so you cancelled a project he was working on for another assignment you had. And then he erased the recording of a course from your phone, so you ripped his notebook in front of his eyes (and his roommates too). The list of petty things is long, and you’re not really proud (you’re sure not even Haechan is) of what you did, especially when things started becoming personal. You two want to destroy each other, but you are honestly just killing yourselves in the meantime.
Your book slams closed so hard that you almost zip your hands in it, and by protecting your fingers you lose track of where you’ve been. “Get lost,” you whisper bitterly as soon as you recognize the hand that did that.
“No thanks,” he replies, sitting next to you.
“I’m trying to read a book in the quiet of the library, so can you leave me alone?”
“It’s a public space, I can sit wherever I want,” he replies, leaning back into the chair, and widening his legs under the table. You know ‘cause you feel his knee push against yours and you have to retract your leg to avoid the contact.
You glare at him, breathing deeply through your nose because you can’t make a scene here. You two almost got kicked out of a class two days ago, and that was humiliating enough. So, you think that ignoring him is the best thing you can do.
“Wow, so you have a bit of self-control and don’t talk back. Never thought I’d see that day,” he replies sarcastically to your silence with an amused grin that curls his lips.
You hold back a scream and huff loudly, “I truly need you to get fucked right now.”
“Nevermind,” he jokes, pulling a tight forced smile and you close the book again, now too annoyed to even focus on the words on the paper. “I came here in peace, by the way.”
“Yeah, your peace is war in my country,” you reply bitterly, trying to shift away but those damn chairs make the loudest sounds at the smallest movements.
“That’s because you’re full of prejudices.”
You inhale deeply, rubbing your temple to soothe the headache you know is about to arrive. “Haechan, tell me what you want and then leave me alone.”
He smiles, happy you are finally willing to listen, before he clears his throat. “Okay so, I have to say that some of this is funny. I mean, only the debates and these random talks, but I’m not the biggest fan of all the other stuff we’re doing, so why don’t we bring it back?”
“Bring it back? As in?” You question, raising a brow in confusion.
“I liked it better when we would just compete without tearing ourselves down. If you cancel, ruin, or save one of my projects with the word boobs in it before sending it to the professor another time, I will go insane.”
You hold back a chuckle. You have to admit it was your lowest move, but it was quite funny when Professor Choi had a whole talk in class about being careful before sending out finished projects and exposed him in front of the class.
“No, it wasn’t funny,” he mutters sternly, watching you fight with all the muscles of your face to don’t break into a laugh.
“No, sorry, it was,” you defend, voice trembling, threatening a chuckle to come out. “Like Iloveboobsdemo1 is the best thing I’ve ever come up with. That could be the title of our song.”
“If you want to get expelled from all the academies in the world that would be a perfect idea,” he says, trying to be serious because seriously it wasn’t funny, but when you stare into each other’s eyes for too long none of you two can hold back the laughter anymore. “Okay, fine. It was funny, but I don’t want that to happen again.”
“So? Do you give up?” You taunt, tilting your head after placing it on your palms.
“I’m not giving up, we are changing strategies of our combat.”
“Oh, okay. You will lose anyway in the end, so if this can be more beneficial for me in the meantime, it’s fine.”
He sighs, rubbing his temples, and you chuckle. “Don’t laugh,” he whispers distraught. “I… could you sometimes at least pretend to give me some kind of chance of winning with you and not feeling like you’ll always have the last laugh?”
“I just replied.”
“No, a reply would’ve been ‘Yes, Haechan, don’t worry, we can change it.”
“Too wordy,” you comment, waving him off with a movement of hand.
“You said like ten words more,” he replies, voice breaking in his throat in a whine, but you decide to act as if you don’t notice.
“It still flowed better. See, that’s why the lyrics are in my hands. You’re really not good with words.”
“You keep doing that,” he groans, slamming a hand on the table, attracting some curious eyes on you before you glare them away. “But it’s fine, okay, so… no more dirty games? No more sabotaging?”
“Yes, no more. Well, not like this, but we can still play a bit, right?” You ask, retracting your hand right when you’re about to hold his to seal the deal.
“Yes, but nothing weird, or you know what I mean.”
You hum, reaching out again and shaking his hand. “It’s a deal, then?”
“It’s a deal.”
The deal somehow turns into Haechan always being next to you. He’s like a shadow, sitting next to you in class, studying with you in the library, and so on. You don’t mind him when he minds his business, but he rarely does. Especially during lessons when you need to focus on what the professors are saying.
You roll your eyes when Haechan sneaks a paper next to your notebook and you read ‘how would a dog wear pants’ with two badly drawn different options on it.
“Does it look like the right moment?” You whisper under your breath, side-eyeing him, and trying to keep your focus on the lesson. You see him nod and decide to mark the second option, thinking that he’d be happy with it, but he has the urge to hear a whole dissertation on something that will never happen, right now.
“Why?” He asks as if you’re not in the middle of a lecture.
“Not now.”
“But this lesson is boring,” he whines, poking your side with his elbow.
You huff, covering it with a cough when you realize it is too loud, and then take a sip from your bottle of water.
“You didn’t answer,” Haechan insists, this time poking your arm with the cap of the pencil.
“I picked one,” you mutter, pointing at the paper with your head.
“Elaborate and change my mind.”
“You think it’s the first one?” You say in disbelief, the utter shock causing the tone of your voice to be louder than you expected.
“Any problems there?” The Professor asks, and you feel your blood freeze.
“Mh, no, nothing, my pen has no more ink, I was asking for another one,” you lie, thanking God you two are sitting far in the back of the class and the Professor can’t hear and can’t see that your pen isn’t dead at all. So, with a suspicious nod, the middle-aged man goes on with the lecture while Haechan giggles beside you.
You glare at him, and he shrugs raising his hands. “If you kept quiet, it wouldn’t have happened.”
“If you let me concentrate on the lesson instead of asking dumb questions, it wouldn’t have happened,” you retort, and he laughs under his breath again, but doesn’t ask more questions. He still ruins your notes with ugly flowers and other drabbles and you let him be because at least he’s being silent and paying attention.
“So, you really are giving up,” you say when the bell rings and the class starts emptying.
“What makes you think that?” He asks, putting his things in his bag, just like you.
“You didn’t write anything down.”
Haechan shrugs. “Why would I? I have your notes.”
“No, you don’t,” you say but before you can realize he rips the notebook from your hands and snaps a picture of the two pages you wrote. “Hey! That’s not fair. That’s my work.”
“Your amazing summarizing skills and my artistic skills. I don’t gift beautiful sunflowers to just anybody.”
“Beautiful sunflowers?” You snicker, starting to walk down the stairs, pushing the notebook into your bag as Haechan follows at your side. “If Renjun saw them he would have a heart attack.”
“Can’t compare Vang Gogh to Picasso.”
“Keep Picasso out of your mouth,” you say threateningly.
“Still, aren’t you happy you will think of me while studying?” He bats his lashes, and you hold back an entertained grin.
“Can’t wait to go through the absolute most painful ulcers every time I glance down on those things.”
He gasps offended, bringing a hand on his chest. “See, this is what happens when you spend all your days on socials and your brain doesn’t know how to appreciate real art anymore.”
“You are so annoying, and distracting. Next time if you sit next to me, I’ll push you off the chair,” you warn, and only when a colder blow of wind hits you, you realize you’re walking back to your places together.
“Right!” He says and you think it’s the good time he leaves you alone, but no, he’s not done. “You didn’t explain why the dog would wear it only on its hind legs.”
“Is it really that serious? Why do you want to know so badly?”
“It’s funny. I’m sick and tired of hearing you only discuss music, sociology, and the media and other stuff.”
You sigh. But you still have a bit to walk, so you might as well have to deal with him and his hypothesis about dogs. “Because pants have to cover your lower body, so legs, and ass and everything else. If you wear them like the first option, half of the ass is out. And also, the back limbs correspond to our legs, we’re divided in half horizontally, not vertically.”
He doesn’t reply right away, processing your answer. And you think you broke him.
“Oh!” You exclaim. “Zootopia, animals wear clothes like the second picture.”
“Really? You had a whole statement that made perfect sense and then you added a cartoon to your thesis?”
“But it still makes sense,” you argue back. “And, most importantly, I made you agree with me,” you wink before stopping when you reach your complex.
“Fine, fine, you’re right,” he gives up before looking behind you. “You live here?”
You nod, searching for the keys in the tote bag, and you think it’s time to stop pretending that’s Mary Poppins’ bag and throw away some useless stuff.
“I thought there were only rooms here,” he states, looking at the big complex a few meters away from the university.
“There are common dormitories, and then there are some one-room flats. I got one with a scholarship when I graduated. It’s less expensive than an apartment and I get a small place all to myself.”
“Oh,” he whispers. He doesn’t know why he thought you had roommates. “So, you’re alone, alone?”
“No, you can’t come in,” you say.
“I didn’t ask that,” he frowns, offended you would even imply that. “I thought you… well, oh, never mind.”
“Yes, I’m alone, so I can do whatever the hell I want. If I want to cook, I cook. If I want to stay up all night to study, I do that. If I want to dry the clothes in the middle of the living room, that is also the bedroom and the kitchen, I do that.”
“Is it really that small?”
“It’s decent, I guess. It’s spacious enough to live in it comfortably but not big to the point I have to waste days cleaning it.”
“Maybe we could study there, no loud roommates screaming in the living room.”
“I like the mess of your place, and I’ll be there Friday.”
Haechan rolls his eyes. “Come on, I hate the library. Can’t we for once study at your place?”
“I never invited you to my studying sessions,” you groan.
“But you love it.”
“No.”
“Yes, you have an orgasm every time you know something better than me.”
“Please, shut up,” you wave him off, starting to walk away.
“I don’t care, I’ll be here tomorrow,” he screams when you’re too far, clearly running away from him.
“And I’ll be at the library!”
You never go to the library, to be honest, you were just unlucky enough that the washing machine thought it was the right moment to leak all over the floor and Haechan found you at home with your coat on the couch, the tote bag next to the door and your jeans half soaked as you tried to fix the mess on the pavement.
From that moment, your meet-ups become more and more periodic, whether it’s at your place, his or at the library. You hate to admit it, but the competition drives you forward, and you love seeing his face every time you defeat him somehow.
“Are you busy this Saturday?” He asks while he strums with the guitar to come up with a chord progression for your song.
“Yeah, why?” You reply, poking the cap of the pen to your cheeks, drifting your eyes on him.
“Want to go out with me?”
“What? Saturday is my day to study and do my things like I want to,” you say. It was the only day, along with Sunday, you had to fix all your notes without being wrecked from the lessons of the day, or listen to lessons while cleaning the house, and so on. You tried to squeeze everything there so Sunday could be your free day and you could dedicate it to your hobbies and to write for the magazine you worked for, nothing too serious, just some money to add to the survival costs that your parents would send you, and the monthly entrance you had when you would get called to help a dance studio downtown.
“Great, we’re going out tomorrow.”
You huff, slumping back on the chair. “No, we’re not. I’m busy.”
“You can take one afternoon for me,” he replies, placing the instrument next to him. “Come on, it will be fun.”
“Where would you even take me?”
Haechan smirks. “It’s a surprise.”
When Saturday afternoon arrives, you don’t know how to feel. You spent the whole night trying to find a positive thing about it, and the good thing is that for once you are leaving the house to do something funny —you hoped so— not all by yourself. The bad thing is that the person you are going to do this thing with is Haechan.
You try not to worry about it too much, he’s not that bad when he wants to, and he’s funnier than you’d like to admit, so maybe taking a small break from the obsessive studying and tidying, will do you some good.
When you hear the knocks on the door, you grab your coat and your bag and head to open it.
“Hi,” he says. “Anything to fix before we leave?”
“Don’t say that, they will hear you and break all together.”
Haechan laughs, briefly looking at your body, mostly covered because it’s still cold outside and you have way too many layers on you. “Toy Story for home appliances?”
“Yeah, that would be my life,” you reply, closing the door behind you and walking outside of the complex. “So, where are you taking me?”
“I told you, it’s a surprise,” he says. “Don’t expect anything big, I just don’t want to hear you nag about it.”
“Hey, I appreciate almost everything.”
“Yeah, it’s the almost that worries me,” he says. “Hop in the car.”
“You have a car?”
“Yeah, it’s right in front of your eyes,” he answers, gesturing to the space next to you.
You turn around, holding back a laugh when you see the old blue car, it’s surely a Hyundai, you have no idea about the model, but you know for sure it’s falling apart. “This is the car?”
“Yes, I’m sorry I’m poor.”
“It will get us killed,” you say opening the door, letting out a breath of relief when the handle doesn’t stay in your hold.
Haechan rolls his eyes and sits in. “Can you don’t be overdramatic for one second?”
“I’m stating facts. Are the airbags still working? Is the oil level high enough? The battery? And the water for —” Your eyes widen when his lips crash on yours. At first, it’s a harsh attempt to shut you up, but then his lips shily go for more, moving along yours with a small flame of need.
“I won’t kill you, but please shut up,” he begs when he pulls away, sooner than you want to, later than he should’ve.
You gulp, trying to shake the dizziness and the way his kiss made you feel lightweight. You might occasionally still want to wrap your hand around his neck but he’s quite good at being a charmer.
“I’m giving you the privilege to pick the music,” he says once you’re on the open road, the lights of the city shine against the windows and the other cars pass beside you.
“Yeah, can I connect my Spotify to the car? Oh, wait, this model from the future directly brings the singers into your backseats so you can have a live concert,” you joke after seeing the car radio.
“Wanted to take the metro?”
You laugh. “No, I’m just… why did you say that as if I could connect the aux or the Bluetooth? It was funny.”
“Fine, you’re forgiven,” he says. “Just play it through your phone.”
You hum, already deep into the scrolling of your music catalogue. “Can I put my driving playlist?”
“You have a car?”
“No, I have a driving playlist.”
“Why would you have a driving playlist if you don’t have a car?”
“Because right now it comes useful,” you wink, pressing play without waiting for his answer.
Haechan smiles, quickly glancing at you before his attention is fully on the road. “Baekhyun?” He asks with surprise when the second song starts. “You listen to Baekhyun?”
“Everybody should listen to him,” you reply, already getting defensive because his next words could be the last straw of your ‘relationship.’
“Oh God,” he whispers.
“If you tell me you’re a hater I’m jumping out of the running car and changing the trajectory of your life forever,” you warn, turning to the side to have a better view of him.
“Me? A Baekhyun hater? He’s my father! I just can’t believe you have some sort of sense and taste.”
You slap his shoulder, making the both of you break into a light-hearted laugh.
“You scared me for a second,” you say, placing your hand on your beating heart.
“Sorry. So, it turns out we have one thing in common,” he jokes, creases creating at the corner of his eyes as his features soften and a genuine smile blooms on his face.
You shrug. “I mean, we have many things in common, actually. That’s why we get along so badly. Maybe it’s true, opposite attracts and that’s why we don’t attract.”
“I think we do attract… proved it a few times.”
“Once,” you reply immediately.
“Twice, with the kiss…”
“You did that to shut me up.”
“I don’t shut up just…” anybody… “I felt like kissing you.”
You smirk, loving watching him struggle. “Nothing wrong to admit you find me attractive,” you tease.
“Unfortunately, your mouth ruins everything.”
“My mouth is the thing that attracts you the most about me, or else you wouldn’t keep lingering around me like bees on honey.”
“Bees make honey, they’re not attracted to it. Bears are.”
“Yeah, you look like a bear, you know?”
He glares at you, and you laugh. “Bears are cute.”
“And attracted to honey.”
“And do I look like honey?” You ask teasingly. “Wait! You always call me honey!”
“It’s a mockery honey, not a sweet honey. You’re not my honey.”
You think about it. “You’re not my honey… could be a line of our song.”
“No academy talking today. It’s forbidden. You have to forget about uni.”
“Fine, I’ll forget about it just for today.”
The dates with Haechan, you can call them dates, right? Well, anyway, whatever they are, they become more common. At first, you tried to reject his weird, most of the time, last minute, proposal, because they would throw in the air all of your plans, but after a while, you somehow still found a way to go back on track without screwing up your academic goals.
“Why don’t you stay?” Haechan asks. It’s another Friday afternoon, and you two met up to go on with the song’s project. Much to your dismay, you have to admit you are the one who’s holding you two back. It’s like words can’t come out of you, not like you want to, at least. But Haechan’s not mad at you. Actually, you like the atmosphere around you when you lock in his room for those sessions. One time, he even made you try edibles to see if you could come up with something, but you ended up making out on the floor instead, so you stopped going for that path.
“I don’t know,” you say, huffing when you glance at the words in front of you and remind yourself that they don’t make sense. “I was thinking of going home and maybe listening to your tracks and…”
“Come up with something?” He drags the chair closer to you and steals your papers to read them. “It’s not as bad as you made it to be.”
“Yeah, it’s a good song, but it’s basic. And I feel like it’s a bit… cliché.”
“You do know that everything has already been written?” He jokes, but it’s not a teasing remark, it’s the truth, and he’s genuinely trying to lift your spirit.
“I know, but it’s not my style, this is not how I usually write, I —”
“You write?” He stops you and only then you realize what you said. “Like, you have written songs before?”
You nod, shame pervading you when he stares at you with an expression you can’t comprehend. “Are you going to make fun of me?”
“No, I just thought you preferred lyrics over production, but I had no idea you were a lyricist.”
“Now, lyricist… I try, sometimes…”
Haechan smirks, poking your tummy making you cover it with your arms. “So there is something you’re insecure about.”
“Oh, I knew you were going to have a ball about this,” you groan, rolling your head back.
“No, hey, it’s just… I’ve never seen you like this about something you do. You are confident, usually,” he explains with no hint of mockery in his voice.
You sigh, looking at your feet tapping the ground and then look back at him. “It’s just… very personal,” you confess. “I think it’s clear I don’t have lots of friends. I used to, back at home, but here I’m alone. But even back then I’ve always felt like there was something I couldn’t completely let out. That’s why I love dancing, I can express myself in a different way, but I found out it still wasn’t enough and when I started playing the piano again I… started writing. It started almost as a joke, and it was a cheesy break-up song when my ex cheated on me, like the cheap version of drivers license,” you joke and he laughs with you.
“But it was still better than this, I guess?”
You hum, shaking your head. “Nah, my first song was a mess, but then it was like I just couldn’t stop writing, so my songs became my diary. Every time something happens, I write about it.”
He hums, moving the chair closer until your legs intertwine. “So, to write a love song you would need to fall in love?”
You’re taken aback by his question, and don’t reply right away. “No, I just need to be inspired. I’ll watch some movies, and it will come to me.”
His face twists in mild disgust as he shakes his head. “Movies are fake, it’s better to live things on your skin.”
“I don’t have time to date, and I can’t just find someone that easily,” you say laughing. “But don’t worry, I won’t make us fail. I’ll try to edit this and make it work if I really can’t come up with anything else.”
Haechan is not convinced, it’s clear in his face and the way his leg is bouncing nervously, but he doesn’t get back on the conversation. “Are you staying?”
“I have some notes to edit and —”
“You have tomorrow,” he cuts you off. “Come on, I have to do it too.”
You groan, hating the way you can’t say no to his big eyes staring at you. “Fine, but not too much.”
It’s useless to say that none of you get those notes written better.
“God, are you fucking Professor Kim?” Haechan growls, grabbing your wrist and stopping you in the college corridors right out of Music History class, the last lesson of Tuesday.
“What?” You babble out, surprised by his angry tone and his speculation.
“No cause you’re his favourite and it’s driving me insane,” he utters under his breath, glaring at you.
“I’m his favourite?” You tease, tilting your head to the side, loving the fire that turned on between you two. It had been three calm months, the bickerings were too intellectual and you missed this.
“Yeah, I gave him the exact same answer and he found the tiniest thing to say I wasn’t right, just so he could hear yours instead and praise you.”
“Oh, poor baby boy, Professor Kim didn’t give you head pats and now you’re mad?” You pout, patting his head in a mockery gesture.
Haechan groans, throwing his head back, and pushing you into the nearest empty class, closing the door behind.
“Haechan, what are y—”
“Shh,” he says, shushing you with a stern gaze and a squeeze of your wrist. “You passed by his office the other day, didn’t you? Needed extracurricular help ‘cause you didn’t understand something,” he mocks with a high-pitched voice. “Taught you how to play his flute in a historically accurate way?”
You’d love to laugh at his terrible blowjob-music reference but when his gaze darkens, you only chuckle, and that’s enough to drive him mad.
“God, for you is just a game, isn’t it?”
“You really think I fucked Professor Kim?”
“No, but I’m pretty sure he fantasizes about having you bent over his desk and, fuck, it drives me mad.”
“You wish he fantasized about having you bent on his desk?” You joke, smirking.
He groans. “No, I hate the way he looks at you, and talks to you, the last thing he had to do today was to call you a good girl in front of the whole class.”
Your lips curl in an amused grin, but your heart —and something else— flutter at the way he says ‘good girl,’ you try not to show it and go on with your teasing. “Not my fault I’m good, and I’m interested in his subject.”
“Your fault you lick his boots,” he groans, pushing you flat against the door, standing so close to your nose. “I know you’re smart and you don’t need to ride a dick to be first in class but…” he stops, inhaling your scent, and leaning against your forehead.
You lift his head with two fingers under his chin, and lean in, whispering, “you still want to see me bent over a desk, and you want to be the one railing me, isn’t it?”
He doesn’t reply, not verbally at least. The only answer is a guttural moan and two arms lifting you, making your legs wrap around his waist as he kisses you roughly.
“Hyuck,” you moan into the kiss when he starts walking toward the desk, sitting you on the edge.
“Yeah?”
“We can’t — we — this is, we can get expelled…”
He snickers. “Be quiet and nobody will even hear us.”
“What if they lock us inside?”
“Shut up,” he groans again, kissing you another time as his bag drops on the floor. “You drive me so fucking mad, you have no idea.”
You snicker under your breath, but your heart loses a beat when his hands roam on your thighs, moving closer and closer to your heat. “Wait,” you whisper.
“Wait, what?” He hums, cupping your chin and lowering your head, staring straight into your eyes. Haechan scoffs when your thighs squeeze against each other and he can see you gulping. “Don’t act like you don’t want this,” he whispers, leaning closer to your lips, making you believe he’ll kiss you, but you only get a taste of his thumb rubbing over your full lips, “don’t act like you don’t want me.”
“Haechan!” You scream when he rips off your tights, the tear of the fabric resonating in the room as you look down in shock. “I’m gonna kill you,” you groan but he’s not bothered in the slightest.
“They were getting in the way, and I get rid of everything that gets in my way,” he says with a smirk.
You laugh mockingly. “Then why am I still here?”
His brows furrow and a small pout forms on his face but he shrugs it off. “I’m taking care of you, I told you,” he groans, kissing you harshly. “You’re not winning the war.”
“Oh, and your military strategy is to fuck me?”
“Yeah, until you forget everything.”
You huff loudly when he finishes ripping the tights from your legs, the only pieces left the ones trapped in your shoes, and you’re glad the skirt is long enough to don’t make you freeze on the way back home.
“So much better,” he says proudly, staring at his work of art, letting his hands wander on your now bare skin. “And, now, let’s find out if there’s a way to shut you up.”
You look at him in anticipation, waiting for his next move as if your life depends on it. And you hate to be so eager, you hate you fantasized on it more than you should’ve, but you want to know what his lips feel like. And it’s almost as if Haechan hears your secret thoughts.
“What do you want, sweetheart?” He taunts, kneading his fingers on your flesh.
“Nothing,” you mutter, trying to sound more confident than what you are.
Haechan laughs at you, shaking his head as he slowly gets on his knees, looking up at you. “You are always so fucking proud and annoying.” His hands rest on your knees before he pushes them far apart, forcing you in place as you uselessly try to close your legs. He tsk, shaking his head. “Don’t act ashamed, I’ve already felt you, and tasted you.”
You don’t reply. It’s hard to keep eye contact but this is bigger than sex, this is a game between you two and, he might not beat you in class, but he’s beating you right now.
His laugh brings you back to earth and you hate the smug smirk that’s sitting on his face. “So you do get quiet, thought I needed to give you a taste of my mouth to shut you up.”
You open your mouth to retort but the stern glare that flashes on his face is enough to put you back in your place.
“Good girl,” he says and your body trembles before you can even try to hide it. “Should I get a better taste of you?” He stares at you, waiting for an answer that doesn’t come, not like he wants to at least. “Use your words, babe. You know how to run that mouth when you want to, so, beg for it.”
“Fuck, no,” you retort, trying to move away but his hold on you doesn’t give any signs of loosening up.
“Okay, then,” he says, slowly standing up, and grabbing his bag. “See you around.”
“What?” You squeal, grabbing his wrist. “What are you doing?”
“Leaving,” he replies, shrugging.
“That’s not fair,” you reply, and he snickers.
“What? Are you wet? Do you want me?”
You don’t expect that reply and struggle to find the words, even more now that he’s standing between your open legs, keeping them apart, and his eyes are staring down at you, pinning you down in place. “I don’t want you,” you lie, swallowing the gulp in your throat when his right hand sits on your waist. “I just… I want to fuck.”
“Oh, do you? Well, there are plenty of people here, I’m sure many of them would want you. You know, even if you don’t pay attention to anybody, people look at you,” he whispers, caressing your jaw with his other hand. “First on the list is Professor Kim. Don’t you want to feel the thrill? Come on, go to his office now, so I can have something to hold against you forever.”
You chuckle. “Yeah? Want to blackmail me so I can do all the essays for you? Maybe you’ll get the best grades like this,” you tease, pulling him closer by the collar of his shirt and making him groan.
He licks his lips, staring at yours, and you smirk. “I don’t need you to be first, and you know it.”
“Do I?” you tease. “Want to be first at something?”
“Don’t,” Haechan warns, eyes darkening even more while the tent in his tight pants becomes even more evident.
“What? You can be the first one who fucks me on a desk if you quit playing hard to get.”
“I’m not playing hard to get,” he replies, leaning even closer, your bodies are pressed together and you can feel his hard dick press against you. “I won’t be the one begging, especially to eat you out,” he groans, cupping your chin unexpectedly. “Don’t act as if you didn’t think of this before. I’ve seen the way you get lost in my fingers when we study together. You see me twirl a pen in my hand and you wish I was inside you, don’t you? And when we argue? There’s always a small fragment where you lose focus and stare at my lips. Where do you want them, honey?”
Your brows furrow but your entire body reacts differently, a small shake, while wetness pools down your panties, soaking them even more, and your eyes close because you can’t bear his smug glare.
“I said,” he urges, giving a quick squeeze to your chin, “where do you want my lips?”
“On — on me,” you breathe out, voice muffled by the firm hold on your face.
His lips twitch as he leans closer and kisses your cheek. “Here,” he says, holding back a laugh when your eyes widen. “That was where you wanted them, right?”
“Oh, fuck off, you know what I meant,” you huff.
“No, I’m the dumb one, remember? You are smarter than me, you know everything. I’m always a step behind, I need you to guide me step by step,” he mocks in a condescending tone, pouting.
You take a deep breath. “I hate you.”
“Oh, I know,” he laughs. “But if you use just three magic words I’m sure you’re going to love me for a while.”
You don’t want to give up but you’re on fire, and you fear that the more time passes by the more someone could find you out.
“I’ll ask nicely one last time,” he whispers against your lips. “Then I’ll ask you to do something for me and you’ll lose my lips for the second time. Where do you want them?”
“On my pussy,” you whisper, not meeting his eyes.
“Fucking finally,” he laughs. “Was it so hard Miss big brain?”
“Stop mocking me!”
“Mocking you?” He asks, getting on his knees again before grabbing your panties to pull them down. “I might hate you but it would be dumb to not recognize your qualities, right?”
You don’t reply, you have other things to worry about. For example, your mortal enemies kneeled between your legs in an empty class of your Academy, staring into your soul, ready to eat you out.
“So, since you’re so good with words, here we go again. Beg.” Haechan craves putting his lips on you just as you do, but this is the only moment he can have some power over you. And after the humiliation of today’s class, he has to make you pay for it a bit. Or maybe he just wants to hear that even if you’d choke him and slap him, you still want him.
“Please, Donghyuck, please,” you plead, looking into his eyes.
He’d love to hear you beg for him more, but the way your cunt is dripping on the desk is already enough to tell him how much you want him, and for now, it’s enough.
When his lips come in contact with your skin your legs immediately hook around his shoulders and you can feel the chuckle on your wet folds.
“Eager, honey?”
“Just, please, eat me out already,” you barely have time to finish that he stops playing around and starts moving his mouth on you. Your head falls behind while your thighs squeeze tighter around his face. Your hands clench on the edge of the desk as you try to keep your balance, but it gets harder with every lick of his tongue.
“Keep quiet, the door is closed not locked,” he reminds you, pulling away from you just to pick up again.
You try to don’t be too loud, but he’s better than you expected and maybe this was the wrong time to try this out. You should’ve simply begged him to fuck you, but now that you’re in the middle of this, the last thing you want is to stop him.
One of your hands is brave enough to let go of the hold on the desk and reach his hair to push him closer to your body, surprising him.
Haechan always thought you were much more shy than this, honestly, he didn’t even hope much for this to happen. But you surprise him, not only you let him have you in a random class at your university but you are also pushing him closer.
“You are eager,” he muffles against you, he can’t pull away when you’re pressing him down with so much force, but the way you’re acting is setting him on fire. He loves hearing you moan and whimper, not a word coming out of your pretty lips to confront him, just bliss on your face and voice. And that pushes him to give you even more, putting his entire self into eating you out until he almost drags screams out of you, making both of you forget where you are.
You’re not sure how many minutes pass by but when the orgasm rushes in your body you feel it’s too close. You’d probably force him down for another round if you were in any other place but you don’t feel brave enough.
“So? Disappointed?” He asks, cleaning his chin as he stands up, reaching you again. “Don’t lie, you’re still dripping down the desk, you’re even more turned on than last time.”
“I’m not,” you lie. You know you are, and Haechan knows it too.
“What is it? The thrill of being caught? My skills? Just me, or something else?”
You don’t know why you reply with what you reply, but you do. “Maybe someone else,” you tease, not even sure he’ll take the bait, but he’s too caught up in you to see the games you’re playing.
“Yeah? And who’s that?”
“See, I always believed you were perspicacious and could catch details, I can’t believe you didn’t get it. You’re so sure Professor Kim wants to fuck me, ever thought I want him too?” You bat your lashes and Haechan tries to silence a groan, but you feel his fists clench at your sides.
“Don’t play with me, I’m not falling for this.”
You shrug. “Fine, I’ll still think about him while you fuck m—” he shuts you up with a rough kiss, pushing you down the desk with a quick movement that makes your heart jump to your throat.
“He’s not even that hot,” he groans, turning you around before bending you on the desk, and pulling your skirt up around your waist. “And he’s not even that old, there’s not even the charm of the dilf.”
“He’s smart,” you talk back, not sure how much you can pull your luck.
Haechan scoffs, slapping your ass. “Not smarter than me.”
“You’re not the professor so…”
“A degree means nothing,” he says, his chest pressing against your back. “What’s that you like so much about him?”
You chuckle. You’re not sure if he’s playing into your game or is just so easy to fool, but either way, you decide to keep going. “Everything. Don’t you see him?”
Haechan groans. Out of all the people, out of all the professors, he has a very personal beef with him that started at the start of the year and the way you just praise him so much —even outside of this specific situation where he got you’re messing up with him— drives him insane.
“Because he’s the best at everything? Isn’t he?”
You nod, expecting him to talk back but the only answer you get is the sharp sound of his belt being pulled away from his pants and smacked against your ass. “Fuck,” you curse, hating the way your body buzzes with pleasure at the impact.
Haechan chuckles. “I wonder what he would think of you if he saw you like this.”
“He wouldn’t think,” you say. “He’d act, fucking me like I deserve instead of wasting time like you.”
When his cock fills you up with no warning you almost scream but his hand is quicker at reaching your mouth.
“Yeah, would he fuck you better?”
You groan in his hand, but your brain goes blank with each thrust into you, pulling his hips back before he snaps them forward, so forcefully that you slide upward on the desk and he has to pull you down so that your hips don’t hit the wood.
“Answer me,” he urges, making a makeshift ponytail with your hair to force you up. “Would he?”
“I… I don’t know,” you cry out, feeling him deep inside of you, filling you perfectly.
“You just have to test me until I snap, don’t you?”
“He seems —fuck— fitter than you.”
Haechan snickers mockingly. “Yes? You want to be thrown around? Like you’re worth nothing? Do I have to do that to make you feel good?”
You shake your head, ass perking up, your feet on their tips as you try to keep balance.
“No? Is being fucked in a class enough for you? Does it satisfy your needs?” He hisses, eyes rolling back when he focuses them where your bodies meet, your cum dripping down his length and balls. He can’t believe how turned on you are. “Thought you were innocent but look at you.”
“Not my fault you don’t catch details,” you retort with a small bit of sanity —not really— you have in you.
“Details? Or maybe you’re just an actress. Making everyone believe you only think about grades and studies and here you are, drooling while I fuck you over a desk. Begging for my dick.”
You don’t even realize you are drooling down the desk and when you’re about to clean your chin, Haechan grabs your hands and pins them in place behind your back.
“No,” you whimper, falling flat with your chest pressing down the wooden table.
“Yes, honey,” he mocks. “I want to see you become a mess for me. Should I take a snap of you like this? Send it to Professor Kim so he can see he will never have you like this?” He whispers against your ear. “Think I don’t know it was all a play? Not only you don’t like him, but you wouldn’t risk your reputation for a terrible fuck when you have a brain like yours.”
Your pussy clenches. It’s the way his voice sounds like velvet, it’s how deep it’s hitting you, it’s in his words, and the way it turns you on that your number one rival, the one that despises you, still knows your value.
“Still, I’m pretty sure he wishes he could see you like this,” he adds, biting your earlobe. “A shame he can’t, right?”
“Y-yes,” you mumble in a pathetic wail.
“But maybe I could still keep it to myself,” his hips start moving with more force and you can’t hold back your moans as you clench around him. “Yeah? Want me to take a photo of you like this?”
You wish you could reply but words just don’t come out of your lips, brain emptying and eyes rolled back in your skull.
“Maybe another time,” he says, breath getting ragged as he keeps fucking into you with determination. “Don’t really want to pull away to take a pic of us.”
“There — there won’t be —fuck— another time,” you reply, forcing yourself to speak.
Haechan snickers. “The mess between your legs tells me otherwise,” he mocks, reaching in front of you to play with your clit, making you shake. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, you deserve good things, even a good fuck from me.”
“Too much,” you cry out, feeling your eyes getting wetter as the orgasm starts choking you.
“No, you just haven’t had a decent orgasm in ages,” he retorts.
“Shut up! You know —shit— you know nothing.”
“Honey, I can only imagine you playing with yourself, but your hands or toys don’t come close to me,” he says, so smugly you can feel the smirk on his face. And you can’t even retort because —as much as you hate it— he’s right.
“Come here,” he says, putting a hand over your shoulders to pull you closer to him. “Are you close?”
You nod, biting your lower lip until it bleeds because you’re sure the sound of your ass slamming against his hips is already a giveaway of what’s going on inside this room. You clench around him when he bites down your shoulder to muffle a louder groan as his hips start moving faster as he chases his climax.
You feel your legs give up as the second orgasm hits you and you hold against the desk again because you don’t know where else to hold on to. Haechan tries to keep his curses low, sticking his face in the crook of your neck and you feel you could come again just by his voice alone; his moans the pretties sounds you’ve ever heard.
“Oh god,” you breathe out when he gently lets go of your body and you can relax on the hard surface again, squirming in discomfort when he pulls out of you.
“I hope you didn’t tear my panties apart, too,” you say, rolling on your back, making him laugh.
“Don’t move, you’ll stain the skirt, it’s the only clean thing on the table,” he says, grabbing a napkin to prevent you from making even more of a mess.
“And who’s fault is that?” You ask, glaring at him.
“You should just thank me for the orgasm, better, two orgasms, I gave you.”
You huff, rolling your eyes, but still letting him clean you up, after all, the cum was his, so it’s his place to clean it. After you’re sure you won’t ruin the last untouched piece of clothes you have, you sit up, taking your —uncomfortably— wet panties to put them on.
“So…” he whispers as he cleans up the rest of the mess on the table and shoves your broken tights in his bag, “it was just for fun, right? You have no intentions with Mr…”
You break down laughing. “You’re so easy to fool. You seriously think I’ll ever let him see me like this?”
Haechan scoffs, finishing fixing his clothes before walking to the door. “It’s not about what you would do, is if you think of him.”
“I don’t,” you reply, following him even if you feel like your legs could give up any second. “I wonder if your jealousy was also a play,” you tease, nudging him as you two walk down the corridor to leave.
“It wasn’t jealousy, you would just have terrible taste if you truly liked him, and I have beef with him.”
You chuckle, deciding to believe him.
“Wait,” he says, stopping to search for something in his bag.
“I’ll go for the door, reach me,” you say, starting to head on, you’re not even sure you two could be there at that time. “Lee Donghyuck,” you curse when you try to push open the front door. “What did I say?”
He walks toward you nonchalantly and shrugs. “Yeah?”
“They locked us in!”
He smiles, shaking his head, and grabbing your hand. “Can you run?”
“What?” You blink a few times, trying to understand how his question fits the situation.
“After I fucked you like that, can you run?”
“Shush,” you scold, fearful someone might hear, you’re not sure who since you seem to be completely alone, but better safe than sorry. “And no, I don’t know, I… why would we run?”
“Do you trust me?” He asks, reaching out his hand for you to take.
“No,” you say resolutely.
“Good,” he smirks before he starts running into the corridors, giving you no chance but to follow him, cursing and damming every life decision that led you here, with cum threatening to leak out of you after you finished having sex in the class of your Academy and are now running to go God knows where, locked inside the institute.
“Hyuck!” You scream when he runs up the stairs and you swear you never felt so much adrenaline rush in your blood but when he looks back for a second and shows you his big bright smile with his hair falling in his face perfectly, you swear the world stops and all your worries are lifted from your shoulders. Maybe you trust him. Maybe you need to be this carefree sometimes.
Your heart jumps in your throat when he pushes open an emergency door and the mild breeze of March runs over you. You breathe in deeply, pushing into your lungs the air and the first early spring scent, letting the wind play with your hair and your clothes while your hand never lets go of his.
And then you both start laughing. Never looking back, and terribly looking forward, watching your steps as you run down the emergency stairs. You laugh, and you’re happy and you can’t believe your fingers are still intertwined with the ones of your mortal enemy.
When you reach the ground floor, hidden in the back of the palace where the sun doesn’t shine, there are still some tears spilling out of your eyes. You two pant, trying to catch your breath, and look at each other before you have to look away or else you will start laughing again.
You can’t believe you followed him blindly.
Your hands are still intertwined.
With each passing day, Haechan is convinced he has a perfect plan. It’s all part of the original plan, but if he gets you to try out romantic things, not only will he distract you from your perfect grades but he will also make you come up with a song that will give him a perfect score.
There are some small details that Haechan didn’t even consider. Detail number 1: where this could lead you two and your relationship. Detail number 2: that while distracting you, he will inevitably distract himself. But he doesn’t get it until it’s too late.
Haechan can’t remember when you started to dress up so much every time you hang out. You always dress well, or maybe he is biased for thinking that even the most basic white turtleneck shirt and cargo pants when you are too done with life to put up your skirts, dresses, or cutely styled other types of outfits, look amazing on you. Yet, during these last few dates, you started doing more, playing more with your hairstyles, trying different make-up, and always looking perfect in whatever clothes you put on your body.
Haechan hates you. Now more than ever because this was supposed to be your silly little race to the top of your second academic year and yet here he is, feeling his heart pound in his throat as you walk toward him. With your hair in a slicked-back ponytail, a freaking heart-shaped side part, your short red dress, while the white cardigan covers your arms and shields you from the light breeze, and your red short heels tap on the asphalt and bring his attention to the white socks that reach you right below your knees, while your hand clench around a heart-shaped bag.
He hates you because he wants you too badly and he’s terrified this is crossing the lines of bland and stupid physical attraction.
You smile, calling him Hyuck and he’d love to scream because he can’t be so smart and yet so dumb at the same time. But he tries to ignore it, and smiles back at you, addressing you with your surname so he can put some distance between you. You don’t even get mad anymore, it makes you smile tenderly as you lower your face to the ground and tangle your arm with his to walk to the car. Now he hopes that the old sardine can will make you two blow up, not to kill you, but to don’t make you accept a date from him anymore.
But that old car struggles but doesn’t crash, and drives you to the restaurant safely.
“This place is so pretty,” your voice rings in his ears, bringing him out of the thought he’s struggling with since you walked out of your apartment.
“Yeah, it’s musically themed, thought it was a good idea.”
“And the dishes also have song names? That’s the best thing I’ve ever seen,” your face lightens up when you scan the menu and in reflection, he does too.
What the fuck are you doing? He curses when he catches himself lost on you, too focused giggling like a child as you catch the references between the songs and the plates. You look like a cliché embodiment of love, and he thinks you’ve done it on purpose. It’s way past Valentine’s Day, but he feels that Cupid is flying right above you, ready to play him a dirty trick.
“So? You picked?” You ask, bringing him out of his thoughts, and he shakes his head, coughing while glueing his eyes on the menu.
“Nope, I’m a bit uncertain,” he says, pretending he wasn’t just too busy staring at you a few moments ago.
You laugh, humming. “Oh, I know.”
“What did you get?” He asks, meeting your eyes above the paper in his hand.
“I wanted to get the Summer 69’ appetizer first,” you reply and he smirks.
“Are you hinting at something?”
“Oh, shut up, you perv! It just looks tasty, there are different appetizers from different parts of the world and it’s a cold start.”
“Then we can take the big one so we can share?”
“Sure,” you reply, smiling at him. “Oh, and then ‘I wanna dance with somebody’ as the main dish.”
“Do you?” He winks.
“I’m not sending you signals, I’m just starving,” you reply, rolling your eyes, but he hears the low giggle that you try to hold back.
“Fine,” he smiles. “I’ll take ‘Maneater’ in your honour.”
“I’m a maneater? Oh, thanks, the best compliment ever actually,” you say playfully.
He smiles, stopping for a second after he hands you his menu. “You look beautiful tonight, by the way.” And when your mouth parts and no sound come out of it, he thinks he screwed it up. It’s not the first time he compliments you but well, the other times didn’t sound so serious.
But then your face breaks in a smile, and your eyes light up, shily diverting the gaze as you thank him before the waitress saves you both from the embarrassment that’s tangible in the air.
“Karaoke? Are you being extremely nice, borderline perfect, tonight so you can show me the biggest twist ever?” You gasp when the karaoke downtown enters your line of view. You’ve been walking for a while now since he couldn’t find a spot nearby, but he never mentioned where your next stop would be.
“I’m always nice to you when we go out on da— like this,” Haechan replies, opening the door of the place for you to get in first. “Also, since we’ll have to record the song soon, I think it’s time to test our vocal abilities.”
You giggle, waiting for him before you start walking to the desk to book a room.
“Karaoke is for fun, never to show off you’re like Celine Dion.”
Haechan chuckles, nodding in agreement while you reach the booth that the lady at the counter assigned you.
“Right, I’m more like Ailee, actually,” he jokes, closing the door behind you.
“Prove it to me, I always hear your mouth run to talk shit but never to sing melodies, so…”
“Should we go for a duet?” He asks, starting the TV to scroll down the songs listed.
“Nope,” you say, sitting on the couch. “A solo song first.”
“Fine,” he says, humming as the titles pass in front of your vision. “Mhh, what about Dean?”
“Love him, would love him more if he came back from the death and dropped another album of the year,” you say, sitting back to fully enjoy Haechan’s performance.
He chuckles at your comment. “This one was a painful reminder,” he says before clicking on “Instagram,” making the logo of the place appear before the countdown, signalling the beat was about to start.
You never thought you would find yourself so caught up in him but when he opens his mouth, you feel like you’re being taken to another world.
His voice sounds like honey, so raw yet so lovely. And as he keeps singing, you think that he would be wasted as a producer, a voice like his deserves to be heard by everyone. But when he finishes, you don’t show any of the emotions you felt.
“Your performance was very touching,” you say while standing up to grab your mic, “but I’m a performer, so I’ll go with Queen Britney.”
“Can’t wait to see your Superbowl worth it performance,” he snickers, sitting back against the small couch in the room as he watches you getting ready.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” you start, winking at him and swinging your hips to follow the rhythm of the music.
Haechan would love to find it as funny as he does at the start, but when you start singing for real, and moving around in the small boot, he gulps, feeling the air around him starting to dim. And it only gets worse when you turn around and start to perform for him. Of course, you know the song by heart, you don’t need to read the words, and you don’t need them to change colour to know when each verse, chorus and bridge starts.
“Oops, I did it again, I played with your heart,” you wink, tilting your head to the side, still moving your body to the beat. He can’t tell, not right at the moment, but he thinks you’re replicating the choreography. That’s the last worry in his mind.
I played with your heart.
And Haechan thinks you really did that. This doesn’t feel like a game anymore, and not even like sex. He looks at you, even right now, that you’re sensually singing a Britney Spears song, and he can only fucking smile like an idiot.
“Wow,” you exhale when the song ends, fanning yourself with your hand, “it’s really hot in here.”
“It definitely is,” he whispers, drifting his gaze from you.
“So? How was I?” You ask, head tilted to the side, and a big, bright smile on your face.
“Good,” Haechan mutters, catching himself staring at you for too long again, shaking his head, the red blush on his face is humiliating. “You were good.”
“Yes,” you cheer, clapping your hands. “Should we duet, now?”
He hums, grabbing the remote again and searching ‘duets’ in the search bar. “Sad, sexy or silly?”
You roll your eyes. “Really?”
“What? I’m trying to understand the vibe we want to go with.”
“I’ll let you pick,” you say just to regret it when you see the song choice on the screen. “Seriously? Anything you can do?”
“What? It’s fitting for how relationship,” he says nonchalantly.
“That’s a crazy choice.”
“Worried you can’t actually do better than me?” He winks, passing you the mic as the song loads on the screen.
“You’ll see,” you challenge with a glare.
One minute into the song you regret having agreed to that, not remembering the last time you sang like this, but the look on his face when it’s time for you to hold a long note for 15 seconds is worth it. And it keeps going until the end, as you both surprise each other with all the skills that this song requires.
“Wow, you’re good,” you both say when the song ends and you break down laughing, a sound that grows bigger when the screen lights up to show a perfect score.
“Maybe we make a great couple together,” you say, laying back on the couch, tired from the singing.
Haechan turns to you, smirking and nodding. “I guess we do.”
You sit up, resting your chin on his arm. “Can you take another one?”
“Oh, don’t test me, baby.”
“So, ice cream is good for vocal cords?” You giggle as you walk to the side of the Han River with the ice cream in hand. It seemed like Haechan didn’t want to end the night anytime soon, but you don’t feel like complaining.
“Yeah,” he hums with conviction, licking another stripe of chocolate.
“On which book you’ve read this scientific fact?”
“The ice cream ghost came to me one night and whispered the secret to my ear,” he jokes, making you laugh.
“Uhm, yeah, I think that ghosts are much more reliable than old men in white coats in a lab,” you joke, but then you remember something you wanted to talk about since you’ve walked out of the karaoke. “Mhh, you know what I was thinking?”
Haechan shakes his head, waiting for you to talk.
“I think we’re going down the wrong path with our song,” you voice out. “Especially me. A warmer, darker, I dare to say more sensual vibe, fits us better.”
Haechan chuckles and you glare at him. “What?”
“Nothing,” he giggles, but he can’t lose against you so he goes on. “That’s the production, you know?”
You huff, rolling your eyes, and jumping on the handrail to sit. “I never said it wasn’t important.”
“Whatever,” he snickers. “So I have to scrap everything I’m working on?”
You shake your head, cleaning your hands after swallowing the last bite of the cone. “No, I was thinking about the second base you were working on, the one with the guitars and violins, remember?”
He hums, but he’s dangerously close to you, and you don’t understand why his hands wrap around your waist.
“I think we could use that and —” you gulp when he places his feet on the handrail under you and reaches your height, “and then I can change small things of my — my writing to fit more. What do you think?”
He smiles before it turns into his usual smirk. “I still think you’re worrying too much and you’re not letting it come to you,” he whispers, and the air of his breaths puffs on your lips before he erases the space between you and kisses you.
You feel your breath taken away as you feel like you’re falling behind in the river as the wind blows harder and your hands immediately leave the handrail to reach for him.
You’re not sure that wasn’t an attempted murder from him, but you can’t care when you feel your heart flutter and your legs give up as he deepens the kiss.
“Let it flow,” he whispers, kissing you again, whispering against your lips, “and the song will come at you.”
You know it’s not what he’s talking about, but you kiss him again, this time pushing him down so your feet are on the ground again. Your hands are holding tight on his sweatshirt as you pull him even closer and he does the same wrapping his arms around your frame tighter.
You find yourself in the same position in the living room of his apartment, struggling to make it to his bedroom without waking some of the others up. Not that you care much, it would be fair payback for all the chaos they make when you and Haechan are studying together.
The clothes fall on the floor as quickly as he’s on top of you on the bed.
“I hate that I have to ruin your pretty face,” he whispers, fingers deep inside your sopping wet cunt, pumping in and out painfully slowly as he stares at your face, a cute mix between ecstasy and annoyance because he’s giving you something but not enough. “The red eyeshadow looks really good on you, you know?”
You groan, rolling your head back. “It’s not time for compliments.”
“I’ve been complimenting you all night,” he says, teasing your clit with flicks of his thumb but without giving you much. “It is a shame you will look like a mess once I’m done with you.”
“We can’t be loud,” you say, hating that, for one reason or another, you two always have to keep quiet.
“Nah, Jeno has his headphones on playing games with Yangyang. Renjun has headphones on with music to don’t listen to Jeno. Mark’s not home and not even bombs wake Jaemin up.” The explanation is particularly non-sexy now that he has his fingers inside of you and it doesn’t make you relax much, but you hum nonetheless and beg him to keep going.
“Patience, honey. We’ve got all night,” he smirks.
“Yeah but —”
“Ah, ah,” he says, clicking his tongue and silencing you with a finger on your lips. “What did I tell you before? Let it flow.”
“It was different it was —ugh,” you mumble when he covers your mouth with his hand, eyes widening before they narrow to send him a deadly glare, but he only smirks. He has control now. He always does when he has you underneath him, he still has to fight with you a bit, but you both know this is the only time he can ever win against you. And tonight is special, he wants you to let go of the reins completely, he wants you brainless, because even if your brain is the sexiest thing of you —yeah, yeah, and the thing that is making his college years hell on earth— your brain is also the thing that makes you obsess over the smallest thing and doesn’t make you follow your heart so freely.
Yeah, tonight Donghyuck wants you free, but for the sake of the dirty talking later —and to fool himself he doesn’t care about you that much— he’s going to say he wants you dumb.
And he’s starting strong tonight, his beautiful, long fingers reaching deep inside you, hitting right against your sweet spot, causing so much cum to pool around them and drip down while your pussy clenches hard and your hips buck up to ride the pleasure with him. And you don’t have it in you to fight; it feels too good, especially when he starts rubbing your clit and whispers dirty talk about how well you’re taking him.
Your eyes flutter open, just in time to catch the proud smirk on his face as he stares at your body, you dare to say, in awe. It shouldn’t warm your heart, but it does. You don’t even care if he sees you like a prize he won, right now, because even if he does, you know he only fights hard to win the trophies he cares about. He wants you, he likes you, even. Between the hate and the tension, something about what attracts you two together makes this work. And it’s fine.
“Hyuck,” you breathe out, chest panting and toes curling as you feel the familiar knot in your stomach. But you don’t expect the next words that come out of your mouth. “Kiss me.” When you realize what you said, you anticipate him mocking you, your ears already hear the snicker you know, oh so well, but it never arrives. What arrives are his lips on yours as he leans down, pressing his chest against yours while his fingers keep working wonder inside you.
The kiss is passionate, but not rough like the ones you’re so used to sharing. There’s no anger in it, just need and greed, and chemistry. So much chemistry, your hands have to run in his hair and tug them, making him moan and his dick throb against your thigh.
“I want you so bad,” he slurs against your lips. “I will do some dumb shit one day for you.”
You don’t get what he means. You don’t even know what he could mean by that given the nature of your bond, but his words, mixed with the sultry tone of his voice, are enough to make you come. You barely register the orgasm, hitting you like a singular explosion of a firework, leaving you gasping, exploding as quickly as it came yet slowly running through your bones as the feeling tones down.
Haechan snickers softly. “You love it when I get in trouble for you, don’t you? Even when it’s just a promise.”
Your lips part to reply but he shuts you with a kiss. “No talking, not unless I tell you to. I know everything I need to know, your body tells me that,” he says, grinning like an idiot when he shows you his cum coated fingers, tapping them against your lips, silently ordering you to taste yourself. You would never do that, but tonight it’s like he’s commanding you like a puppet on a string, and you obey. Closing your lips around him and sucking hard.
He smirks, feeling his dick get even harder as he stares at your lips. “That’s what I do to you, pretty girl. And I’m not even started.”
Your pussy throbs in anticipation while he pulls his fingers out. You know he’s one to keep promise, and you can’t wait for what’s to come. But he’s taking too long, and you can feel his hard dick against your leg, so your hand creeps down to touch it.
“You’re not in command tonight, angel,” he says, grabbing your wrist to stop you from moving your hand on him.
“But I want you,” you whine, trying to win him with a pouty look on your face.
It doesn’t work as he pushes your hand over your head and leans in. “Patience, princess. Keep quiet, don’t be greedy and just trust me. Can you do that? Or is it too hard for you?” He groans against your ear, making your hips buck up.
“I — I can,” you whisper but he stops with a glare and your brain replays his words ‘quiet, no words from you tonight,’ and he means it. So you nod, breathing in deeply as you feel weak in the knees for the way he looks at you.
“Good girl,” he says, pushing up to stand between your legs, pushing them open.
When he slips inside you, you gasp, dragging your nails on his back. “Are you alright?”
You nod, forcing yourself to look into his eyes.
“Good, and now,” he whispers, kissing your lips, and dragging out of you, “I want you to give into me and completely turn your brain off. You have me, that’s all you need right now.”
When he starts moving in and out, your body succumbs to the pleasure. Your muscles relax as you let him take care of you. His lips trace over your sensitive skin, leaving kisses on your neck and chest. His hands run over your body, touching and squeezing every inch. And he reaches so deep inside of you that you feel you can barely breathe.
“Just like this,” Haechan whispers close to your ear, gently biting the skin on your jaw. “Don’t think about anything,” he groans, hitting you deep after pulling out of you completely. “Not a single worry in that pretty brain of yours.”
You rarely let him win, but you have to admit that the way he makes you feel, the way he can lift all the stress off your shoulders, is a talent. He knows what he’s doing, and the scary thing is that he knows how to get you. So easily wrapped around his fingers, crumbling into nothing at his tiniest touch.
You whimper loudly when his fingers press against your clit, seeing stars at the new stimulation.
“You can take it,” he groans. You’re about to talk but he traps your lips in a messy, wet kiss as he pulls you closer by your waist, hitting even deeper. “You’re a good girl, right? You can take it.”
You’re doubtful, but you do take it, over and over again. You lose track of time and stop counting your orgasms after the third. There’s no need for that. All you need is the pleasure Donghyuck gives you, fucking you until both of you can’t do it anymore.
There’s nothing left once it’s over, no strength to talk or clean up the mess, just the warmth of your bodies cuddled against each other.
“Good morning, I will kill Lee Je — what the hell,” Renjun exclaims, entering the kitchen, making you turn around as if you’ve been caught stealing, holding the mug full of coffee in your hands and giving him a shy smile. “What are you doing here?”
You gulp, pushing your hair out of your face before coming up with a lie. “We studied too late.”
Renjun steps further into the room, staring at you with a raised brow before he tilts his head and studies how you’re dressed. You’re wearing Donghyuck’s sweater and pants.
“Oh, now they call it studying? Last time I checked you’re not med students, didn’t know music had anatomy in the program,” he taunts, grinning at you as he comes to your side.
You choke on your saliva and don’t have time to come up with a reply because he strikes again.
“Oh, no, maybe you were exercising vocalization, it’s better when it’s done together, right?” He winks and you glare at him.
“It’s not what you think,” you lie, but honestly you feel so embarrassed about everything. You didn’t think anybody else would be up this early on a Sunday, but it’s clear you don’t know Renjun well. You could’ve left, but you didn’t want to. It was slowly starting to sink in that you didn’t like the solitude of your life anymore.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody,” he says, sitting in front of you. “Come here, don’t stay up.”
You do as told, and smile when he offers you a pack of biscuits. “I would’ve cooked something usually, but Jeno kept me up all night.”
You chuckle. “It’s fine, normally I don’t even have breakfast.”
“You don’t?” He gasps, and you nod.
“Yeah, just coffee.”
He looks down at you, shaking his head in disappointment. “It’s not healthy.”
“I know, I know, I’ll try to eat more, okay? For you.” You reach out your hand and he takes it.
A fit of cough brings both of your gazes to the door and you see Haechan stand against the frame. “Once it’s Jeno, another time it’s Renjun. I bring you home to study and you flirt with my friends.”
“Drop the bullshit, Hyuck. He knows,” you say, rolling your eyes.
Haechan’s eyes widen, but he slowly fakes indifference. “Knows what? That you don’t have time for a relationship so you can’t date him?”
“That you two fuck,” Renjun answers instead, making him cough.
“That’s not true,” he defends. “I hate her,” he says, laughing, but when he meets your eyes and sees them sadden, he feels pain in his heart. “No, no, I don’t hate her, but we’re… you know our relationship, why would we fuck?”
“Who’s fucking?”
“Not you, Jeno. Not you for sure,” Renjun says, rolling his eyes.
“Hey! Why do you always gotta be so rude,” Jeno whines.
“I doubt he’s not getting laid,” you chuckle, and Jeno winks playfully.
“See, words of a wise woman,” he brags, walking to the fridge to grab something.
Renjun sighs loudly. “A woman that doesn’t know you.”
“Would you fuck him?” Haechan asks out of nowhere and you glare at him.
“I just said that he’s hot and smart, I don’t see how he can have a hard time finding somebody,”
“’Cause he’s annoying,” Renjun answers, but Haechan’s not listening.
“I didn’t ask that,” Donghyuck says instead, his attention is all on you as if there’s nobody else in the room.
“I don’t answer stupid questions,” you reply before sipping from your cup and drifting your gaze away.
“Wait, why are you here?” Jeno asks, only now realizing you’re not supposed to be at their place, not in the morning at least… wait… “Wait! Are you two fuck—”
“No,” Haechan answers sternly, glaring at him. “We’re studying. And it got late, so since we were closer to my place, I let her stay the night.”
“I thought you left yesterday saying you had a date, though,” Jeno says confused.
You chuckle under your breath before you feel Haechan’s hand wrap around your writs to pull you out of the room, not even giving you time to finish your coffee. “A studying date, and now drop it.”
When you reach his room, he groans loudly, walking to the closet to pick something to wear. You watch him move for a while, but then you can’t keep your thoughts inside your head anymore.
“Are you ashamed of me?” You ask and he turns around with wide eyes.
“What?”
“Am I something to be ashamed of? Do I don’t fit in the standard of the people you would usually fuck?”
He sighs, shaking his head. “No, I don’t want them to get invasive, they don’t let me live once they know something. And with you, it’s more embarrassing because of our history…”
You giggle, trying not to show the relief you’re feeling because, for a moment, you thought he was one of those types of men.
“Why can’t you ever make things easy for me?” He asks, annoyance in his voice. You have so much power over him, more than he likes to admit, and he feels like he can’t even be too mad at you about it.
“Sorry, it’s just, it’s funny having a history with you,” you explain. “My mortal enemy, always ready to steal my number ones, and my good grades.”
“You’re so annoying, you’re never sleeping over ever again.”
“Yeah, ‘cause I won’t let you fuck me ever again.”
“Liar,” he says. “And now move, I’ll drop you home.”
you can find part two on my account on the story masterlist or haechan’s masterlist (i can’t link it because if i do the post won’t appear in the tags)
general taglist: @froggyforhyuck, @wingsss45, @tddyhyck, @technologyculturedneo
fic taglist: @hcluvie, @gusgus0517, @multifandomania, @413cl, @odgsuji,
@hey-hey-heybitch, @nctrawberries, @n0hyuck, @haechoshi,
@girlwholoveslpreppyattire, @viciousdarlings, @hyuckmoon,
@jaeymark, @hqech, @xntlax, @milkyway-vxm, @fullsunahceah,
@beomgyusonlywife, @toroufriteh, @yesohhsehun @shxnz
@haecastor, @hyucksaint, @sk8ermark, @midnightrained
@maiteeeeesstuff, @smwhrinthehaze, @yoursyuno
© neowinestaindress ; all rights reserved. do NOT repost, modify, or translate any work from this blog on any other platform and claim it as yours.
#nct fanfiction#haechan smut#lee haechan smut#donghyuck smut#lee donghyuck smut#haechan fluff#lee haechan fluff#donghyuck fluff#nct smut#nct 127 smut#nct dream smut#haechan scenarios
970 notes
·
View notes
Text
I Want You to Stay (09) | JJK
Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader
Genre/Tags: boss!JK x assistant!reader; idiot strangers to lovers; slow slow burn; k-drama feels; angst, drama, fluff, smut
Chapter (Series) Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption & passing out, unhealthy coping mechanisms; family drama; minor injuries; power dynamics (JK starts off as a jerk); work-related anxiety, feelings of helplessness, insecurities; childhood traumatic experiences, nightmares; sexual harassment, attempted assault; use of the term slut in a derogatory way, prior incidence of domestic violence (PLS PLS BE CAREFUL WHEN READING); arts and business/property devt talk that’s probably inaccurate; commitment issues & emotionally constipated characters; cold and detached JK; eventual explicit sexual content (specific warnings stated per chapter) (18+)
Chapter Word count: 18.4k
Series Masterlist
Status: Ongoing
Series summary: Working for Jungkook isn’t the same as working for Hoseok. For starters, Jungkook doesn’t smile, he doesn’t appreciate you, and he gives you too much work. It doesn’t help that he’s incredibly handsome and has women at his beck and call. But as the tension grows, it becomes impossible to resist him. You’ve dedicated yourself to your job for 8 years so when you finally decide to put yourself first, he asks you to reconsider. And while you know that leaving is difficult, you learn that when it comes to Jungkook, staying is always so much harder.
Playlist 🎶: on the way home
A/N: Hiii thank you for being patient, and again for all your love and appreciation for this story. 🥰 Updates will continue to take longer as I return to uni. On another note, I hope you enjoy this!
And as always, my biggest thanks to @wonwoonlight 🥰
PS. If I can’t tag you, pls fix your settings!
Seeing you standing in his kitchen donned in that pastel-colored blouse makes Jungkook stop in his tracks; you’re exactly who he needs to wake him up.
It’s been weeks of vacation, which also means weeks without his usual routine. It’s striking how being absorbed in his work has altered him in that sense - he looks for the stress, for the long hours, for the isolation that’s demanded of his job. Perhaps there was just really nothing to look forward to, and work was an excuse for all those things because there wasn’t much else going for him. Ironic, considering everything he can do with what he has, yet nothing seems to be what he’s looking for, even if deep down, he knows what it is.
This is something that Hoseok and A-yeong made him realize during the trip as he watched them gush about the pretty streets and marvel at the fjords and immerse themselves in the view of the northern lights.
His cousin, the President of the company who makes decisive decisions and conducts press conferences and signs off on billion won projects, is the same man who squealed during a husky ride in Finland, laughed his butt off when he slipped on a glacier, and muttered words of love to his wife as they all watched the bright evening sky over the lake in Norway. There was so much passion in him, something A-yeong mirrored, whether it was about work or his relationships or just about everything in life. Hoseok looked forward to that trip, to that time with his wife, to that break, to seeing the scenery and feeling peace.
While Jungkook found himself constantly thinking about the Arts Center and upcoming projects and new design ideas… and the one person who connected him to all those - you. It felt like he was rushing towards something because the achievement was the goal, and while he stopped by the mountains and marveled at the water as he sat on the cliffs, his mind was racing, chasing something that he couldn’t even grasp.
That’s how the past six years have been. Perhaps more, he thinks. Maybe 20. He’s never allowed himself to just be. Quite frankly, he doesn’t know who he is outside of what he does; he doesn’t know much of how he is outside of being an executive and heir, and so during the moments when he isn’t functioning as such, he’s a bit lost, just existing in a place he’s visiting, not knowing how to interact, how to breathe; not knowing how to connect or to be free.
You’re the bright spot amidst it all. With you around, he still seems to be wandering while stuck in a certain spot, but he’s not alone because you’re there. With you around, there’s a sense of calmness somehow, with your smile and your presence warming the coldest parts of him that he’s left untouched and unfeeling for years.
So when he walks towards you, his eyes fully opening now to see you better, he hums in satisfaction.
“It’s nice to see you again,” he says, prompting you to turn around. “It feels like it’s been so long.”
“Really, Mr. Jeon? I thought the three weeks felt fast,” you giggle. “But it’s nice to see you, too. Were you able to rest out there?”
“Somehow,” he replies, taking the glass of water you give him.
“Is that why you passed on your morning workout to sleep in?” You raise an eyebrow, thinking that he’d slept in when you walked into his penthouse earlier without the usual sounds from the gym that you’d gotten used to.
“I was pretty jet lagged,” he groans. “Couldn’t sleep so I did it last night to tire myself out and then I finally fell asleep three hours ago. It’s a miracle I woke up after the tenth snooze of my alarm.”
“Ooh, that is not good, considering all the documents on your desks and messages on your inbox,” you shake your head. “What if I move the team meeting to tomorrow so you don’t push yourself too hard today? You could’ve taken the day off.”
“And have a worse day tomorrow? No thanks,” he chuckles. “I’m fine, but I agree with moving the meeting.”
“Just take it slow,” you advise. “I brought some pastries because I know your fridge and pantry are empty. I’ll get them ready shortly.”
“I’ll wash up then.”
You follow not long after, preparing his outfits for the second half of the week, then setting out the breakfast for both of you. He returns to the kitchen wearing the brown suit you chose for today, looking just as handsome as you remember. You fix his tie like you always do and meet his eyes like it’s reflex, the warmth bubbling within you when he returns your soft smile. You take your seat a chair away, taking your iPad after to start going through updates when he stops you.
“Not yet, please. My mind’s still half asleep.”
“Okay, sir,” you respond. “We can talk about your trip instead. How was it?”
Jungkook finds himself more engaged in telling you about it, not like how he was when his best friends met him for dinner last night and he was too tired to narrate how it went. But you ask with such excitement that he ends up sharing more than what he planned.
He talks about the Vikings museum and historical tours, the bike rides and coastal walks, the calm but lively cities and the breathtaking waterfalls. He even mentions the things he’d only kept to himself - like that one evening when the sky looked like one of Lee Jaemin’s paintings that had him staying at the balcony with a glass of wine while basking in its beauty, and when they were in Hans Christian Andersen’s hometown and he wondered what kind of fairytale character he would be, and that he learned he really enjoys hot springs during the winter. They’re random thoughts that he just ended up saying, somehow feeling natural and comfortable in sharing them with you.
You indulge him, asking more and sharing your thoughts, too. You even throw in the occasional teasing remark and playful laughter. You ask about the scenery, expressing your yearning for the outdoors that you said you never really appreciated before, as the open space always overwhelmed you.
He passes you his iPad where he’s opened the folder of the photos that he took with his camera, a gift from Taehyung who’d said that Jungkook needed to go out more and “feel the sun.” He rarely used it but a Northern Europe trip seemed like the perfect excuse. He’s used to assessing interiors and marveling at structures from afar, but this time he got to appreciate what lies beyond his walls, beyond the little world he’s been burrowing himself in.
“These are stunning, Jungkook,” you gush, dropping the formalities as he shares something that feels so personal. “I didn’t know you had the talent for photography, too.”
“I wouldn’t call it a talent,” he shakes his head. “I took it as an elective during university and it helps with design ideas. I should at least take nice photos if I need inspiration or a basis. I don’t really do it much, though.”
“Did it make you feel good, at least?” You ask, wondering what else gives him satisfaction.
“Somehow. It makes me feel good when I’m looking at the pictures. I’m transported to that day and that place again, like a holder of memories and desire for the good things.”
You go through the photos - dozens of them. He didn’t take too many, just one or two shots of every scenery. Beyond the majestic landscape, there are the everyday scenes - people talking at a cafe, strangers enjoying the park. There’s a couple holding hands, laughing at each other; from the silhouettes, you can tell they’re Hoseok and A-yeong, a moment that Jungkook probably thought too precious to not capture.
Something in you stirs, as the photos elicit a mix of awe and yearning. You look at Jungkook and you think it’s what he felt, too.
There’s a saying you heard about watching what people photograph to learn what they fear losing. With Jungkook, it seems as if these - freedom, tranquility, connection, intimacy - are things he wants; somehow they seem to be what he fears having.
“It’s nice to have a keeper of good memories, isn’t it? Of that reminder that beautiful things exist and that they’re tangible, you know?” You say, returning his gadget.
“It is,” he responds after a beat of silence, seemingly processing your words. “We forget sometimes. Or maybe, we just don’t know what that’s like. In that case it’s like an illusion. But it’s still good to have that, I guess. It’s still something.”
You don’t know what more could be said. It feels too personal or even intimate of a conversation to have with your boss on a Wednesday morning as you eat breakfast in his apartment. So you let it go, smiling as you say you’re glad he got to have some rest.
He says that so does he and then asks about how your holiday was as you both head to the car. You talk about it during the ride, how you spent a week in Wando with your mother’s partner’s family and then drove to Jeonju, how the entirety of your break had you stuffing your face with food and bonding with them, and how they drove you back to Seoul last weekend, thankful that for those two weeks, they had you around.
You don’t tell Jungkook that some days, you’d think of him, wondering how he’s doing. You don’t tell him that you’d seen A-yeong’s posts and that he looked at peace in them, that there was a softness in his eyes that you’ve rarely seen on him. You don’t tell him that despite the vacation that you said you were looking forward to, you were also looking forward to this - having him back, sharing stories, and living in the silence alongside him.
You wonder, as you glance at him looking out the window, if this is what you meant about savoring the moment, enjoying what’s in front of you, and feeling less alone. Because right now, those are exactly what you feel.
Jungkook wanted to wait to get to the office before proceeding to work matters, something that surprises you because he always gets down to business immediately, not unless he’s recovering from a hangover. But he blew you off even in the car, wanting instead to listen to your stories and then doodle on his leather notebook again for the rest of the ride. You end up meeting with him for an hour before he settles in, then he goes to lunch with his father, meets with your team, and then decides to visit the Arts Center mid-afternoon.
Work is back in full-swing just like that, and you pull the energy from within you to manage the crazy week. There are start-of-the-year events to attend and organize, a board report and meeting to prepare for, new projects to initiate, and a major one to monitor.
You’re glad that despite all that, Jungkook allows you to have a four-day off on the succeeding week so you can celebrate your birthday with a road trip down coastal towns with Jimin and Soomin. It’s a silly thing to do in the middle of winter, but they insist that warmth is most satisfying when it’s cold outside, and you don’t disagree. You’ll definitely be sighing in relief when you hold the steaming hot hotteok in between your hands, and it’ll be the best one you’ll have.
It’s Thursday and you’ll be back in a week. You’ve just finished briefing Do-hyun, who’ll be covering for you while you’re away, and you get off your chair to grab tea in the pantry. Jungkook’s voice stops as you, as he stands by his door and asks if you’re already leaving.
“In an hour, Mr. Jeon,” you reply. “Is there anything I can help you with until then?”
“No, nothing,” he says. “I’m actually about to leave for dinner with Taehyung and Seokjin.”
“Oh, alright, sir,” you hum. “Goodbye, then. And I’ll see you next week. Just know that you’re the only one who can disturb me.”
He laughs in response. “Come on, I won’t be badgering you, especially on your birthday. It’s your one week away from me. You have to savor it.”
“So should you,” you counter. “But okay. I will.”
“Good,” he nods. “I’ll just fix up and go ahead then.”
He returns to his room and you’re just the tiniest bit disappointed that he didn’t properly greet you but you suppose that’s good for you. So you go to the pantry and end up chit-chatting with the team, finding yourself smiling when you look up and see Jungkook by the door, who tells everyone not to stay too late before he heads out.
You arrive back at your desk, your heart beating fast at the sight of a small brown bag on your table.
For your trip. Something to help remind you that beautiful things exist and they’re tangible, the note reads. Happy birthday.
Your mind goes to a conversation you had not long ago, about how photos can elicit certain emotions and be a keeper of memories, especially of good ones. You know this is from Jungkook, and you also have an idea of what this might be, which is why you open the package right away.
Still, it catches you by surprise, especially when you find two disposable film cameras inside. They’ll definitely be enough for your upcoming trip and you know the photos will come out amazingly. You’re ecstatic.
Perhaps this is why he wanted to leave before you did - you’d thank him and he’d be terrible at accepting it again, then you’ll call him out for it. Maybe it was good he hadn’t stuck around to see you act this way. At least he didn’t see you with that silly smile on your face.
But Yoongi does as you head down the elevator, smirking at you when he sees the bag you’re holding and the familiar handwriting on the card.
“I’m guessing you’re not fighting it anymore, huh?” He says, teasing yet somehow still comforting.
“I’m trying not to, even if I know I’m being stupid,” you admit. “I can at least have these fleeting moments of joy after I walk away from this.”
“Retain the good memories. That’s one way to let things go,” Yoongi advises, as he exits the carriage on the parking lot floor.
The doors close on your smiling face, and he chuckles to himself at the irony of things. That’s how he learned to let you go, after all.
You return to work the following week with a spring in your step, with Jungkook noticing as you heat up the fried rice that you told him you’d be preparing for breakfast. You hum as you go about in the kitchen, feeling energized after the last few days you’ve had.
It was freezing, but you, Soomin, and Jimin went a little crazy and ran down the beach whenever you drove by one, something you all did as kids living in Busan. The drives from town to town were slow but they had you all singing to your favorite songs, munching on chestnuts and bungeoppang, and stopping over viewing sites for fresh air and photos.
You used Jungkook’s gift a lot, taking pictures of things that elicited strong emotions and good memories - purple and orange skies, snow melting on the pavement, the crashing ocean waves turning white at the tip, an empty playground in the park, Soomin’s infectious laughter, Jimin’s angelic smile.
The cold was an excuse to seek your best friends’ warmth and they took advantage of it. It reminded you of those few years growing up with them before you returned to Daegu for college, something you and Jimin reminisced about, and something that you thanked him for after what seemed like ages. You recalled how he approached you first as the new girl who entered school in the middle of the school year, how he followed you around because you were always alone and was scared of loud noises, and how he’s never left your side since then.
Every night during that trip, he hugged you as you tried to fall asleep, knowing you needed it for the cold you felt inside and out. He was next to you when you talked about Jungkook gifting you the cameras and admitted that it made you feel good, that it made you happy.
“I’m glad he’s showing you kindness,” Jimin had said. “But… just be careful, okay? Your heart is capable of a lot of good things. Pain is the last thing it deserves.”
“I don’t really know what my heart is capable of,” you replied. “My brain does the hurting but my heart… I don’t know what it does. I don’t know how it works.”
It left him speechless then and somehow, you were glad that he just held you tighter, only because it was the only way you wanted to be comforted at that moment. But you also knew that whatever your heart ended up doing or experiencing, Jimin and Soomin would be there to help you make sense of it, to pick up the pieces should they need to.
“It seems as though your birthday rejuvenated you, ___,” Jungkook disrupts your thoughts. “You look much lighter and relaxed.”
“Only because I haven’t checked my emails nor taken new instructions from you,” you laugh as you serve the fried rice in bowls then head towards him. You fix his suit again and speak casually like you’ve gotten used to. “Once I open that iPad and see what I have to deal with, relaxed would be the last thing I’ll be.”
“Fair enough,” he chuckles. “Let me savor this then.”
His words catch you off guard and they prompt you to meet his eyes - soft yet piercing, then he turns shy and turns away from you. Perhaps he’s surprised at what he’d said, too.
“Work is stressful and your calmness rubs off on me most times,” he says nonchalantly. “We’ve got a busy few days ahead and I want that calmness to linger.”
“It will,” you assure him. “And yes, I feel rejuvenated, and that’ll probably last me for days so that will linger, even if I’m stressed, so don't worry. You’re gonna do well. I don’t doubt it one bit.”
Jungkook’s meeting the Culture Minister next week to present the Arts Center’s plans and activities leading to its opening to the public, which is why you think he needs that calmness as well. The team has been helping him with the preparations and while you felt bad that you didn’t get to contribute as much, he assured you that all the notes you left him have been instrumental.
But still, his words affect you. Is this calm and relaxed version of you all he wants to savor? Does it mean anything more?
The thoughts wander away as you have breakfast with him, and he asks if you wish to talk about work later on but you insist that you’re mentally ready for it all. He’s the one who gives you updates this time, and just like that, you’re back to your usual routine.
You glance at his plate, all clean right after because even this dish, he savors. And you realize that doing things for him, no matter how simple, makes you happy, too, especially when his lips turn up in a small smile and he nods in satisfaction.
“Good, huh?” You wiggle your eyebrows.
“It’s infinitely better than mine,” he hums.
“So, it’s really, really, really good then?”
“You don’t even know how mine tastes like.”
“True. But Taehyung said once that yours was really delicious and I’ll take his word for it. Seokjin agreed and I believe them.”
“Wow, really? That’s a rare moment where they praise me,” Jungkook laughs.
“You should savor that, too.”
“I should. Heavens know the last time that happened. And when it’ll happen again.”
“That’s kind of hard though, isn’t it?” You say, being a bit reflective as you go back to your daily routine after a trip that you wholly enjoyed. “Savoring things… capturing them, appreciating them. Like, you have to be in the moment, you have to be present, and that’s not easy to do.”
“It isn’t,” he responds after a while. “You have to care enough for something to be worth savoring, I guess.”
“Exactly. But how do you do that when everything is temporary - things, feelings… people. Not all of them are meant to stay,” you reply, meeting his eyes as they seem to be in deep thought.
“Maybe they will… if you ask them to,” he softly says.
“That depends.”
“On what?” He asks.
“If they have a reason to,” you shrug.
Your faraway eyes tell him that you’re in deep thought, perhaps processing the exchange that even Jungkook can’t fully wrap his head around. But you turn to him not long after, smiling as you take the plates to clean up, as if you’d just snapped out of a trance, of a moment of honesty.
He watches you from his seat. There’s an aura about you that truly feels more relaxed, yet there seems to be an added layer of pensiveness, of deep thinking that could easily be mistaken for savoring the moment when you might be questioning it, perhaps wondering if it’s real… or worth caring about in the first place.
Even until now, he doesn’t know what it is about you that has him hanging on to every word you say, like it’s some secret message or code to learning who you are and what your fears and pains and hopes and dreams might be.
In the past months, his moments with you have allowed him a peek inside - there’s this yearning for something that you’re not ready for; there’s this knowledge of the fleeting nature of the world that you want to capture as memories because that’s the only way you can make them stay; there’s this desire for companionship that terrifies you more than anything.
But then again, as he sees that soft courage in your eyes, maybe he knows why - he has the same fears as you, and perhaps that’s terrifying, too, as he realizes that much of what he’s scared of is tangible.
He fears the emptiness left in your absence and the silence surrounding him when you’re gone. His trip over the holidays made him think so; this past week when you were away solidified it. There’s a lot of you to miss. He’s unsure how to deal with these thoughts and feelings; he doesn’t know how to move forward and be professional when you affect him this way. All he can hope for is that you’ll always find a reason to stay close to him, that you’ll always find a reason to want him around, and that every moment you share is something worth it enough for you to savor but that you both never have to let go.
You think about the conversation with Jungkook later that night on your way home. There’s something about the impermanence of the world that’s always scared you; things break and wither away all the time and you fear the loss in their absence. Perhaps it’s because you’ve experienced various types of losses throughout your years of living.
You lost that childhood innocence the first time you saw your mother cry, then when her smile that finally returned was wiped off, and then when her hopeful eyes became filled with tears out of fear. You lost that comfort of a routine when you left Seoul at 10 years old, and then that stability when you said goodbye to your life in Busan. You lost that security when you decided to come back here with a dream tucked away, burdened with a debt and a past that you couldn’t escape. You lost that feeling of freedom when your favorite library closed, and then of safety during that night at the restaurant when you were hurt and exposed.
It’s hard to savor things when you know you’ll lose them one day. But that’s also precisely why you should, as what these past months have been showing you, you think now. The absence reminds you that something good was in its place, and that at one point in time, it made you hope that you deserved it, that you were worthy of having it.
But as you lay in bed that night and think of how much of Jungkook you thought about while you were away, you start to think that maybe things aren’t as temporary as you once believed. He was in the icy streets that you walked on and the warmth of the hot chocolate drink you had. He was in the drizzle on the playground that you wiped off and the touch of the leather notebook you saw at one of the shops.
And perhaps that was the difference - you didn’t just stand by; somehow it felt like you connected with them - they were tangible, within your grasp, and that made them linger, that made them feel real. In your mind, that’s where they stayed.
The tail-end of winter marks the time when you’ve settled in the new year. All your backlog from the holidays and your short birthday break have been worked on. Operational plans and goals for the year have been finalized. The Board report and meeting are over and major events have been scheduled. Things are picking up now as the Arts Center is near its completion, with the consequent promotions and marketing on full speed. That last bit has been contracted to a subsidiary company but Jungkook is still on top of most things, which means that so are you.
You accompany him to meetings with different departments regularly, and that’s on top of monitoring the other small projects that the VP office is working on, which is also on top of supporting Jungkook’s executive functions. In a blink of an eye, you’re back to the hustle and bustle nature of your job, and you’re reminded of why it’s been so hard to get out of it, and also why you can’t wait to do so.
There’s just so much going on all at once, and given how you are, you give all of yourself to it because it’s the only way to get things done; it’s the only way to get through it without feeling like you’re taking for granted all that you’ve been given and achieved. But it also means you’ve lost the sense of meaning of most other things, and you wanna be able to do something that means something to you, something of good memories, of beautiful things that are tangible that you can touch and feel.
You let go of the thoughts when Do-hyun and Yohan pop in your area to say goodbye. It’s another long night for everyone and you’re glad that they finally listened to you and decided to go home. You say that you still have a couple of things to work on when they insist that they walk you to the bus stop, telling them once more that you’ll be fine.
“It’s forecasted to rain soon,” Do-hyun informs you.
“I’ll get a cab, don’t worry,” you assure them. “Finance needs these files first thing tomorrow morning and we’ve got that ocular at 8. Thank you though.”
“Fine, but let us know when you’re home, okay?” She says.
“I will. Get home safely, you two.”
You get back to work, and with the peace and quiet in the office with you being the last one here, you manage to finish what you need to in an hour and then finally call it a night. You head out and sigh to yourself once you see the lightning strike, knowing that it wouldn’t be long before the rain will begin to pour. You manage to bring out your umbrella by the time it does, then turn at the corner to look for a cab so you can avoid those who’ll be hailing from the main road.
There are a few people who have the same idea as you, and it’s after some time before you spot one, with the driver slowing down once he sees you. But right as you start speed walking towards it, some man decides to get ahead, running past you and bumping you in the process, causing you to lose your balance. The wet pavement doesn’t help, as you slip on your foot and fall to the ground. You try to get up but jerk in pain when you do, realizing that you’d hurt your ankle, a foreign feeling that has you immediately worrying.
After all the times you’d found yourself under the rain, this is the worst moment of all - you’re hurting, all alone, and completely worn out. You’ve had a really long day and you don’t have the energy for this; all you want is to go home and have some rest. But you know there’s no other way, so you shift on your bum, manage to get up and strain your arms in the process, then you limp to the nearest post you can find using your umbrella as a walking stick then stand on one foot.
The rain has weakened a little, so you’re at least not getting even more wet, but it’s still winter and you’ve started to freeze. There are no other cabs in sight and all ride-hailing apps have been such a pain to book. Knowing that it’ll be tough to get home in any way at this stage and that you won’t be able to manage on your own, you decide to call Mr. Ri. He’s always told you that if you need help for anything, he’s another person that you could call.
It’s half past 8 in the evening. You’re banking on him being on the way home after having dropped Jungkook off at his building after a dinner meeting at 5:30.
“Hey, ___. Is everything alright?” Mr. Ri asks, knowing you rarely call at this hour.
“Not really,” you sigh, the shiver in your voice evident. “Have you dropped Jungkook off?”
“Not yet. But what do you mean, not really? What happened?”
“Are you driving?”
“No. I’m still waiting for him to finish. Tell me, are you in danger?” He presses, and you hear the worry in his voice.
You told him about Chi-won some weeks after it happened, and Mr. Ri, having known you for many years, knows you’re not one to usually reach out. He’s made it a point to check on you regularly, and calls like this would definitely ring some alarm bells.
“I’m not in danger but I hurt myself,” you say, quickly appeasing him that it’s probably just a sprained ankle and not that serious. “I just can’t get any ride and I can barely walk. I was hoping you were on the way home.”
“I’m not but I’ll go get you, okay? I’ll tell Jungkook and we’ll drive to you right away.”
“Mr. Ri, he’s in a meeting!”
“That’s most likely over and now they’re just chatting over drinks,” he reasons. “I’ll get him. You know he’ll want me to.”
“You don’t know that,” you stammer.
“You weren’t there with him the days after what happened that night at the restaurant, ___,” he huffs. “I just knew it was really bad because of how worried he was, and he’s never been that way. So yes, I know he’ll want me to get his ass out of there and be on the way to you. Plus, I’m sure he’ll fire me if I don’t.”
“Fine,” you concede. “Just don’t make it sound so bad because it really isn’t.”
“You know I can’t control how that kid reacts,” he hums. “Just send me your location.”
Mr. Ri heads out of the driver’s lounge and rushes to the restaurant where he manages to send a message to Jungkook that you’re stranded somewhere with possibly a sprained ankle. He says it as it is, knowing that Jungkook won’t need much to decide on ending the meeting and go to you, which he does right away.
“What happened?” He asks the older man as they both walk towards the basement parking.
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask any more questions,” Mr. Ri responds. “She’s somewhere near the office. We’ll be there in 20 minutes.”
“Try for 15,” Jungkook instructs.
He calls you right after and he immediately picks up on your chattering teeth.
“Hey, ___. How are you feeling?”
You’re a little surprised when Jungkook calls this soon, and with how you’re trying to move past whatever attraction you have towards the man, this really isn’t helping.
“Just… cold. My umbrella flew away,” you laugh. “The wind’s picked up and I think it’s gonna rain again.”
Just as you say so, it starts, and you pick up on the change in Jungkook’s voice. You’ve since learned that he’s not fond of it, always closing his eyes and trying to tune everything out with even just a drizzle. But he continues talking and asks what happened, trying to keep you company. You narrate the incident and attempt to play it off as something minor, although the longer you stay leaning against the post, the more pain you’re starting to feel.
“We’re five minutes away. We’ll be there soon,” he assures you then drops the call.
Jungkook clenches his fist and closes his eyes as the rain continues to pour. With the sound of the thunder, he jerks in his seat like he always does, but he pushes forward, knowing you need his help. He takes deep breaths just as he’s learned to do, and not long after, Mr. Ri informs him that he sees you just meters away.
The car slows down and Jungkook looks outside the window. He can see you leaning against a pole on one foot, drenched and shivering, your eyes closed as you wait for them to arrive. He meets Mr. Ri’s eyes in the rear view mirror as they halt, and with the rain just barely stopping, the older man nods and exits the car.
Jungkook watches from inside as Mr. Ri runs to you. He sees the smile on your face despite the droplets on the window. The older man takes your bag then helps you walk, leading you to the car where Jungkook manages to push the door open.
You slowly enter with as much energy you can muster, wincing in pain when you have to adjust your foot inside. You sigh in relief as you feel the warmth and dryness of the car, prompting you to apologize for getting it all wet.
“Don’t worry about it,” Jungkook shakes his head. “We’ll take you to the hospital, okay? And I won’t accept no for an answer.”
You nod in agreement, knowing that much as you’re causing him inconvenience right now, you’re too tired to argue. You lean your head by the window and try to catch your breath.
“Have you had dinner? He asks.
“Not yet. I was supposed to grab it on the way home.”
“We’ll pass by somewhere after the hospital.”
“Okay,” you look at him and smile.
Jungkook isn’t surprised when you don’t counter him. Perhaps it’s the exhaustion, as he sees it in how your smile isn’t as bright as what he’s used to, with it fading as you turn away. You’re still shivering though, despite the car heater being turned up. He doesn’t have a towel to dry you up, though, so he instead removes his coat and instructs you to lean forward so he can place it over your shoulders to warm your back. He takes his puffer jacket from the front seat and puts it over your lap right after, giving you warmth there, too.
“Is that better?” He asks.
“Yeah,” you mouth. “Thank you.”
His scent wafts through your senses, allowing you to breathe and feel all of him at once. It’s the closest thing to tangible comfort you’ve gotten from him, and you hate how good it feels.
You’re just about to fall asleep when the car comes to a stop. The rain has subsided and perhaps that’s why soon after, you hear Jungkook open his door and then your door, too. He removes his coat over your back, placing it back inside, then he holds onto your forearms to help you climb out. He takes his jacket and instructs you to wear it, giggling at how you’re being swallowed in it.
“I look ridiculous,” you pout as you sit on the wheelchair that he’s asked the nurse to get.
“Just a little,” he teases.
He walks next to you as you’re wheeled inside the hospital, staying close by when you explain to the ER doctor what happened. She assesses your foot and lower leg, diagnosing you with a sprained ankle like you expected, and proceeds to wrap it in elastic bandage.
She treats the minor scratches on your palms you got from the fall then writes you a prescription for painkillers. Jungkook takes it so he can buy them for you after, then he helps you settle the bill with your insurance.
You’re quite uncomfortable - you’re still a little wet and the bandage feels foreign around your foot. But you’re also feeling a bit shy, now that Jungkook is the one pushing the wheelchair towards the pharmacy nearby. He parks you at the side while he buys the medicine, and as you look on, you can’t help the relief mixed with giddiness that you feel despite the pain that’s close to overtaking you.
He stands by the counter with his white dress shirt slightly untucked and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hands are in his pockets while he waits for the pharmacist to return, and amidst everything that’s going on, you’re still able to admire how overwhelmingly handsome he looks, especially given what he’s doing right now for you. His side view is quite blinding, so you’re slightly embarrassed when he turns around and calls your name again after you missed it the first few times.
“Dazed and tired?” He asks as he walks back to you with a pack of medicines.
“Definitely,” you say, which isn’t a lie; it’s just not the whole truth. “I just want to eat and have a nice bath and then sleep.”
“And you’ll do all that soon,” he assures you. “We’ll pass by whatever’s open on the way to your place. Just make sure you don’t have the hot water on, okay? And then elevate your foot when you sleep.”
“Yes, I heard everything she said,” you playfully roll your eyes.
“Including the full-on rest that’s required of you for the next few days?” He raises an eyebrow. “Because that’s what you’re gonna have. You’re on leave until you’re able to walk properly again, Ms. Cho.”
“So now you’re being formal,” you tease, flashing him a playful smile. “But yes, Mr. Jeon. The instructions are understood.”
“Good,” he laughs softly. “Glad you’re not being stubborn about it.”
“Oh, not with this one, not when I’m this tired and in this much pain.”
His look turns sullen at the admission of what you’re feeling and you wish he didn’t feel this bad. But you can’t deny the way it’s giving you butterflies, prompting you to scold yourself internally because learning how caring he is isn’t exactly what you need to get over a crush. This is definitely the worst part about being injured, you decide.
You make it out of the hospital and he helps you again as you enter the car, sliding in next to you as he ensures that you’re warm.
You pass by a noodle house on the way, and he buys you some more food for the next day despite your insistence that he didn’t have to. But you’re too tired to argue some more, and you doze off a little during the drive to your apartment, with your half-awake self mumbling your apology about taking up his time.
Jungkook playfully shakes his head. Knowing you’re probably shallow sleep-talking, he disregards your words. He just gets glimpses of you, comforted to know that you’re at least getting the most rest you can have, given your current state. The painkillers will kick in soon and that’ll help you sleep better, but right now, he wishes he could do more for you.
In the deepest crevices of his heart, he wants to hold your still shivering hands and maybe hug your trembling body. He wants to stay with you until you’re warm and comfortable in your bed, perhaps assure you in whatever way that you’re not alone, that there’s help whenever you need it. He can’t imagine how it would’ve been like for you being under the rain, cold and hurt with no one around.
On second thought, he can, and that’s the thing about it. Even if you get out of it with just a sprained ankle - considering how much worse it could’ve been - it’s still terrifying being alone and powerless, paralyzed on the spot and not knowing if anyone will show up. He wants nothing more than for you to get over that and be able to move past it because he knows how haunting it could be; he knows how restraining such memories are.
But he also knows that there’s not much he could do - not with the unnamed feelings he can’t express, and not with the line he still believes he shouldn’t cross.
So he settles for glances and soft smiles at your fluttering eyes and slightly parted mouth. You look tired but peaceful; he thinks it’s quite endearing. It also feels intrusive so he looks away, out into the streets that he’s able to somehow see now. He thinks about the timing of it all - your late night and his dinner out, your injury and the bad weather. He’s thankful that the rain subsided and that allowed him to help you as much as he was able to, and that he got to you in the first place.
You arrive at your apartment with you now fully awake, and Jungkook heads to your side right away. Pulling you out of the car requires more strength from him, and despite your terrible condition, the butterflies appear once more when he instructs you to hold onto him for support. You have to act unaffected when you feel his broad shoulders and taut arms, with your hands gingerly laying on them; you wonder if he feels anything, too, under the thin material of his dress shirt.
His left hand only grazes your waist but his hold tightens after you grant him permission, perhaps knowing that it would be harder for you if he holds you that loose, he asked you to put your weight on him after all. Despite your agreement, you still hold in your breath, a silly attempt at slowing down your quickening heartbeat. He’s never been this close, and you’re unsure if you want him to be anywhere else.
You suspend your thoughts for the shortest of seconds until you both manage to get up the few steps to your door. Mr. Ri helps in unlocking it, and you settle on the dining chair that Jungkook pulls out for you after you both enter.
As you release a breath and watch him look around, it’s then you realize that your boss - the Jeon Corporation Vice President who lives in a penthouse in an exclusive district in Seoul - is in your tiny studio apartment that’s literally just the size of his bedroom. You’re not ashamed one bit but you are a little shy, so you jokingly welcome him to your “little mansion.”
“It’s nice,” he hums, looking around some more, which he doesn’t need to move to do.
The small round dining table, the off-the-wall kitchen, and the three-seater couch are all in the open living space. There’s a half-wall that separates your sleeping area, with your double bed against it and the tiniest of balconies just off of it.
You’re quite proud of what you’ve made of the place, with the plants in the corners, some chic art pieces on the walls, and photos with your friends and family on stick-on frames resting on the shelves. It’s cozy and comfortable for you, and you feel quite proud when Jungkook’s lips turn up when you respond that you’re happy here when he asks.
“It’s everything I need,” you hum. “And it’s in a safe part of town. My neighbors are older couples who are all kind.”
“That’s good,” he says, turning to you. “Will they be much help to you while you recover?”
“I’ll be okay,” you insist. “I have a crutch. I’ve got food to heat up, and my place is so small that I don’t have to move around to get things done. I don’t really need help, you know?”
He scrunches his eyebrows, seemingly unconvinced.
“Watch,” you say, your shallow confidence pushing you to grab the crutch next to you then using it to walk towards him so you could prove that you’re capable enough to look after yourself.
But your unfamiliarity with it leads you to mistime your step. Before you know it, you’re tripping on your foot and losing your balance, and as your life is about to flash before your eyes thinking that you’re gonna fall once again and make your injury worse, Jungkook’s reflex kicks in and he steps forward to catch you. You feel his grip on your waist gradually tighten as if to keep you steady, as if to make sure you’re alright. He’s so close, you can feel his breath as he pants, the worried look on his face something you’re familiar with by now. But he stays there, inches away, and so do you.
He’s bending, so he stays leveled with you. You can see his long eyelashes resting on his honeyed skin and the endearing curve of his nose. He looks so soft like this, comfortable even, with his big round eyes looking like the most innocent ones you’ve ever seen.
The voice in your head suddenly becomes loud enough and you break his gaze, realizing then that you’re also clutching onto his shoulder for support. You give him a look of apology but he just laughs, something you’re thankful for because the last thing you want is for the tension to thicken.
“You’re stubborn, aren’t you? You think it’s that easy?” He shakes his head, his tone sounding like he’s both teasing and reprimanding you.
“It seemed like it,” you shrug, allowing him to help you back on the seat, disregarding the slightest bit of giddiness you feel as he has one hand on your free arm while the other ghosts over your waist in case you fall again.
“It’s not. And I know this because I’ve used this before,” he says. “So since you’ll be by yourself, we have to make sure you can at least use the crutch without falling, okay?”
“Fine,” you concede, listening to his instructions carefully then trying to do it on your own.
It takes some getting used to, but after a few tries, you manage to at least walk without tripping. You plan on just staying in bed or on the couch tomorrow anyway so you’re not that worried. Even if Jungkook still seems to be.
“I’m okay,” you insist. “I’m gonna survive. But you should head home. It’s getting late and you have that ocular in the morning. I’ll just have to email Chin-sun about accompanying you and—”
“None of that,” he interjects. “I’ll be the one to tell her and I don’t want you worrying about work tomorrow, okay? You’re gonna take your medicine and just rest.”
“You’re demanding, aren’t you?” You raise an eyebrow.
“Only when I’m dealing with someone as stubborn as you,” he counters.
You just laugh at him answering back, enjoying your banter more than you should, then he says that he’ll go ahead, for as long as you’re sure you can manage. It takes another five minutes until he makes it out the door. But before he disappears, you call his name, your heart skipping a beat when he turns around, as if he’s just hanging onto your every word.
“Thank you,” you say. “I know it was a long day and it was raining but… you still came for me.”
“Just recover quickly, okay? I’ll check on you in the morning.”
You nod and he leaves. And just like that, you’re once again on your own - damp, injured, and extremely tired. Jungkook’s presence remains in your apartment though, and there he is again, making you smile and making you feel things you shouldn’t.
You don’t mind being alone. In fact, you enjoy it. But during the times when you don’t want to be, he just happens to be there. And being the stubborn woman that you are, deep down, you like it that he is, that in your own little world with the walls up so high, he’s become a frequent visitor. You’re just not sure if you want him to stay just yet.
You wake up the next morning feeling faint and sore, and it’s probably the painkillers having lost their effect. And there’s a reason why, seeing that it’s close to midday when you finally get out of bed. You manage to stand and walk to the kitchen with no issues, and you take your medication and heat up the food that Jungkook bought for you last night. It’s when you’re seated that he calls, bringing that smile to your otherwise uneventful day.
“Hello?”
“Hey, ___. How are you feeling?” He asks.
“Just fine. I took my medicines for the day and I’m about to eat lunch,” you reply. “And you? How was the ocular?”
“It was good. It has a lot of potential so I’ll run down the details with the teams and propose it. But speaking of sites, remember what I said about Hoseok and I thinking of a Scandinavian-inspired mid-rise in the mountains?”
“Yeah, the one you came up with during your trip. Are you gonna push through with it soon?”
“Perhaps. I’ve gotten emails of proposed sites for some other projects but I’ve seen a few that could work with this idea,” he shares. “There’s one in Gangwon that’s near the town center so it would be practical for many. There’s even— ah, why am I saying this to you now? You’re off the clock.”
“It’s okay,” you assure him. Jungkook doesn’t always show this much excitement with the projects he has to manage so when he does, you encourage him. It’s also an excuse to hear more of his voice. “My mind’s not prepared for being home today anyway so I’m a little disoriented. But that’s good. I can look into the sites and we can do an ocular whenever you prefer.”
“Alright, that’s something to schedule for next month. But uh, you sure you’re fine? Does your ankle still hurt? Did you get proper sleep?”
“Well, I slept like a baby,” you giggle. “And I at least remained in one position. It still hurts a bit but it should be okay in the next few days. I’m just gonna have to replace the bandage tomorrow morning.”
“Okay. Just make sure to ice it and keep it elevated.”
“Yes, boss,” you tease, earning you a groan. “But uh, thank you for checking up on me. I know you’ve got a busy day ahead.”
He’s silent, and you suppose it’s him again not knowing how to respond to gratitude, so you follow it up by saying that you’ll eat your meal now and reminding him of his meeting at 2PM.
“You better not be checking your emails and my calendar right now,” he warns.
“I’m not. I just memorize your schedule,” you defend.
“Okay then, I’ll go ahead.”
Jungkook drops the call and sinking in his seat, he sighs in relief. He managed to get through that conversation without sounding extremely worried, which is what he’s been since last night. His busy day today actually includes constantly worrying about how you’re doing, but he supposes it’s too much to let you know. Sure it’s just a sprained ankle, but knowing how you tend to move about, anything can happen. You were all alone for some time last night, too, just waiting for a way to get home. And that’s another thing he worries about - that fear latching onto you, that helplessness weighing you down.
He asks Mr. Ri if he’s heard from you, thinking that you’d probably be more honest with him, but the older man says you told him the same thing.
“Don’t you believe her?” Mr. Ri wonders.
“I do, but she’s quite stubborn though,” Jungkook laments.
“Well, I’ve known her for a while and she tends to just deal with things on her own,” Mr. Ri says.
“But she shouldn’t. She’s injured.”
“I think it’s natural for people who’ve been alone for many years to be that way,” the older man shrugs. “I mean, you’re the same.”
Jungkook doesn’t disagree. And if you’re truly anything like him, then you’d just push through the pain and force it to stop hurting so you can go back to your normal busy life because doing so keeps you from thinking of how lonely it feels when you’re sick or hurt and there’s no one around. It’s how he’s always been, too, he admits to himself.
The thought disturbs him, which is why he messages you three more times during the day and then again the next morning, asking if he could drop by. He’s expecting you to insist that you’re fine and he doesn’t need to, so it surprises him when you say that he could.
You’re pacing back and forth in your mind since you’re unable to physically do so, but the thought of Jungkook visiting you this Saturday morning is a lot for you to handle, even if you did say it was alright for him to come. The truth is, you wanted him to, only because selfishly, seeing someone be that worried about you gives you some form of comfort.
You called your family yesterday and told them about the injury, which they obviously panicked about. Your mom asked if you needed her to come to you but like always, you said she didn’t need to. You told Yoongi about it, too, and he was worried as well, in the classic way that he often is; he had food delivered to you for dinner last night so you didn’t have to think about it. You only told your best friends about it this morning and they were furious you waited so long to let them know; they were packing their stuff right as you were speaking to them two hours ago.
You know you have people to depend on and would be at your doorstep anytime you ask. These are the same people who’ve done that for years and you fully accept their care and attention; it’s become a part of you and your healing process. But when someone like Jungkook who, for whatever reason he has, shows you the same, it feels different; he goes out of his way to show it to you, and he’s not even someone who normally does it. It’s a new kind of comfort, one that you find yourself seeking. So when he called earlier and asked if he could drop by, there was an internal sigh of relief.
Over half an hour later, your doorbell rings, and you limp your way towards the door to open it.
Other than being in suits, you’ve only ever seen Jungkook in his gym clothes - half naked as well - and in night out wear. You realize that this is the first time you’re seeing him in a casual outfit, and with a jacket over a sweatshirt and a brown beanie, he looks different - there’s that boyish charm that you’ve never seen; he looks softer, kinder, still reserved but a lot more comfortable.
You let him in after your greetings, then you turn to him and smile.
“It’s really the suit, I know it now,” you tease. “It’s what makes you look intimidating.”
He looks at his attire then frowns at you. “So how do I look now?”
“Not intimidating.”
“Wow, what a surprise,” he playfully rolls his eyes. “Whereas you…” He eyes you in gray leggings and a blush jumper, looking soft and comfortable and even more like the bright spot he’s realized you are, but he’d never tell you that. “You look injured.”
“Gee, what a surprise. I feel injured, too,” you laugh. “But uhm, it’s nice of you to visit my humble mansion once again.”
“I just wanted to make sure you’re doing better,” he hums. “And bring some more food so you don’t have to worry about it.”
You eye the beef brisket with rice and say that you know what you’ll be having for lunch. He responds that he might just go back to the restaurant and meet his best friends there, too. You return to your seat on the couch, realizing there’s not much room for him to sit on, but he gets to you first, standing in front of you and eyeing the elastic bandage on the table.
“Aren’t you due for a redress?” He asks.
“Yes but uh, I can’t actually reach my foot,” you say with an embarrassed smile. “I’m not really flexible so I’ll just wait until Soomin and Jimin arrive.”
“I can do it,” he offers, thinking that the bandage isn’t serving its purpose if it remains loose. “I mean, I’ve dressed myself on my own before so I’m familiar with it.”
It’s probably the painkillers but something possesses you and you agree, your mind too out of it to take the words back. A part of you wishes you had, especially when your heart does a thing when he kneels on the floor and slowly takes your injured foot. You wiggle your toes in reflex, as if they’re shy, too, and Jungkook laughs at your silly antics, especially when you admit that you’re a little ticklish.
But he softly looks at you right after and asks if he’s hurting you, and you shake your head, unable to say anything else and process that you really allowed this man - your boss and in-denial crush - to do this.
You sit there, charmed by the way he looks determined to get this done. He removes the old bandage and wipes your ankle before wrapping it with a new one. His hands are large and quite rough but he’s very gentle, making sure to not lift your foot too high and that the bandage isn’t wrapped too tightly. Once he’s finished, he lays it on the table and looks up at you to ask if it feels okay.
“Yes,” you shyly smile. “Thank you. That was, uh, that was really nice of you.”
He nods and stands up to throw the trash in the bin, wanting to quickly hide his smile at how wholesome you looked in thanking him.
He proceeds to look around, taking more of your home in. There’s something very calming about it, and it’s more than just the plants that you have and the right amount of sunlight coming from the balcony door and kitchen window. There’s also something familiar, as he looks through your shelf of photos, seeing your mom and her partner for the first time. She looks a lot like you. She has a nice smile like yours, and she sees that same joy on her face as he’d seen on you, as she hugs you tightly in one of the pictures.
The familiarity is similar to when he first had a whiff of your scent - old rose like the one his mother used to wear, one he remembers as a child when he still clung to her. There are those memories that stick with him. Others he doesn’t have anymore but that’s good, he supposes. Seeing your shelf, he sees all the good and tangible things you hold dear.
“The photo on the far right, the one with Soomin and Jimin. We took that during my birthday trip using your gift,” you tell him. “It came out really nicely.”
“It did. Did you finish the film? What else did you take photos of?”
“We used it all up,” you smile. “And just a lot of the scenery and the three of us. We all divided them so we could have copies and just remember how fun that week was.”
“Good, that’s what I hoped.”
Jungkook stands there, his jacket now off so his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and his hands are in his pockets as he looks through your shelf. You wonder what he’s thinking, what he’s seeing, if any of this makes him curious. It’s as if he’s taking in all the small parts of who you are that he can see displayed before him. He turns to you and your eyes meet again, and for a moment, it feels like you’re really seeing him and he’s really seeing you, like there’s something only both of you share and understand and want and can give.
But the doorbell ringing disrupts it, with you wondering who it could be since your best friends won’t arrive until an hour from now. Jungkook walks to the door and opens it, surprised to see Yoongi who’s just as surprised to see his friend in your apartment.
“Hey, you’re back. And… here,” you smile, attempting to stand up but Yoongi tells you to stay put.
“I flew home last night and thought I’d visit and get you some food, but it seems like I’m second in line,” he says, his smug face causing you to glare at him.
“I just wanted to make sure she was okay,” Jungkook defends. “I won’t stay long.”
“Of course you do. And I won’t stay long either. I don’t wanna disturb anything.”
He smirks at his friend, prompting Jungkook to glare at him as well.
“Yah, chill, you two. I’m really just passing by,” Yoongi reiterates, making his way now to sit on the arm of your sofa. “Just wanted to check on ___ and make sure she’s well-fed.”
“I’m injured, not starving, okay?” You groan. “But thanks. What have you got there?”
“Noodles, custard buns, and some tarts. Wasn’t sure what you’re into when you’re incapacitated,” Yoongi shrugs.
“I’m very much mobile,” you correct him. “Just… slow and limping.”
Jungkook pulls your dining chair and sits in front of you, and the three of you talk as if this isn’t weird at all. You’re all colleagues - you and Jungkook consider Yoongi as your friend, but you don’t know if you should consider your boss as such, and you don’t know if he considers you the same. You’ve definitely experienced a lot of things that could qualify what you have as friendship, but even then, there’s something more about it, something a little more intimate, different, terrifying.
You brave through this dynamic and learn that Yoongi likes to tell Jungkook off a lot. It’s the kind of bluntness you expect from Yoongi’s no-nonsense attitude but it’s refreshing to see him be more straightforward towards someone like Jungkook who you’re used to seeing as commanding and serious. Jungkook takes the hits, seemingly unbothered as they bicker, and it’s another side of him you enjoy seeing - the smiles and laughter are natural, and there’s this comfort about him that you suddenly want more of.
The time passes quickly, with the doorbell ringing again signaling that your friends have arrived. Yoongi gets up first to open the door, greeting them who do the same. You manage to stand up with Jungkook telling you to be careful, and when it dawns on them who else is in your apartment, Jimin’s face turns sour and Soomin’s goes from confused to amused.
Jungkook looks taken aback by the cold welcome, but he manages to introduce himself to them.
“Oh, we know,” Jimin says dryly. “You’re the one who gives her so much work that she had to do overtime again and that’s why she got hurt.”
You feel the tension come like a strong wave and you try to lower the level a little bit.
“He also brought me to the hospital and got me some food,” you tell Jimin, whose bitterness isn’t unfounded. He did listen to you complain about this very man all those months ago. “He’s just checking up on me, making sure I’m alright, the way you guys are.”
“As we should,” Jimin huffs. “At least we don’t cause you any injury or pain.”
“You don’t. But you do make things better so could you do that, please?” You say, opening your arms for a hug, something to appease him before it gets even more tense.
Jimin has the sweetest smile but wouldn’t be afraid to burn anyone down with his looks if they deserve it. Jungkook did at one point, but you obviously feel very differently about that now. But still, you glance at the man, hoping this encounter isn’t putting him off too much, and with the slight tinge of guilt in his eyes, you suppose it hasn’t.
Jungkook turns away, partly because a reminder of how he’d treated you before makes him regret even more how you both started, and partly because seeing you affectionate with any man - even if it’s your best friend - makes him a tiny bit jealous, only because it’s something he can’t be with you. Seeing you that way with Hajoon months ago was different; Jungkook had been more shocked than anything. But this time, given that his attraction towards you seems to grow every second, and that he’s been wanting nothing more than to comfort you, there’s more of that feeling of loss, of hope that it could be him one day, even if that’s something that’ll probably never happen.
“I know you dislike him but tone it down for now, okay?” You whisper to Jimin. “My place is too small to contain all this tension.”
“I know, I’m sorry. Seeing him just reminds me of what you had to go through because of him,” he says before pulling away. “But he did help. And well, Soo and I are still upset that you didn’t tell us sooner. You know we would’ve driven here on Thursday night.”
“I know, and that’s exactly why. You both had something big going on and I could wait,” you reply, a reason you give them everytime.
Wanting a short breather from all this, you excuse yourself and ask Soomin to help you with something in the bathroom, and she heads there right away.
“Can you make sure that those two don’t murder each other?” You whisper to Yoongi as you gesture towards Jimin and Jungkook.
“It would be entertaining if they did, but yes, I’ll try,” he chuckles.
You walk to where Soomin is and after closing the door, she looks at you with the same amusement that she’s had since she arrived.
“What in the romance drama is this!” She exclaims, lowering her voice when you scold at her to keep it down. “All your three men coming to your home to make sure you’re okay? Talk about making an impression.”
“They aren’t my men, okay!” You scowl at her. “They all just happened to have the same thought. And no, Jimin doesn’t count.”
“Whatever,” Soomin laughs. “It’s just… I know you’re hurt and that you’ll be okay but it’s just amusing to see them show up for you like this. Especially the big boss. He’s way hotter up close, I can tell you that.”
“Please don’t remind me,” you frown. “I wish there was a potion I could take to make him look unattractive to me so that I’d stop being so giddy at everything he does. And fuck, Soo, I haven’t been like this in ages. Or ever.”
“Well, you haven’t been this accepting of someone’s attention, that’s for sure.”
“Yeah, and I’m being silly. I might just be putting myself up for disappointment here,” you groan. “I mean, I don’t even know what I’m feeling, but I know what I’m not supposed to feel. And he’s not making it any easier.”
“Your situation isn’t easy in the first place, hun. And there are many reasons why,” she sighs, wishing there was a way to uncomplicate this very complicated relationship you have with Jungkook. “But whatever it is you think you shouldn’t feel, think about what he may be feeling, too. He wouldn’t be making all this effort since Thursday night for this to just be nothing.”
“I wish none of that means anything. That’s probably gonna be easier, right? That he doesn’t feel anything remotely close to what I do? That’s probably better than dealing with all the complications.”
“Maybe, but we don’t really know,” Soomin says, pulling you in for a hug. “But also think about how new and different this feels. It might be worth it in the long run.”
You fall into her embrace, knowing that during the toughest times of your life, this was your saving grace. It’s no different when you’re confused and in need of guidance, and though you’ve always made decisions for yourself with knowledge of the consequences, Soomin was there to back you up during the times when you were going in somewhat blindly. She wants you to be happy, and you won’t really know if continuing to feel what you do about Jungkook will make you so. If all else fails, well, you could always go back home, or maybe return to Busan and start a life there. Jungkook will just be a memory; you hope to the heavens it’ll be a good one.
You shake away the thoughts and finally go back out and are relieved to find some peace. Jimin’s washing your dishes while talking to Yoongi who wipes them dry. Jungkook sits on your sofa, looking around quietly, but he stands when he sees you approach him.
“I’ll go ahead,” he says, gesturing towards the door. “I… I think you’ve got everything you need.”
“Let me walk you there,” you smile.
He’s outside the door when you thank him again then apologize if Jimin made him uncomfortable.
“It’s okay. I’d be protective of my best friend, too, if I learned how their boss treated them,” he responds.
“I, uh… those were hard times and I may have complained quite a bit about you,” you pout. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m sure I deserved it,” he chuckles. “You’re lucky you have them. I mean, my best friends tease me a lot and say shit about me to my face and behind my back.”
“Oh come on, Seokjin and Taehyung love you,” you laugh. “I’ve seen it, but you all also said you’re like that to each other; it’s how you guys grew up. I mean, I was the new girl in school and Jimin and Soomin have been protective since day one, whereas your best friends have shown you tough love since you were kids. They said you never accepted their affection so they switched tactics.”
“That’s fair. I was always shy and then turned into a bitter, introverted child. There was no transition, I guess. Now we’re adults and have just stuck with each other because we’re all we’ve ever known.”
“Well, you make decisions to stand by people, Jungkook. They do with you and you do the same with them. Plus, you’re not that insufferable,” you tease.
“At least you don’t think so. Not anymore, I hope,” he says softly, looking away.
“People deserve second chances. You gave me some and more and I… I’m glad you did. I at least get to see this side of you that’s helped me a lot these past months. I’m thankful. And I hope you know that.”
Jungkook just nods, unable to reply through words again. You let him, knowing it’s his default response. He walks to his car and turns around for a final goodbye, leaving you in anticipation for when you’d be with him again.
“Well, that was a long goodbye,” Yoongi says, surprising you as he stands behind you. “And no, I didn’t hear anything.”
You turn to him with a playful frown. “I was just making sure that Jimin didn’t make him feel too bad. I mean, I know I complained a lot but still. I didn’t want Jungkook to think I cursed his existence or something.”
“You did at one point though,” Yoongi laughs. “But it’s acceptable. Jungkook was rude, and heavens know how much shit I gave him for treating you the way he did.”
“You did, huh?”
“I always told you I’d look out for you, ___. Whatever happened or didn’t happen between us, I was always going to have your back.”
“You’re heaven-sent, Min Yoongi,” you smile. “I wish I could do half as much as you do for me.”
“You do more. I hope you don’t ever doubt the comfort that your presence gives to people. Maybe that’s what it’s done to Jungkook. And I know he hasn’t felt much of that in years.”
It’s Yoongi’s last words before he says goodbye, and they stay in your head for the next few days. Maybe Soomin’s right - all that Jungkook has been doing might mean something, and you hope that finding out what it is will all be worth it.
Jungkook decides to meet with his friends at one of his favorite restaurants for lunch. All he planned on doing today was visit you and he has nothing else going on for the rest of it. The club scene has become boring for him, and going to one only to bring home a woman to hook up with is no longer appealing, not when you invade his mind all the time.
Being welcomed in your home was refreshing. And even if it was awkward, meeting your friends allowed him another peak into your world. You choose the people you allow in, and you don’t choose many of them. The ones you do stay for a long time, and that’s the kind of person you seem to be. You value relationships so much that’s why you don’t have many of them, and with all that you went through and the vulnerability you’ve both shown each other, he’s started to hope that one day, he’d be deserving of that, too.
“So did you feel like a fish out of water being there with her actual friends?” Seokjin asks. “Because I don’t know what you’d consider your relationship with her is. Boss-assistant feels too simplistic at this point. Are you friends? Are you more? Or is that all too ambiguous?”
“I don’t… know,” Jungkook sighs. “We’re all that but we also aren’t. We’ve gone through so much that it doesn’t seem like there’s a way to define what we are. But I feel like I’ve seen her at her most vulnerable and we’ve connected because of that.”
“And what about you? Have you been vulnerable in front of her?” Seokjin asks.
Has he? Jungkook thinks. Maybe that first time he asked for your help with his new role but he supposes it’s nothing compared to what you’ve shown him, intentional or not.
“Not really. I… I don’t let myself be. That’s still distance I need to establish,” Jungkook reasons.
“More like, because you know that if you do show that side of you, you’re scared you’ll find out that she’ll understand, and that having her next to you is what you need to heal whatever parts of you that are still hurting?” Seokjin counters.
“I don’t want to need her, you know that. There’s a boundary I shouldn’t cross. She’s my assistant and—”
“You’ve been treating her like the most important person and it’s not hard to miss,” Taehyung interjects. “You were never like this, not since Chaerin.”
“I don’t even know what it is about ___ that just makes me consider risking things, you know?” Jungkook sighs. “I’m always torn with what our reality is and what we could be but I’m afraid that if we cross that line, we’ll have to make sacrifices. I… I’m finding myself wanting her around all the time. When she leaves, I want her to stay. When she’s not there, I want her to come. But at the same time, I don’t want her too close because I don’t know if I can have her or if I can want her. Because I don’t know what of me I can give that won’t hurt her,” he admits, with a bit of help from some whiskey.
“Maybe if you let yourself be vulnerable, you’d know,” Seokjin advises. “Some people would run and hide but there’s always that one person who wouldn’t. That might just be her. And then you’ll learn what you can give, too.”
Jungkook lets his friends’ words settle and then thinks about them throughout the night that he spends all alone in his penthouse, with another glass of whiskey in his hand as he looks out the balcony. A part of him wants you to run and hide when you see who he really is, what he hides and what he’s ashamed of. Maybe that would be easier, he thinks; maybe that would hurt less.
You return to work the next Tuesday, having gone to the hospital the day before and being cleared to return to your usual routine. Jimin and Soomin stayed with you until that evening, with you rejecting their insistence to stay another day. You can manage, you assure them. You’re able to walk properly now and would just need to do daily exercises, wear the elastic bandage for another week, and forego the heels.
Jungkook’s pleased to know that you’re doing better and makes sure you don’t walk around if you don’t need to, so he’s been the one going to see you when he needs something. He also postponed some potential site visits for the project that he and Hoseok are working on until you’re fully capable, which is why it’s three weeks later when you find yourself in the car with him, on the way to some towns in nearby provinces on an early Friday morning.
Mr. Ri called in sick today and Jungkook didn’t want to deal with a chauffeur he doesn’t know, so he decided to drive instead, thinking it’s more efficient that way. These are all initial checks and being that you’re the only one from his team who’s privy to the details, he wanted you to join him as a sounding board and also to get your own thoughts about what you’ll be seeing. He has a vision in mind and he needs to translate it properly; you’ve been helpful these past months in making sure he’s able to do that.
Disregarding what this time alone with you would do to him, Jungkook meets you in his penthouse, telling himself to focus on only one thing today, and that’s finding the right place for his planned project.
You leave early for a quick stop at a cafe and then head north to some towns in Gyeonggi province. There are some properties and land that are up for sale, and you prepared the information about them beforehand, allowing Jungkook to play around with the timeline and budget in his mind, even drawing rough drafts on his iPad as he assesses them. You’re both in work-mode, discussing each site on the way to the next one, with you searching for more details along the way and him, stopping on the side of the road to add an idea that he comes up with on the spot.
It’s a little chaotic, as his mind goes from one thing to another, but you suppose this is how Jungkook naturally is. You’ve seen him perform his duties in various ways, but this is when you see the most raw side of him, and it’s quite the privilege to see. He always said he preferred the creative aspect of the job, which is why he enjoyed his time in Singapore, handling the design department. You contend that he’s grown tremendously in his executive role. As Hoseok has said, Jungkook relates to his staff better now, and has even engaged and attracted more partners with his great ideas.
You’re quite sentimental going on this trip with him. It wasn’t long ago when you were going to work with anxiety, anticipating his next criticism so you can prepare yourself, and then going home feeling like a failure. So much has happened since then, and you could even say that you’ve found comfort in your daily routines; doing something different like this is now exciting and something you look forward to, especially since it allows you to go outside, see the sights, and breathe the cool air.
“You okay there?” He asks, noticing your silence.
“Yeah. I was just thinking how 10 months ago, this would’ve stressed me out so much.”
“What? Going on a road trip?”
“Pretty much going anywhere with you,” you laugh. “Car rides even with Mr. Ri made me freak out, and I was so scared to make a mistake or make you wait for information that I couldn’t find. And now here we are - I survived the last five hours with you and not once did you groan at me.”
“Wow, I must’ve been a really terrible boss to make your standard for a non-stressful day to be that low,” he laughs before turning serious. “But I… I’m… I’m sorry, for all the stress and anxiety that I caused you. I was being selfish and irrational about it. I hate change and you were the biggest one, even with my new role. I took out all the frustration on you and I shouldn’t have.”
He says more than he expected, but it’s also the apology that he should’ve given—that you deserved —months ago.
“I forgive you,” you say softly, glancing at him before returning your eyes towards the road. “I always knew my limits and I guess I let you push it and that was on me. I could’ve stood up to you, too.”
“You did though, more than once. And that knocked some sense into me.”
“I guess,” you hum. “And then things improved and I’m just glad they did.”
There’s a prolonged silence after, as you both opt to bask in the scenery around you. There’s that understanding and acceptance of how things were and that regardless of what’s going on in your own minds, you at least have this. You think to yourself that this just makes leaving that much harder, but at least this is one more memory you could take with you.
You make it to Hwacheon in Gangwon past noon, and this is where you spend most of your time in, as the sites are spread out around the county. There are areas tucked away in the mountains while there are those closer to town with grand views. It’s in the latter where you grab some lunch and go through some of his plans, and you take in his ideas, learning from him in the process.
It’s late in the afternoon when you inspect the final site, which is in an area in the neighboring Chuncheon county. It’s got potential for another project that CEO Jeon is looking to do, and with your notes completed, you and Jungkook start the trip back home. You would reach the tail-end of the Friday night traffic by the time you return to Seoul, the GPS says, and so both of you savor the sky’s changing colors as it transitions to the evening, letting the soft sounds of the radio replace the silence.
Barely 30 minutes in, the rain starts to pour, and it’s seconds later when it dawns on you what that means, as you hear heavy breathing next to you. You turn to Jungkook whose hands are tightly gripping the wheel, with sweat lining his eyebrows despite the cool temperature.
“Did the forecast say it was gonna rain?” He asks, the mix of panic and frustration evident in his voice.
“Yes, but not until late in the evening,” you say, checking your phone to make sure you got the correct information.
Your heart breaks upon realizing that at midday, the weather station warned that there was going to be a thunderstorm, with rainfall coming in around this time. You inform Jungkook, and despite all the progress in your relationship, your heart breaks a second time when he says that you should’ve constantly checked, that the weather changes all the time and you should’ve been mindful, and that now you’re both gonna be stuck on the road because he’s unable to drive and you don’t know how to. His tone is harsh, accusatory, as if it was something you could control, as if everything was your fault, just like how it was before.
Jungkook stops on the side of the road as the downpour continues, and he leans his head on the steering wheel now as he takes deep breaths. You tell him he could breathe better if he sits straight up, but he ignores you.
A part of you wants to remark how it’s ironic that just earlier, he was apologizing for the way he treated you, and now it’s like you’ve both taken a few steps back. You want to say it’s not your fault, that you wouldn’t even have known that the rain affected him this way if you hadn’t seen him be nervous about it when you went home from the gala last year. But you think about the way his eyes looked earlier, how they filled with worry and fear, like there was a sense of powerlessness that you know a little about.
So you settle for a bit of grace and understanding, thinking they’re what he needs.
“I don’t know why this is on me,” you say softly. “I didn’t know how bad it was but if I did, I would’ve checked constantly and I would’ve had us turn back the second I saw that forecast. And if I could drive, I’d drive us back as fast as I could. I’m sorry.”
He slows his breathing and sits up. His hands still tightly gripping the wheel but his eyes are downcast, and you suppose there’s more sadness than anger, so you stop pressing your nails on your skin, which you’d started doing in anticipation of him arguing with you about it.
“I don’t like the rain,” he shares, his voice low. “I… I have a bad memory of it as a kid and I just get reminded whenever it starts. I panic when it gets louder and I just… I can’t stay out here when that's all I can hear.”
His honesty surprises you. You can’t imagine how it must’ve been like for him, even more that he has to suffer through this right now in front of you, considering how hard it is for him to express how he feels. You don’t know how bad this weather is gonna go, and at this pace, the thunderstorm will probably reach you by the time you make it back to Seoul. So you do what you do best, and that’s to come up with options.
“There’s a guesthouse not far from here,” you say after checking the map. “It’s the closest one. We could spend the night there and wait out the rain. That’s better than being stuck here or continuing the drive back to the city.”
He nods in agreement, knowing there’s not much he could do. He doesn’t want to be stuck here; even more, he doesn’t want to unload on you nor have you witness how much worse it could be.
He keys in the address you give him while you call the property and ask if they still have available rooms. They do, so you reserve two and sigh in relief that that’s one problem solved.
You make it there in 15 minutes. Jungkook heads out the car first with the rain having eased up a bit, and you retrieve his luggage from the trunk, the one he keeps there for emergency trips and instances like this one. It has enough clothes for a day, and you’re glad that at least he has something to change into.
You make it inside and meet the owners then introduce yourself, stating that you reserved two rooms.
“I’m so sorry but we had to give up one of them,” the woman says. “A family came in with a baby and we couldn’t turn them away. The weather’s going to get worse tonight and we try to accommodate as many people as we can. I hope you understand.”
“That’s… that’s okay,” you say, knowing you would’ve done the same.
The thought of sharing a room with Jungkook feels too intimate and definitely not good for your heart, added to the fact that you’re probably not his favorite person right now, so you try to find a way out. You turn to the living room and see the sofa that’s big enough for you, so you ask if you can just stay there instead.
“Our cleaners will be using that space since they can’t go home due to the rain. I’m sorry again, Miss. Your room has twin beds so I hope that eases your worry somehow.”
“It’s fine, we’ll manage,” Jungkook says from behind you, hoping to the heavens that he will. He has one fear, and that’s you seeing how he really is during times like this.
He takes the key and walks up the stairs to the room you’re given. It’s spacious with a fair enough distance between both beds. He takes the one farther from the window then gets his clothes from his bag. It dawns on him that you don’t have your own with you, so he offers you his sweatshirt.
“It’s okay,” you shake your head. “It’s gonna be cold and you’re gonna need it.”
“So will you. You can’t be in wet clothes, not in this weather.”
“It’s happened before,” you shrug.
“___, just take it,” he insists, placing the item on your bed. “I have a top here that I can wear and the blankets will be enough. This is loose but it’s at least better than damp clothing. And you can go ahead in the bathroom. I’ll just give Mr. Ri a call.”
You nod and head out, taking his jumper and the towel with you. You’re given some basic toiletries, and the warm shower is just what you need for that bit of comfort after a stressful evening. As you’re about to dress up inside, you hear a knock on the door.
“I asked the lady if they had spare pajamas for you and she gave me a set,” Jungkook says from outside. “I’ll leave them on a stool by the door.”
You wait for him to leave before getting them and putting them on. It’s a plain set of shorts and shirt that’s a little big but it’s way better than your damp skirt and blouse, which the owners offered to wash and dry for you for tomorrow.
You return to the room with Jungkook sitting on the floor, and you give him back his sweatshirt that he turns down.
“I’m fine,” he insists. “Don’t you get cold easily? You’ll need that.”
He walks out, barely meeting your eyes. You’re sitting on the edge of your bed when he returns half an hour later, the sight of him with damp hair in black sweatpants and a white sleeveless top doing things to you. But you shake the thoughts away, especially as he once again creates that distance. He doesn’t look at you when he settles in bed, nor when he switches off his bedside light, and definitely not when he turns around to face the other way. You sigh to yourself, feeling even more alone now with him acting like this.
You can’t really blame him though. Dealing with something that elicits painful memories is difficult, and you understand the tendency to isolate yourself and push people away when that happens. It’s what you do sometimes, but still, it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt you a little when Jungkook does this to you, considering how good your relationship has become, regardless of your stupid attraction.
Settling in your bed, you decide to turn around and face the window. You focus on the droplets creating their own artwork on the glass, in hopes that it’ll help you take your mind off Jungkook, even if he’s literally just a few feet away from you. The last thing you want is a strained relationship, and you hope that this doesn’t make him fall back into his old ways. Although he’s experienced a few stressful moments these past months, they weren’t personal, and you suppose situations like this are when his emotions truly come out.
The rain has gotten stronger again and you’re pleased that Jungkook isn’t awake for this, based on the soft snores you hear. You’re about to fall asleep, the sound hypnotizing you a little, but that’s when the first blare of thunder strikes, causing you to jerk in bed in surprise. It used to scare you because of what it reminded you of, but you learned how to manage it after the first hit; the succeeding ones are no longer triggering. In fact, you just think of how it used to drown out the sounds of what you were truly afraid of.
Just then, you hear distressed moans. The sounds of frantic breathing and shifts on the bed follow right after. And then there’s a restrained groan, like a call for help that doesn’t fully come out, and that’s what alarms you. You immediately get off the bed and rush to Jungkook’s side. You see that he’s still asleep, his body - now uncovered by the blanket - is tense, despite his efforts of turning about. The low sounds of almost-cries convince you that he’s having a nightmare.
Thunder hits once again and it’s much louder this time, eliciting another frantic response from Jungkook. He’s kicking the covers while gripping the sheets, and with another roar of thunder that causes him to scream, that’s when you decide to wake him up.
“Jungkook, hey, listen to me,” you say, sitting on the edge of the bed and keeping his head still with your hands. You’re able to control him as he continues tossing and turning, repeating his name until he slowly opens his eyes. “Hey, you’re safe with me, okay? Just focus on my voice.”
He’s awake now and you see the worry in his eyes, but you talk to him calmly, wanting him to trust you. It works, as he nods and slows down his movements. But he’s still breathing heavily, his lips chattering and the rest of his body shivering.
You anticipate another hit of thunder, and you’re able to shield him from it, pressing your palms on his ears, trying to drown out the sound. You stay that way, thumbing his temples as you tell him it’s okay, that you’ve got him, and that it’ll be over soon. You hold his gaze to let him know that you’re not going anywhere, and his pretty eyes that often look so far away are now overtaken with fear.
“Just look at me, alright? And follow my breathing,” you instruct him, your voice as gentle as you can make it despite your own worries for him.
He does as you say, his hands gripping your wrists as if to keep them there, and you assure him that you won’t let go until he says so.
“You’re doing good, just keep breathing,” you repeat, pacing your breathing with his until you’re doing it together.
You don’t know how long you stay that way, with his head between your hands and your eyes locked on his. It takes a while, but the thunder eventually stops and the rain eases. Jungkook finally calms down and you slowly release him from your hold. You watch him shut his eyes, as if in desperation to let everything go, before he opens them again.
“Is that better?” You ask, moving just a bit farther from him to give him space, but you remain close, wanting to be next to him in case something happens again.
“Yeah, that was, uh… that was tiring,” he huffs.
“I think the thunder has passed but if it happens again, I’ll be here, okay?”
He nods, his soft and desperate eyes now looking at you to express his gratitude. You want so badly to hug him, to hold his still-shaking hands and assure him that he’s not alone, that you won’t let anything hurt him for the rest of the night, and that you understand it all - whatever it is he’s afraid of, and why he keeps it all to himself.
But you suppose that’s going too far. You’re afraid that you’d want to stay there, even more if he doesn’t want you to. So you nod as well and think that he at least has this to comfort him, that he at least knows you’re just there.
You walk back to your bed and lie down, facing him this time. You smile, wanting that assurance to be the last thing he sees before he falls asleep again. Jungkook does the same as he settles under the covers, patting it down so he could see you better. You both stay there, safe in your corners, your eyes telling each other things you can’t say.
Whatever distance you felt earlier has shortened. Right now, with both of you falling asleep to each other’s view, he’s never felt so close.
The morning after heavy rain is always bittersweet. There’s the reality of the damage it caused but you also can’t deny that it gives life to other living things. What it also does is make way for clear skies and give you that fresh, rainwater scent of the grass and the trees. It’s what you see and smell when you open the bedroom windows, reminding you that the evening has passed and the worst is over.
You spot Jungkook seated on one of the chairs in the garden, and you hope that the view is making him feel better, with the nightmare from last night slowly drifting away from his mind. You dress up in the dry clothes you find hanging on the doorknob of the room then head downstairs, surprised to see food prepared in the dining area. The tofu stew and grilled mackerel are so appetizing, and the loud rumbling of your stomach reminds you that you didn’t eat last night, with all the stress making dinner your last priority.
“Hello, dear. It was a pretty hard evening so we prepared something for our guests,” the owner says, her radiant smile reflecting the brightness of the day. “You may call your friend outside so you can both eat and get ready for a long drive home.”
You thank her then call Jungkook, his eyes brightening when he walks back inside and sees the food. He engages in conversation with the owners, asking about this town and the surrounding ones, and what their appeal is to non-residents. You gauge that he’s doing a bit of research himself, and you think he’s at least not too out of it to still do so.
“You’re free to stay until noon,” the owner informs you. “You can enjoy the view outside; it’s really pretty now that the sky has cleared. I’ll be making tea shortly as well.”
Jungkook says he’ll return to the garden and you wait for the hot drinks before following him. You’re unsure if he wants you around but you try, sitting next to him then sighing in relief when he doesn’t move away.
“I was 10 years old when my parents sent me and my brother to a cabin somewhere in Hwasun,” he starts. “I thought they were coming with us but it was just me and Jeong-sik and some staff. He and I never got along. If he wasn’t ignoring me, he was teasing me. But that day, he convinced me to play hide-and-seek, saying that by the time he finds me, our parents would be back. We were outdoors and I ended up wandering too far, so close to the woods that I couldn’t find my way back. My brother hadn’t come and I was getting scared. And then it started to rain.”
“Jungkook, you don’t have to—”
“It started getting stronger and the skies had become so dark, I could barely see anything,” he continues, his eyes fixed towards the mountains faraway. “The rain made the ground slippery so I decided to just sit by a large tree and hope someone would find me. It felt like hours and maybe it was. The thunder was so loud then and it kept going and going and going. And I was drenched and all alone, and no matter how hard I screamed, no one could hear me.”
“I’m so sorry, Jungkook,” you say, feeling your heart break as he narrates a painful memory that you can relate with.
It’s only close to what you experienced yet it feels so real to you. You can feel his fear and his pain in the tremble of his voice, in the way he grips on the edges of the bench, in the way his jaw clenches at the memory, like it’s one he’s tried hard to bury yet can’t get rid of, no matter how hard he tries.
But this feels so personal, and you don’t want him to feel like he needs to share it with you.
“You don’t have to explain,” you add. “I know it’s difficult to share something like that.”
“But I want to,” he responds, turning to you now. “Because I’ve carried the memory with me for 20 years and I’ve been dealing with it all on my own. But that’s not an excuse to treat you the way I did last night. That’s not a reason for me to take it out on you and especially to blame you. That was wrong of me and I’m sorry, ___. I…”
He looks down, perhaps trying to gather the courage he needs to be honest with you, to be vulnerable with you.
“I don’t want you to think that I didn’t need you because I did,” he adds. “I was scared and I didn’t think I needed you but you were there and I’m so sorry.”
You sit there and watch him cower onto himself, and somehow you see the little boy who was scared, who was wondering why he’d been left alone, who was waiting for someone to come find him or perhaps… someone to sit there and be with him until the rain stopped. There’s a lot he carries; there’s also a lot he buries, as if there’s a bottomless hole within him where he keeps everything hidden but it still feels too heavy, too much, taking from him every time he hides something new.
You don’t say anything for a while, as you start to see Jungkook for who he really is. You feel the weight of his words and how much it took for him to say them. It’s not that his experience makes him different, but now that you know the pain he’s been carrying with him, you’re able to see the other parts of him that he’s unable to show, perhaps too afraid that someone wouldn’t understand, or that they wouldn’t stay if they found out why he keeps his distance and why he pushes people away.
Your silence prompts him to look up. You meet his eyes and see the sadness in them and it feels like he needs more than just forgiveness.
“We do things we don’t mean to when we’re afraid,” you tell him. “It doesn’t always mean we intend on hurting them. And I understand that, more than you know. I’ll never take that against you.”
Jungkook nods, shifting again towards the view as he lets your words sink in. He was hoping for forgiveness, but he got so much more. Maybe there’s a reason why you’ve been patient and gentle with him ever since the beginning. Perhaps you’re carrying your own burden and painful memories that you’re unable to share and deal with, too, and though he’s nothing like you, there’s comfort in knowing that you’re the same somehow.
He senses you turn back to look at the mountains, and the silence prompts him to continue the story of an experience he’s only shared twice before - once to his best friends and another time with Chaerin, all of whom have seen this side of him - the scared and vulnerable side. They were understanding and supportive as well, trying to find ways to comfort and help him deal with it. You’re the third and the one he’s known the shortest time, yet he feels more comfort with you than anyone who’s ever tried.
“I fell asleep at that tree while waiting,” he recalls. “The next thing I know, I was being carried back to the cabin. The rain had stopped but it was still dark, and I was tended to until I fell asleep again. I was sick for days and I didn’t see my parents until we were back in Seoul. It’s just a hard thing to remember. I know we have selective memories and I always wish that’s one thing that I don’t ever have to remember but life isn’t that kind, I guess.”
“It isn’t. But we learn to face those fears though, and manage them. It’s the only way we can get through it,” you say.
“Have you?” He asks, wondering if that’s another similarity he shares with you.
“Not really. I wouldn’t be alone and where I am if I have,” you say. “But I’m trying. And I’ll continue to.”
“That makes one of us,” he sighs.
“Well, it’s not always easy if you’re not quite sure what you’re really afraid of,” you respond. “Is it just thunder?”
“Yeah… but once the rain starts, it tells me that thunder could come. It doesn’t always but it’s what my brain tells me. Then I get anxious and I… I don’t know what to do. Like I’m paralyzed and unable to think or move. I just… stay there and sometimes, I don’t even know what’s happening.”
“Well, it rained when I got injured,” you remind him. “But you managed to get me to the hospital. And you stayed with me. That’s definitely something.”
“You were hurt and it was more important that you got treated,” he reasons. “That was scary and I guess my brain told me to get shit done that moment.”
“So… do I always have to be hurt for you to get through the rain when it starts getting bad?” You ask.
“Don’t talk like that. I can’t have you going through that again,” he frowns at you.
The way he reacts to the thought of you being hurt gives you that warm feeling again. But it reminds you that you feel the same. You don’t want him to be scared, you don’t want him hurt, too.
“Fine. But when it starts to rain and you’re all alone and you feel like you can’t manage, you call me, okay?” You tell him.
“And what would that do?”
“That way I can talk you through it. Maybe go to you if you want me to.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because during the times I was afraid and alone, you were there,” you bravely say, turning to him and prompting him to do the same. “Sometimes something triggers those memories but then I think of how you stayed with me in the alley and in the playground and in my apartment. I think of you and I stop feeling scared. Maybe you can think of last night when it starts to get bad, too. And we can just create more of those memories to override the bad ones. Wouldn’t that be better?”
He savors your words, not realizing how much you’ve held onto your moments together. And he understands that now. The way you held him together last night is ingrained in his mind, and if that’s how it feels to be with you during his darkest moments, he starts to wonder how good it would feel during the good ones.
Maybe he’ll start with this, as you both sip citrus tea while looking at the lush mountains out on the horizon. He’ll continue with the scenic drive back to Seoul and a stopover at a cafe for some iced coffee and conversations about good memories. And at least for today, he’ll end with the sight of you walking to your apartment and then turning around to wave him goodbye, and then your smile giving him warmth on this cold afternoon.
The door shuts and he starts the trip back to his place - empty, lonely, just like how it’s been for years, all his pent up emotions bringing him to this point of isolation. But there’s you - the feel of your touch, the soothing sound of your voice, and the gentleness that got him through the night.
He misses you already. And much as he knows he’s in big trouble, thinking about you and wanting you is all he could do.
Series Masterlist
Permanent Taglist: @sherlynxx @di0rgguk @thequeen-kat @fan-ati--c @cravingforhotchocolate @adoraminie @helenazbmrskai @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @gukssunshine @kookxin @petuliii @yoursthv @libra04 @fancycollectormoon @twixxxpie @ignoretheskies @ohmydarlin-g @bids97 @minyoongiboongi @main-bangtansmauyeondan @bora-bae7 @investedreader @petalsofink @jvngkooker @stopeatread @craftymoonchaos @alpacaparkaseok @coletaehyung @boyfriendtaekook @moonchild1
Series Taglist:
@xhazmania @ash07128 @rinkud @junniesoleilkth @junecat18 @peachytokki @baechugff @coralmusicblaze @jalexad @pamzn @hoseoksluv89 @familiarlikemymirror3 @kookies-n-spice @hyuneyeon @thisartemisnevermisses @jk97bam @nadzzzblog @xyarinx @megnugget98 @shameless-army @jkslvsnella @lvr2seok @nayashalouiseburrows @peterstarkchrishiddleston @kgneptun @cynicalbitch666 @roxexexee
#jungkook fic#jungkook x oc#jungkook x you#jungkook angst#jungkook fanfiction#jungkook x reader#jungkook series#jeon jungkook#bts jungkook#boss jungkook#jungkook fanfic
1K notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi! So I have been seeing your posts talking about AI art and tbh it has made me reconsider my stance that was admittedly very reactionary and I was wondering if you could clarify something you said "the sooner people give up on luddite dead end pursuits of turning back the clock to more indivualized production the sooner they can put their energy into productive working class organizing. " Does this mean as in artists genuinely starting to recognize themselves as part of the working class and forming "collectives" and working as such? Or is it in the sense that art as a career will always inherently be part of the petite bourgeoisie? I hope I worded this correctly I am genuinely interested in hearing your thoughts as it has helped me rethink my stances thank u!! :)
the former! there's nothing about being an artist that automatically makes you petit bourgeoise (even if that is a common aspirational vision, most working artists are straightforwardly proletarian & doing work-for-hire projects, animating trolls 7: return of the trolls or desigining ui elements for FIFA 27--when i say 'productive working class organizing', i mean in their capacity as working artists, i'm not doing some kind of 'get a real job' routine.
for an exmaple of what effective working class organizing can look like for artists, look at the recent SAG-AFTRA agreements. instead of hoping that yelling at people on the computer would make the technology magically go away forever, they levered their industrial action to extract concessions about its use, including requiring the consent of actors to recreate their likeness digitally and requiring actors to be paid for the appearances of that likeness.
similarly, the WAG strike resulted in an agreement under which studios can't edit already written scripts with AI or produce scripts with AI and demand that an uncredited human edit them. these are actual, practical concessions extracted from employers that preserve working conditions and livelihoods. these are good political aims worth fighting for! but as you quote me saying, they are achieved through organized industrial action and not through shouting at twitter users innit
421 notes
·
View notes
Text
Say I Do (m) | jjk
Summary: you and Jungkook tease each other at your wedding reception.
Pairing: jungkook x female reader (no Y/N and unnamed)
AUs: non-idol!au, wedding!au
Genres: smut– like it’s just smut, nothing else 🤣
Rating: mature/explicit/R18 – this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact!
Word count: 5,2k
Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸
Warnings/tag: unprotected sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, public sex, handjob, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, slightly rough sex, choking, biting, spitting, ass grabbing, impreg kink, degrading names (whore used once).
Author’s note: I made this for my lovely friend Lua (@letjungcoook7)!!!! SURPRISE!!!! I hope you like it! I was inspired to make this because of our chat, and I just want to say that you are so fucking lovely, sweet and kind 💖 I really hope this isn’t too much, but I just had too 🥹 I really wanted to make it dirty, but it ended up being more sweet instead, I’m sorry! I love talking to you and I just wanted to let you know that I adore and treasure you 😘
Honestly Lua, I just wrote this to tell you how beautiful you are– mind, body and soul. Thank you Lua, I love ya 💜
This is just something very short while I work on ‘My Heart’s Home’. But I hope you like it, and please let me know what you think: my inbox is always open, and I love to hear from you, even a reblog/comment will put a big smile on my face 💜
Also!!! This is written from Jungkook’s POV (well I tried, lol). And normally I don’t describe the reader/MC, but she does have a tiny bit description in this, but I still feel it’s vague enough. But if that isn’t your thing, it’s completely fine 🙂 This is not proofread (because I’m too lazy for that right now).
This has nothing to do with my other fic 'say that again (I dare you)', but if you want to read that I'm not opposed (it's also a jjk fic) ✨
Fancy reading on AO3? 😉
Rising gracefully to his feet, Taehyung's infectious enthusiasm fills the room as he declares, “I propose a toast!” His radiant smile sweeps over the myriad of guests you meticulously invited to your wedding—more than a hundred souls sharing in the joy of your love story.
As he prepares to speak, Jungkook can't help but marvel at the grandeur of the occasion. Despite his personal inclination towards a more intimate celebration, he wouldn't dream of denying you this moment, surrounded by the warmth of friends and family who have come together to witness the union of two hearts.
Despite Taehyung's earnest attempt to capture Jungkook's attention with a throat-clearing preamble, Jungkook finds himself inexplicably entranced elsewhere. Even in the midst of one of his closest friends delivering a heartfelt wedding speech—something he should be wholeheartedly absorbing—but it’s hard. As hard as his dick that you’re palming over his dress pants.
The tantalizing dance of your hand sends ripples of pleasure through him, an intoxicating distraction that eclipses all other thoughts. It's an artful symphony of sensation, each movement crafting a masterpiece of desire within him. The struggle to concentrate on anything else becomes an exhilarating battle. Fuck.
You, the mischievous enchantress, wield your allure like a potent spell.
A tantalizing awareness of your own danger courses through your veins, and you wield it with an expert finesse. Every knowing glance, every sly smile, is a calculated move in the game you effortlessly play. You've mastered the art of ensnaring him, wrapping him around your finger with a magnetic force that compels him to dance to your whims. It's a dangerous dance, but he willingly succumbs to the intoxication of your charm, embracing the thrill as much as he cherishes the intoxicating love he feels for you.
What the fuck is Taehyung saying?
Taehyung’s words dissolve into a meaningless buzz, drowned out by the illicit symphony you're orchestrating beneath the table. The audacious zipper sliding down and the tantalizing exploration of your hand over the fabric of his boxer briefs command all of Jungkook's attention.
Profanity trembles on the edge of his tongue, but it's lost in the overwhelming sensation that eclipses any coherent thought. Your stealthy touch renders him blissfully oblivious to everything else unfolding around him.
Suppressing a low, guttural sound, he clenches his teeth, using every ounce of willpower to stifle the moan building in his throat. As desire courses through him like a wildfire, he willingly parts his legs, a silent invitation for you to explore more boldly, granting ample space for the electrifying touch of your hand over the hardened length of his cock.
He marvels at your audacity, finding it both exhilarating and daring that you'd embark on such a provocative escapade during your wedding reception. Yet, deep down, he acknowledges that it's a reflection of the wild spirit that has always defined your relationship. It's a shared affinity for dancing on the edge, reveling in the allure of danger, and delighting in the thrill of engaging in activities that should, by all accounts, remain private. It's a facet of your relationship that has always been magnetic, drawing you both into a world where the risk of being caught only adds to the intoxicating excitement.
In the blink of an eye, your hand deftly maneuvers beneath the fabric of his boxers, sending a shiver down his spine. A hiss escapes his lips as your long, slender fingers confidently envelop his cock. The warmth of your touch is both a balm and an inferno, and he instinctively tilts his head back in the chair, a silent plea for discretion.
As he surrenders to the delicious sensation, he can't help but cast a furtive glance around, fervently hoping that the clandestine ballet unfolding beneath the table remains a tantalizing secret shared only between you.
Despite the uproarious laughter echoing through the room in response to Taehyung's speech, Jungkook remains oblivious to its contents, ensnared the choreography of your hand beneath the table.
The mirthful ambiance only fuels his curiosity, surmising that Taehyung must have delivered a punchline or shared a humorous anecdote. Meanwhile, beneath the table's concealment, your hand skillfully traces a tantalizing path along his hardened cock, drawing a hushed hiss from Jungkook's lips.
With a steely resolve, he masks any trace of emotion, locking his features in a stoic facade and maintaining an impressive silence. His determined effort is not just to conceal the electrifying sensations your actions are evoking, but also to safeguard the clandestine intimacy you both share from the prying eyes of the unsuspecting guests.
Every fiber of his being is a coiled spring, resisting the urge to yield to the pleasure that threatens to unravel beneath the veneer of his restrained expression.
As his gaze shifts towards you, he's met with an unexpected sight—there you sit, an image of demure elegance in your exquisite white gown.
The fabric caresses your curves in all the right places, accentuating the allure of your figure. The daringly low neckline teases a glimpse of the captivating silhouette of your bosom, leaving him momentarily breathless. The off-the-shoulder design unveils a generous expanse of your soft, tender skin, a tantalizing sight that aligns perfectly with his preferences.
Despite the provocative allure of your attire, your outward appearance betrays no hint of the illicit affair transpiring beneath the table. If he didn't intimately know the secret you were concealing—your hand discreetly exploring the realm beneath his pants—he'd be fooled by the serene facade you present, seemingly absorbed in the captivating rhythm of Taehyung's speech.
In a silent plea of gratitude, Jungkook revels in the fact that the attention of the guests is fixed on Taehyung's speech, sparing him the scrutiny of prying eyes.
Little do they know, the real spectacle unfolds beneath the table, where your touch becomes an exquisite torment.
Every movement of your hand is a tantalizing dance, a blend of ecstasy and torture that threatens to unravel him. With a teasing finesse, your soft fingers caress his frenulum, tracing a path towards the depths of pleasure. The deliberate slide over his slit elicits a shiver of pure ecstasy, leaving Jungkook teetering on the precipice of desire that you expertly navigate.
Your hand envelops him, a cocoon of warmth that intensifies with each skillful stroke. The pleasure coursing through him is undeniably exquisite, a testament to the mastery of your touch. Yet, a lingering awareness tugs at the edges of his consciousness—an impending climax that threatens to unravel the careful threads of restraint. The exquisite sensations you evoke compel him to desperately anchor his thoughts, to redirect the intoxicating focus from the captivating dance beneath the table to Taehyung's speech.
The challenge lies not just in resisting the magnetic pull of pleasure but in maintaining a semblance of composure, navigating the delicate balance between the ecstasy you're orchestrating beneath the table and the public façade demanded by the occasion.
“We’ve been friends for so long, how many years is it now, Gguk?” As Taehyung poses the question, a hushed anticipation envelops the room, and all eyes converge on Jungkook.
Fuck.
All eyes are on him and he can’t think— he’s mind is clouded with thoughts of you.
Taehyung– Fuck. How long have they been friends?
In a sudden stumble of recollection, he breathes out, “17 years,” the weight of the shared history resonating in the room. Yet, the gravity of the moment is unexpectedly intensified as you administer an assertive squeeze around cock. Fuck.
With a chuckle that slices through the tension, Taehyung seamlessly continues his discourse, effortlessly reclaiming the attention of the room and redirecting every wandering gaze back to him. A collective exhale echoes in Jungkook's mind, a silent gratitude for the timely diversion that spares the clandestine spectacle beneath the table from becoming the unwitting center of attention.
Relentless, you maintain the rhythm on his dick, displaying an unwavering determination that hints at an intention to push him to the brink, right under the unsuspecting gaze of the gathered guests.
As the divine caress of your hand propels him perilously close to the edge, a surge of urgency overtakes him. Desperate, he turns his face towards you, eyes silently pleading for respite, but your gaze remains steadfastly elsewhere.
Frustration wells within him, and he attempts to use his hands to guide yours away, only to find your grip tightening in response. The conflicting forces of pleasure and restraint collide within him, his muscles tensing as a hitch in his breath betrays the precarious precipice upon which he teeters.
Leaning in, you bring with you a halo of your natural sweet scent, an intoxicating allure that wraps around him, overwhelming his senses and leaving him slightly dizzy.
Your lips, soft and plush, delicately find his cheek in what appears to be a tender gesture to the outside world. To the unsuspecting onlookers, it's a simple, sweet kiss on the cheek.
Little do they know, in that same moment, your daring move involves not just the gentle press of your lips but the subtle exploration of your other hand slipping under his boxers to fondle his balls.
Fucking hell he’s gonna come.
Ecstasy courses through him like a wildfire, an imminent eruption fueled by the intoxicating cocktail of your skillful touch on his balls, warm breath teasing his ear, and the relentless grip on his pulsating desire. The threshold between pleasure and release narrows to a perilous edge, and he finds himself teetering on the brink, held captive by the maddening symphony of sensations you've orchestrated.
Despite his valiant efforts to remain attentive to his friend's speech, the sheer mastery of your pleasure-inducing touch proves insurmountable. Every deliberate stroke, every strategic squeeze of his balls, propels him further into the abyss of ecstasy. In a moment of surrender, he can no longer contain the torrent of desire, and ropes of his essence surge forth from his throbbing dick. His lips bear the weight of a stifled moan, as you keep stroking him through his orgasm.
Beside him, your chuckle is a symphony of sweetness interwoven with a hint of mischief, a melodic backdrop to the ongoing crescendo of pleasure you expertly administer through his orgasm.
As he traverses the realm of oversensitivity, a low, guttural grunt escapes him, drawing the curious gaze of Taehyung, engrossed in his ongoing speech. Though momentarily caught in a gaze of questioning inquiry, Taehyung forges ahead, resuming his speech with a peculiar stare, unwittingly oblivious to the spectacle unfolding beside him.
Thank fuck both of your parents aren’t seated right next to you. That would have been utterly mortifying and embarrassing.
With a deliberate finesse, you retract your hand from his crotch, guiding it gracefully over the table, where you nonchalantly employ a napkin to erase any lingering evidence. Seated there, you adopt an innocent facade, a picture of angelic composure that conceals the fact that, mere seconds ago, your hand delved into the forbidden realm beneath his pants.
With an audible exhale, he reaches for a napkin, hastily attending to the aftermath on his pants. The damage is fortunately minimal, thanks to your deft intervention that efficiently captured most of his release. Smart girl.
But a mischievous spark ignites in his eyes, a silent vow echoing beneath the surface - oh, he's going to get back at you for that, you little minx.
–
As the notes of the classic wedding waltz envelop the room, Jungkook marvels at the surreal reality—he gets to call you his wife now. The ethereal glow surrounding you transcends the physical, a radiant aura that has always defined you. Despite your humble protestations about your own beauty, he's captivated by the undeniable truth: you've always been, and continue to be, an enchanting vision. Countless times you've confessed to feeling otherwise, but in his eyes, you're a masterpiece. In this moment, as you dance together, you're not just a part of his world; you are his entire universe.
Gazing into the pools of your sweet, doe-like eyes, their exquisite almond shape captivates him, holding his attention in an unbreakable trance. He contemplates the nuances of your beauty, from the enchanting curvature of your slightly upturned nose to the endearing moments when he can't resist playfully poking it during your teasing exchanges. Every inch of you, in his eyes, is a masterpiece, and he pledges to vocalize his admiration every day, a ritual aimed at etching your beauty into your own consciousness.
He dreams that with each affirming word, he'll weave a tapestry of self-love around you, until the day you see yourself as he does—undeniably, breathtakingly beautiful.
As you dance, your eyes ablaze with an unmistakable love, he luxuriates in the intensity of your gaze. A daring current of desire propels his hand, gliding with deliberate intent down your body until it boldly claims your ass.
Uninhibited, he seizes it with audacious confidence, the bold move oblivious to the watchful eyes surrounding you. A soft, mischievous squeeze elicits a sweet chuckle from you, a harmonious note in the symphony of shared amusement that reverberates through the party, as the crowd collectively succumbs to the captivating allure of your uninhibited dance.
As the soft strains of the music envelop you both in a waltz, your heads draw nearer, the enchanting melody echoing the tender dance of your hearts. With the song nearing its end, he seizes the moment, leaning in intimately close to your ear. The hushed promise that escapes his lips carries a tantalizing undercurrent, his warm breath grazing your skin as he vows, “I'm going to get you back for earlier, babe.”
He senses the subtle shiver coursing through you as his touch lingers, a silent testament to the shared electricity between you. As the final notes of the song fade into the applause and cheers of the crowd, seizing the perfect moment, he leans in, embracing you in a sweet and passionate kiss.
As the rhythm of a more upbeat song invigorates the dance floor, he seizes the opportunity to whisk you away from the lively crowd. Amidst the pulsating beats and the vivacious laughter of the guests, he guides you outside the building, their merriment gradually fading into the background.
In the crisp night air, he asserts a sudden dominance, pressing you against the sturdy wall. His gaze, infused with an unmistakable hunger and need, locks onto your beautiful eyes, creating a magnetic tension that reverberates between you.
“You are a little minx, you know that?” His words, not laced with anger but rather a dangerous undercurrent of arousal, hang in the charged air. Your chuckle, a sweet symphony that further stirs the tempest within him, prompts a hiss as he succumbs to the magnetic pull, diving fervently into the captivating abyss of your mouth.
The kiss intensifies, a collision of passion that is both hard and rough, fueled by an undeniable need. In the urgency of the moment, he can't afford to wait, the impatience palpable in every fervent press of lips.
You envelop him in the embrace of your arms, fingers intertwining at the nape of his neck, while your gaze rises to meet his. In the depths of his eyes, once warm brown orbs now transformed into pools of near-black intensity, a reflection of the potent arousal coursing through his veins.
Your hand embarks on a daring journey, descending to the front of his pants once more, and the response is instantaneous – hardness reignites, a testament to the insatiable flame you kindle within him. Desire for you pulses like a constant current, an almost permanent state of arousal that defies logical explanation. Whatever enchantment you cast upon him, it's an irresistible force that weaves a tantalizing spell, leaving him perpetually captivated by the mystique of your touch.
Breaking away from the embrace of your soft lips, he wears a smirk laden with both warning and allure. “You're playing with fire, babe,” he remarks, the subtle edge in his voice echoing the intoxicating dance of danger and desire that swirls between you.
In a hushed whisper that flutters against your ear, he breathes, “You've been a naughty girl.”
The words, laden with an undercurrent of sultry authority, send a shiver down your spine, awakening a cascade of tingles that traverse the landscape of your entire body.
Descending to the delicate expanse of your neck, he peppers it with soft, almost teasing kisses, each touch a prelude to the symphony of sensations. Then, in an abrupt shift from gentle caresses, he bites down, coaxing from you a loud moan that resonates through the air—an intoxicating sound that echoes in the depths of his desire, a melody he'll never tire of hearing.
Continuing his explorative journey, he ventures further south, his lips descending to the curve of your breasts. With a deliberate tenderness, he places a kiss atop the soft expanse of your tender tits.
Gracefully sinking to his knees, he gazes up at you with a mischievous smirk, the air thick with a heady mixture of desire and anticipation. His tongue darts out, grazing his lips in a provocative dance of anticipation, signaling the imminent exploration of pleasures yet to unfold.
With an assertive grip, he seizes the front of your dress, drawing it away in a swift, purposeful motion. Despite the abundance of fabric, he deftly bunches it up with ease. “Hold your dress, please,” he directs, handing you the end of the gathered fabric.
“Hmm. Nice lace stockings, and that girdle—what are you doing to me?” he murmurs, his voice a tantalizing blend of desire and fascination. His gaze lingers appreciatively on your beautiful thighs encased in nude stockings adorned with lace at the top, fastened to a concealed girdle on your waist.
His eyes widen with a mix of surprise and arousal as they land on your wet and glistening pussy, the evidence of desire trickling down your thigh. “Oh my god. You're not wearing panties?” he breathes out, his voice carrying the weight of both revelation and anticipation. A subtle lick of his lips betrays the intensity of his reaction.
A playful chuckle escapes your lips as you hover above him, and without a moment's hesitation, he immerses himself in the intoxicating warmth of your desire. His lips eagerly find their destination, tracing a decadent path from the delicate folds to the pulsating essence of your clit.
The sensation ripples through your body, igniting a shiver that becomes an involuntary response to the electrifying dance between tongues, pleasure, and the shared yearning that binds you together.
He embarks on a tantalizing journey of tongue and suction, starting with teasing caresses that send tremors of anticipation through your body. His hands, strong and purposeful, find purchase on your thighs, holding you in a firm grip as he orchestrates a symphony of pleasure with his skillful tongue, creating an intoxicating dance that blurs the lines between sensation and desire.
A throaty moan escapes your lips as his nose delicately brushes against your pulsating cl*t, his tongue delving as deep as its voracious hunger allows. The exquisite sensation of his exploration elicits an involuntary clenching around him, a testament to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you.
Your thighs, unable to withstand the intensity, succumb to a tremor, trembling beneath the intoxicating caress of pleasure that consumes you.
His dexterous fingers ascend to your throbbing clit, and with a skillful touch, he sets in motion a rapid dance of pleasure, causing your entire body to quiver with newfound intensity. The quickened rhythm of your breath becomes a symphony of desire, a telltale sign for him that you're teetering on the precipice of ecstasy.
Eager to reciprocate the pleasure you bestowed upon him within the confines of the reception, he fervently laps at your tender folds. Simultaneously, his fingers engage in a deft dance around your throbbing clit, orchestrating a symphony of sensations that echoes the pulsating rhythm of desire between you.
With the harmonious fusion of his skilled tongue and nimble fingers, he orchestrates the unraveling of your senses. As ecstasy courses through you, your body convulses in euphoria, your walls clenching around his tongue, and the pulsating rhythm of your clit intensifying under the spell of his fingers.
Waves of pleasure surge through you, causing your body to quake, and in the throes of ecstasy, you release a high-pitched, strained moan that bears his name—an intimate symphony of pleasure that lingers in the air.
Breathless and overwhelmed, you gasp out his name, a plea woven into the words, “Fuck, Jungkook. I can't stand up anymore.” As he gracefully withdraws from your core, his gaze rises to meet yours, locking in a shared moment of intensity.
He chuckles, the rich timbre of his laughter lingering in the charged air. “I know, babe. Do you want me to fuck you against the wall?”
You draw in a sharp breath, and he keenly observes the subtle clench of your hand, the fabric of the dress tightly gathered within your grasp.
“Fuck yeah,” An unbridled affirmation escapes your lips, a primal declaration of desire. As he rises to his feet, a surge of urgency propels him to capture your mouth in a hungry kiss. The taste of your own release lingers on his lips, creating an intimate communion of shared pleasure that binds you together in the aftermath of passion.
As he engulfs you in a fervent kiss, the symphony of desire playing out between you, his hands deftly navigate the zipper of his dress pants. With a purposeful movement, he unveils his throbbing cock, stroking it in rhythmic cadence.
His hands, driven by a primal urgency, seek out the contours of your a*s with a possessive intent. “Jump up, babe,” he commands, the resonance of his voice weaving a spell of anticipation. As you obediently jump, he effortlessly lifts you, cocooning you against the wall.
In a brief struggle against the bulk of your dress, both of you grapple with the fabric, pushing it away from the front of your entwined bodies. A shared chuckle hangs in the air, a lighthearted interlude in the midst of fervor. But as the fabric yields to your efforts, Jungkook seizes the opportunity, moving in with an insatiable hunger to bite at your neck once more.
With a sultry whisper, he breathes, “I'm gonna fuck a baby into you, would you like that, hmm?”
The words, pregnant with promise, glide against your ear, and the responsive clench of your legs around his waist speaks volumes. A knowing chuckle escapes him as you endeavor to pull him even closer, the shared desire resonating between you in the charged space.
“Please,” your plea, a desperate yet fervent entreaty, escapes your lips, a poignant melody of desire that resonates in the charged air. The subtle smirk that graces his lips is both a testament to your undeniable need for him and an acknowledgment of the power he holds over your cravings.
With a deliberate touch, he locates his throbbing cock with one hand and skillfully aligns it with your dripping entrance. The tantalizing dance begins as he teases your slick folds with the head of his pulsating dick, creating an electrifying friction that amplifies the anticipation between you two.
“Gguk, please,” you plead with a mixture of desire and frustration, your voice echoing the urgent need for him to bridge the gap between anticipation and fulfillment. However, he remains steadfast, skillfully teasing your slick folds without granting the entry your body craves.
With a desperate plea escaping your lips once more, he finally relents. The moment stretches with anticipation before he forcefully thrusts his thick cock into your eager pussy. The collision is met with an audible impact as your back forcefully meets the wall.
He forgoes the customary pause for adjustment, intuitively aware that you relish the exquisite stretch when he enters you so abruptly. Without hesitation, he plunges deep into your core, reaching the furthest recesses, his thick length grazing against your cervix.
“You’re so big, the stretch feels so good!”
You gasp breathlessly against his body, overwhelmed by the sheer size of him. The intoxicating stretch sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, a visceral reminder of the intensity between you two. Determined to fully immerse yourself in the sensation, you pant against him, actively striving to ride the wave of pleasure, desperate to fuck yourself on him, the relentless pursuit of ecstasy evident in every ardent movement.
He establishes a relentless rhythm, driving into you with a force that resonates against the unyielding wall of the building. The symphony of your combined panting echoes in the air, a melodic accompaniment to the unbridled passion unfolding. Jungkook, captivated by the primal symphony, savors every delightful noise escaping your lips—a harmonious blend of desire and surrender, heightening the intensity of the fervent connection shared between you.
As he thrusts into you, each powerful motion striking your cervix, he elevates the intensity by trailing one hand up to your neck. With a gentle yet possessive touch, he wraps his fingers around your throat.
He knows you like it dirty and rough, and fuck he does too.
His taunting words, laced with a playful yet provocative tone, cut through the charged air. “Did you enjoy the little game with your fingers down my pants while Tae was making his speech?” The rhetorical question hangs between you, a teasing challenge that elicits a subtle clenching reaction around him.
In a sultry revelation, he whispers, “'Next to your bridesmaid and your parents. You naughty girl.” The hand steadying against the wall takes a firm hold of your ass, squeezing the soft flesh with deliberate intent. A resonant moan of pleasure escapes your lips, harmonizing with the rhythmic cadence of his thrusts as he skillfully targets your sweet spot.
“So naughty,” he breathes, punctuating each fervent thrust with a rhythmic intensity that sends shivers down your spine. “You enjoy getting off in front of your friends, huh?” His words, infused with a seductive blend of desire and provocation, become a tantalizing soundtrack to the relentless grind of his dick into you.
“And getting me off too? Whore,” he seethes into your ear, the heated accusation leaving a scorching trail of desire in its wake. Your response, a shiver against his body, fuels the intensity of the moment.
As he continues to fuck you with an unrestrained force, your breasts bounce in a mesmerizing rhythm that captivates him. So fucking perfect.
“Stick your tongue out,” he commands, his eyes intently fixed on you as you obediently roll out your tongue, anticipating the act you relish. The charged moment lingers, pregnant with expectation. With a deliberate move, he spits on your waiting tongue, and you, the embodiment of submission, dutifully swallow it.
Damn it, he knows he won't last much longer if he continues to be entranced by the rhythmic bounce of your enticing breasts—they possess an almost hypnotic allure over him. And that tongue of yours, oh, it's pure seduction.
“And you can't even wait until we reach our hotel suite to be fucked. So fucking needy, and I love it,” he declares, a blend of admiration and desire lacing his words. The deliberate clench of his fingers around your throat follows, a subtle yet potent assertion of control. His gaze remains fixed on your eyes, watching with a predatory intensity as they dilate even more.
As he tightens his grip, the sensation of his fingers constricting around your throat elicits a primal response—your walls clenching around his cock. The synchronized symphony of pleasure and control intertwines, and a guttural groan escapes him, an audible testament to the ecstasy coursing through his veins.
Driven by an insatiable desire, he redoubles his efforts to fuck you even deeper.
“My filthy wife,” he pants into your ear, the possessive term dripping with desire, a declaration that ignites a primal response within you. The sultry proclamation elicits a moan of his name from your lips, a vocal affirmation of the all-encompassing pleasure coursing through your body. His acute awareness of your nearing climax manifests in the rhythmic clenching around his dick, a tangible sign of the intimate dance between you two.
“Fuck, Gguk. I'm so close again. Fuck!” you pant fervently against the curve of his neck, the words laced with desperation and desire. He senses the mounting intensity in your voice, a symphony of passion reaching its crescendo.
Yet, he's attuned to the nuances, recognizing the subtle signs that your body, though on the brink of ecstasy, bears the weight of fatigue, having navigated the day in those tantalizing heels.
“You crave an audience, don't you? Want people to watch you, to hear you,” he moans into your ear, the words a sultry declaration that fans the flames of desire between you two. The acknowledgment of your shared exhibitionist desires ignites a fresh surge of pleasure, prompting an instinctive clench around him.
“Then scream my name, let everyone in the damn party know how damn good I'm fucking you,” he commands, the intensity of his voice sending shivers down your spine. As your walls clench with even greater fervor, pulsating around his dick, a wave of your liquid envelops him, transforming the intimate connection into a slippery dance of shared pleasure.
You unleash his name with a primal scream, the sheer force of your ecstasy reverberating through the open air outside. Your head drops against the curve of his neck, seeking refuge in the haven of his embrace as the waves of pleasure cascade over you.
He relentlessly thrusts his dick into you, the urgency palpable as he seeks his own release. “I'm gonna give you a baby, just like we've always dreamed of.”
“Ahhh, fuck, yes!” The exclamation bursts from your lips, a little too loud, as an uncontrollable surge of pleasure courses through you. Your teeth instinctively seek refuge on his shoulder, sinking into the firm flesh in an unbridled act of both ecstasy and restraint.
“Fuck, babe, I'm gonna come,” he confesses with a guttural moan, each subsequent thrust punctuated with the desperation of impending release. His rhythm stumbles, an involuntary response to the intensity building within him as he hurtles towards the precipice of his orgasm. And then it hits him.
The rhythmic bounce of your tits in his face, the soft and sweet scent that envelops him, and the melodic cadence of your voice—all converge to cast a spell on his senses. In the midst of your lovely moans, he succumbs to the intoxicating blend of sensations, unleashing a torrent of white-hot semen deep inside your spent pussy.
Panting and gasping, you both struggle for precious breaths, bodies slick with the sheen of sweat acquired in the throes of passion. Amidst the shared exhaustion, a mutual chuckle reverberates between you, an intimate exchange that encapsulates the postcoital atmosphere.
With your head nestled against his, you gaze into the depth of his eyes and confess, “I love you, Gukkie.” The words, tender and raw, bridge the physical intimacy you've just shared with the emotional vulnerability of a heartfelt declaration.
“I love you too. Every damn inch of you, you're so beautiful,” he pants, a declaration infused with both desire and admiration. As he smiles at you, the post-passion glow accentuates the sincerity in his eyes, turning the exchange into a powerful affirmation.
He'll never tire of professing his boundless love and adoration for you, vowing to weave those sentiments into the fabric of each passing day. The promise to remind you, with unwavering devotion, echoes in his commitment to articulate his love every damn day.
Please let me know if you liked it with a comment, reblog, and ask or whatever 💜
#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#jungkook smut#jungkook bts#bts jungkook#jeon jungkook#jungkook fics#jungkook fanfics#jungkook fic#jungkook fanfic#jjk smut#jungkook#bts x you#bts x reader#bts smut#bangtan smut#bangtan x you#bangtan x reader#jungkook scenarios#bts jungkook x reader#jungkook x reader smut#jungkook x y/n#jeon jungkook smut#jeon jungkook fic#jjk fic#jjk x reader
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
no trace of skin left unkissed
art donaldson x fem!reader
gif by @jennacrtega
word count: 2,072
warnings: swearing, flirting, a little suggestiveness/allusions to intimacy/sexy stuff, but otherwise this is pure fluff
synopsis: art wants you to play tennis with him. and when you do, it only cements how whipped for him you really are. only in competition with how whipped he is for you, of course.
a/n: hello!!! i’ve been sitting on this idea for at least a month now, simply because i just couldn’t get my fingers to do the typing and my brain to do the storming! but alas, i have finished it, and i’m super super soooo happy with how it turned out. this is the first thing i’ve written for art, but i think i got a good handle on his mannerisms. i’m all giddy just because i enjoyed writing this so much. i hope you enjoy reading it!! <33
————
“What are you doing? Why are you blushing? Stop blushing. You are not into this.”
Your boyfriend removes his hat from where it sat perched the wrong way round on his head. He shoves it on yours instead, his warm fingers brushing your forehead as he tightens the strap for you.
His grin is downright sinister. “You’re into it when it’s me. I don’t look nearly as good in a skirt.”
Your hand shoots out, on a mission to slap the shit out of your boyfriend’s arm, but he senses the rift in space and time, catching your wrist before it makes contact with him. Art uses that leverage to pull you forward, his lips crushing against yours.
“Mm!” you yelp, suddenly way too interested in his mouth to fuss over his choice in distraction technique.
Art has this way of kissing where it’s like he needs you to consume him, like he needs to press all of his affection for you directly into each slot of his lips over yours. He needs you to know you’re the only person in the world, and when he kisses, he’s determined to lose sight of anything other than you.
The only downside to this is that each time he pulls away, you’re forced to recalibrate.
“But seriously, does it fit okay? ‘Cause I looked at the labels for some of your leggings and stuff and then had Tashi help me pick it out,” Art breathes.
You look down, smoothing your hands over the pleats of your skort. “The fact that Tashi supervised makes me feel a lot better.”
Art’s expression shifts, his brows scrunching and his lips taking a downward turn. “What, you don’t trust me?” The lilt in his voice is nothing short of teasing.
“I trust Tashi’s ability to pick out something practical for the tennis lessons you’ve decided to give me.”
You shoulder your bag, push your sunglasses up your nose so they settle right into that little sweet spot. You smell like sunscreen and vanilla shampoo, and Art can’t even process the fact that you're giggling your way out the front door.
That and his eyes are glued to the way your skirt bounces with each of your steps. Tashi picked out a lightweight, baby pink tennis dress for you. It has shorts built in, and the sweetest little ruffled hem.
“Wait, you think I’m gonna put you in something all flouncy, a-and,” he snaps his fingers, “what’s the word for it?”
“Slutty? Yes, Art. You see something short and scandalous and your eyes bug out of your head.” Your hands shoot out in little bursts like baby fireworks. “See? They’re doing it right now,” you laugh.
Art pouts. Literally. His plump bottom lip juts out and you have the urge to bite it. “Hey. Don’t be mean to your tennis coach. I’m a gentleman.”
You snort. “Then open the door and lead the way, Mr. Donaldson.”
————
“You know, I think I like watching you play tennis a whole lot more than I enjoy actually being on the court.”
Art catches the ball you’ve just smacked in his direction. Your brows furrow, confused as to why he’s stopping.
“Hold this for a sec,” Art says, a suspicious lilt to his voice. The tacky grip on his racket is damp from his sweaty palms. You almost want to make a joke about how you're holding the Art Donaldson’s tennis racket. Almost.
But then the man in question pulls off his shirt. It takes a little effort, considering the heat of the day. You watch as he peels it away from his sweat-slickback, revealing the prettiest spattering of freckles across his skin.
The sunlight reflects off of his pale complexion, making him look almost…ethereal. You’re starting to understand why Icarus flew directly into the sun.
Art flips his hat so that it’s backwards and tosses his damp shirt on top of your bag perched sweetly in the corner. The smile he gives you is sick.
He looks down, nodding at his own bare chest. “This help, baby? A little motivation for you?”
Art picks up another ball, bouncing it up and down as he struts your way. He grabs hold of the net separating the two of you and leans into your space. His blonde hair sticks out in little tufts around his ears and forehead.
You fan yourself with your hand. “Hmm. Maybe. Gives me motivation to kick your pretty ass.”
He laughs, pearly white teeth reflecting the bright afternoon sun. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You press your lips to Art’s in a quick fashion. You can taste the sweat on his upper lip, smell his deodorant when he raises his arm to cup your jaw. “It’s not fair that you get to be pretty and good at tennis.”
Art feels your clammy fingers brush his as you take the ball out of his hand. He backs up, grinning endlessly.
“Remember what I told you. Put the ball against the racket like that. Feel it out. You gotta figure out which serve feels best for you. What works for me won’t be the same for you.”
It feels so strange to hold the ball in your non-dominant hand, knowing if you even want the ball to reach Art’s side of the court you’ll have to toss it high enough that you can successfully hit it.
Your hand-eye coordination surely isn’t winning you any awards, but your first toss isn’t horrible. A little low and definitely not a straight shot, but it’s high enough that you manage to both hit it and have it reach Art.
He doesn’t say anything, not when he recognizes that look in your eye. This is something he wanted to try with you, something you could do together without any of the stress or socializing that usually accompanies tennis.
Your tongue pokes out from between your lips, the skin much more swollen and plump than usual due to the heat. They look like they do early in the morning, when you’ve coaxed each other awake and he kisses you until you can’t breathe. Full and slick and enticing.
Art goes decidedly easy on you, but you’re having fun.
The longer you play, each time a breeze hits the backs of your knees and Art lets out one of those noises you love to tease him about, you start to see why he and Tashi and Patrick love this so much.
There’s a solid ten minutes where neither of you lose the ball, lose your rhythm. You’re completely focused on making sure that ball hits your racket. It’s almost liberating, being somewhat mediocre at this.
Art, on the other hand, isn’t focused at all. He’s doing his best to keep up with you, but he can’t get over how good you look right now.
The pleats of your skirt bounce with each of your steps, each of your little hops when he hits it just too high. There’s a sheen of sweat glistening on your neck and collarbones, making you look like a fucking goddess.
Not to mention how pretty you look in his hat. In clothes he bought for you. And he can’t help himself each time you bend to pick up the ball or get a sip of water, because he gets to see the slightest bit of skin at the tops of your thighs, the little creases left permanently in your skin where the fat of your ass meets the slope of your leg.
You catch on after a while, seeing his eyes drag over your bare legs, your chest, your neck. You smack the ball particularly hard, a hit Art should’ve taken in stride, but instead, he misses. The ball makes a pinging sound as it hits the chain link fence and bounces down the court.
You toss your head back and laugh.
That’s all it takes for Art to drop everything and grab hold of your legs, tossing you over his shoulder. You’ve been poking at his ribs, telling him how you can’t concentrate when he’s looking at you, but he was insane to think he’d be fine to play tennis with you.
He can’t concentrate worth a shit. Not when you look like that and are looking at him like that and you’re smacking his ass and laughing so hard and fuck—he could marry you right now.
————
A wet towel slaps against Art’s ass. “You look like a slut in those underwear, Donaldson.”
He looks at you over his shoulder, hands in the dresser drawer. “Are you complaining?” he asks.
You splay out across the mattress, feeling the cool comforter against the soft of your belly where your shirt has ridden up.
“Me? Oh no, just complimenting you,” you quip.
Art lets out a small snort, pulling a pair of plain cotton pajama pants up his legs. You watch as his fingers tie a quick knot at the waist.
His eyes are on you, blue irises unforgiving, but there’s the tiniest lift at the corner of his mouth. It’s not something you’d notice if you hadn’t spent so much time learning his mannerisms.
“I like your slutty underwear,” you say.
Art moves toward the edge of the bed, lowering himself onto his knees so that he’s level with your face. You watch his collarbones shift under his skin as he reaches up to cup your cheeks.
“I like your slutty underwear too, princess.” He reaches one arm behind you to smack the swell of your ass. Your panties aren’t really slutty. Just dainty. Lace and whatnot. Art’s hand lingers on your bum just long enough for him to give it one good squeeze.
His chest is directly in your face. You take the chance to lean forward, nipping at the skin over his ribs. His hips are soft beneath your hands, freckles covering almost every inch.
Art’s brow furrows as he looks down at you. “Hey, hey. Why are we so bitey tonight?” he asks, lowering himself back onto the rug in front of you. He starts peppering your face with kisses. They’re gentle and sweet, yeah. But the way he paces them, the way he makes sure you can feel the drag of his nose, his lashes, against your face makes them sensual. They give you goosebumps.
When he kisses your lips, you make sure to gently pinch his bottom one between your teeth. “They’re called love bites for a reason, lovey.”
You let your arms stretch out in front of you, your chest hitting the mattress. Your hands smooth over Art’s shoulders and up to his neck. You pretend not to notice the flush your chosen pet name has given him. Patrick would have his ass if he heard that.
You raise your gaze to meet his. “And you deserve so many of those sweet bites for giving me such a fun day today.”
Art’s nails scratch over your neck and you stifle a moan. “Yeah? You enjoyed it?”
You nod, biting on the inside of your cheek. Art taps his thumb on your jaw, signaling for you to quit before you hurt yourself.
“Maybe we could do it in one of those air-conditioned places next time? It’s too fucking hot for that.”
He chuckles, slotting his lips over yours once again. His brow furrows, and you can practically feel him pressing his affection into you. When he pulls away, he wipes the dampness from the corner of your mouth.
“You know we can,” he starts. “It’s always better in the fall, too.”
Your stomach flips with the urgent need for him. He’s too perfect, and he’s too far away from you. He should never be that far.
You put your hands on his sides and add the slightest bit of pressure, as if you’re going to hoist him up. He gets the memo and stands.
For a moment, the image of him towering over you, looking at you with those doe eyes, makes you forget every thought that was previously in your head. Art’s hands fall to your sides, mimicking your moves from seconds before, and you allow him to maneuver you onto your back so he can settle on top of you.
“And next time, princess?”
You hum, preoccupied with the weight of him above you. His hand cups your chin, encouraging you to make eye contact with him.
“Next time, that cute skirt stays on when we get home.”
————
note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!
rb banner by @steph-speaks
#savannah’s fics#art donaldson#art donaldson x reader#art donaldson x fem!reader#art donaldson x you#art donaldson x y/n#art donaldson imagine#art donaldson fanfic#art donaldson fluff#art donaldson fic#art donaldson x f!reader#art donaldson x female reader#art donaldson fanfiction#art donaldson comfort#art donaldson challengers#art donaldson one shot#art donaldson oneshot
438 notes
·
View notes
Text
"Head Empty" - Gojo Satoru
3,043 words.
warnings. nsfw (18+), satoru is your tutor, resolved sexual tension, semi-public sex, he fingers you so you could focus on your studying, sex depr!ved reader, oral (under the table), he eats you out again, library setting, unprotected sex, praising, creampie, fucking you against the library shelves.
notes. i'm literally dripping like a waterfall as I write this. ugh I wish gojo was my tutor, I'd pass all my exams to make sure I receive that good dicking as a reward when I get an A++++.
art used is by @/yunonoai!
The days would only and inevitably count-down until the start of your finals week. You realised you were too much of a procrastinator - someone or something had to tell you to get your shit together to start studying, or at least to receive that ounce of motivation.
You knew who to call for that. A high grade achiever, ladies man, and the college's example of an ideal student. Gojo Satoru. Oh, and boy was he fine. Maybe, getting a little too fine.
You were majoring in law and history, and fuck, was it doing your head in. Luckily, your classmate Satoru offered some help - free of charge. Knowing you were in a sticky situation, of course you accepted the offer. I mean, who wouldn't? Tutoring from the smartest guy in your year is like learning a ground-breaking ability from a top class sorcerer.
Although, you were starting to regret it at some point.
Being with Satoru in the library - almost all day, every day of the week. Your thoughts were clouded with him. Filthy, or pure, the scenarios were endless.
Chin on your palm, eyes dazed into his own. Head empty. You would find yourself staring at his lips for too long, just to be able to hear him scold you playfully for not paying attention. But then having regret when you had to review the same day's topic for the third time cause you just wouldn't listen.
Nothing he taught you would go into that little brain of yours. Not one bit.
You wondered if he was a different type of smart. Intelligent enough to notice how you'd stamp your thighs together after thinking such vulgar thoughts. Like him bending you over the library's table, then and there, just pounding into you in front of ev-
..A slender hand waves in front of your face. "Hey, are you listening?" your train of thought had come to an end as his voice broke you out of your trance.
Your eyes widen, turning to the white haired man beside you. "..Yeah, of course I am." you quickly pull away your chin off your palm, picking your pen up just to stare blankly at the case study in front of you.
He groans, over the fact that this is a recurring thing every time the two of you study. "Then tell me," he continued, "What was I talking about?"
Your eyes flicker into an eyeroll in defeat, and Satoru just grins. Unfortunately you were unable to catch that.
"..Alright," He gently sighed. "Let's just do some quick drilling questions to get you more warmed up."
You stay quiet, mentally slapping yourself before you think; how does he even put up with me.
You fiddle with your biro as you watch his every move. The filthy thoughts come flooding in again as you watched his fingers turn the pages, and you just imagine that the pages were your fo-
"So, tell me. What was the inqu!s!t!on during the Reformation?" Satoru's lips pursed together in hopes of a correct answer from you.
"..That's easy. It was a court..” Developing your answer, your heart thumped as you awaited a 'correct' or 'wrong' result from Satoru. Why were you nervous anyways..? Were you.. seeking validation from him?
He smiled as you gave him the answer, which was in fact, correct. "Good girl," Satoru put a small tick beside the question to note you had it correct. "I knew you had it in you."
You just smile back, no verbal response. His praise towards you immediately had your legs clamped together like always, making you move around in your chair. Fiddling with the fabric of your mini skirt that you just put on for him to see your bare legs.
Satoru goes off on a tangent about another topic in relation to the reformation, and so forth. The words coming out of his mouth just ran straight through your ears, and to some trash can in the library. The thought of him praising you as you please him kept replaying in your head like a broken record player.
Feet tapping out of nervousness underneath the table, your poor biro was so chewed to the point it didn't look like a pen anymore.
A slam of a book was heard on your left, and it was Satoru. Luckily a few people have left the library, so the only person left was someone on the far end of the table, with their headphones on too.
The tapping of your foot had long ended, as you were faced with a distressed Gojo. His hand remained on the cover of the textbook.
"Okay, I know this is hard. You accepted my offer to tutor you, but if you wanted to study on your own that's fine with me." You weren't sure if he hated you, or was just fed up, but no response came out of your mouth.
His hand leaves the cover, and instead his whole body turns to you on the chair. "It always seems like- you're distracted. You're barely listening to me 70% of the time, could you tell me why?" Oh God, if only he knew why.
You lied, hoping you could get away with it. "I'm just tired. Finals week coming up just has me stressed, so I can't sleep." You mutter under your breath, but the library was quiet enough for Satoru to hear it perfectly fine.
"I don't think that's the issue." He slightly leans in closer to your face to whisper sternly. "You act like I don't see you biting your lip, squeezing your legs together or fiddling with the ends of that tiny skirt of yours every time you look at me."
You could've sworn that your throat went dry as your skirt hypothesis was proven true. "..I swear.. I'm not lying."
Satoru pinches his nose bridge in denial. "Look, I doubt that you would want to fail your finals because you were horny the whole time you were being tutored."
I honestly hope there's something playing in that persons headphones.
The two of you take a few breaths to recollect yourselves, until Satoru quietly speaks again.
"How about, we just ease back into reviewing the same material. Just please, give me your undivided attention. Just for now."
With Satoru knowing your dirty little secrets, there's no hiding now. You had no choice but to oblige. "Yeah okay. I'm all ears."
He opens the textbook again, returning to the same chapter. This time he goes on about the results of the reformation.
But something was different.
His warm hand rested on your bare thigh, almost under your skirt. Dangerously creeping into your inner leg, to the point that his pinky finger could graze against your underwear if he wanted to. Your feet tapping also managed to stop. This was enough to form a pool between your legs.
He paused his reading for a moment to turn to you. "Are you alright with my hand there? I mean, this is the only way I could get you to listen." Satoru caressed the soft flesh of your leg with his thumb. All you were able to do was nod, like an obeying puppy. "..Just, follow along with your textbook like a good girl."
Satoru's fingers brushed against your cotton underwear. He whispered under his breath, "You're so needy, aren't you huh?" Your hand swiftly held onto his wrist out of nervousness, his index finger toying with your panties to move them to the side.
"Just relax, and give me a summary of what you had just learnt."
You coughed, clearing your throat. "W-well, I believe it was for a good cause.. and..." Your breath suddenly hitched, stopping you mid-sentence. You felt Satoru's fingers slide between your folds, only slightly pushing his middle finger into your dripping hole.
Words couldn't describe how embarrassed you felt about the fact you and your panties were absolutely soaked.
Faint squelching noises were heard as he slowly fucked at this rate, two fingers into you under the table. Your words caught up in your throat one after the other, "..And.. attitudes to trade.."
You stopped talking, and your hand rested against your forehead as you felt his fingers curl up inside of you. The way you were squirming about in your chair, and the fact that your slick was fully coating his fingers had Satoru's cock straining against his pants.
"That's it.. you're 100% correct. Keep going." The curling of his middle and ring finger picked up its pace, his thumb now lazily rubbing circles on your clit.
You pulled away your forehead from your hand, moving to place it back against his own arm. "Satoru..I can't.. you're gonna.. make me cum.." You swallowed your spit to suppress a moan.
As soon as you said that, he pulled his fingers out. You could almost whimper out loud at the sudden emptiness in your hole, and that he denied you from getting off on his fingers.
"..What the fuck, Satoru?" You whispered angrily, a grin curling up on his face.
You watched as he wrapped his mouth around his fingers, sucking your juices off them before looking around the library. He pulls out a few papers from his backpack, which was another question and answer activity sheet.
"Do these for me, and by the time I'm back it better be finished, and I expect it to all be answered correctly." He slid the sheet to your side, before glancing around the library again.
Confused, you questioned him. "..Where are you off to?"
You could only see another smirk form on his face before he went underneath the table, disappearing off to somewhere. Oh no. You cautiously looked around your surroundings too. Still that one same person from earlier sitting at the end of the table.
A yelp escapes your mouth little too loudly as you felt him tickling the sides of your thighs with his hands, a creaking noise ringing throughout the library as he dragged your chair closer to the table and to him. Luckily no one regarded that.
Trying not to be obvious, you carried on with your work, making an attempt at the questions.
You could still feel him moving about underneath the table, his hands taking a hold under your thigh, placing both above each of his shoulders.
A playful giggle came out of your mouth as his soft hair tickled your legs, your hand sliding down his arm as they made their way behind you on the chair, cupping the back of your ass. His head now underneath your skirt, his pointer fingers going back under as well to tug on your panties, pulling them off and down your legs.
A wet kiss was immediately planted on your bare pussy, your legs jittering about on his shoulders at the ticklish feeling.
Another creak of the chairs legs against the floor was made as Satoru moved you closer to the edge of the chair to have full access to your pussy.
At one point, your thighs almost locked around his head as soon as his tongue made contact with your clit, and as he sucked on it with his lips before using his tongue to fuck your hole.
The writing on the activity sheet turned in to squiggles, now illegible. Your fingers instead twisted the corner of the paper, ruining the quality all together as it became wrinkly.
Your mouth formed an 'O' shape as you felt him fucking you with his fingers, and lapping at your clit at the same time. You had only covered your mouth with your fist to mask it as a yawn.
Meanwhile your other hand repeatedly tapped on his sculpted shoulder, letting him know you were about to cum. And if he didn't move, there'd be a mess all over the library hard-flooring.
The coil in your stomach had finally snap, your silent orgasm washing over you as Satoru lapped at your juices underneath, making sure not to miss a drop.
Satoru's face so messy and wet, it dripped down his chin as he sucked on your clit one last time for good luck.
You felt Satoru gently grab your thighs, placing them back down on the ground and off his shoulders. You honestly felt like you were gloop, your legs felt as if they were made of dough and unable to stand up on their own.
He crawled back up onto his chair, I don't know how the person on the other end of the table didn't suspect anything like at all. Maybe they're just acting dumb or perhaps just genuinely focused on their work.
You slightly looked down underneath the table, seeing your poor underwear left on the cold ground. I'll.. get that later.
"So, did you finish the sheet?" Satoru glanced over to the sheet, wiping and licking around his lips for any excess on his face.
He almost chuckled out loud as he saw the squiggly lines all over the answer boxes. "I'll take that as a no."
You roll your eyes, unamused. "I couldn't focus."
"Really? Well, that beats the purpose of me trying to help you less than thirty seconds ago." Satoru teases, turning around to the book aisles around him. "Ah- think we need to get a certain book. Come with me."
The two of you immediately knew what that meant, and at the speed of light you both got up from your chairs. The textbooks, bags and stationary were just left on the study tables. You remembered to tug on your skirt to make sure your ass wasn't on show before getting up.
Both you and Satoru scurried away into a book aisle deeper into the library, far away from where everyone was studying. Luckily the library was quiet today, and there are literally no cameras here. You always wondered why, but at this moment there was no way in hell you were complaining.
Reaching the 'Ecology' aisle, which was completely irrelevant to what both of you were studying, the two of you jokingly went separately on each side of the shelf, your eyes watching each other like a hawk through the gaps between the books.
Your heart was about to leap out of your chest as you got closer to the other end of the entire shelf. The last step, and Satoru comes jumping at you, pushing you against the entire shelf and started sloppily kissing each other. Almost like you both were yearning for this.
A whimper and grunt came from yours and Satoru's lips as you both melted into each other, a string of saliva connected your tongues as soon as he pulled away.
Your hand quickly snaked down to the waistband of his pants as he planted hot, wet kisses down your neck making you both giggle.
You just couldn’t believe this was happening right now. His heavy cock hanging and pre-cum leaking from the tip as you pulled it out from his pants. Picking you up, Satoru's hands cupped beneath your bare ass as your legs wrapped around his waist.
His weight fully pressed you back against the shelf, to be able to use his free hand to align his tip with your hole before slowly sliding in. You let out a gasp, you imagined him to be big but not so big in girth, as well as length. His cock stretched you out enough that it will probably remember his shape, and only his.
A long grunt came from his mouth as he felt you sink down on him, sliding in and out slowly - allowing you to adjust before immediately rutting into you at an inhumane pace, the shelves slightly shaking from how hard he was drilling into you.
Satoru's hands now had full support on your legs behind your knees, an 'Ecology 101' book falling off the shelf behind you as you moaned his name into his ear like it was a prayer, only to result in him panting against your neck.
"You drive me crazy," Satoru moans out, sounding feral as he panted between each sentence. "Got me pounding into you against the shelves at this library?" The two of you fucked like rabbits. His lips couldn't last ten seconds without yours.
Your ass would ripple each time he deeped into you, noises of your skin slapping against each other echoing throughout the library.
At one point, he thrusted deep enough to hit your sweet spots that you moaned a bit too loud. The two of you just bursted into a small giggle as he placed his palm over your mouth.
Another book, "All about Aquatic Ecology" falls off the shelf behind you. You wonder how someone hasn't check on you two yet, thinking the falling books were a sign of paranormal activity. I mean, you guys chose the shelves far away from people for a reason.
"F-Fuck, Satoru- I'm gonna.." Beads of sweat were starting to form on your forehead from how hard he was fucking your brains out, you were bound to cry, but you felt him place more kisses against your jaw. "Too fast.. Satoru-"
"I know baby, tell me," Satoru whispered, his thrusts getting slow and staggered. "What is it, you gonna cum?"
Your hands moved from behind his neck to clutching onto the fabric of his shirt on his shoulders. "..Please... let me cum.." Your head fell back against the wooden panel of the shelf. "And your cum.. I want it in me."
You felt Satoru give you one last deep thrust into your pussy, bottoming into you as he let out his thick load into your hole non stop, some of it leaking out and dripping down his cock.
The two of you moaned as quietly as you can as your orgasms washed over the both you, Satoru resting his forehead against your chest, his balls throbbing as his cum pumped into you continuously.
His arms still underneath your legs, Satoru slowly slid his cock out before grunting at the cum that dripped and leaked out of you, onto the library floor. What a mess.
He planted another kiss on your lips before gently placing your legs back down onto the ground, holding your hand for support.
"Fuck, Satoru. You literally blew my back out."
You could feel his warm cum slowly trickle down your inner leg, regretting the fact that you said you'll pick up your panties later on.
Satoru slapped your ass, grabbing a handful afterwards. "Think we'll need to start tutoring back at your place."
⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤳ © luvwestwood ‘24. all works are owned by me, and originally come from my own head. please do not re-post on a third party platform without my permission!
⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤳ as always, thank you for the love on each and every one of my posts. 🎀🩷
#gojo satoru smut#jujutsu gojo#satoru gojo#jujutsu kaisen gojo#jujutsu kaisen smut#gojo x you#jjk gojo#gojo smut#gojo x reader#gojo satoru#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
It’s Generational, Baby!
summary: babies kick, who knew?
warnings: pregnancy
a/n: sorry this is short but you get what you get am afraid
word count: 920
-
“Your child is really getting on my nerves, you know?” you groan, rubbing your swollen belly like it’s a genie lamp and you’re hoping for a wish that involves a whole lot less peeing.
“My child? Don’t you mean our child?” Leah asks, arching an eyebrow so high it almost disappears into her hairline. She has this knack for looking entirely too amused at your discomfort, like she finds the whole pregnancy thing charmingly hilarious.
“No. She’s all yours when she’s sitting on my fucking bladder,” you shoot back, making a face as another well-aimed kick from inside nearly has you waddling to the bathroom yet again. Honestly, if you had a pound for every time you had to pee, you could afford that beach house in Malibu you've always dreamed of.
Leah can’t help but chuckle at your outburst, her laughter warm and familiar, the kind that makes you feel like even in the middle of all this chaos, everything is going to be A-OK. She sidles up to you, wrapping her arms around your waist and resting her chin on your shoulder. “What can I say? She’s got good aim”
“Good aim? She’s using my internal organs as a trampoline. Is that the kind of skill set we really want to encourage?” you huff, though you can’t help but lean into her touch, the heat of her body a comforting, relieving presence against your back. You wonder briefly if you should get in early and sign this kid up for gymnastics, or boxing, or karate.
“Maybe she’s practicing to be the next big athlete in the family,” Leah suggests, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “You know, like her mum”
“Which one?” you quip, earning another laugh from your ever doting wife. “Because right now, I’m not feeling very athletic. More like a bloated whale.” Not that you have anything against whales, but you doubt they’d be thrilled with the comparison either.
Leah tightens her hold, her breath tickling your ear. “A very beautiful whale, though”
“Don’t think you can get away with that smooth talk,” you warn, though a smile is already tugging at the corners of your mouth. “I’m not that easily charmed”
“Lucky for me, we’re already married,” Leah murmurs, her voice low and playful. She shifts, her hand moving to rest on your belly, feeling the little kicks and movements beneath her fingers. “Hey there, kiddo. You giving your mum a hard time?”
The baby responds with another swift kick, and you groan again. “See? She listens to you more than she listens to me”
“Of course she does. I’m a captain, I talk, people listen,” Leah says, her tone dripping with mock arrogance. “Maybe I should start giving her pep talks. Teach her the fine art of not kicking her mother in the bladder”
“Please do,” you sigh, rolling your eyes but unable to suppress a grin. “Though knowing our luck, she’ll just end up kicking harder”
“Well, if that happens, we’ll just have to negotiate with her,” Leah says, gently rubbing your belly. “Promise her all the ice cream and chocolate she wants if she stops using you as a punching bag”
“You really think that’ll work?” you ask, skeptical but hopeful.
Leah shrugs, her smile bright and confident. “Worth a shot, isn’t it?”
You sigh, resting your head against her shoulder. “Fine. But if it doesn’t work, you’re the one who has to deal with her when she’s pushing against my ribcage at 3 AM”
“Deal,” Leah agrees, pressing another kiss to your cheek. “Anything for you, love”
You lean into her embrace, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the baby growing inside you. It’s moments like these, amid the teasing and the jokes, that you felt the depth of your connection with Leah. It’s more than just love; it's a partnership, a shared journey that is as full of laughter as it is of challenges.
"Hey, Leah?" you say softly after a few moments of comfortable silence.
"Yeah?" she replies, her voice equally gentle.
"Do you think we'll be good parents?" It is a question that has been gnawing at you, one that you hadn't voiced out loud until now.
Leah turns you around to face her, her eyes searching yours with a seriousness that is rare. "I know we will be," she says firmly. "Because we've got each other. And because we're already so in love with this little one”
You feel a lump form in your throat, emotion welling up inside you. "You really believe that?"
"With all my heart," she says, her smile soft and sincere. "And besides, we've got 23 free babysitters if our patience runs out. And from what I’ve heard, getting good childcare is half the battle with this parenting thing”
You laugh, a sound that feels like a release. "Yeah, I guess it is”
"Come on," Leah says, guiding you to the sofa. "Let's sit down and you can tell me all about how our child has been tormenting you today. Or we could start a record, you know, of particularly impressive kicks? For posterity. Or maybe for her first therapy session”
As you settle into the cushions, you can’t help but feel a wave of contentment wash over you. Despite the discomforts, the uncertainties, and the incessant bladder attacks, you know you are in this together. And with Leah by your side, you feel ready to face whatever comes next, one well placed kick at a time.
#leah williamson#leah williamson x reader#awfc#awfc x reader#engwnt#engwnt x reader#woso#woso x reader#woso imagine#woso community
575 notes
·
View notes
Note
I can't comment on your posts so, elaborate on how a man can be a lesbian? You insist on writing that they can without any backup to it.
there doesn't need to be "backup" for it, it's an identity. lesbianism is not a statistic that requires empirical evidence and research in order to make statements on. it's literally just an identity. this isn't a concrete thing that's set in stone, it's not a cosmic rule. identity is something that's unique for every person who experiences it. there's literally nothing stopping a man from identifying as a lesbian. there's nothing stopping women from identifying as gay. god won't descend from the heavens and smite or stop you from identifying this way. the world will not stop turning because male lesbians exist
you are not under threat because male lesbians exist.
i have no idea why people think specifically lesbianism has a high bar of entry, but it does not. men can be lesbians simply by identifying as a lesbian. it's that easy. it really is. you don't have to jump through hoops to "earn" an identity. if you would like "backup" for this, it's me. i'm right here. i'm a male lesbian talking to you in the flesh. lesbians can be genderfluid, multigender, bigender, non binary, men AND women, two spirit... any gender. there's no rules.
but if you seriously haven't read the works of Leslie Feinberg, they are mandatory reads to understand what we go through. Leslie was a polygender lesbian who needed to transition to male in order to feel like hir butch lesbian self. zie lived as a man for years before realizing zie was still a lesbian, but chose not to abandon hir manhood. zie lived as a transmasculine lesbian who also identified as a man for most of hir adult life. zie was a massive part of the lesbian activist community and did tons of work in paving the way for our community.
if you want to call yourself versed on what real lesbianism is, you cannot avoid reading hir works. they are essential in liberating one's self from antimasculism and transandrophobia. leslie was also a real, living, breathing male, transmasc, ftm, polygendered lesbian. ignoring the existence of transmasc, ftm and trans male butch lesbians is denying a huge part of our history and community.
listen to our community. talk to other lesbians than just cis white femmes. please actually do your own research on lesbian history, you are capable of researching these things, too. you don't have to rely on me if you don't want to take my word for things. i'm not the only male lesbian in existence. refusing to listen to transmasc, ftm, trans man and male butches erases a massive portion of our community's history. it silences people who have been here all along, whether or not you're able to accept that.
ask yourself why male lesbians in specific bother you, as opposed to any other "contradictory" queer identity. ask yourself why you have such a hard time with that, in specific. ask yourself why you are upholding a high bar of entry to lesbianism. there IS no bar of entry to lesbianism. you are one because you say you are. that is literally how identity works. you are one because you are one. no ifs, ands, or buts.
hope that helps.
#asks#answers#lesbian#male lesbian#transmasc lesbian#lesbian men#ftm lesbian#transmsculine lesbian#leslie feinberg#queer history#resources#queer literature#lesbian history#sapphic#dyke
266 notes
·
View notes