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faebled-stories · 6 days ago

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Unbroken Connection

Kinkvember Day 18: Voodoo Magic

Aespa Karina (Yu Jimin) x Male reader

The house was everything you and Karina had dreamed up over whispered conversations and late-night plans—a beautiful, old-fashioned structure with a story in every corner, as if each creak and crack held its own memory. The red brick walls were cloaked in ivy, its tendrils winding upward in lazy spirals, giving the house a sense of timelessness, like it had stood for centuries, watching quietly as generations came and went.

“This place is perfect,” Karina whispered as she stepped onto the wide porch, running her fingers lightly along the railing. The wood was cool under her touch, its carvings faint but intricate. “Can you imagine the kind of lives people must have lived here?” Her voice carried a mix of wonder and nostalgia, as though she could already feel the house’s history soaking into her skin.

“Long ones,” you joked, gesturing to the ivy. “Look at this stuff. It’s practically holding the bricks together.”

She smiled, her eyes tracing the ivy’s twists and turns. “I like it. Feels alive.”

In the gentle evening light, the porch radiated a kind of quiet charm, the sort that made you imagine warm cups of tea and conversations that lingered long into the evening under skies painted by the sunset’s last, tender hues. A faint scent of lavender drifted in the air, subtle yet persistent, as if it had seeped into the walls, lingering from some long-forgotten garden nearby.

Inside, each room seemed to come alive with your presence. The wooden floors groaned in protest beneath your feet, their creaks echoing through the empty halls, creating a melody of movement that felt almost like the house was speaking to you, welcoming you home. The walls, bare and waiting, seemed to listen as you and Karina unpacked, your laughter filling the rooms and softening the house’s quiet, almost eerie solitude. Together, you unearthed each piece of your shared life from the cardboard boxes, placing cherished objects on shelves, letting them claim their new spaces.

“Do you think this place will feel like ours?” Karina asked as she set a stack of books on the mantle. She glanced at you, her head tilting slightly. “Or will it always feel… I don’t know. Like someone else’s?”

“It already feels like ours,” you replied. “But maybe I’m just biased because of how much we’ve already carried in.” You gestured at the half-empty boxes, trying to lighten the mood.

She laughed softly, but her eyes lingered on the empty space around her. “I guess we’ll see.”

Shadows began to settle into corners as the evening light faded, casting the rooms in a dim, golden glow. By the time most of the boxes were empty, you felt an irresistible pull to explore. The house, despite its warm charm, held an air of mystery, as if there were stories yet untold in the very walls.

Wandering from room to room, you found yourselves by the staircase, where a small, unassuming door, almost camouflaged within the dark wood paneling, caught your eye. Its handle was worn, gleaming slightly in the low light, and the door itself was so inconspicuous that you might have missed it if not for the slight draft that seemed to drift from the tiny crack at its base.

Karina frowned. “That’s… odd. Did you know this was here?”

You shook your head. “Nope. Maybe a closet? Or a pantry?” You reached for the handle, but her hand shot out, stopping you.

“Do you think we should? I mean, what if it’s locked?”

“It’s not,” you said, testing the handle and feeling it give way easily. A narrow stairwell descended into darkness, carrying a faint, musty smell that hinted at old things left undisturbed.

“I don’t like this,” she muttered, her fingers brushing through her hair in that nervous way she always did when something felt wrong. “This is how horror movies start.”

You grinned. “Come on, Jimin. It’s probably just storage. Let’s take a quick look.”

Her sigh was audible, but she nodded, reluctantly following as you descended. The steps creaked loudly underfoot, and with each groan of the wood, your own confidence waned just a little. At the bottom, the basement unfolded before you—a space cool and dim, filled with shadows that seemed to stretch and shift in the weak light. Dust motes floated through the air, and rows of shelves lined the walls, each one crowded with jars of indeterminate age, filled with strange, murky substances.

“What is this stuff?” Karina whispered, her voice barely audible over the stillness.

“Looks like… I don’t know. Old preserves? Or potions?” you joked, though your tone carried none of the confidence you were aiming for.

She shot you a look but didn’t respond. Her attention had shifted to the center of the room, where a table stood oddly clean amidst the dust-coated surroundings. Something on the table caught her eye—a doll.

The figure lay whole on the table, its shape unmistakably human yet profoundly unsettling. Its smooth, seamless form lacked any definition—no fingers, no toes, no musculature. The limbs and torso were entirely featureless, as if sculpted from an unbroken piece of clay, leaving an eerie impression of incompleteness. This blank, unformed body served only to emphasize the haunting precision of its face.

The skin of the face was painted with disturbing realism: faintly flushed cheeks, delicately drawn veins, and a subtle sheen that mimicked the warmth of living flesh. Its eyes were closed, the lids resting softly as if in peaceful slumber. The stillness of its expression, paired with the intricate detail of its features, gave it an unnerving lifelike quality that felt profoundly out of place against the blank canvas of the rest of its body. The contrast between the intricate face and the featureless form created an aura of quiet, disquieting intent, as though the doll were waiting to be brought fully to life.

“Who would leave something like this in a basement?” Karina murmured, her voice breaking the silence, sounding small and uneasy against the stillness of the room. Her gaze lingered on the doll, her hand tightening instinctively around your arm. “It’s… wrong.”

“It’s just a doll,” you said, though your voice wavered. “Probably an old collector’s item. Some people are into creepy things.”

“Some people need better hobbies.” Karina reached up and ran her fingers through her hair, the motion an automatic gesture of unease. Her fingers caught on a stray tangle, and she tugged lightly, smoothing the strands into place. A few locks cascaded back over her shoulder, catching the dim light as they settled. She took a step back, her face pale. “Let’s just leave it.”

You nodded, slipping your hand into hers. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

As you turned to leave, you didn’t notice the way her hair shimmered faintly, glimmering in the dusty glow of the basement light. The strands that had fallen from her fingers seemed alive, slipping from her shoulders and moving against gravity. They floated as if drawn by some invisible force, a deliberate motion that defied the stagnant air. The golden threads stretched toward the doll, weaving through the stillness like a gossamer pulled by an unseen hand.

The faint draft that had ushered you down reversed, the air now tugging gently in the opposite direction. It brushed past you with a quiet insistence, carrying Karina’s drifting hair closer to the doll. The motion was subtle, almost imperceptible, but unmistakably deliberate, as though something in the room had claimed the strands for its own.

The strands seemed to hover just above the doll’s porcelain surface, quivering slightly, as though testing the boundary between the living and the inanimate. Then, one by one, they disappeared. They didn’t land or settle—they were absorbed, sinking seamlessly into the doll’s cold skin. The process was slow, almost reverent, each thread vanishing into the porcelain as if it were feeding on them, consuming their essence. The doll’s surface showed no disturbance, no trace of the hair’s presence, yet a strange energy began to ripple faintly through the room, subtle but undeniable, as if the very walls shivered in recognition.

Upstairs, the laughter you shared was nervous but genuine, both of you clinging to it like a lifeline to push back the tension left in the wake of the basement. Karina wrapped her arms around herself as she stood in the hallway, her gaze darting toward the closed basement door. Her unease lingered, etched into the slight furrow of her brow and the way she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

“Next time,” she said lightly, her attempt at humor wavering in her voice, “let’s stick to exploring things with actual light switches. Maybe some windows too.”

You chuckled, trying to match her tone, but the unease clung to you as well. “Agreed. No more basements. Definitely no dolls.”

She gave a half-smile, though her eyes lingered on the door a moment longer before she turned away. The house seemed quieter now, its warmth tempered by something you couldn’t quite name.

But below, in the still, heavy air of the basement, the doll’s porcelain surface began to glow. The light started faint, a barely perceptible pulse deep within its core, like the flicker of a distant flame. It ebbed and flowed in slow, deliberate beats, each pulse growing stronger, its glow intensifying with a sickly greenish hue that cast long, jagged shadows across the shelves and floor. The air in the basement thickened, heavy with a strange, metallic tang, as if the space itself were reacting to the doll’s transformation.

The doll’s eyes, closed in serene stillness, caught the flickering light in a way that made the lids seem faintly translucent. At first, it was a subtle effect—a play of shadows beneath the painted lashes. But as the glow swelled, the closed eyes appeared to hold a deeper presence, as though something beneath the surface stirred. The lids, once simple and lifeless, seemed to press outward faintly, hinting at a restless energy concealed behind them.

The strands of Karina’s hair, now fully absorbed, had vanished without a trace. Yet, the doll’s features began to shift. Its porcelain skin, once flawless and cold, took on a faint warmth, a suggestion of pliability that hadn’t been there before. The faint blush on its cheeks deepened, almost imperceptibly, as though the glow from within was kindling something beneath the surface. The contours of its face grew more defined, softening subtly, as if sculpted further toward perfection with each pulse of light.

The house seemed to hold its breath. The faint creaks and groans of its old structure stilled entirely, leaving an oppressive silence in their wake. Even the distant hum of the wind outside faded, as though the world itself had paused. In the suffocating quiet, the rhythmic flicker of the doll’s eerie light became the room’s heartbeat, steady and deliberate, an ominous reminder of its growing presence.

Its aura now exuded a quiet, watchful energy—no longer dormant but active, as though waiting for something. The shadows cast by its light danced across the walls, twisting and shifting unnaturally, their movements disconnected from the flicker of the glow. And deep within the stillness of its closed eyes, there was a stirring—fragile yet undeniable, an unsettling whisper of awareness beginning to take shape. The doll no longer felt like an object but a vessel, and the silence of the room seemed to anticipate the moment when its transformation would be complete.

------

The next morning, warm sunlight slipped through the bedroom curtains, casting a golden glow over Karina as she stretched and let out a contented sigh. You had left early for work, leaving her alone in the quiet intimacy of the morning. The scattered, unpacked boxes around the room hinted at new beginnings, but her thoughts kept circling back to the basement—to the doll. Despite the unease it stirred in her, a peculiar curiosity tugged at her thoughts. It was like a whisper, faint but insistent, calling her back.

After tidying a few last things, Karina found herself descending the narrow stairs once more. The wooden steps creaked softly beneath her feet, their sound amplified in the heavy stillness of the space. Cool, stale air wrapped around her as she stepped inside, carrying the faint tang of dust and metal. Shadows clung to the corners of the basement, stretching ominously toward her as the dim light flickered. She shivered slightly, her gaze drifting over the jars, cobwebs, and forgotten relics lining the shelves before settling on the table in the center of the room.

There it was. The doll lay silent, unmoved from the night before, yet somehow it felt different—like it was waiting for her.

Her steps slowed as she approached, her fingers hovering just above its surface. She hesitated, taking in its vague, incomplete features. The blank, mannequin-like body contrasted starkly with the face, which, though detailed, felt unfinished. Its closed eyes added to its unsettling stillness. Slowly, Karina extended her hand, her fingertips brushing against the surface.

She froze. The material wasn’t cold and lifeless as she’d expected. It was warm, soft, and faintly pliant—almost like skin. Her breath hitched as she instinctively pulled back, her heart pounding, but curiosity rooted her in place. Tentatively, she touched it again, her fingers trailing across its surface. A faint warmth blossomed under her touch, sending ripples through her skin, as though she were brushing her own body.

Her hand moved down its neck and across its vaguely defined chest. As her fingers lingered, the contours began to shift, the undefined surface molding into shape. Karina gasped, her hand trembling as she watched the doll begin to change. Her breath quickened, and she pressed her palm against its shoulder, marveling as the smooth joint took on a lifelike slope.

She trailed her fingers down one arm, the surface firming and refining beneath her touch. The blank limb transformed into something natural, each joint and curve forming with startling precision. The doll’s hand became delicate and human-like as her fingers brushed its palm, her pulse quickening with the impossible reality of it all.

Her movements grew more deliberate, her hand gliding across the torso. The blank plane of its chest yielded to soft ribs and a curved stomach. Karina lingered, pressing lightly into its sides as though testing its reality. Each pass sharpened the details further—faint muscles, a subtle navel, even the texture of skin. Each touch sent an echo of warmth spreading through her, a mirrored heat that made her shiver.

Her hands drifted lower, trembling as they explored its hips and thighs. The surface molded seamlessly beneath her fingers, becoming impossibly lifelike. She ran her hand down one leg, tracing the length as a knee, shin, and the curve of an ankle appeared. Each detail emerged with precision, her breath hitching as her fingers brushed its inner thigh. The texture was so warm, so realistic, that it sent a wave of heat coursing through her.

Karina swallowed hard, her hand returning upward, her touch almost compulsive now. Her trembling fingers brushed the doll’s chest again, the faint curves she’d noticed earlier now fully formed into soft, rounded breasts. She hesitated, her hand hovering over the surface before tentatively pressing against it. The material shifted under her fingers, warm and pliant, as though responding to her touch.

As she lingered, the blank surface of the doll’s chest changed further. Subtle lines formed beneath her fingertips, the soft material shaping into peaks that were unnervingly lifelike. Her fingers grazed the newly formed nipples, her breath catching as warmth surged through her, sharp and electric, as though she’d touched herself. Each gentle brush sent a thrill rippling through her, leaving her trembling and flushed.

Her breath hitched as her hand hovered over the last undefined part of the doll’s form. Slowly, she pressed her fingers to its lower torso. The blank surface beneath her touch shifted and molded, forming folds and curves with startling precision, mirroring her own. Her legs shook, and a low moan escaped her lips as an intense warmth radiated through her body, her cheeks burning as she clutched the edge of the table for support.

When the transformation was complete, Karina stumbled back, her chest heaving with shallow breaths. The doll no longer looked like a lifeless figure. It was her—exactly her. Every curve, every line, every detail was replicated in unsettling perfection, a hauntingly accurate reflection that left her rooted in place.

Her heart raced as vulnerability crept over her. Seeing her own body laid bare in such an intimate, uncanny way sent a shiver down her spine. She hugged herself instinctively, as though shielding her body from her own gaze. Desperate to cover the doll, she turned away, her hands trembling as she rifled through one of the boxes on the floor. Her fingers brushed over soft fabrics until she pulled out one of her favorite dresses—a pale, flowing piece she hadn’t yet unpacked.

Karina carried the dress back to the doll, her hands shaking as she slipped it over its shoulders. The fabric fell into place with unsettling ease, fitting the doll’s body as if it had been made for it rather than her. The way the dress hugged its frame sent an eerie shiver through her, the intimacy of the moment uncomfortably surreal. She stepped back, catching sight of herself in the mirror across the room.

Her reflection stared back at her, but so did the doll’s. It sat upright on the bed, its face now fully hers. Its closed eyes seemed more deliberate, its lifelike features so vivid they felt alive. The uncanny mimicry unsettled her, daring her to look away—but she couldn’t. Her breath came in shallow gasps, the air in the room heavy with an unnameable energy.

The doll, now clothed in her dress, sat motionless, yet its presence filled the room entirely. For a moment, Karina thought she saw the faintest movement—a slight tilt of its head, a shift of its hand—but when she blinked, it was still.

Her knees brushed against the edge of the bed as she backed away, her mind spinning. The longer she looked, the more the doll’s presence seemed to mirror her own. It wasn’t just wearing her dress—it was wearing her.

-----

The days following that intimate reveal of the doll Karina had hidden it in her room unsure of what to do with it, she decided to brush it off and distract herself from another full day of being an idol. After an exhausting but exhilarating practice session filled with music, laughter, and sweat, Karina and the other Aespa members gathered in the conference room, their energy palpable. The lingering rhythm of the studio beats still hummed in her mind as she followed her bandmates, feeling the collective excitement that seemed to bubble just below the surface. Giselle, ever the source of contagious enthusiasm, nudged Ningning with a teasing whisper that sent them both into quiet giggles. Minjeong leaned forward, her curiosity piqued, her eyes darting between their manager and the others as they settled into their seats.

The manager entered the room with his usual steady presence, his hands folded and his smile warm. The girls instantly hushed, their attention snapping to him in anticipation.

“Your recent comeback has been a huge success,” he began, his voice beaming with pride. “You’ve topped charts and we couldn’t be prouder of each of you.”

A ripple of pride swept through the group. Minjeong shot Karina a thumbs-up, her grin as wide as ever, while Giselle reached across the table to squeeze Ningning’s arm, the two of them laughing in disbelief. Karina couldn’t help but smile, soaking in the joy that filled the room. It was moments like these that reminded her of why they worked so hard, pouring themselves into their music and performances.

But the manager wasn’t finished. “That’s not all,” he added, his excitement unmistakable. “We have even bigger news for you—you’re going on tour!”

The room fell still for a moment as the weight of the announcement sank in, then erupted into a cacophony of celebration. Minjeong let out a delighted squeal, practically leaping from her seat as she clasped her hands together. Giselle’s mouth hung open for a second before she broke into laughter, her eyes shining with disbelief. Ningning gasped, her cheeks flushed with exhilaration, and she turned to Karina with a wide-eyed look of joy.

Karina’s heart raced as she imagined the roar of crowds, the thrill of stepping onto stages in cities around the world, and the energy of fans who had waited so long to see them perform. It was everything they had dreamed of, everything they had worked for. The thought of sharing their music on such a grand scale filled her with a rush of adrenaline and anticipation.

But as the manager began listing the tour dates, Karina’s excitement faltered. Her mind snagged on a detail she wished she could ignore: the tour would overlap with her anniversary with you. A pang of guilt and regret twisted inside her, dulling the edges of her happiness. She forced herself to stay present, laughing and celebrating with her friends, but part of her was already mourning the time she’d lose with you.

That evening, Karina returned home with a whirlwind of emotions swirling within her. She couldn’t wait to share the incredible news with you, but the weight of the tour dates pressed heavily on her chest. As she stepped into the warm comfort of your shared space, she found you waiting for her on the couch, your face lighting up at the sight of her. The familiar scent of home—a mix of her favorite lavender candle and the faint aroma of dinner—embraced her, soothing her nerves, if only slightly.

“So,” she began, setting her bag down and fidgeting with her fingers. Her voice wavered as she tried to balance the excitement bubbling within her and the regret tugging at her heart. “There’s some big news.” She paused, drawing a steadying breath before the words tumbled out in a mix of pride and hesitance. “The album’s doing amazing, and… we’re going on tour!”

Your face broke into a smile, your genuine happiness for her shining through. Relief flooded her, but the feeling was fleeting. She hesitated, her fingers brushing the edge of the table as she continued. “But,” she added softly, her eyes dropping to the floor, “the tour overlaps with our anniversary.”

Your smile faltered for just a heartbeat, a flicker of disappointment crossing your face before you quickly masked it. “That’s… not ideal,” you said, your voice tinged with understanding. “But baby, when I asked you to be my girlfriend, I signed myself up for all of this. I’d never want to hold you back from that.”

She looked up at you, her eyes shimmering with gratitude as you reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice heavy with emotion. “I hate that it’s on that day, but… thank you for understanding.”

You pulled her close, wrapping her in a firm embrace. For a while, neither of you said anything, letting the silence hold the depth of your love and the ache of the separation that loomed ahead. The soft beat of your hearts seemed to sync as you held each other, anchoring yourselves in the present.

The lead up to Karina’s departure were a mix of sweetness and sorrow, a countdown neither of you wanted to acknowledge but couldn’t escape. Each moment together felt heavier, charged with a need to make it last. You and Karina spent every spare moment with one another, finding solace in the routines and small joys of your shared life.

Mornings became sacred. The two of you would wake up early, savoring slow breakfasts at the kitchen table. You teased her about her favorite coffee mug—a chipped, mismatched thing she adored despite your insistence that you’d buy her a new one. Her laughter echoed softly, her smile brighter than the sunlight streaming through the window.

Evenings stretched late into the night. You’d sit tangled together on the couch, your conversations meandering through memories of your favorite moments together. She told you how your first kiss still gave her butterflies, and you shared how proud you were of everything she had accomplished. When the words ran out, you stayed wrapped in each other’s warmth, the quiet hum of your love filling the spaces between.

There were moments of vulnerability too—nights when you found her staring out the window, her thoughts far away. She confessed her guilt about leaving on such an important day, and you reassured her with soft touches and whispered promises.

------

Karina’s departure day dawned with a quiet that felt unnatural, as though the house itself understood what was coming. The air seemed heavier, thick with an unspoken finality, and even the sunlight streaming through the windows felt subdued. Her footsteps on the hardwood floor carried an unusual weight, each one more deliberate as she made her way to the door. In her arms, she cradled a large, carefully wrapped box, its presence as significant as the moment itself. The neat bow atop it added a touch of care, and she carried it with a reverence that spoke of its importance.

Her cheeks were dusted with a faint blush, and her lips parted into a nervous smile as she looked at you. There was something shy and uncertain in her expression, a contrast to the confidence she usually exuded. She set the box down gently on the coffee table, straightening her posture before turning back to you.

“I… I wanted to give you something before I left,” she said softly, shifting the box slightly and holding it out to you. Her eyes flicked between yours and the package, searching your face for your reaction.

You took the box from her carefully, surprised by its weight. It wasn’t heavy, but it had a certain gravity that hinted at its significance. Curiosity mingled with apprehension as you placed it on the table and began to open it. Lifting the lid, you peeled back the soft protective wrapping, and your breath caught as you revealed what lay inside.

A nearly life-sized doll, sculpted with uncanny precision, stared back at you—or would have, had its eyes not been closed in a strange, serene expression. Its resemblance to Karina was startling. Every detail, from the gentle curve of its cheekbones to the cascade of long, dark hair that fell over its shoulders, mirrored her perfectly. The doll even wore one of her favorite dresses, the fabric draping over its form in a way that felt disturbingly natural.

You blinked, taking an involuntary step back as you tried to process the sight before you. “Honey… this is…” Words failed you for a moment as your eyes darted between the doll and her. “It’s… so real.”

Karina let out a soft, nervous laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I know, it’s a little unusual,” she admitted, her blush deepening as she shifted on her feet. “But I had it custom-made, just for you. Since I’ll be away for a while, I thought… maybe it would help you feel like I’m still close.”

You stared at the doll again, your chest tightening with an unplaceable unease. Its closed eyes made it look peaceful, almost restful, but its lifelike features made it feel as though it could wake at any moment. The dress only added to the strange feeling—a version of Karina that was simultaneously here and yet absent.

“Jimin…” you began slowly, glancing back at her. “I don’t know. This feels… like a bit much. It’s just… so realistic.” You tried to manage a smile, hoping to soften your reluctance. “Maybe too realistic?”

Her smile wavered slightly, and a flicker of vulnerability passed through her eyes as she stepped closer. “Please?” she asked softly, taking your hand in hers. Her voice was tender, her gaze imploring. “I know it might seem a little strange, but… I really want you to have it. Since I’ll be away, I thought it might bring you some comfort, knowing that even though I’m far away, you’ll still have something here with you. A part of me.”

Her hand tightened on yours, interrupting your thoughts. “I know it’s not the same,” she said quietly. “But I thought it could help. I just… I don’t want you to feel alone. Even if it’s a little strange, I want to leave you with something that reminds you of me.”

Her tone softened, and her eyes glistened with unspoken emotion. “Please, just try. It’s okay if it feels weird at first. I just… I really want this for you.”

You sighed, the tension in your chest loosening slightly at the sight of her vulnerability. Her intentions were pure, even if the gift itself unsettled you. “Alright,” you said gently, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll keep it.”

Relief washed over her face, and she broke into a warm smile, pulling you into a tight embrace. She lingered there for a moment before pulling back, gesturing toward the doll. “Go ahead,” she said, her voice a little shaky. “Look closer.”

You hesitated, then reached out. Your fingers brushed the doll’s cheek, marveling at its texture. The material was soft, warm, and faintly yielding—eerily lifelike. Your hand moved lower, skimming over its collarbone and down its arm. As you brushed against its hand, you glanced at Karina, noticing how her chest rose and fell more quickly than before. Her lips parted slightly, and she pressed them together as though to stifle a reaction.

“You okay?” you asked, watching her closely.

She nodded quickly, her blush deepening. “Yeah, it’s just… weird seeing you touch it,” she lied, her voice barely audible. “But go on.”

You turned back to the doll, curiosity tugging at you despite your discomfort. Your hand drifted lower, tracing the subtle curve of its waist. You couldn’t deny how precise it was—every contour felt real, natural, even though you knew it wasn’t. When your fingers brushed over its chest, you froze, startled by how soft and pliant it felt. The sensation made you glance back at Karina, who was standing rigidly beside you, her hands clenched at her sides.

Her breathing hitched audibly, and for a moment, her lips trembled as though she might speak—but she didn’t. She stayed quiet, her cheeks flushed as she visibly tried to steady herself.

“Jimin…” you said cautiously, watching her reaction. “Are you sure this isn’t too weird for you?”

“I’m fine,” she replied quickly, though her voice wavered slightly. Her body remained stiff, her fingers curling into her palms as she tried to mask her reaction. “Just… finish.”

You hesitated but continued, brushing over the doll’s arm again before moving lower. Your fingers trailed over its legs, the texture as lifelike as the rest of its form. Karina shifted beside you, her breaths uneven but controlled, her eyes fixed on your hand as though trying to focus on anything other than the sensation it might evoke in her.

Finally, you pulled back, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “It’s… impressive,” you admitted reluctantly, though the unease hadn’t entirely left you.

Karina nodded, exhaling shakily as she stepped closer. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I know it’s strange, but I wanted it to feel like I was still here with you. Even if it’s not the same.”

Her hand found yours again, her fingers lacing through yours as she rested her head on your shoulder. “I’m going to miss you,” she murmured, her voice soft and wistful.

You kissed the top of her head, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. “And I’ll be here, counting down the days until you come back.”

-----

The days without Karina stretched endlessly, each one a slow ache that deepened the longer she was gone. Though you spoke every night, the absence of her presence—the warmth of her touch, the sound of her laugh filling the room—created a void that even her most loving words couldn’t quite fill. The doll she had left behind sat untouched, a silent reminder of her, but you hadn’t found the will to reach for it. Instead, the house felt emptier with every passing day, its stillness amplifying her absence.

When your anniversary arrived, it brought a bittersweet mix of excitement and longing. Determined to make the night special, you poured yourself into preparing the space, setting the table with flickering candles and the bottle of wine she had excitedly suggested weeks ago.

Her request had come during one of your nightly calls, her tone warm with affection. “Promise me we’ll eat the same thing,” she had said, her voice carrying an almost childlike excitement. “Same cuisine, same dishes. That way, it’ll feel like we’re together.” You’d agreed without hesitation, ordering her favorite dishes from a restaurant she loved back home. Unknown to you, she had gone a step further, arranging for someone she trusted to deliver a special instruction to the chef.

When her face appeared on the call that evening, it was as if the ache of her absence melted away for a moment. She looked radiant, her soft waves of hair cascading over her shoulders, her lips curving into the smile that always sent a warmth straight to your chest.

“Happy anniversary, love,” she said, her voice tender and filled with emotion.

“Happy anniversary, baby,” you replied, your tone matching hers. “You look… incredible.”

Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink, and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “So do you.” Her gaze flicked to the setup behind you, and her expression softened with appreciation. “You really went all out. It’s beautiful.”

“Only the best for you,” you teased, pouring the wine and raising your glass. “To us.” “To us,” she echoed, lifting her own glass with a bright smile. The synchronized motion, small as it was, closed the miles between you, making the distance feel just a little less insurmountable.

The evening began with lighthearted conversation, her laughter spilling from the screen as she shared stories from her tour. She described the places she’d been with an almost childlike wonder, painting vivid pictures of crowded streets, twinkling cityscapes, and quaint cafés.

“When we were in Japan, there was this tiny café,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “They served these adorable matcha parfaits shaped like bears. It was so cute I almost cried.”

“You? Crying over a dessert?” you teased, laughing. “I would’ve loved to see that.”

“You would’ve teased me the entire time,” she shot back, giggling. “But it would’ve been worth it.”

As the dinner progressed, the playful chatter softened into something warmer, more intimate. The food, rich and flavorful, carried an unexpected heat—a subtle, lingering warmth that began to spread through your body. It wasn’t just the wine or the meal itself; it was the way Karina’s voice felt closer, her laughter sweeter, her gaze through the screen more magnetic. Every detail drew you further into the moment, as if the distance between you no longer mattered.

She leaned closer to the camera, her smile softening as her voice dipped into a quieter, more vulnerable register. “You know,” she said, her gaze holding yours, “this tour is amazing, but it’s nothing compared to being with you. I miss the way you hold me, the way you look at me.”

Your breath hitched, her words weaving a spell that wrapped around your chest. “Babe…”

“I mean it,” she continued, her voice dropping further, taking on a sultry edge. “I miss the way your hands feel on my skin. The way you touch me like I’m the only thing in the world.”

Her tone shifted, her words slowing as her lips parted slightly. “You don’t know what it does to me, being away from you like this.” Her voice dipped into a low, intimate whisper. “I think about it every night—your hands on me. How you feel. How you make me feel.”

Heat flared in your chest, her words igniting a visceral need that had been dormant for weeks. You shifted slightly in your seat, your voice thick with longing as you murmured, “Jimin, you’re not playing fair.”

“Who said I was playing fair?” she teased, her smile widening. She leaned back slightly, her eyes half-lidded as her voice took on a deeper, sultrier tone. “I’ve been thinking about you every single night. How your mouth felt the last time you kissed me, the way your hands made me forget everything else…”

She let out a soft, breathy moan, her cheeks flushing as she watched your reaction. “I wish you were here to touch me, to remind me what it feels like to be yours.”

You froze, the sound of her voice and the sheer intimacy of her words leaving you speechless. Your heart raced, the image of her filling your mind with every heated word, the space between you shrinking as her tone drew you closer.

“I need you,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “Jimin, I…”

“I need you too,” she replied, her voice dripping with longing. “I can’t stop thinking about you. About how much I want you right now.”

Her lips parted, her breath quickening as if she could feel the tension that pulsed through the screen. You leaned closer, captivated by the intensity in her gaze, your need for her overpowering the distance between you. The connection felt real, visceral, until the sharp ring of her hotel room phone shattered the moment.

She sighed, visibly frustrated, and glanced toward the phone. “Hold on,” she said, picking it up.

For a moment, you waited, unsure if she’d return quickly. But when she did, her expression was apologetic, her voice laced with regret. “The manager needs me for something urgent,” she said softly, her tone tinged with disappointment. “I’m so sorry, love.”

The flicker of frustration must have shown on your face because she leaned closer to the camera, her voice soft and reassuring. “I love you. More than anything. And I’ll make this up to you, I promise.”

Before you could respond, the screen went dark, leaving you alone in the charged stillness of your room.

You paced back and forth, your body still thrumming with the heat her words had stirred. The ache she’d left behind was relentless, her voice and the way she’d looked at you replaying in vivid detail. Your gaze drifted to your phone, lingering on the memory of her, when a notification lit up the screen.

A message from Karina.

Your heart leapt as you opened it. The photo hit you like a wave—a shot of her sprawled across the bed, her tousled hair falling in soft waves over one shoulder. Her skin glowed in the warm, muted light of her room, every curve illuminated with an alluring softness. Her lips were curled into a sultry, knowing smile, and her arms were draped in a way that hinted at modesty yet revealed enough to leave little to the imagination. Her bare chest was exposed, the subtle curves and smooth skin drawing your eyes helplessly downward. The photo was bold and intimate, a perfect balance of suggestion and revelation, pulling you deeper into her web with every detail.

The caption read: I hope this is the start of my apology.

You stared at the image, your breath catching as a mix of desire and longing surged through you. The ache of her absence felt sharper than ever, and now her words, her teasing smile, and this image stormed through your thoughts like wildfire.

Far away, Karina leaned back against her pillows, her lips curling into a sly smile as she imagined your reaction. She ran her fingers lazily through her hair, the satisfaction of her plan unfolding exactly as she intended. “Let’s see how long you last without me,” she murmured, her voice tinged with playful mischief.

Your room felt stifling, the air thick with tension as you lay on the bed beside the doll. Its lifelike features caught the soft glow of the bedside lamp, eerily close to hers yet unreachable. Karina’s voice echoed in your mind, teasing and sultry, her plan working perfectly as you struggled with the void she’d left behind. The space beside you felt impossibly empty, the absence of her touch a gnawing ache that the doll’s uncanny resemblance only amplified.

Your hand hovered over the doll’s face, brushing against the smooth, synthetic skin. The texture was startlingly lifelike, warm under your fingers, and as you traced its delicate features—the familiar curve of its lips, the softness of its jawline—it became harder to separate the illusion from the reality you craved. Karina’s name slipped from your lips in a quiet murmur, your chest tightening with longing.

Inside her hotel karina laid on her bed, her bare skin kissed by the cool air drifting through the room. She had orchestrated everything—the doll, the setup, even the lingering ache she hoped would drive you to her gift. She had imagined every step, every reaction, and her body hummed with anticipation as she pictured you succumbing to the desire she’d left behind.

Her lips curled into a smile as she ran a hand lazily along her stomach, letting her fingers trace idle patterns. She could almost feel your touch, phantom sensations that made her skin tingle. “Finally” she whispered, her voice low and breathy. Her thighs pressed together as the anticipation coiled tightly within her. She imagined your hands, your breath, and the way you’d surrender to the distance that had stretched too far.

In your room, you sat up, running a hand through your hair as the ache inside you became unbearable. Your gaze flicked to the doll again, its serene face illuminated in the dim light. Hesitation flickered through you before you reached for the nightstand, grabbing a small bottle of lube. The coolness of it sent a shiver through your body as you prepared yourself, the vividness of your desire making every movement feel charged with electricity.

Karina shifted against the sheets, her eyes narrowing as a pang of doubt crept into her thoughts. What if you didn’t use it? What if her plan had been too much, too bold? Her confidence wavered, and she sat up slightly, running a hand through her hair. Her chest rose and fell with uneven breaths as she whispered, “Did you stop? Was it too much?”

Her mind raced, imagining you hesitating, putting the doll aside. A ripple of frustration and sadness swept through her as she bit her lip, staring at her dark phone. “Don’t pull away from me…” she murmured, her voice laced with longing and desperation. She closed her eyes, trying to steady herself against the quiet ache of disappointment.

But then—she gasped, her body jolting violently as an overwhelming sensation ripped through her. Her eyes snapped open, wide and unseeing, as she clutched at the sheets. Her back arched as her entire body shuddered, an unmistakable pressure filling her completely, so vivid and intense it left her breathless.

“Oh my God,” she cried out, her voice trembling as her head fell back against the pillow. Her thighs quivered as the phantom sensation of your length pressed deeper into her, deliberate and slow, making her toes curl. Every nerve in her body was on fire, pleasure rolling through her in powerful, unrelenting waves.

Back in your room, you positioned the doll carefully, the weight of its form adding to the vividness of the illusion. Your body moved instinctively, your mind entirely lost in the fantasy Karina had spun around you. Each motion, each moment felt electric, her name a quiet mantra on your lips as you surrendered to the overwhelming need she’d left behind.

Karina’s chest heaved as her body adjusted to the sensation, her hands clutching the sheets so tightly her knuckles turned white. “Oh, fuck…” she whispered, her voice cracking as she felt you move inside her again, slow and steady, leaving her gasping for air. The intensity of it made her whole body burn, her skin tingling with the phantom connection that defied explanation.

“You’re… using it,” she whispered breathlessly, her voice tinged with equal parts triumph and desperation. Her lips parted as another moan escaped her, her head turning to the side as she let herself fall deeper into the moment. Her back arched as her body responded instinctively, her hips moving subtly, as if to meet the sensation halfway.

The thought of you, so far away yet so intimately close, sent another wave of pleasure crashing over her. She shivered, her breathing uneven as she whispered, “I knew you couldn’t resist…”

The air felt oppressive, thick with the heat and tension that had built throughout the night. Your body moved with a desperation that bordered on animalistic as you thrust into the doll. Its lifelike softness under your hands, the way its core clung to you with an almost pulsing grip—it all blurred the line between reality and fantasy. Every sensation was heightened, vivid to the point of overwhelming, and you couldn’t hold back.

Your hands roamed over the doll’s body, gripping its breast roughly. The synthetic material gave under your fingers, yielding in a way that felt startlingly real. Normally, when you were with Karina, your touch was controlled, measured, careful. She was an idol, and every step in your intimacy came with a layer of deliberation. But now, with the doll’s unyielding silence and perfect mimicry, you felt none of the restraint you would have with her.

Your palm struck the doll’s breast, the sharp sound echoing in the room. A red flush appeared on its synthetic skin, and you smacked it again, harder this time. The sight of your mark left your breath hitching, your body trembling as the roughness spurred you on.

Karina gasped as the sensation of your touch reached her. The sting of your hand on her breast sent jolts of pleasure and pain coursing through her, her back arching off the bed as her chest heaved. “Oh, my God…” she whimpered, her voice cracking with the vividness of it.

Her hands moved to her chest, instinctively covering the marks she felt there. The roughness of your touch, the sharpness of each slap, only heightened the pleasure building inside her. She could feel every movement—your palm squeezing her flesh, the sting as your hand struck her, and the pressure of your fingers digging into her skin.

Her thighs pressed together instinctively, a futile attempt to temper the overwhelming sensations radiating through her body. The motion only heightened the intensity, amplifying the heat that coursed through her. Her chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, her entire body trembling as she whispered, “You’re so rough tonight,” her voice tinged with disbelief and raw arousal. “I can feel all of it…”

In your room, your breath came in shallow gasps, your grip tightening on the doll’s hips as your thrusts grew more erratic. The lifelike core pulsed and tightened around you, gripping you with a vividness that blurred the lines between fantasy and reality. Each rhythmic contraction drew you deeper, coaxing every ounce of control from your body, the intensity building with each movement.

Normally, with Karina, you would use a condom. It was an unspoken rule—one born of mutual care and caution, knowing how carefully she had to protect her image as an idol. But now, the rawness of feeling completely bare was intoxicating. The doll’s warmth, its pulsing tightness—it all overwhelmed you in a way you’d never experienced.

You groaned her name, “Jimin,” your voice thick with desperation as you leaned over the doll. Your free hand came down on its breast again, the slap harder this time. The synthetic skin flushed under your touch, and you pinched its nipple, twisting with a force you wouldn’t dare use on Karina.

Karina’s back arched violently as her skin mirrored your actions. She could feel your hand gripping her breast, the sharp sting of the slap followed by the rough pinch. A cry tore from her lips as pleasure and pain mingled, the intensity leaving her gasping for air.

Her body burned, her skin alive with sensation as if you were truly there with her. Every motion was perfectly synchronized, every rough thrust and squeeze sending her closer to the edge. Her chest heaved as she clutched at the sheets, her voice breaking as she cried out, “Yes… just like that…”

The doll’s core pulsed around you again, gripping you tighter, almost pulling you deeper. The sensation was surreal, unlike anything you’d felt before. It wasn’t just the warmth or the tightness—it was the way it seemed to respond to you, as though it were alive. The rhythmic squeezing was enough to drive you mad, and you could feel your climax building with unrelenting intensity.

You buried yourself deep inside it, your release crashing over you like a tidal wave. The rawness of being bare, of releasing fully into the doll’s impossibly realistic core, sent shockwaves through your body. Normally the condom muted the sensation, a necessary precaution you’d both grown used to. But now, the sheer vividness of the feeling left you trembling. The pulsing tightness of the doll clung to you, each pump of your release magnified, each pulse drawing out the intensity.

“Ugh fuck,” you groaned, your voice breaking as your body gave in completely.

Karina screamed as the sensation of your release surged through her, a shockwave of impossible vividness that left her gasping for air. It was as if you were truly inside her, every pulse of your release tangible, every rhythmic pump filling her completely. The feeling was overwhelming, raw in its intimacy, breaking through every boundary she had known before. It was not just physical—it was all-encompassing, lighting up her senses in ways she had never imagined.

Her back arched violently off the bed, her legs trembling as the sensation spread through her. Instinctively, her thighs pressed together, her body desperate to contain the fullness, but it did nothing to slow the relentless tide of pleasure. The startlingly real pressure claimed every inch of her, leaving her utterly breathless. Her hands gripped the sheets so tightly her knuckles turned white, her body reacting instinctively to the connection that felt like nothing she had ever experienced.

Lost in the feeling, Karina’s hips began to move of their own accord, grinding upward in a desperate attempt to meet you. Her movements were met only with air, the stark reminder of your absence making the sensations even more surreal and maddening. The futile grinding only amplified her need, her body seeking a closeness that wasn’t truly there yet felt undeniably real.

“Oh, my God!” she cried out, her voice breaking as the intensity of it overwhelmed her. The rhythmic pulses of your release felt endless, each one sending another jolt of pleasure through her. It was as though her body recognized this as something forbidden, something she had never allowed herself to feel—a complete surrender to being filled, claimed, in a way that shattered her carefully controlled world.

The sensations opened something inside her, a deep well of vulnerability and raw, unfiltered pleasure. The feeling of being filled wasn’t just physical; it was emotional, a connection so profound it left her trembling. “I can feel you,” she gasped, her voice barely a whisper, the awe and disbelief clear. “Every bit of you…”

Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her, each one more intense than the last. The fullness inside her heightened everything, making her body hyper aware of every nerve, every sensation. It was unrelenting, a tidal wave of ecstasy that consumed her completely. Her thighs quivered as her body tightened around the phantom sensation, her hips lifting instinctively as if to take more of you, to hold you closer.

Her climax ripped through her like a storm, an overwhelming, earth-shattering moment that left her crying out in ecstasy. The pulses of your release seemed to synchronize with her own, amplifying the pleasure as if you were truly connected. She could feel everything—the heat, the rhythm, the way you filled her completely. It felt endless, the connection between you growing stronger, the distance between you evaporating in that moment of shared release.

As the sensations finally began to ebb, her body collapsed back onto the bed, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. The aftershocks rippled through her, leaving her trembling and flushed. Her skin was damp with sweat, her hair clinging to her face as she stared at the ceiling, her mind reeling from the intensity of what had just happened.

A slow, satisfied smile spread across her lips as she whispered, “You couldn’t resist.” Her voice was soft, filled with triumph and affection, her body still buzzing with residual pleasure. Her hand trailed lazily over her flushed skin, the memory of the sensations lingering like a brand.

She closed her eyes, her mind swimming with thoughts of you. “Good,” she murmured, her voice a mix of possession and tenderness. “You’re mine… just like I wanted.” The feeling of being filled, of connecting with you so deeply, had changed something in her. It was more than just a physical experience—it was a claiming, a bond that would linger, no matter how far apart you were.

Karina felt boneless, her body trembling violently as wave after wave of aftershocks rippled through her. Her chest heaved with ragged breaths, her thighs quivering as she struggled to regain control. She could feel every inch of you—the impossible fullness, the lingering warmth of your release pooled deep inside her. Her entire body felt raw, too sensitive, and yet her arousal continued to build. Every slight movement seemed to push it deeper, a constant reminder of how thoroughly she’d been claimed.

Her hands gripped the sheets tightly, her knuckles white as she bit her bottom lip to stifle the sounds threatening to spill from her. Her inner walls throbbed uncontrollably, her body clenching as if unwilling to let go of the overwhelming sensation.

Her back arched off the bed as a sharp sting spread across her chest—a hard slap on her breast. The sound reverberated through the quiet room, and she cried out, her voice muffled as her face pressed into the pillow. Her nipples throbbed, hypersensitive as your grip returned, kneading roughly, tugging and twisting with no mercy. Another hard slap landed, and she gasped, her chest heaving as the pain blurred into pleasure.

Her mind spun as the sensations intensified. Her legs fell open wider, her body yielding completely as the rhythm grew more relentless. Each tug on her nipple sent jolts of heat straight to her core, and the fullness inside her felt like it was expanding, stretching her impossibly more. Her breath caught as she felt your tongue on her skin—wet, warm, and insistent. It circled her right nipple, the pressure teasing and building as you sucked hard, making her toes curl.

“No,” she whimpered weakly, her voice trembling. “No, I can’t—” But her body told another story. She arched into the phantom touch, her breaths growing faster as her nipple throbbed under the attention. The flick of your tongue sent shivers through her, the combination of pleasure and overstimulation pushing her closer to the edge. When suddenly.

Knock, knock.

Her heart leapt, panic surging through her. Minjeong’s voice came through the door, her tone hesitant. “Unnie? Can we talk for a minute?”

Karina froze. Her mind swirled in panic, her body still alight with your touch. She fumbled for her robe, struggling to gather herself. The fabric clung awkwardly to her damp skin as she tied it hastily, her trembling hands betraying her desperation. She forced herself to rise, but the moment she stood, an invisible grip tightened around her neck.

Her breath caught sharply, her head tilting back as the hold constricted her throat. She stumbled forward, her hand bracing against the wall as she gasped for air. The pressure made her lightheaded, yet it only amplified the arousal coursing through her. Her body betrayed her, her chest heaving as she struggled to take another step, each movement sending the fullness pressing impossibly deeper inside her.

“Oh, God,” she choked out softly, her knees wobbling as she reached the door. Her fingers gripped the handle tightly, and the constriction eased just enough for her to force the door open. She leaned heavily on the frame, her face flushed and damp with sweat, her breaths coming in shallow gasps.

“Minjeong,” she managed hoarsely, her voice barely steady.

“Unnie, are you okay? You look… really flushed,” Minjeong said, her brow furrowing.

Karina forced a tight smile, clutching her robe around her. “I’m fine,” she said quickly, her voice strained. “What’s up?”

Minjeong hesitated but stepped inside, her expression uncertain. “I just needed to vent,” she began softly. “I messed up during the performance yesterday. It’s been eating at me.”

Karina froze, her body still trembling as the sensations rippled faintly through her. “It wasn’t a big deal,” she said quickly, her voice higher-pitched than usual. “No one noticed.”

Minjeong sighed, sitting down on the bed beside her. “But it was during my highlight part,” she continued, her voice heavy with guilt. “I missed the cue, and I could feel everyone looking at me. I feel like I ruined the whole song.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Karina said sharply, her words tumbling out too fast. “The crowd loved it.”

Minjeong tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. “Unnie, you’re talking really fast. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Karina snapped, her voice cracking. She crossed her legs tightly, her thighs clenching as the lingering pressure inside her made her shift involuntarily. “I just… I think I left some medicine in my bag in the bathroom. Can you grab it for me?”

Minjeong hesitated, her gaze lingering on Karina’s disheveled appearance, but she eventually stood. “Okay, I’ll check.”

The moment the bathroom door clicked shut, Karina collapsed back onto the bed. Her legs fell open as her body gave in completely. The grip on her neck tightened again, and her head tilted back as she gasped for air. Her chest burned, her body trembling violently as the phantom rhythm built to a breaking point once more.

Her climax surged violently as your teeth grazed her nipple for the first time. Her back arched sharply as the biting sensation left her trembling, and the wet flicks of your tongue soothed the sting, coaxing her higher and higher. She grabbed the pillow, pulling it over her face as her voice escaped in a strained scream, muffled against the fabric as the grip on her neck tightened further.

Her entire body convulsed, the intensity overwhelming as she felt the fullness inside her deepen with every movement. Her cries turned into desperate, broken moans as wave after wave of pleasure consumed her, leaving her trembling and gasping for air.

When Minjeong returned, Karina barely managed to pull herself together. Her robe was haphazardly tied, and her face was flushed and damp with sweat.

“I couldn’t find anything,” Minjeong said, her tone skeptical. “Unnie, are you sure you’re okay? You look like you’ve been running a marathon.”

“I’m fine,” Karina said quickly, her voice shaky. “I just need to rest.”

Minjeong frowned but eventually nodded. “I’ll go down to the lobby and see if they have anything.”

As the door clicked shut, Karina collapsed back onto the bed, her chest heaving as she let out a shaky breath. A weak, triumphant smile spread across her lips as she whispered, “You’re impossible.”

Back at your house, you sat on the edge of the bed, the doll resting before you. The soft glow of the room illuminated it's eerily lifelike features, a testament to the unsettling craftsmanship. Its warmth radiated faintly under your touch, and its pliant texture added an almost unnerving realism. As you worked carefully to clean it, your hands moved methodically, though your mind couldn’t help but linger on how strange and lifelike it felt.

Your fingers brushed against its core, and the unexpected tightening startled you briefly. You shook your head, muttering to yourself about the doll’s unsettling realism. As you continued, your movements remained methodical—careful scoops to ensure it was thoroughly clean. Each curl and shift of your fingers felt oddly precise, the warmth and give of the material blurring the line between artificial and lifelike. You adjusted the angle instinctively, focused entirely on the task while marveling at how well-crafted it was.

Again, Karina jolted violently, her thighs clamping together in a futile attempt to contain the storm of sensations coursing through her. A broken gasp tore from her lips as her fingers twisted the sheets, knuckles white with tension, her back arching off the bed in a mix of helplessness and need.

Each deliberate motion of your hand, precise and unyielding, sent waves of overstimulation rippling through her. Your fingers pressing and curling inside her felt so real it made her toes curl. Her chest heaved with uneven breaths, rising and falling as she struggled to process the overwhelming intensity. She couldn’t escape the unrelenting pressure that pushed her to the brink, her body trembling uncontrollably beneath its weight.

“Stop…” she whispered faintly, her voice shaky and laced with desperation. Tears welled at the corners of her eyes, the overstimulation dragging her into a haze of pleasure and vulnerability. “Please…” she choked out, her plea barely audible as her hips moved restlessly against the bed, seeking relief but finding none.

The pressure built relentlessly, her inner muscles clenching involuntarily, her body betraying her at every turn. Her face pressed into the pillow, her muffled whimpers spilling freely, each sound tinged with a mix of desperation and surrender. Her body bucked slightly, her thighs quivering as she tried to resist the sensations flooding her, but every shift only drew her closer to unraveling completely.

Then, suddenly, the sensations eased, leaving Karina collapsing into the mattress. Her chest heaved with each ragged breath as relief mixed with exhaustion, her body trembling in the aftermath of the intensity. The storm had passed, but her emotions churned restlessly beneath the surface. The earlier anniversary dinner weighed on her heavily—a night cut short, the guilt of leaving the call unfinished pressing uncomfortably on her chest.

Unable to bear the feeling any longer, she reached for her phone. Her fingers trembled slightly as she scrolled to your name and pressed the call button. The line barely rang once before your familiar, warm voice answered.

“Babe?” you said, tinged with surprise and concern. “Is everything okay?”

Karina smiled faintly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I just wanted to check in,” she began, hesitating. “About earlier. Leaving dinner like that—I felt terrible. I wanted to hear your voice… to make up for it.”

The soft chuckle on the other end sent a soothing wave of warmth through her chest. “I miss you,” you admitted, your tone gentle and full of affection. “It’s been hard without you here.”

“Tell me about it,” Karina murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “I feel it every second.”

A brief silence passed before you spoke again, hesitating as though deciding whether to share your next thought. “You know,” you started softly, “that doll you left behind… It actually helps. I don’t know who made it or how it’s so realistic, but holding it… it reminds me of you. It’s comforting in a weird way.”

Karina’s heart raced at your confession, but she kept her tone steady. “Then hold it,” she said gently. “Cuddle it, like you normally do with me.”

There was a pause on your end, followed by the faint rustle of fabric as you adjusted yourself. Karina closed her eyes, imagining you settling into the bed. Then, like a spark igniting, she felt it—an unmistakable warmth wrapping around her, soft and steady, just like your embrace. A quiet gasp escaped her lips, her body easing into the comforting sensation as her chest filled with an indescribable lightness.

She could feel the gentle pressure of your arms encircling her, the way they always seemed to ground her, pulling her close and making her feel safe. The phantom weight of your hand rested on her back, warm and reassuring, while the faint brush of your breath against her hair felt so real she could almost lean into it. Her body sank deeper into the mattress as she surrendered to the illusion, her heart swelling with a mix of longing and relief.

“It’s perfect,” you said after a moment, your voice rich with affection. “Almost like you’re here.”

Karina hummed softly, her mind drifting into a haze of peace and contentment. She tilted her head slightly, as though nuzzling into your chest, and the sensation met her as if you were truly there. The phantom pressure of your heartbeat against hers resonated, steady and soothing, its rhythm lulling her into a rare sense of calm. Her breaths deepened, syncing with yours as she felt the warmth of you—not just physically but emotionally—envelop her entirely.

Her legs relaxed against the bed, the earlier tension melting away as the embrace seemed to tighten around her. She could feel the way you would normally hold her, firm but tender, your hands moving subtly, like you always adjusted to make her more comfortable. It was so vivid, so intimate, that she couldn’t help but let out a quiet sigh. The connection she felt—the closeness—bridged every mile between you, anchoring her in a love that felt as tangible as the bed she lay on.

As the conversation shifted to lighter topics—your plans for the week, a funny story about something that happened at work, and little observations about the house—Karina hummed absently, her voice soft and dreamy. Her body felt lighter, weightless even, as if she were floating in the comfort of your arms. Her shoulders, always tense from the pressures of the tour, eased fully into the mattress as her lips curled into a faint smile.

“You should’ve seen it,” you said with a laugh. “The way it played out, it was like something out of a sitcom.”

Her hum grew fainter, the embrace and your voice working together to lull her further into relaxation. She could feel the warmth of your chin resting gently against the top of her head, the comforting sensation of being fully encased in your love. The faintest brush of what felt like your fingers grazed along her arm, and her body responded instinctively, her skin tingling as she leaned further into the feeling.

Unbeknownst to her, back in your room, you shifted closer to the doll, your body responding instinctively to the memory of Karina’s warmth. The moment reminded you of all the quiet times you’d shared before, when she’d curl into you, content and serene, indulging in the quiet intimacy.

It had always been her way of staying close, of feeling connected without urgency, and the thought tugged at your chest. Without thinking, you pressed deeper into the doll’s lifelike folds, its warmth enveloping you in a way that felt startlingly familiar. Pulling it impossibly close, you murmured into the phone, “Do you know how much I miss this? Just holding you like this.”

Karina didn’t answer; her hum had faded into a faint, contented sigh. But the moment you settled fully into the doll, she felt it—a slow, steady fullness building inside her, grounding her in ways words couldn’t describe. Her breaths deepened, your touch wrapping around her like a cocoon. The sensation of you filling her wasn’t just physical—it was emotional, a tether binding her to you.

Her legs shifted restlessly, her body reacting instinctively to the steady warmth coursing through her. The subtle pulsing from within deepened the haze of comfort and security enveloping her. It wasn’t urgent or demanding—just a steady, grounding presence that filled her with a connection she hadn’t realized she craved. She melted into the sensation, her body yielding completely as a quiet, contented sigh escaped her lips.

“I miss you so much” you murmured again, your voice tinged with longing and affection.

Karina didn’t answer; her body was too relaxed, too wrapped in the comfort of your embrace and the subtle rhythm inside her. Moments later, the faintest, most delicate snore reached your ears, and a warm chuckle escaped your lips.

“Sleep tight, baby,” you whispered into the phone, your voice brimming with tenderness. “I love you.”

Back at your house, you remained there for a while, holding the doll as the call stayed connected. The sound of her calm, even breaths filled the quiet room, creating a sense of closeness that bridged the miles between you. You smiled softly to yourself, knowing she’d finally found peace. It was the best sleep Karina had since the tour began—a sleep steeped in love, comfort, and the feeling of being wrapped in your arms, no matter the distance.

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guppybibi · 17 days ago

Text

Simon is a stealthy man, obviously—it's required for his job. Though the fact isn't quite true when it comes to proposals. You could clearly tell what he had in store for you the moment he coincidentally didn't have any work to do when the weather was just right and when he suggested that it was the perfect time of year to propose relax and go on vacation to anywhere you'd like.

Of course, you play along obliviously and decide to go to a tropical place that you've been eyeing for a while now. Simon wasn't complaining about your choice either, a chance to watch the sunset together and see you in a cute swimsuit? Sign him up!

So he books you two a tropical getaway, and insists that you should use his card to go shopping for a nice little dress, yeah? What's your ring size too, love? For future reference..nothing else.

The trip so far has been nothing but perfect, the plane surprisingly had enough leg space so Simon was comfortable the whole time. No turbulence either, it was like God was on Simon's side this time.

When you two arrive at your destination, the fresh breeze gladly greets you and the sun's heat is making beads of sweat form on your forehead already. It seemed like the heat had the same effect on Simon as well, although he was sweating more profusely than you for some reason..He'd never tell but he was insanely nervous right now, it felt like his guts were being turned inside out over and over again.

Everything does go smoothly, you two arrive at the hotel he reserved, quickly changing into your swimsuits since you couldn't wait to go out there and take a stroll around the beach. Maybe collect some seashells as a souvenir, build sandcastles or get a tan, do whatever you want, princess. Simon's going to be right beside you the whole time, glaring sharp daggers at anyone who even dares to look at you in the wrong way. Was it too much and completely unnecessary? Maybe, but you could never be too safe in these times. Creeps were always everywhere, casually walking around in broad daylight, hidden in plain sight.

Every single thing you wanted to do or get, was done and bought. You had to say, you were pretty surprised when Simon wasn't making any sarcastic comments about how he wasn't a money dispenser. Not even batting an eye when you got something from a clear tourist scam, weird. But hey, you're really in no place to complain here. Plus, money comes back, but the memories you and Simon will make here won't.

Hand in hand, step by step, you and Simon walk by the shore, your eyes full of adoration as you tried tracing the glow of the sun's light on Simon's face. You couldn't tell what was more breathtaking, the landscape or the man in front of you? The sun was bound to set soon, though it never really rests, you couldn't even imagine being the sun, working nonstop with no breaks is a big no no.

Quite ironic since in Simon's eyes, you were technically his sun. You were the center of his world, everything was peaceful when he was around you. Unlike when he's in the military, it always feels like he's out of orbit.

He has to do it, his heart can't contain it anymore. He has to propose, he's going to propose. Right here, right now. It was the perfect moment, the sunset peering, maybe a few folks watching but Simon couldn't give a damn about them. This was about you.

"Love," he calls out, stuffing his hand into his pocket to get the ring box. You snap back to reality, tilting your head in acknowledgement. You were taken aback by the sight of him kneeling on one knee, holding out a box with a shiny ring inside that you were barely able to hear the words, "Will you marry me?".

Without hesitation, you scream out "Yes!" at the top of your lungs, leaving Simon chuckling, still not getting up. "Wait up, luv. I prepared a message for you, mind if I tell you it first?" You were still jumping around the place, looking like you were about to bounce off to outer space. Once you manage to collect your excitement, you nodded, preparing yourself to hear Simon's message to you.

It was all about how you were the light of his life, all of that. It was short and sweet, not unnecessarily long but truly from the heart.

It's safe to say that the both of you went home from that trip with a big grin on your faces.

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toxicanonymity · 15 days ago

Note

Some Landlord ! Billy smut would be Perfect, if you have time. Thanks Tox 🥺

murderbait

BILLY LOOMIS x f!READER | 2k words | The Leak WARNINGS: 18+ sleazy landlord Billy, Gratuitous slutty descriptions. masturbation in public, detailed PIV fantasy, degradation, praise, banter and bickering, light enemies to lovers dynamic, manhandling, dom vibes, sexual tension, pet names, "protective" Billy. NOTES: Sure, nonnie. I offer this sleaze with love. 🖤🖤

In the middle of the night, you wake up sweaty despite being completely naked and using no covers. Without putting on any clothes, you walk to your kitchen to get a cold cup of water, only to see a stack of filled ice trays next to the sink because you forgot to put them in the freezer. Ugh.

You get a glass of water and stand in front of the fridge with the door open. The air conditioner in your window feels weaker every day. It’s so stuffy in your trailer, you wonder if you’d be better off with the window open. Still naked, you go to the kitchen window and slide it open. No matter how hard you push upward, it won’t click and stay.

“Piece of shit,” you mutter. But the fresh air does feel good.

Standing in the window with your arms raised, tits blazing, skin glistening…. something moves in the corner of your eye. There’s a fake security camera mounted on the shed you’re looking at. At least you always assumed it was fake, since the owners are such deadbeats. You give it the middle finger just in case, then use a pitcher to hold the window up.

You go back to bed for a while longer, then get up and rifle through your unfolded laundry, looking for a swimsuit. You find a bikini that appears to have shrunk, but it has adjustable strings so you put it on anyway. Next door, there’s an extended stay hotel that has a pool. It has a cracked and faded slide, no longer in use, and half the rungs are dangling from the pool ladders. It won’t be the first time you’ve snuck in there. No one seems to care, and no one’s going to be out at this hour anyway.

The pool water is normally warm by sunset, but in the middle of the night, it’s cooled off enough. A weakly-inflated flamingo pool float sits atop the water, and a couple of pool noodles hug the wall. Half the pool lights are working. There’s no way this would pass an inspection, but sometimes it feels like barely anyone outside the area knows it exists.

You sit on the side of the pool, and as you lower yourself into the water, you look down to see your hard nipples barely contained by the shrunken, unlined triangle top, with some areola showing on one breast. The sight of your own slutty fit turns you on, and you don’t fix it.

Kicking your legs out in front of you, you imagine Billy joining you. Billy and his dirty wifebeaters and trucker hats and jeans that fit too well. Billy and his slutty fucking selfies that you can’t stop looking at every night. Billy, and that look in his eyes like he could eat you up, if only he were hungry.

He’d be hungry right now, you bet. You turn to your side and use both feet to grab a pool noodle, letting yourself off the wall as you mount it. Straddling the pool noodle, you turn toward the wall and rest your forearms on the side and squeeze your thighs together.

Closing your eyes and resting your head, you fantasize about him. He’s a low-life and a sleaze, and god he makes it hot. The way he moves, it shouldn’t be hot at all, but you’ve been watching him closer ever since he sent those selfies, and when scratches his lower belly, lifting up his tank top, exposing his happy trail, at this point it drives you fucking crazy. Like that’s where you need your forehead. You tilt your hips for more pressure from the foam between your legs.

There’s not a single thing about him that says he’s a better guy than you thought, but maybe he is. Or more likely, you don’t care. Or, perhaps most likely, you kinda like him bad.

He’s not the kind of man you’d want in your life, but in your bed?

It’s so easy to picture his silhouette at the foot of your bed, scratching himself, then lewdly grabbing the massive bulge in his jeans.

Your hips begin to move on their own, seeking friction with the foam noodle.

You can see him kneeling onto your mattress, prowling toward you, arms flexing, chains hanging down from his neck, dangling in the air–god if you could feel those hit your skin. You can feel him grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head with one hand, while he unbuttons his jeans with the other.

You reach down and slide the pool noodle against your front, grinding your hips.

He’d probably lean in real close, say something cocky like, “you ready for this?” Ugh, his voice. With his dick in his hand. “Think ya can take it?” Yes, yes, please. He drops his thick meat heavily against your mound. Yes, please. God, please, you’d be squirming under him, wrists pinned by his hand, lifting your hips desperately. “Sure ya can handle this big cock?”

Fuck. It’s so clear, you can practically smell him. Your whole cunt throbs and you’re gushing in your bikini bottoms. “Mm,” you quietly hum as you get closer.

He’d shove himself into you, you’d arch your back and moan. He’d chuckle darkly, then his free hand would come to your jaw, dwarfing your face as he uses just two fingers and a thumb to squeeze your mouth open. The smell of cigarettes intensifies as his face hovers over yours, then he spits in your mouth. And he stays there, bottomed out, and you’ve never felt so full but you need the friction, you need him to move so bad, you need him to fuck you, you beg him to fuck you, really fuck you. “Yeah? Need me to fuck you?” God, yes.

“Mm,” your face screws up. You're so wet, and your clit twitches as you rub the front of your swimsuit with the foam cylinder you're straddling.

You can practically hear him say, “Poor baby.” He’s got half a smile, amused and in control. “Yeah I'll give it to ya,” he begins to slowly retreat, pauses with his cock half-withdrawn and lowers his pitch. “Who’s your daddy?”

The tension snaps and your lips part as you see stars.

Squeezing your thighs tight around the pool noodle, you ride it out, cumming to the thought of his girth stretching you with his gold chains dangling over you, hips beginning to move, jeans sitting loosely around his hips.

You weren’t planning on doing that, but, there you are, coming down off that high in the motel pool, in your shrunken bikini, skin buzzing, so tired and peaceful you could fall asleep.

And then metal scrapes against concrete, stirring you from your blissed out state.

A shadow moves.

His deep voice at a low volume, with that edge of condescension: "All done?”

Your stomach drops. You almost don’t want to look up, but you do. It’s his silhouette, manspreading in a worn-out chair, with a cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other. The shadow of his stupid trucker hat hides his face. You let go of the pool noodle and try to subtly push it away, obviously too late. Frozen, heart racing, you’re standing with your chest above water.

“What are you doing here?” you demand.

“Don’t worry, I’m on my way out.” He stands up and stretches, revealing his happy trail. He twists in another stretch and god, his silhouette - his jeans bulging, clearly aroused. “An' so are you, c’mon.”

“I’m still cooling off,” you protest.

“I’ll bet.” He drops his cigarette into his can of beer and carries it with him as he approaches the pool with his face still in the shadow of his hat. Light reflects off his gold chains.

You make a fake effort to adjust your top and can’t take your eyes off his jeans. He adjusts himself and stands there giving you a moment.

Then he loses patience and says, “Alright, sugartits. Let’s go.”

He squats down and grabs you by the arm.

“Hey,” you protest as he starts to manhandle you toward the shallow stairs. “Alright, alright. Damn”

When you’re out of the pool, he looks you up and down. You feel like covering yourself up, but you defiantly stand with your hands on your hips.

“Tryin’ to turn tricks out here?” He slowly steps toward you and his eyes are glued to your chest. “Good place to do it….prolly make a few hooker friends too.”

“How many of’em have you fucked?” you retort.

He ignores the question and reaches for your chest.

Without blocking his hand, you look down and part of your nipple is showing again. He “fixes” your suit, tugging it over and thumbing your nipple while he’s at it. It covers your areola but leaves underboob.

“There ya go.”

He puts a toothpick in his mouth and motions for you to lead the way.

As you exit the pool area dripping wet, you mention, “If you’re gonna spy on me, you could bring me a towel next time.”

“Yeah, okay,” He mumbles with the toothpick at the corner of his mouth. “Just lookin’ out for ya’s all.”

“I don’t remember asking you to.”

He pulls the tab off his beer can and it replaces the cigarette that had been between his fingers. He throws the can into a bush.

As you reach the trailer park property line, he throws his toothpick into the shrubs and lowers his voice. “Listen sugar, there’s some shady fuckin’ characters over there.”

You scoff. “Apparently so.” you shoot him a look and can’t help but check him out while you’re at it. A harsh floodlight highlights the freckles on his big, tan shoulders.

He keeps on, “You tryin’ to get stabbed?”

“What?”

“Dumb as hell, sneakin’ over there, middle’a the night.”

Somehow, this makes you feel stupid. Like if he’s calling someone dumb... Damn.

You walk the rest of the way to your trailer in silence with him following slightly behind you.

“Lemme guess, ya left it unlocked, too,” he mutters, then opens your door himself. “Fuckin’ murderbait over here,” he grumbles.

He stands with his back to the open door and waits, making your body brush his as you walk in.

Full body goosebumps.

He stands there looking at you, and you eye his pants. Slowly, he steps into your personal space, and you back up almost to the nearest wall, but not against it. There, you stop. Letting him close. With his hand on the wall, he effectively traps you, blocking you from going any further into your trailer.

The smell of Newports fills your nostrils. He wets his lips and looks from your eyes to your chest, then your mouth.

He brings his nose to your neck and barely grazes you as he takes a long sniff. His nose brushes your cheek, and his lips follow. Just above a whisper, he warns, “Don’t do it again.”

When you don’t answer, he pulls back and his hand comes to your neck. He’s gentle, not applying any pressure, but the presence of his large, strong hand is enough to feel like a threat. One that makes you more turned on than scared. “Got it?” he asks, looking at your mouth. Can’t be sure if he’s talking about going over there alone or leaving your trailer unlocked, and it doesn’t really matter. His eyes are wild, and it’s like he’s inspecting you, marveling at your face.

You whisper, “Yes sir,” and await his next move.

He takes his hand from your neck and cups your cheek to whisper, “Good girl.”

You could actually melt.

He gives your chest another look and drops his hand, incidentally brushing his wrist against your breast before he pulls up his jeans. He bites the aluminum tab and turns to leave without another word. As he walks away, your eyes are drawn to a glock sticking out of the back of his pants.

He looks back at you and winks before shutting the door behind himself.

-----

------

Thank you for reading! I appreciate your interest and engagement with him so much.

Please take care of yourselves ♥️

#billy loomis x reader #landlord!billy loomis #billy loomis smut #toxicanonymity ☠️#scream fanfic #slasher x reader #sleazy!billy loomis #slasher smut #ghostface smut #state of fic emergency #dilf!billy loomis

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chlmtsdoll · 4 months ago

Text

I WAS AN ANGEL

౨ৎ Paring: ballerina!reader x older!Art Donaldson/Patrick Zweig

౨ৎ Summary: it’s winter and your on vacation at a cabin locked away with Art and Patrick. Spending the weekend teasing the men till they’re wrapped into your alluring nature leads to you getting them exactly where you want

౨ৎ Word count: 10k - well yes, ur girl went crazy !

౨ৎ Warnings: smut ! threesome, p in v (unprotected) sex, age gap (reader early 20’s) older!Art and Patrick, inexperienced!reader, eventually filthiest filth, sugar baby!reader, mentions of Tashi, pet names, smoking (cigs), oral (m) receiving, fingering, porn with a lot of plot, petite!reader, size kink, corruption if you squint (it’s def there), teasing, fluff, a tad angst, so much praise kink, title based off Gods and Monsters by Lana Del Rey 🤍

౨ৎ Part one | two | three + more

The wind outside was frosted as it hit against the sealed windows of the cabin you’d been staying in for the weekend with no other than the only person you’d want to be cuddled up with on a cozy cabin trip in the hike of the woods on a winter like this one — accompanied by his best friend of course, Art and Patrick.

Tashi, making time for her off weekends of freedom being an underwhelming three times a year, was away with her daughter Lily on a girls scouting trip not too far by where you’d all been staying at in such a luxurious rental cabin.

And it really was the highest of class.

With eight bedrooms, each offering it’s own fireplace and balcony lookout to the fields of mountains and trees surrounding you. A beautiful avalanche of white dust covering trees was the scenery all around. You got to spend a week doing absolutely nothing but lying around the gorgeous place, and although the image of Tashi being uncomfortably out in the wilderness trying with all her dignity to get a signal to check her emails was a priceless sight to see — you knew that scoring such a win as to be stuck in winter paradise with two men near godly looking and over six foot walking around twenty four seven, was an opportunity you were never going to take advantage of.

It had been you and them watching movies all week. From silly romcoms down to chilling horror films that earned you the touch of Arts protective arm surrounding you as a shield, baking sweets with the blonde that was really overall unnecessary since the dozen of cupboards had been pre-stocked with all the foods and treats you could imagine before your arrival. But spending that time with him, laughing, and getting the tidy place all messy with cookie batter and themed frosting was worth it anyways. Getting closer than close. Falling head over heels for a man that had been someone else’s all while engaging in the most pompous wealthy people actives your friends back at the academy would of killed one another for. It was chimera.

And when it came to Patrick, although the two of you couldn’t quite be called the best of friends — Tashi had thought it would be better off if she reversed her approximation of keeping the two of you as separate as possible. Instead, you started spending even more time together. (Preoccupied of course) but settling the wall of any jealousy or tension between you both and the couple. And of course it probably would never be fully clear skies when Patrick was a man of such fiend for rivalry — even if for you, you’d just wanted him to like you deep down. And with the occasional bickering and obvious strive for Art and Tashi’s attention, you could now say the kinship between you and the tennis player wasn’t all bad for the time being.

It had been sunset when you were tidying up in the far end of the house that had been all yours as you glanced at yourself in the mirror of the grand bathroom. Bath tub behind you so large it could fit a party of ten at least.

You were braiding your hair into two dainty braids and your fingers worked quickly as you tied knots into little bows on the ends of your hair. Perfect and precious as ever you attempted yourself to be, getting ready for a dip in the hot tub on the patio Art had asked if you if you wanted to join him and Patrick — so of course you rushed to throw on your bikini. And just beneath you in the grand kitchen area, Art had been getting ready with his best friend to met you there themselves.

“Please ? I just wanna fuck her with the tutu on at least,” Patrick boasted to Art as he had been trying his hardest to bluntly ignore his friends comments about you, that had been in his perfect fashion of light hearted vulgarity.

“No.” Art replied giving the man nothing but an unbothered side eye as he searched the wet room they’d been in for a couple towels for the three of you, or at least you and himself since Patrick had been using the same one the entire time you’ve been there so far by choice.

“Come on,” the brunette laughed as he pushed Art in a way that was all too familiar to him, grinning widely as he burrowed in the fantasy of having solicited intercourse with you while his dear friend observed. “We’ll be stuck in this cabin together for the entire weekend, it’s bound to happen. You’ve been gettin’ virgin pussy all this time. I know you’re dying to share with me..”

“You say things like that and wonder why she doesn’t want to come near you.” Art chuckled, he shook his head at Patrick’s ignorance, “and you’ll probably just scare her away from wanting to participate in anything involving sex ever again, man. I just won’t let you overwhelm her, she’s still getting used to.. y’know-”

“Fucking?”

“Yes.”

“Well, your right, she’s only fucked you. So technically she’s still a virgin.” Patrick joked only to get under the blondes skin even more, and Art rolled his eyes away from Patrick’s obvious smirk.

“I could turn’er into a whole new woman.”

“You’re not touching her.” Art shrugged as he glanced at Patrick who wouldn’t give away the stupid grin on his face of wanting to cause nothing but foolery.

“I think you’re scared after I’m done with her she won’t wanna go back to you… so that’s why you gotta do it with me.” Patrick pokes Art in his exposed chest as they’d both been in nothing but their swim trunks. He looked down at the finger on his skin and then back up at Patrick’s face with a loose expression. Falling unconvinced.

“You know you wanna fuck her with me. See how she’ll react from the outside when someone else gets to make her cum.. it’ll be just like old times.” Patrick’s tone was laced with poison and desire the blonde would try to fight off till he ultimately couldn’t, grimace all over Patrick’s face as he described the image of you spread out for the two of them to enjoy, and Art would defend cutting the conversation short in response to an obvious tent forming in his trunks.

Art looked Patrick in the eyes as he called out for you,

“Baby, are you ready?”

“Yeah! Just a second!” You answered in chime.

Patrick couldn’t help but laugh in all seriousness at the fact that he had been this close to getting Art to submit to his desires and let him get his hands on you. When you had been so devoted to Art, and you had him wrapped around your finger, there was no way he didn’t think he couldn’t loosen the screws just enough by the time this little trip came to an end. He just had to keep trying, at the end of the day, it was all a game to him.

“keep dreaming. And grab the beer while your at it.” Art gave the man a generous pat on the back and sighed lightly with a fond but challenging smile as he walked around Patrick to the back door.

♡

When you had been pleased with your attire, you made your way down to the patio where you knew the two boys had been waiting for your arrival, in nothing but a strapy pink bikini underneath a bulky robe, you pushed the doors open to the nature and you’d been immediately hit with the brisk winter air — so thankful for the robe you’d decided to throw on, you scurried your way quickly to the steaming hot tub, and Art and Patrick’s eyes met your miniature figure skipping over.

“Cold, cold, cold, cold!” You pleaded as the air made you shake, and with a soft grin that turned into a laugh Art stood from the water he’d been adjacent in with Patrick to help you step into the tub, doing so you’d slipped your robe from your shoulders and let it fall as your smooth, shivering skin and dainty swimwear was revealed to the two.

“Careful, it’s pretty hot” Art chuckled as he held your delicate hand to guide you into the water.

“Good.” You breathed out as you settled in slowly, arms wrapped around yourself from the coldness and the steam hit your skin at the perfect rate — making you warm up from outside in. You let out a soft sigh as your body had released it’s tension. “Ahh”

Art’s sideways smirk was stuck to his face as he watched your adorable gesture already change the environment when you made your way over — and he couldn’t say he didn’t catch the eyes Patrick had been giving your oblivious state as you brought yourself to the two men in the littlest yet flattering bikini they’d maybe ever seen. Smile on your face like you’d hadn’t know how goddamn phenomenal you looked right then. Art still had a hand out to you as you’d both settled into the almost boiling water at this point, florescent lights from the jets hitting each of your faces even under the gloominess of the sky.

“Is that the set I got you ?” Art grinned at the way your bikini top had decorated your chest in a painfully perfect way. Dior. Your smile has been shy but girlish, you nodded coyly but with a soft giggle. You’d been waiting for him to notice notice that you were being patient on the perfect opportunity to bring it out of your wardrobe.

“Yeah. You like?” Your smile had widened as the blonde couldn’t have looked prettier right then, hair damp from the steam of the tub that had been hovering the water, chest glistening in the most stunning way which made made his pecks look godly and a certain boyishness look on his face.

Your eyes glanced over how it matched the smile on his peach colored lips.

“Like? I love it and you know that.” Art’s tone was low and laced with adoration mixed with a hit of lust rising. He held a hand out to you, eyes filled with nothing but intentions of getting you as close to him as possible. You’d been too far in his opinion, even being in the medium sized hot tub that had the three of you in an acute triangle. “Come closer baby doll,” Art asked of you and you couldn’t stop blushing already when you slid closer to him in the water. Smile plastered to your face as the man took you in with his muscular arm over your shoulder.

Eyes lightly hooded as he looked down at the way you fit snug in his side and he had to stop himself from biting into your shoulder as a way to show his affection. Just your sent was overwhelming him.

From the opposite end, Patrick had been sitting quite still as he observed the two of you. Elbows hanging off the rim of the tub and he held a cold beer in hand. His green irises switched between you and the blonde as if you were purely entertainment as you basked in each other’s warmth that had been heightened from the temperatures around you.

Patrick could almost feel the way Art felt you. The way you wanted him.

He’s been trying to figure out what made it so easy for you to stroll through the cabin around two men feverishly much older than you, so innocently without a care or censor in the world going off in your head. — and not just that, but you’d hardly ever wore clothing that actually covered you up. This has been the most revealing Patrick had seen you, but it wasn’t all shock when you’d merely always been in shorts that were just right off of having your ass cheeks on display — along with the smallest mini tennis skirts and tops so tight it was hard to imagine how’s you even get yourself into them. He didn’t know if there’d been a dip in your brain or what, but he almost wondered if you acted the way you did on purpose. Like a lost lamb in heat for only the sake of getting their dicks hard and uncomfortable enough for your own pleasure. Or for Art at least.

Maybe you could of just been playing slut like most girls your age did when it came to older men. Whatever it had been, Patrick knew to have you all figured out ahead of time.

“Save some space in between, yeah?” Patrick had noted out in reply of your and Arts closeness, only grin spreading across his lips as he raised the glass of beer to them slowly as if he’d been some threat you both should stay aware of.

And he loved that.

You looked over his way from Arts peering eyes on you with a soft blush. Art had looked at Patrick and remembered what they’d been sipping on to offer you,

“Did you want a beer ? I told Patrick to grab the cold ones.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

“Patrick, pass her one.” Art eyed his friend as the pack of six had been hanging out on the bar beside the tub, but before the brunette could speak up, you stood from the curb of the small pool.

“Don’t worry, I got it !” you smiled at both boys, but instead they had immediately gone to watch the droplets of water fall from your angel like body. And as you walked to exit the hot tub, you had to maneuver pass Patrick, which was a brief moment of his eyes just inches away from making contact with your breast being nearly one with his face. A shy kind of tint in your eyes as you climbed out and the water you carried splashed on the man while his eyes watched you in complete veneration. Only moving over a tad when he’d remembered you’d been literally trying to get out of the enclosure. And Art only watched, too mesmerized before he noticed Patrick had been staring just as much.

But even jealousy didn’t over take him right then when he saw the way your body was moments away from caressing the man, it was something more of yearning that took the lead.

You could of sworn you heard one of the men curse under their breath when you tuned your back to reach the table for the cold drink. Your ass had been of viewing now and you tried your best to hide an all knowing little smirk before you got back to them. Returning, Art didn’t even think twice before he reached for the can in your hands to open it up for you. The metal cracked with a pop and Art met your eyes again with a small grin as he handed it back to you.

“Merci” you giggled softly, as you relaxed beside him once again. Thinking to yourself before sitting comfortably, “y’know… there’s something I need to ask you both that I’ve been wondering for a while.”

With your delicate but filled, choice of words — both men had sat a little straighter in the steaming water at your voice, hanging on to your every note already as Patrick’s leafy eyes scanned your figure and Art looked down at you with anticipation for whatever had been on your mind.

“Yeah? What is it, doll face?” Patrick’s tone was low as he met your gaze for a brief second before you looked away with a coy scoff,

“Well… back at the academy a lot of the girls would constantly talk about it and - as embarrassing as it is - I just was never around boys much in my upbringing. Like ever. Most dance schools are pretty strict about that where I come from. So, I never got closure or a real answer. But you guys are boys...”

You couldn’t help but let out light girlish laughter after the hint to the male dominance of the atmosphere, and both Art and Patrick had matched your gesture with the sound of their laugher filling the air as they listened in on the way you spoke. It had been obvious they were both fighting the same urge to trail their vision to your exposed chest but you just pretended not to notice.

“So like, how do guys know when we’re ovulating?”

Art had coughed on the frozen beer that had been half way down his throat by the time your words fully got out, and Patrick’s grin only widened before he let out a louder laugh.

“Well-”

“Patrick- can definitely answer that one for you, right Pat?”

Art narrowed his eyes at his best friend sitting across from him in quick notion and your eyes flicked from the blonde to the brunette just as fast. His chuckle only fading some as he glanced back at you

“I mean, it’s more of a senses thing.”

“Like intuition, or?”

“A smell.”

“Oh-” you were slightly taken back by his answer as you snickered nervously. “That’s only a tad bit jarring I guess”

“It honestly comes with the package. Just a normal male thing, unless your consciously looking for it. I myself have a natural talent if you will.” Patrick’s smug was heavy as he educated you and you nodded in agreement, which made Art want to roll his eyes on instant.

“Because of the testosterone?”

“Likely.”

“Is it like that for you as well? Can you smell it?” Your wide eyes landed on Art again as you spoke in innocence that was almost too easy on the ears, the blonde met your eyes as he just lightly fondled with his ear in a fretful manner.

“Well, I- uh, it’s pretty much a normal thing. Like Patrick said. Not really an on or off switch.” The muscular but lean man chuckled and Patrick leaned forward as he watched.

“Art has you and Tashi around twenty four seven so he’s probably immune.”

“No. Not immune, overstimulated? Maybe.”

You watched between them as Patrick kept a sly smile on his face and Art had remained calm throughout the sultry conversation.

“Have you ever used it on me? Like- before we have sex or something..?” you peered up at Art through your lashes and Patrick had raised a brow at your new assertiveness — Art only tried to keep a cool state not too get too flustered as he sunk farther into the tub,

“Honestly babe, I can tell just from looking at you mostly. Like- how you look in those extra mini tennis skirts Tashi has you wear. The way your eyes sparkle a little more when you look up at me… When you’re being naughty.” Art went in to playfully nibble on your neck and you let out a string of giggles at the tickle off it as you fought him off with charm. But the blonde only grinned more as he pulled you in by the waist and he peppered kisses from your neck to your lips.

“I’d offer to say get a room but I don’t mind a little show.” Patrick inhaled deeply and when you turned to glance at him, hand staying on Arts jaw, you could see he had that idiotic look of arousal behind his not so hidden smirk as he sat man spread across from you both.

“My god. You’re such a perv.”

“Yeah? You love it, you’re a perv too.”

“I am not. I’m a girl,” you defended.

“And? Girls can be pervs also.”

“Or maybe you’re just projecting.”

“Art, your little play thing is talking back….” Patrick looked past you to his friend that was as used to the two of you naturally falling into bickering as anything else.

“Shut up.” You laughed, sending a light eye roll the brunettes way.

“You shut up.” He spat back at you like a tennis ball as he leaned up on the edge of the tub, broad shoulders flexing to catch himself and he reached for his pack of cigarettes. The man used his lips to pull a stick from box, he stared up at you with a glimpse of darkness in his pupils. “Want one?”

“Really?.. yeah.” You replied with chipper as you easily lifted yourself from Arts lap.

“Baby..” the blonde declared in a soft but alarming voice while he watched you stand, his hands slipped from your hips and he lost you to Patrick’s side of the pool with ease.

It was known to the two men that you hadn’t ever smoked before, and Art always had his dad instincts constantly lingering in the back of his mind. He couldn’t help it. He never wanted you participating in anything that wasn’t necessarily the best for you, and especially since Tashi would surely be against the idea of it at all costs. It was part of the reason why she wanted Patrick away from you — his influence and easy persuasion always getting to the best of any of the girls he could mess with. So Art knew how easy it was for you to let up to him.

“I just wanna try. Please?” You pleaded, and Art couldn’t say your pretty wide doe eyes and shape all too heavenly for him to deny didn’t steer him away from giving you a clean no.

“Yeah Art, she wants to try..” Patrick’s voice mimicked yours and he started to slowly but surely show his friend a sly smirk which Art replied with a daring look. You’d now been seated beside Patrick and Art had sighed out a deep breath as he nodded you off speculatively, which you then smiled excitedly in regard.

“You’ve really never done this before?”

“No.”

“What have you done?”

Patrick couldn’t help but poke you, and when you hissed with a soft smack to his broad arm that had been intimidatingly large. The man chuckled. You shook your head playfully which also released a few droplets of water from your braids and Patrick observed how your eyes had searched him from up close — he wondered if this was how Art felt when he looked at you. All senseless with a newfound kind of vulnerability like he’d be willing to your every need. But Patrick being who he was naturally, knew how to restrain from that part of himself and kept a mostly dominant state even at your first fruits. He flicked open his lighter and passed you a cigarette which you held with mostly confusion of what to do next.

“Don’t give her a full one.” Art narrowed at his friend.

“Alright, alright,” Patrick furrowed his brows as he exclaimed with his own cig hanging from the side of his lips.

The corners of your mouth inched up into a small simper as you watched the two men exchange with consideration of protection over you. Art remained a safety net always even if Patrick had challenged that assertiveness to him. And as much as Patrick was a hard case you didn’t underestimate your power to have him just as softened as Art was when it came to you.

“You can share with me.” The brunette notified you and you watched as he lit the end of the stick effortlessly and cupped the fire away from you with his ravishingly large hands. In one swift motion he passed the burning substance to you, which you inspected before your eyes met his face again — slight worry crossed you mind. But you didn’t let it show, “inhale that.”

You did inhale it. But it happened much faster than you expected because when the smoke hit the back of your throat, you began to cough instantly.

“No, no, no you have to exhale it eventually,”

“Yeah, because you totally gave her proper directions, Patrick.” Art huffed as he leaned up from attention to your coughing with growing aggravation at what Patrick had lured you into. Already regretting his notion to agree. Patrick shrugged with open arms and he furrowed his brows.

“Fuck off. I’m not good with kids.”

“I’m not a kid.” You responded when your coughs had dialed down and you swayed the smoke coming from your lungs away from you.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Patrick replied in a snarky attitude and you half groaned half whined at his annoying remarks, which had lead you to doing nothing but choking on air, literally. And it made Patrick have to refrain from letting out a chuckle because he’d known Art kill him.

“Relax. Just try again and remember not to inhale it too far. Just hold it in the back of your throat a little then release it.”

This time you did what he told you more considerately. Inhaling the smoke temporarily, then pushing it out with ease and Patrick watched you. His observation quickly turned into dilated pupils and a grin that liking spoke of mischief had widened across his face again.

“Atta’ girl.” He praised, and you supported a cheeky smile.

You held the cigarette in your fingers as you repeated the same all while keeping eye contact with the tennis player and he could of fallen trick for your soft but glorious bambi eyes right then.

“How cool do I look?” You let a light giggle slip from your lips after you exhaled the smoke once again and passed the substance back to the man and he wondered if you or Art could sense the way his desire had basically broadened in the last twenty seconds.

And as Art watched you both smile in lust from each others presence on the other side of the tub, he shifted as a perplex expression rested on his face. He observed the eyes you gave Patrick that he knew all too well. Pleading and filled with elite burning desire that he knew was just seconds away from setting Patrick off — he knew he had to get into stop it somehow.

He just didn’t like to be left out.

“It’s getting dark out, sweetheart. Why don’t you head inside and start setting up for s’mores ? I’ll come set the fire in a bit.”

Your eyes had trailed away from their fixture on Patrick to settle on Art when his voice came ruling in, But Patrick was still looking at you.

“Okay, yeah.” You said energetically as you lifted your legs out of the water that were wet from the knees down, fondly smiling at the two men before you grabbed your robe to head inside.

And when the patio door shut with your exit, Patrick ran his hands over his rugged half beard in a pace.

“Fuck, Art. She wants to fuck me.”

“Fuck off.”

“I’m serious. She told me. She wants to fuck us.”

“When did she tell you this?”

“Just a second ago. With her eyes.”

“Okay. So, she didn’t tell you that.”

Patrick huffed out and fixed the prominent bulge through his trunks that was growing fairly uncomfortable. Art looked down to notice and let out a soft chuckle of not very much surprise since he’d known the man sitting across from him like the back of his hand. Always just on the verge of needing to fuck whatever pitty excuse of emotions he had out somehow.

“For fucks sake, you’re unbelievable.”

“Whatever.” The man scoffed as he grabbed his towel and wrapped it around his hips in a hurry. “She’s just as much of a slut as I am, and I’m gonna find out.”

Art watched as his best friend exited from the pool, leaving a splash to hit Art in anxiousness to get to you. And Art scurried to dry off just to follow after him.

♡

It was almost an hour that passed since you’d all been spaced in the living area as the dim lights situated the room in a way that was all too torrid for the atmosphere at once, but you certainly weren’t complaining.

Art had been by the fireplace as he messed with the wood for a while till a brightening flicker over took the large cape and a small flame spread into a huge one in just a few seconds. You’d been sitting on the floor only a few inches away as you were putting a couple marshmallows on sticks (slipping a few chocolates in your mouth here and there) and when you heard the crackle of the fire come from Arts side of the room you glanced up at him with an impressive expression taking over your face and you clapped graciously.

Art couldn’t help but grin at your sweet gesture to which he found you all the more beautiful under the warm tones of the once cold room. You shook your head softly as the smile on your face hadn’t dropped when you focused back on what you’d been doing.

It was rather darker where Patrick sat on the couches not too far away as his forest like eyes watched the two of you basically flirt in secret code. He would usually find it all too soft for himself maybe, and to him, you’d just been a pint sized cheer squad for every time Art dropped a penny.

It was cute, he guessed.

What Patrick was more focused on was the way your eyes flickered to glance at him every so often.

Spotless and filled with attempt to say something. Anything. Just from the clear tension in the room, and as quite as it was — the brunette had to admit he was getting bored.

“Alright.” Patrick groaned as he stretched to lean up from his seat and your eyebrows furrowed as you watched the much taller man, seemingly giant from where you’d been on the rug, march over to where you’d been settled. Calmly but with a smoothness getting close enough to your face that he could read the quick nervousness fill your senses as your eyes searched him questionably, and Patrick’s own eyes scanned your rose tinted robe that you’d slung on, half fallen from your shoulder as he scoffed to himself.

“Just tell me. Do you want to fuck me and Art, or not?”

It came out as a mutter. But Patrick wasn’t the quiet type even attempted in the slightest. Art certainly heard and his eyes had snapped to where the two of you shared breaths with an immediate hardened expression.

“What the fuck, Patrick?”

“Just let her answer.” The other man spat back. And you fought not to bite down on your bottom lip as both men stare each other down. And with an irritated sigh, Art put his vision on you.

“You don’t have to answer him. Patrick just can’t control his dick — and that’s not your problem.” Art spoke sharply as his eyes flickered to the darker haired man who was in fact smirking.

Of course.

Both of their eyelines follow back to you.

And though you hadn’t needed to ponder for an answer, your bashful lashes met the floor anyways as you peered away softly. But all while keeping a dainty simper to your lips.

“No, it’s okay.. He’s right.”

With your words, you noticed Arts face soften, but not in a way you’d guessed — more in a perplexed manner as his eyebrows dipped. And on the other hand Patrick had been grinning to himself with a cocky chuckle coming from his lungs as he rested back on his palms.

“Simple. And easy. I was right, just like always.”

Art had ignored Patrick’s boastfulness and instead he rose to his feet and stepped over to where the two of you had been, you stood up as well — and you’d been immediately met with the blondes gaze on you, hand lifted to your cheek.

“Baby, are- - you sure ? You don’t have to feel pressured to do anything, Patrick can be very..”

“Charming, sexy, fucking unforgettable-” The brunette chimes in with a cheeky smile as he stood up to put his nose in the conversation between you two.

“A nuisance.” Art spoke over Patrick as his eyes went darkening with annoyance while he glanced over to the other nosy man.

“What? Do you think he’ll be too rough ? That I can’t handle it?” You laughed softly, “I can take it.”

“I never said you couldn’t.. but you are learning. And I get this is all new and exciting for you — and your sex drive is going to be heightened at this time…”

“Give the girl what she asks, Art.”

“Shut up. No one’s talking to you.”

“You’re talking about me.”

You couldn’t help but playfully roll your eyes at the two men bickering now, both over a foot taller than you, making your neck begin to pain just a little as you glanced up at the pair. And although, you would’ve been claimed very brave by most girls your age of how prominent your actions were towards teasing both of the men — you just couldn’t help but play with them.

A delicate sigh escaped you, “y’know.. if you aren’t nice to each other than I won’t want either of you to touch me.” You declare as you turn away from them and begin to walk away, but Art had grabbed on to your forearm and twisted you back around to face him.

“Hey. It’s just- - I’d never hear the end of it from Tashi.”

“She doesn’t have to know,” you began, and you searched the blonde’s expression for any ease which you failed to find — so you took your hand and reached up to gently caress the nape of his neck with your fingertips. “Besides, you’ll be involved. And therefore you won’t miss a thing.”

Your voice echoed songfully throughout Arts ears as he stared into your pretty eyes filled with desire, and just a spark of lust. You step closer to the man and your lips had been inches from his broad chest. It’s like your pleading eyes were like magic, and he couldn’t say he wasn’t fighting the urge to touch you all night long. He didn’t even care if Patrick watched — he liked showing you off anyways. Art pulled from your enrapture to look over at the darker haired man who was already pinned back at him. Chest inflating with a sigh, Art shrugged lightly.

“Fuck it. Fine.” He breathed out, and your smile had gone wide once again and you bit your lip with anticipation already. “But I need to prep you first.”

And with that Art had taken your hand in his as he lead you to one of the closest bedrooms nearby the floor plan, and Patrick of course, had scurried to follow after you both at the immediate note.

Your feet fastened to keep up with the blonde as the childish smile on your face had been filled with excitement to the rush where he lead you.

Patrick pushed open the cracked door as Art was lifting you to your feet on to the high bed where you stood ahead of him. “Are you gonna be a good girl for me?” Art murmured while he looked up into your eyes through his aquamarine that had darkened with lust in just the short amount of time — soft grin taking upon his lips and you could sense his head just being filled with ideas by the second. It made your stomach do flips with yearn. Your nod quick as you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and Art lifted a finger to your silk robe and gently pull it from your shoulders. As it falls, lace straps are revealed to the man and he observed the fabric, eloquent against your glowing skin with a chuckle. “What do we have here?”

“I knew she was prepared,” Patrick’s voice came jarring as he stood next to the blonde and your pupils started dialing by the contrast of the two men gawking at you now. One filled with alluring desire to almost tear what was left of your clothing to pieces — and the other softened. Needing to worship every inch of your petite body before he lost it.

Art pulled away your robe completely in one swift motion as his wide-set eyes never left your own, you wet your lips as your cheeks had began to heat up with anticipation, but nervousness at his quick movements — you stood beyond him, lingerie displaying that was stuck to your body, white with small pink flowers scattered across the cotton and lace. Arts breath hitched just from the sight and he felt so constrained in his briefs as the little pink bow trimming the lining above your core making his dick go painfully hard. He moved his large hands across you carefully. Almost like you were a doll that could break at any given second.

“These stay on till I say,” the man softly mentioned at your ear and you nodded.

You reached for his shoulder blades and the man inched behind your back to undo your bra, he let it fall from your arms before leaning over you to place a smooch your neck area — seamlessly turning into kisses that scattered down to your exposed nipples and you closed you eyes. Bliss took over you for a moment and you smiled. Your hold on him close to your warmth, and Arts fingertips felt the lushness of your skin from every part of you he could. “mmm,” you left out a soft sough as the blondes plump lips explored your tender buds and his tongue brushed up against you briefly, making you hiss for a moment.

His eyes had been examining you, but yours had been softly lidded stint you glanced in Patrick’s direction — to which, the other man’s mouth had been slightly agape, feasting on the view of you both in exhilaration already.

Art braced his hands under your thighs and he laid you down against the bed, your legs were pushed apart on instant but with all tenderness as he leaned up from you — your smile had never faded for a glimpse while the man moved you like a toy. His hands went quickly to pull your panties to the side and Patrick had circled the bed around you both as he stood in awe of the way you weren’t even trying to put up a sexy or proactive kind of facade at all — in fact, you’d been laughing.

Right then. Girlish giggles filled the air as Art grinned down at you in the rising heat of the moment. Already knowing of your ways — you had big, wide doe eyes watching the man take a finger and run them against your slick folds. He examined over your expression, to your already dripping cunt and you bit down on part of your lip. Watching him explore you in an expert manner. Art’s tongue darted out to wet his own lips, he moved his body to tower over your own and your lower back arched a bit off the bed when you felt the tips of his fingers just over your soaking entrance. Coating him in your slick wetness.

“That’s it, sweet girl.”

Art started sinking his ring and middle finger into you painfully slow. You whined a little at the stretch before letting your head fall and braids spread against the comforter of the bed.

Your eyes had caught sight of Patrick looking down on you — so only giving him a playful but sweet smile laced with a kind of innocence and temptation that could of made his head spin. You could just read the expression on his face of how dare you even look at him that way when you’d lured them both into soon doing the dirtiest of acts with you in between. You were a fucking minx. And he then felt his mouth go dry.

“Holy fuck,” the brunette panted in a mutter as he quickened to lower his checkered green boxers to pull out his throbbing cock, stroking himself at the sight of your pretty smile — and cunt, taking Arts fingers so finely.

The soft yet high pitched sighs and moans that were coming from you were the remedy that pushed a complete solid hard on beneath Arts pajama pants as the blonde held your tender legs spread for him to get you ready for his and Patrick’s cocks. He watched you. Eyes filled to the brim with mercenary while feeling you clench and pulse around his digits. Slipping in and out of you, he used his thumb to rub at your clit and you whined out as your eyebrows knitted together in one motion.

“O-oh..” you moaned, reaching out for the man’s fit arm to grasp on to as your toes flexed.

“Good girl.” Art groaned.

You could hear the sound of Patrick jerking himself to the sounds of your moans and the sight of pre cum that was gooing on to Arts hands lead by the own tent that was prominent in sight to the man. Patrick let out a low noise of his own. And Arts eyes finally traveled from you to glance over at his friend,

“You wanna show Patirck what I taught you, princess?”

Your lips curled into a sly smile when you heard his word — you leaned up from the sheets and your legs swiftly moved behind you to now crawl over to the brunette standing by the end of the bed, cock hard and reddened with want for all that was you.

It was undeniable that he was bigger than you could of comprehended maybe, your eyes locked on him now from your knees. They travelled from his dick, to the way he peered down at your plump lips in enchantment for where your clues had left guesses, taking you by the nape of your neck almost immediately you let yourself lick a clean stripe from the base of his cock to the tip as your tongue wet him nice and slow. Patrick watched the way you made sure to show him the shape of your tongue flush against him and he could of came all over your face right then. Large hands going opaque with veins to match his hard member, he gripped the hairs on the back of your neck as you cinched your lips to the tip of him.

“Shit, shit you’re fucking pretty,” Patrick panted at the sight of your eyes staying on his — you perfectly sunk him into your mouth as you sucked with ease and a soft whimper exited from the back of your throat. Knuckles turning white as the brunette peered at the way you took him so sweet, and you brought a hand up to jerk him farther past your lips all at once.

Art just behind your shoulder, watched as you could only fit Patrick half way while you throated him, your lips left spit as you bobbed your head up his cock and back down. The blonde took reign of his own pants and t-shirt to remove them just like you and Patrick had been now, and as the scene had been going on between the two of you, Art couldn’t help but maneuver himself beneath you. Lifting your lower body up a bit effortlessly so he could fit himself underneath — he tugged on your panties to get them off, right down your upper thighs and over your feet in routine as he discarded them off somewhere across the room.

His cock hard and dripping pre cum just under your pulsing cunt, you felt yourself clench just from Arts grip on you, already guiding you down his dick. Familiarly to him filling your tightness still made you pull from Patrick to let out a high toned gasps as you felt the other man sinking into your hole. “Mmm- - fuck..” you breathe out as you feel yourself being stretched so nice — Arts hands never letting up easy from your hips, he guided you all the way down his member just to let out a deep groan and move you back up again.

“Oh, shit..” the blonde panted. You kept your hold on Patrick as you stroked him even moving up and down Arts dick and letting out strangled moans from beneath the brunettes chest. “Come on baby, just like that- keep stroking him while you take my cock..”

“My god. You weren’t kidding when you said you wanted us both.” Patrick huffed from the sight of you ridding Art with eyebrows knitted into another realm as you bounced up and down the blondes lap and Art couldn’t help but run his hands up your torso to your breast as you did. You placed your mouth back on Patrick and sucked him into letting out low moans of his own from your warmth around him.

“I could cum right now- - fuck, fuck !” he grunted, your hand had gone from moving quick to slowing down as you stroked his base and Art made you feel way to good inside — you didn’t know how much longer you even had in you as you’d gone light headed right then from the way he thrusted up into your soaking pussy, making your head fall back slightly and your words came out slurred,

“Oh- my-y god! Fuck..” you whimpered out as Art made your ass slap against his thighs from his pounding, he leaned up to peck at your neck and hold your body against his chest swiftly. You always remained content in his lap as you turned to kiss him back sloppily, moans and whimpers come from the two of you like a suppressed hunger.

Patrick felt his cock twitch with greed at the sight, “fuck Art, stop hogging her- - I’ve been practically dying to feel that tight little cunt.”

The already much sweatier and rough man, pulled you off of Art, and launched you forward on the bed as your hands braced your plummet — he made sure your ass was up and superb for his viewing. You moaned as your face hit the mattress and you rose to your hands and knees.

“I know this pussy feels fucking amazing. So sweet.” The brunette had been smirking as breathed in awe of the way the lips of your cunt shaped around his thumb as he felt up your folds and palmed your ass. He watched the way you turned to gaze at him with your own hazy fawning eyes that were full of a subtle plea to let him treat you like a whore. If you didn’t know before — you’d definitely known what I’d been like now. Patrick slid his dick over your soaked lips. You inched forward just from the feeling of the girth against you, causing you to hiss out a whine, not prepared or used to his size at all, it made you shake at the slight sensation.

“Keep still, baby doll” Arts hand had came to rub circles gently on your hip bone, your face consorted in uncertainty for a moment till you felt the blondes touch against your skin and you relaxed under his touch finally.

“Yeah. You’re a big girl, you wanted this remember?” Patrick added, he went to put his hand in your hair and you bit down on your strawberry reddened lips hard.

“Slow, please.” Your voice soft as you palmed the sheets beneath you to brace yourself,

“Slow.” Art repeated as his vision shifted from you to eye the brunette, leaning back on to his elbows beside you to making sure the darker haired man wasn’t pushing his luck.

Patrick raised a leg to get a better angle as he slapped the head of his aching cock a couple times to your puffy cunt, and he began to push in, taking his time to feel the way your tightness stretched fairly wide for him and when your jaw had hung to let out a choke moan, you’d been fighting the urge to give up on your arms strength. You took the man inch by inch. Whimpers escaped you like crazy and your legs began to tremble while Patrick’s lips parted to groan out deeply at the feeling of you clenching around him.

“There you go, pretty girl. Take my cock just like that..” he muttered as he started to fuck into you and your body had moved with his thrusts rather quickly, the man had been much more hasty to take you at a rapid pace on contact than Art normally did. His pelvis hitting the form of your ass and your soft cries matched the pace as he slid you up and down his throbbing member.

“Mmmh, fuck- your so- - big,” You watched as he grabbed on to your body and pounded into you. Patrick couldn’t stop himself now — your legs spread and nearly shaking just for him as your pre juices pooled at the bottom of his shaft. It was all too easy on the eyes for him to only take you faster. Your eyes had fought to stay open as hands come at you from every way at his escalated thrust.

Both of the men watch as you shudder to keep composure. The bows at the ends of your braids go wild on your back from the force of Patrick taking on your little body. And he had reached to grip them in his tough hands, making your your head to lift and echo out your whimpers and mewls.

Art felt himself coming close just from the sight, he had to calm his own hand from stroking himself into finishing. It was like the sight beyond him had surpassed what it ever could of been in his fantasies. He wanted it in you after all.

Patrick pushed on your lower back which forced you to arch for him all the more, your face against the mattress, watching you take his dick while pornographic moans fall from your pretty lips. You turned your head against the sheets to meet Arts eyes in petition as you’d been pulsing so hard — in fear you may start cumming too quick for your own little head to catch up to. Your eyebrows furrowed and your jaw dropped as Patrick fucked cries out of you.

“Aww, you want Art to save you now? Poor thing.” The brunette coo’d at you and you could almost taste the smirk on his face right then as he watched your ass cheeks going swell from his maul on your tight cunt. Art had run his finger tips across your face that had glistened with tears.

“I can- take it, I need more..” you whispered out. To which Patrick pulled out of you with a deep grunt, sack full as he could of came inside of you, but he too could agree. More. The man had simply taken place on his back , you swiftly adjusted your position as the feeling of being cockless inside had already increased your fine need.

“Yeah? Then show us how much you need it. Ride my dick like a good girl.”

You were already climbing on top of the man with abs that could of made your head drowsy all the more, you heaved softly as your much smaller legs adjusted over Patrick’s broad muscular thighs to position yourself to his member. Dripping with a mixture of his and your wet arousal. You sunk down on him more easily now and you winced with pleasure as you leaned back on your arms, head going with you as you started to feel butterflies down there from your first slight movement, moving your hips up his girthy cock and right back down.

Patrick moaned lowly as he held your hips there and helped you move, your tits daintily bouncing with your body in the low light of the room, and you could hear a muttered, “god” come from your side as Art leaned over your delicate shoulder to grope at your exposed breast. His bottom lip tucked in his teeth. You could feel his leaking cock run again your lower back causing you to moan as you took yourself upon Patrick’s hard erection ramming into you.

“You look like a fucking angel fucking yourself on his cock- - shit, you’re gonna make me cum.” The man groaned as he observed his best friend turn you into a whimpering mess.

“Ugh- -, I wanna cum. Fuck, fuck..” Your whimpers were heavenly and sweet, Art took the initiative to reach around you and rub at your clit the perfect pace — making your legs shake and you gasps out. “Yes- - yes, oh. Fuck!”

Patrick grabbed hold of your ankles so you’d keep your balance on top of him, his thumb grazed against your white lace frilled sock and he groaned. To him they were so stupid, but at the same time so fucking hot.

“Cum, princess. Go ahead, Be a good girl for us.” Art slow talked you and it made your eyes flutter as you couldn’t have been filled more with burning lust all over your body as the men brought you right to where you wanted like that — shaking and crying out moans as you had came hard on Patrick’s dick. Your movements became sloppy as you heard groans coming from him as well, he leaned up to grab hold of your neck and press for pressure just before he pounded up into you hard and released his own ropes inside your sensitive heat — feeling him pump you full and the overstimulation of his large hand around your throat had you moaning out his name. You lifted from his cock, but Art held your body so you wouldn’t fumble over.

“Oh my god, holy- - fuck,” your grin now of bliss, string of naughty words and giggles left your puffy lips as you sighed into Arts shoulder and he was smirking down at the way his fingers rubbed your now creamy cunt and the blonde laid you back against the comforter again.

Completely cock drunk and breathing heavy as your heart beat caught up with your breathing, Art didn’t want you losing your overstim too quickly — he was already towering over your petite body and sliding back into you at the second your eyes met his and you reached for his arms immediately. Jaw open as you let out a choked noise. You couldn’t catch a break. Just being filled up again. You lock eyes with the gorgeous blonde above you as he stretched you wide once again.

“You’re so fucking good, sweet girl. Just one more, for me..”

All knowing you’d do whatever he longed for, the man sweet talked you slow as he watched Patrick’s seed drip from your drooling cunt and met the tip of his cock as he began to sink in. You kept your legs spread for him. Round eyes glittering with adoration for him like worship, you stared up at Art — so obedient for him always.

“I wanna cum again for you, I can-” you tried to speak fairly normal through soft gasps when Art bottomed out into you, reaching that spot Patrick lit up within you, your head went cloudy again and released into the pillows priming you. “-do it.” You finished your sentence with a whine.

Art couldn’t help but to grin at your state, so tired and fucked out but so turned on by the way the two men had been taking their toll on you back to back. You couldn’t help but take it all — he held your body, pussy so full from cum and Arts member that filled you excellently. You began to shake and tremble with a whimper at his every slap against your sensitive cunt.

Your hand moved to your face unconsciously you took your thumb in your mouth to balance the sensations all at once, moaning as the blonde pounded you into the bed — he watched you bite down and suck on your own digit in euphoric bliss. He soon reached to remove your own hand and replace it with his, sliding his tip against your pump bottom lip before dipping his thumb in your mouth.

You let out a satisfied little chirp as you run your tongue sloppily over the man’s digit with a smile before sucking on him like it was everything you needed. Eyes shutting softly, he pleased you both orally and by the clench of your pussy. “mmmh” you whimpered out and Art kept fucking into you with a quick pace.

“That’s my girl. I know exactly what you want.” He kept his finger in your mouth before your legs were shaking with need and your own hands gripped his one as you cried out from his thrusts, the blonde panted at the slight of you beneath him so prolific and exposed — he couldn’t even think straight before he was spilling his load inside of you. Keeping himself flush to your cunt as he emptied himself with a low grunt and you ended up squirting on his cock with a muffled scream.

“Fuck, you got her to squirt.” You heard Patrick pant and by the looks of his hand covered in his own arousal, you and Art had both been knowing he came again. Sweaty and chests heaving you both melted into each other, your arms immediately going to wrap around Art as he squeezed and kissed you.

“Are you good, baby? Was that not too much for you? You took a lot just now.” Arts voice came in calmly as he looked over you for any signs of turbulence. His fingers graced your flushed face, wedding band cold as it brushed against your skin. You nodded as your breathing finally caught up to you steadily.

“Yeah.. Fuck, I feel good. You both came inside of me..” your words slip out as if you needed to convince yourself of the matter, like you hadn’t been on your back and both of the men’s cum wasn’t gushing out of you as you speak.

Art smiled softly at you and his tired eyes watched the sparkle in yours. He readjusted himself so he was lying beside your left — and Patrick collapsed against the pillows on your right.

“Fucking hell, Art. I just can’t believe you kept her all to yourself this whole time.”

“Yeah? She’s something isn’t she?” Art replied with a grin as he turned your way and continued to run his thumb over your cheeks and lips. Your blush was heightened at the two boy’s marvel over you, lip between your teeth as you let out a light chuckle.

“I hope you had fun, Patrick. She’s still all mine, right angel?” Art glanced down at you.

“Sharing is caring.” You shrugged in a teasing manner as the blonde scoffed playfully and raised a brow in thought before nodding, “okay, maybe a little sharing.”

Patrick laughed, “you call that a little ? We made her cum twice. You let me fuck her like a sl-”

The brunette was cut off at the blonde hitting him in the forearm then gesturing to you — sound asleep in between the two.

Your soft breaths slip through your lips as your head fell into Arts shoulder. He put his finger to his lips to warn Patrick not to wake you, and he leaned up from the bed slow. “Pass me my shirt on the floor, and grab a towel from the bathroom.” He whispers to the other man who carefully moved up from the bed and threw the T to Art before he went to grab a towel for your body.

Art started to maneuver his shirt on you with tenderness so you at least wouldn’t wake up naked and confused.

When Patrick came back he smirked at the way your small tiresome figure had been passed out on the bed like some sort of sleeping beauty. “See, I did that.” He nodded up at Art with the same darkened lustful eyes he began the night with — but Art only rolled his at the man’s cockiness.

“We did that.” He corrected while he ran the towel over your inner thighs lightly before he lifted your limbs to lie you beneath the covers, and Patrick helped him pull them over you. You only let out a quiet noise from the movement as you continued your slumber and the two men watched you for a quiet moment.

Arts lips curled up in a fond smile before he bent to leave a kiss to your forehead — the blonde looked over at the brunette who had folded his arms over his chest while he watched with a raised brow and Art contemplated before leaving another peck against your skin.

“And one from Patrick too, I guess.”

A/N: I love this little uv I’ve created sooo bad you guys <3

#art donaldson #patrick zweig #challengers #art donaldson x female reader #art donaldson smut #art donaldson x reader #i love art donaldson #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig smut #patrick zweig x you #dilf art donaldson #challngers x reader #x reader #female reader #ballerina!reader #challengers smut #inexperienced!reader #chlmtsdoll writes

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yandere--stuck · 3 months ago

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would u ever write more for stanley.. its so dry out here.. stanation is suffering in a drought……….

You're so right, I'm so sorry, Stanation!!!!

---

💰 Stanley's obsession for you manifests into rocketing between pitiful internal justification for his possessive feelings for you and deep, deep self-loathing and disgust with himself while trying to distance himself from you. Oh, and who could forget, Stanley allowing himself to indulge in fantasies of you returning his feelings and living out happily ever after together. Ha, like that'll ever happen! … But, a man can dream, can't he? Just nice, sappy, romantic stuff, you know? Cuddling together in bed, making the kids breakfast with sleep still in both your eyes, watching the sunset together on the porch, and scaring off any lousy creep that tries to take what's his with one of his many guns. In fact, he may already be doing that last one.

🎲 Talks a big game and acts like a tough guy around you, but it couldn't be further from the truth - at least when it comes to you. In reality, when Stan's around you, he feels one second away from breaking and acting like a lovesick puppy. He feels like a kid with a crush! He hasn't felt this way since he was a young man! It'd be embarrassing if it, if you, didn't make him so happy. He just feels lucky he hasn't turned into a babbling, blushing idiot in front of you or the kids. That's for when your backs are turned. There have been some close calls, though. Like the time he got so lost in listening to you speak that he hadn't realized he'd started resting the side of his face on his hand while staring at you, hearts practically in his eyes. The moment he realized, he'd run off from you with a shout of, “Nonspecific excuse!”

💰 Stan is a bit of a collector, and that certainly doesn't stop with you. He loves snatching little keepsakes from you. Nothing you'd miss, or nothing you'd miss for long. Discarded doodles, forgotten gloves, change that had fallen to the floor unnoticed, and occasionally, your phone, to make sure he didn't have a competition. Everything he keeps goes into his study. He also likes swiping your unfinished snacks or drinks and finishing them himself - he thinks of it as an indirect kiss (yeah, he's gross, what of it?) And it's hard to admit even to himself, but he gets a certain thrill whenever he snaps a candid shot of you from one of the polaroid he swiped from stock for “store use.” That's not all, though! He goes through security camera footage and rifles through it for cute videos of you - ah, but hey, you're always cute, aren't you? He saves them all and watches them religiously. He also may secretly go through Mabel's scrapbook to find pictures of you and make copies of them for his own personal collection, always making sure it gets returned to Mabel seemingly untouched. It's probably the most organized collection he has! And, of course, he's put a framed picture of you right beside the one of Mabel and Dipper in the laboratory downstairs. It makes Stan think of an imagined, impossible world where you and he raise the two together. Your own little family.

🎲 Another fantasy he indulges in is drugging you up and keeping you hidden in the laboratory. It'd be so easy. You're so trusting of him when you really shouldn't be, when he doesn't deserve to be. It'd be so easy to steal you away all for himself. Gravity Falls is a weird town. Strange things happen, and they either go unremembered or unspoken. Sure, you'd be missed, but it's not like the police force in town would get very far. Heck, he'd put more faith in his grand-niblings cracking the case than Blubs and Durland! And, well, you stole his heart first. It's only fair. And Stan would take such good care of you, he knows it! He'd keep you all nice and drugged up. Maybe you'd be euphoric and clingy, or your brain too foggy to escape or do much for yourself, or maybe he'd give you something so that you're too sick to even consider leaving for the hospital lest your condition worsen any further. You'd need him. That's all he'd ever want.

💰 Stan is very protective of you. He tries not to be so obvious, but his temper had such a short fuse when it came to you. You were just so sweet, so nice, even to a scumbag like him! You were so good with the kids, always such a help around the shack, even going so far as to visit on your day off just because you liked the Pines’ company. Liked his company. I mean, how the hell could anyone think they're good enough for you? Nah, nah, nah, he's not letting any mouth-breathing idiots in this town try to make moves on you just because they're too stupid to realize you're outta their league! And if he even thinks he hears someone a bad word about you, he'll be up in their face, cussing them out and making threats (as well as very rude hand gestures.) It's embarrassing for him afterwards, though. He doesn't want to think he's losing control and becoming more obvious, but with how Mabel claims it was ‘so sweet’ of him to be so protective of you, he can't help but worry.

🎲 Stan gradually becomes more physically affectionate with you. “Accidentally” brushing his hands against yours, leaving a hand on your shoulder or arm for a bit too long, nearly embarrassing himself by wrapping you up in a hug in front of everyone. He just can't help it! He's… He's in love! He's in love with you, and he wants to be with you. You make him happy just by being near him. You make his life better just by being in it. He wants to hold you, hug you, kiss you, be with you, and keep you with him forever. But, Stan also knows he can't. You'd never agree to it, surely. No matter how much Stan wants to think otherwise. Old bastard like him, he wasn't good enough for you - but then again, he thought no one was. But he could take comfort in you just being near him (if you ever tried to leave, he doesn't know what he'd do…) That way, at least, he couldn't screw anything up. That's all he'd do, anyway. It'd fail, just like all of his other relationships and all because of him. He should know better. He should know that he's a fuckup, that he destroys everything he touches, and that everyone he's ever known has suffered because of him. He just… He just wishes he could be closer. He knows he's not good enough for you to love him or need him and that he never will be, but God, does he wish he was.

#yandere x reader #yandere gravity falls #gravity falls x reader #gravity falls x you #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #grunkle stan x reader #stan pines x reader #stan pines x you #stanley pines x reader #yandere stan pines #yandere stanley pines #yandere #x reader #tw drugging #drugging mention #drugging

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lady-ashfade · 10 months ago

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soulmate au with percy and reader. i was thinking like reader is like a complete nobody at camp and the daughter of some not really known god. percy and reader meet by accident and they figure out they are soulmates. percy at first didn’t want anything to do with it because he had feelings for annabeth but comes around.

Percy Jackson x Fem!reader. (Soulmate au)

-£ Pictured a older version of book Percy, but imagine them staying a camp or coming late.

-£ words: 1.5 words

-£ warnings: Angst, rejection, jealousy, I love annabeth, percy being mean? Idk. Anyway kinda short. What can I say, I love a man with dark hair who has sass?🤷‍♀️

“Do you ever wonder who you’re soulmates is?” percy sat on the log near the cliff looking over the sunset. annabeth keeping her eyes on the forest below, smiling softly as the orange sun hit her skin.

“I’m not worried about it, they will come to me when the time is right.” she replied with a calm voice.

percy could help himself from looking down at her hand and slowly inching his hand near hers. the marking was just late. he knew that she was his soulmate. how could she not be after everything they went through? besides no one knew him like she did.

fate is a funny thing.

because the person who was chosen to be his, and his alone wasn’t the girl he sat next to. it was you. you barely had any contact with percy. never even spiking a word to each other and yet the world still twined you together.

looking back on it he wished he reacted in a nicer way then he did. anything other then what he did, even faint.

he was running a pile of arrows to the archery training ground when he ran into you. as soon as your eyes met the world was slow for just a second and colors shined brighter then they did. in that moment you both felt something that was more then the gods. something even the gods can’t touch.

“woah,” you whisper with your hands still held onto the arrows he was trying to give to you. his hands didn’t stop clinching onto the wood, he couldn’t believe it.

you blink at him for him to do something other then stand there and stare with a open mouth. sure this type of thing wasn’t normal but he didn’t even move a inch.

but you wished he had stayed quiet, “Look, I um..” he let go of the things you two shared and took a step back with hasted.

“I have to run.” you watched him run off like there was nothing important to keep him here.

At first you thought that he was just shy, in shock, and didn’t know what to say. but you soon figured out he wanted nothing to do with you. you followed him around and tried to talk to him at every chance you got but he would always slip from your fingers.

cornering him in the woods at night wasn’t the best idea but you had but there was not other choice. it didn’t feel good to have your soulmate avoid you.

“There is a mistake.” his voice echoed through the woods, “I feel nothing for you. I am sure you are amazing, but you are not my soulmate.”

he watched the tears pool into your eyes like the waves he controlled. taking a step back from the news from his lips that crushed your soul. “I am in love with another.”

Licking your lips you roll your eyes to try and stop the tears forming. “it’s annabeth isn’t it?” he couldn’t deny it even if he wanted to. the silence he gave when he opened his mouth but nothing came out told you everything you needed to know.

“I do hope you live a happy life,” you walked closer to him only inches away, “especially when she finds her soulmate.” you walked past him and down the dirt path back to your cabin where you broke down.

fate was twisted and cruel for giving you him.

day and night you thought about him. and day and night you got worse. everyone could see the toll of being rejected but no one new by who. not a soul knew about you and percy and you honestly liked it that way. no pity glances when they hung out together.

soulmate depression was a serious thing and could lead one down to a never reversible illness. your eyes lost their light, no one ever saw you smile, looking as dead like as possible. every positive feeling in your body was drained out.

annabeth looked over at you at diner time as you stared at the plate in front of you, sitting at the edge of the bench. “It’s terrible,” she said and picked at her food with a fork. “I hope they come around.”

the trio stared at you in pity, one of them feeling guilt. “It’s a really bad case, I feel so bad.” Grover looked sad as he almost cried himself. love was supposed to be for real, that’s what soulmates were for! If he had one he would never let them get like that.

Percy found himself studying the girl. Her hair messy, her face grime and eyes blank and darker then the last time he looked in them. And Percy was the cause.

“Yeah,” the black hairy boy turned and poked at his food.

It has been week since then and a weight sunk in his stomach when he thought of you, which was almost every moment now. He thought about how you would smile before and how he wanted to see that again. He really thought he liked annabeth but each day that feeling went away.

Maybe he could think things over. But how could he apologize? Would you still want him?

But as Percy thought over the war in his head you moved on. Or as much as you could. there was a sickness in your body but you tried to fight it and spent time with your friends.

one boy took you in quickly. the two of you now glued at the hip and he was the only one who seemed to make you smile now.

“Dude,” Grover knocked his shoulder with his own, “What did he do to you?”

The son of Poseidon darted his eyes lowly at some boy. The way you smiled ever so sweetly like he has been wishing to see for weeks but this- This guy could cause it easily. And those small laughed he could hear so faintly in his ears.

“Nothing.” Percy stated while still glaring at the guy heavily.

the satyr nodded but lingered his eyes on his friend for a few seconds. clearly not believing him one bit.

“I have to tell you something,” he pulled his eyes away from you and to his friend. Guilt covering his face. “You know how y/n got reflected by her soulmate?” his voice shaky.

“Of course, it was hard to watch.” He answered. It didn’t take long for him to connect the dots when Percy lifted his brows as a sign. Grover gasped loudly.

“You did- Oh my god’s. How could you?” His mouth was then covered by Percy as he shh’d him.

Percy took a big breath as he held his hand over his mouth, “I’m not proud of it. It was just, I didn’t feel like we could be. I thought me and annabeth were soulmates until they came along,” he turned his eyes back to your direction to find you laughing slightly with your friends.

“I was terribly wrong.”

As much as Grover was mad at his friend he could see the guilt and regret on his face. He helped him come up with a plan, and gave him a very long lecture about love. Annabeth found out, and cursed him out. Saying that the marks don’t lie and was overly upset he could do that for her.

it took a week of long work for him to build up the courage to finally talk to you.

lucky he knew exactly where you would be. in the same stop he saw you for the first time as his soulmate. In the training grounds. You had been walking back to your cabin looking as beautiful as always even with your gloomy change.

you had a basket in your hand. you hummed quietly and kept your eyes on the dirt path underneath your feet. you were too out of it to hear him walking from behind you. “Y/n.” He called your name.

turning around startled you are met with him smiling at you. the boy who broke your heart standing there with a warm smile on his face as if he didn’t do anything wrong.

“Percy.” You whisper and step back. “I um…Do you need something?” you were shaking almost.

He got closer slowly as he got more awkward by the second, “can we talk?” you were hesitant to expect his offer but you nodded.

“I want to apologize for rejecting you. I felt horrible watching you- Well, get like this.” He kept getting closer and you didn’t know if you should run away or scream at him.

“I was wrong. You are the girl for me.” He saw the tears flood in the corner of your eyes and your lips tremble

“you think that’s enough?” you didn’t yell but he could sense the harsh tone in your voice. And you have that right.

“No, not really.” his frowns. Knowing he needed to do more.

“But I’m willing to work as hard as I need to. If you will have me?”

His green eyes filled with sorrow. the feeling to leave him here, with nothing like he did to you. But you couldn’t. You felt better in his presence as he looked at you.

“I’ll allow it, but we take this slow.” All he could do was smile again and nod his head in understanding.

even if you didn’t trust him. he healed your heart in the matter of seconds.

#percy jackson x you #Percy Jackson x reader #book percy jackson #book Percy #percy jackson imagine #soulmate au #percy jackson x fem!reader

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taegularities · 1 year ago

Text

colour me in: redraft | jjk (m)

Summary: The calm is more appreciated after a storm. Life with Jungkook proves to you that sometimes, joy can, in fact, overshadow grief. Yet, not without confronting and removing all hurdles standing in your way once and for all.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; some tame angst, sooo much fluff, smut ➳ warnings: new relationshippppp, so much hugging and kissing, yoongi!! tae!!, tears, abandonment issues, talk about social anxiety (just briefly and nothing serious!), jungkook drops a big question :'), a surprise in the middle, a surprise near the end, and then a SURPRISE at the end lol, many surprises, they're so crazy for each other it's gross; explicit sexual content: okay – kook is wearing a chain.. this vibe :'), making out, showering together, shower sex, spanking, biting, oral (f. & m. receiving), fingering, mouth/face f*cking, mirrorssss, he likes her ass and tiddies, tears, choking, v brief ass stuff, rough and soft sex, dom and big cawk jk, vocal jk, multiple orgasms, they're simps; ALSO YEAH THE ENDING :') ➳ word count: 25.3k ➳ a/n: so when i said this chapter would be shorter… welp lol. but i still think it introduces the next arc really well. i kinda love the ending!! .. and the next part will be </3 :'''') as always beta'd by my lovely @missgeniality 🤍 i hope you guys like this one a lot. worked my ass off for this fr :') if you do, please do support the chapter and interact with me, too, it makes my day <3 ➳ listen to: i need u by yaeow | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs | DC SERVER

Monday morning’s breakfast is awkward. Or at least, the very first minute of it.

The hands of your watch drift to 9 AM; you should’ve expected you wouldn’t be occupying the dining table alone. Your parents, sipping the last of their coffee, aren’t that much of a surprise after all.

You breathe a quiet breath of relief when their eyes dart towards your timid forms at the threshold, then back to the table. And a moment later, they’re pushing their chairs back across the marble floor before they clear the path to breakfast for the two of you.

Your father acknowledges you with a brief, polite nod on his way out, even flashing a similarly quick smile. Ingenuine, because his glance, fleeting when directed to you, is as disappointed as your Mom’s behind him.

Today, you understand. Somewhere in the depths of your recovering mind, you feel upset about shitfacing yourself so thoroughly, too.

You haven’t seen your mother in over two days. Jungkook’s post-showcase confessions brought you to Eun, and the next morning you barely scanned your room before you left for her place again.

Guess the momentary encounter in the hallway doesn’t quite count; you could hardly crack your eyes open. Combined with half the dozen naps you took in your locked room the very next day, you won’t exactly expect pride from her right now.

Until now, as she advances towards your body, you didn’t consider much of her side; you stayed focused on the other occurrences passing after sunset. Moments whose scent your sheets still carry.

As your mother comes to a stand, you prepare your vocal cords, breathing in to explain yourself until you realise that she isn’t looking at you at all. Her eyes are firmly glued to Jungkook’s face, devoid of enmity for once.

Instead, she flattens her dress, sighing through her red-tinted lips before she nods towards him and simply says, “Thank you.”

And that’s it. A little breathtaking, entirely new.

You’re dumbfounded when she leaves; Jungkook doesn’t manage a single word. You imagine that if you’re baffled, he’s probably rethinking her words to assure he didn’t hallucinate them.

But neither of you did. And the silence lingering for a couple more seconds proves the depth of reality; not that you’ll change your mind about leaving your place. But the hint of appreciation, shot directly at him is a pleasant first nevertheless.

Breakfast is patient but fast. The quiet atmosphere doesn’t derive from the night before or what your mother just left you with, but from the emotional fatigue slowly dropping off your shoulders.

Jungkook lets you feast in peace, a soft palm rubbing over the back of your hand every now and then to assure you’re okay. And you are. You’re getting used to these changes.

To this alternative to whatever you feared before. A chance to erase all words and start on a blank page; a white canvas, waiting for vibrant colours instead of monochrome gloom.

Yet, despite the tranquillity last night, still present in the air and in your aching limbs, you don’t understand the sincerity of all the confessions he uttered until you leave.

Because breathing in your car isn’t as suffocating as it was the last few weeks. Back when you’d navigate through the town alone, the passenger seat empty. Or when you plucked up the courage and drove to the showcase numbly.

Or when the pain pierced through your chest; when your drunk ass thought the world would remain blue forever.

All of it is gone when you buckle up, shifting in your seat as you announce, “Okay. Let’s finally get you home.”

The engine roars for a moment, the car trembling, but you only register the knot in your throat when he says, “Feels so unfair of me. Having my girl drive me around so much.”

You don’t miss the endearment; neither the way your heart skips a beat.

Incapable of a proper reaction, you clear your throat and stutter, all at once and oddly in succession until you settle on a weak, “Why unfair?”

“Because. You do it a lot.”

You really do not. The night the museum closed and you dropped him off at your place was one of a few times; besides, he’s operated your vehicle more than enough before, too.

But you don’t contradict him, instead lightly suggest, “Well, you can drive if you want.”

You’re relieved when he joins your smile, dimples ever-so-sweet and genuine as he promises, “It’s fine. I’ll just stare at you.”

The shudder along your spine is delightful — relentless, he keeps your nerves alight. Perhaps he’s back to the self you knew pre-broken-hearts, playful and teasing, but the effect of his words curses through your veins hotter than ever.

“That’s creepy,” you still retort; you’ll gladly keep fighting this sweet, awkward battle against compliments for life, unaware how to handle them. “And it makes me nervous.”

“Sorry.”

Jungkook laughs, the back of two fingers reaching to your cheek to graze it featherlightly. Maybe he feels the heat beneath your skin, enhanced through his touch.

By now, you’ve spent a year with him — as a party fling, a class frenemy and a blue flower. But each second ticking away brings a new wave of soft, shy speechlessness. New honeymoon emotions.

The certainty of his reciprocated feelings, the fact that you’re finally on the same page, makes you rethink his tender confessions and touches differently. Makes you navigate the relationship differently.

His eyes drift back to the quiet, narrow street, surrounded by houses and blooming gardens. Probably as tired of the idyllic utopia as you, he doesn’t spare the suburban setting any more attention.

He only lets a flat hand rub against his thighs, nipping at his clothing as he says, “God, I can’t wait to get out of these damn joggers.”

Right. While not a main focus, you did find the special attire at breakfast today quite amusing.

“Did you even get to shower since picking me up?” you ask.

“Yeah. When you were napping again yesterday. Just gotta wash my hair later tonight.”

Hmm. You spent half your day knocked out; Jungkook could’ve circled the world and you wouldn’t have known.

“Oh. Good.”

The road proceeds straight, emptier near the suburbs. You allow a reckless glance before tackling busy streets; his eyes meet yours in curiosity, hair even messier than the night he met you in front of the bar.

When he left his apartment in joggers and an old shirt, mane untamed and no extra clothing at hand, he probably didn’t expect to abandon his place for so long. It gives you solace that he doesn’t regret it.

You drop the million memories of yesterday’s sunset burning into your eyes and everything that introduced it. The drunk words and the begging.

And then drop everything that followed afterwards; more pleading, more touching, more confessions that were in no way uttered through inebriate but not quite through sobriety either.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks.

You drop all the remembrances to focus on the moment; just to make sure that it’s real. So you ask, “Why didn’t you wash your hair there, too?”

For a moment, you see a flicker in his eyes, short-lived and quick; and his answer shoots out even more rapidly, “Just so.”

He emphasises his admission with a shrug of his shoulder, but it’s not nearly as convincing as he anticipates. Not buying a word, you push again, “C’mon.”

“I swear.”

“I’m curious now, though.”

There’s a momentary drop of silence before Jungkook hums, thinking as though he’s crafting a plausible excuse. Then, he says, “I didn’t wanna be away for too long.”

“…Why?”

“Why would I want to be?”

Ah…

Hmm. Well, maybe that’s enough for now.

Maybe he’s still not used to laying his secrets open. Maybe you need to practise patience, too, and stop digging like that.

You know that’s not all there is, but you certainly understand that it’s not a lie after all. Despite the pause and the obvious way his brain racked for a reason, his tone is genuine. You’ve experienced his insecurities before — that’s not what it was this time.

So you focus on the steering wheel instead, turning it left and away from the truck you drove way too close to. Your distraction might kill you — right there, next to you, clearing his throat and sitting up.

“Oh,” he says, segueing, and you let him, “wait, I forgot. Could we stop by at Yoongi’s for a sec? I wanted to see how he’s been doing.”

An abrupt change in topics, but not too abstract. As someone merely acquainted with the man, you’ve been collecting info on his state from Jimin; of course Jungkook would drop by personally.

You take a look at your digital watch; it’s barely ten and you don’t need to get away before 10:45. Taehyung agreed to meet with you to accompany you to your new potential flat again, so you should have time for a detour.

But.

“Is he…” you start, “gonna be okay with me being there?”

“Why?”

“I mean, just ‘cause… You know. We weren’t the closest for a while.”

Jungkook’s forehead wrinkles in new perplexion, muttering a few words. It takes a couple seconds — but eventually, he figures out that you’re not referring to Yoongi and yourself, and his expression changes immediately.

To subtle pain, you’d guess, like he doesn’t want to relive the memory. Like it never happened; like you weren’t two pieces of the same shattered heart this entire time.

But then he sighs, a hand wandering to your thigh. He kneads it softly, as a reminder to himself and to you that the past isn’t transpiring right now; that you’ve finally breathed and waded through it.

His optimism is encouraging when he says, “Nah. He thinks you’re cool.”

“I guess,” you mumble. You tap the steering wheel nervously, lips in a thin line before you add a hushed, “And if not, that’s alright, isn’t it? Like, hey, as long as you like me? Yeah, I shouldn’t overthink it…”

Jungkook releases air through his nose. You perceive a subtle shake of his head, as if to scold you, hear him say earnestly but gently, “Don’t worry about me. I don’t just like you.”

And whether casual or not, his words engulf your body immediately, like a soothing warm touch across your chest, yet effectively freezing your beating heart in place.

You can’t pinpoint whether the weight of his own words ever affects him as much as it affects you, or whether harbouring these emotions has become a familiar habit to him. At least to you, his tone is conversational and promising, perhaps even subliminally reassuring.

“At the very least,” he continues, “he’ll never disapprove of you the way Jimin disapproves of me.”

Which… snaps you back into reality for a second.

Your friend’s name is connected to more than mere dislike for the man next to you; currently, you think of dark nights and lamp-lit streets. After-midnight shenanigans and near tears in your own car, driven by the man who broke and mended your heart.

It reminds you of a blurry picture; two guys standing near an entrance, the older of them patting the other’s shoulder; smiling at him.

You do wonder if it was a fabrication of your mind.

“Forget Jimin,” you tell Jungkook, speech broken when you take another left and resumed when broader streets start. “Also. He did say he’s growing fond of you.”

“Because you like me. I still need to prove my worth to him.”

You tut.

“Kook, you don’t need to do anything. He’ll come around eventually. Just be you.”

“It’s fine, honestly.” He leans in, nudging your elbow, echoing you with a teasing undertone as he says, “As long as you like me.”

You love it when the initial nature of your relationship breaks through the mist of newfound passion; when you find the foundation of what you were, remembering how you landed here.

Which is why you bite back a laugh the moment you suppress a sassy, teasing remark, as if on reflex. One steer shy from pulling into a parking lot, you breathe out. If you halted here now, you’d kiss him, you’re sure.

But you merely laugh, squinting your eyes as you say, “You’re okay.”

Yoongi’s apartment, now inhabited by only one instead of two people, lies a couple miles from the campus. Jungkook guides you through the streets, jumping from one harmless topic to another — you reach his friend’s place a lot faster than you expected.

The building stands at a quiet place, surrounded by mid-high trees that give the grey colour of the complex a bit of liveliness. You walk to the entrance laughing about something stupid, a subtle nudge of his shoulder here, you pushing against his arm there.

But despite the familiarity and whatever occurred last weekend, it’s still odd jumping into the girlfriend role just yet. The word itself won’t even roll off your tongue very easily so far because you can’t believe a thing about this new reality.

So your hand dangles next to his awkwardly. Your thoughts keep drifting, registering half his sentence at times. What-if situations of gentle kisses and upcoming nights spent together tighten your chest.

Jungkook’s speech is clear and fluent, so you don’t know what your impact on him is exactly. At least he’s made sure you do have one on him — but you still wish you had a map through his mind to understand every thought he houses for you. Every emotion.

On the way up you feel a little dizzy; whether it’s due to the circular shape of the staircase or his proximity, you don’t know. You only realise that something’s still bothering you when you’re halfway up, coming to a halt with one foot on the next step.

“Okay, seriously,” you say, and he turns to you immediately, puzzled as he drops to the same level as you. Close to you.

“What?”

“You said you didn’t wanna leave,” you repeat, still stuck on the hair washing and staying longer thought, “why not?”

The answer could be simple. Could be rooted in emotions and the confessions you later uttered — but there must be something more. You saw it in the brief feeling flashing across his eyes, sitting in the passenger’s seat with silence sealing his lips.

Maybe something happened… because something always happens.

“You’re still thinking about that?” Jungkook questions, eyes wide in disbelief; lips pouting.

“No secrets, right?”

This seems to snap him out of all mysteries, last night’s conversation travelling to the forefront of his mind. But something about your curiosity amuses him. He wraps the fingers of his left hand around the staircase reeling, head dropping with a delicate smile.

His hair hides his eyes, but you know they’re sparkling; voice a mild drizzle when he starts, “It’s…” He draws in, inked digits touching your elbow before moving up your arm absentmindedly. “Don’t worry so much. It’s nothing harmful at all.”

You wait. Let his thumb graze your neck, up to your chin.

He sighs, almost exasperated in a way. “You speak in your sleep, you know?”

Wait. What?

You blink, thoughts disoriented. The staircase is dimly lit, but you recognise the slight upward curve of his lips; more empathetic than teasing.

So you still do?

“Huh?” you make.

“I think you dreamed of waking up a couple times? You hadn’t, though, and it’d always be something about being alone again.”

Again.

The word reverberates through your mind, dragging and stretching. Didn’t you once read that a broken heart is akin to serious rehab, accompanied by withdrawal symptoms and slowly healing scars?

You guess your heart was hurting more than you already knew.

“Okay,” you say, nodding when he does, thumb lifting your head when you drop it. You swallow thickly. “What did I say exactly?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t know anymore. Something about me leaving. And I was scared of waking you up while gone ‘cause you’d actually think I’d left.”

You hum. Allow yourself a moment to process the info; you seek out fragments of your dreams, but you draw a blank. You feel guilty about his concerns, yet relieved. Vulnerable. And somewhat reassured.

“I’m sorry,” you finally say.

Your voice is barely above a whisper — less because of the conversation. More because of the touch on your cheek. It’s soft against your skin, and you shiver. The flutter in your chest is only just bearable.

That’s the thing about falling in love. It’s sweet — so much sometimes that it twists your guts. You’re in so deep, you could hurl.

“Nah. You don’t need to worry about this anymore, okay?” he murmurs.

His eyes dig into yours. Dark and shiny through his healthy tresses, livelier than ever. Sincere.

You, on the other hand, must look unconvinced without intending to, because his mouth aligns with yours soon after.

He exhales, tilting his head, and says, “Look,” leans in, leaves a featherlight kiss against your cheek, right next to his thumb, “I mean it.”

Guess being with him comes with occasional mental blackouts. And regular arrhythmia. The palpitations behind your ribs are almost ridiculous; instead of gripping your own chest, you grasp his shirt immediately.

Lightly, as if you could collapse without this anchor.

He lets you pull him closer just a little, whispering as if someone could hear, “What’s wrong?”

Vulnerability hidden, you blink again, and joke, “Nothing. Just thought you were gonna kiss me.”

Jungkook smiles. His nose brushes against yours, toying a bit, and his bunny teeth make him look somewhat younger when he voices, “You want me to kiss you?”

“I always do.”

Your grin is playful, but your heart is pounding in your chest. Who would’ve thought the journey from a car to an apartment could be so long, so thrilling?

His snicker is gentle and canorous, knees careful against yours. Your heartbeat accelerates some more, rose-tinted lips opting towards their goal. You part your mouth, ready with a deep breath.

But the two of you are always subject to disturbances — so you’re disappointed but not surprised when you hear rushed steps on top of the staircase, strolling down and crossing your path just when Jungkook backs away.

The stranger passes by you with initial surprise in his eyes, not expecting you, but soon gets over it and drops his gaze again. And once he’s gone, Jungkook winks, a hand on your back pushing you forward gently.

“Later,” he says.

You know as you ascend the stairs.

Know that with the ease with which you handle your feelings for each other, you’ll strive towards a future where you won’t be haunted by dreams of being alone. Where you won’t fear his departure, and where his kisses won’t be interrupted by this cruel world.

The building reminds you of when you’d frequent the dorm you used to know. The walls and hallways are similarly built, narrow and somewhat cheap. They look like most buildings from the inside do, honestly, but you like the pleasant illusion the nostalgia brings.

Even the bathrooms are located near the end of the hallways; Jungkook once told you that Tae and Yoongi have their own kitchen, unlike him back when he still housed his dorm. But there’s a communal bathroom here, too; allegedly one reason why Tae moved out.

The only thing that separates this place from Jungkook’s old dorm is the subtle difference in scent. Not pure testosterone.

You smile.

The mood doesn’t match with what you felt back in June at all.

Back when you stomped to Jungkook’s dorm, furious about yet another insignificant issue, you didn’t think your fingers would ever be brushing his like they are now. Or when you escaped the rain and entered the building’s warmth, your umbrella leaving behind a trail of raindrops.

Your relationships, your priorities, your emotions. Your universe changed faster than the seasons.

As you walk past a random door, Jungkook cranes his neck, staring as if he could x-ray-glare a hole into it and glance at what lays behind it. Perhaps he’s thinking back, too.

You don’t know about all the things he experienced throughout the years there. Part of your heart stings because you remember you weren’t the only girl who ever frequented his place.

But you still left an impression — if the current status of your relationship isn’t proof of it, then the sudden touch along the back of your hand certainly is. A thumb following a vein blindly, opting to grasp your palm into his, yet retracting when you finally come to a stand.

The digit caressing your skin lifts to the door, and his knuckles knock three times, rhythmically. Your chest constricts as you jump back into the moment, probably half as nervous as you’d be if you met Jungkook’s parents.

A moment stretches as you wait for Yoongi to open, allowing yourself just another spiralling thought as you imagine actually daring a meeting with Jungkook’s parents. It’s too early to think about it, isn’t it?

It’s just.

Since yesterday, you’ve created a dozen different scenarios in your head, ranging from a civil, calm conversation with his father to a full snap. Half of you wants to know his genuine thoughts on his son’s sorrows; the other half wants to rage and then bolt away.

Ugh.

When the door swings open, your hand flashes to Jungkook’s. A startled instinct, even though nothing about the action was surprising or scary. But he doesn’t mind — of course he doesn’t.

His eyes rush to yours for a second, warm and somewhat thrilled, his smile permanent. And then he looks back at his friend, quietly squeezing your palm, the shy smile soft as he greets, “You’re walking without clutches, huh?”

Yoongi doesn’t respond right away. He looks from Jungkook to you and back. His gaze isn’t very telling, but you find amusement in it. If you weren’t so ridiculously and inexplicably nervous about his upcoming statement, you’d laugh.

Intently, he grants a peek at your entwined hands, and when he looks at the two of you again, he starts…

Smiling.

Gummies all out, a tiny laugh thrown in between before he says, “Ohoho. You’re here, too?”

The smile turns into a sly grin, a hand clutching the frame of the door. You guess he’s not as balanced after all. Possibly just abandoned his clutches for the short way from the couch to the door.

“I can totally go,” you tell him, the teasing tone missing; soft and small instead.

“Why in the world would you?” Yoongi steps aside carefully, nodding the two of you inside. You oblige, hearing his voice behind you jest, “Now, would you look at that. Did I do that?”

Jungkook automatically drops on the chair at the tiny dining table, like he’s arrived home, and you follow; make yourself comfortable on the seat next to him. There are three chairs, as though carefully chosen for the pair of friends who used to live together and a guest.

Next to you, Jungkook huffs, leaning back as he watches his friend plop onto the chair in front of him, and asks, “How would you’ve done that?”

“Well, you guys gathered at the hospital because of me.”

Right. Good point.

If he just knew how that night played out. Actually, you think he just might, yet not quite aware of its severity.

“Not because of you,” Jungkook promises, “I just charmed her again.”

You laugh. So does Yoongi.

He isn’t irritated or taken aback by the younger’s boldness; in truth, he seems entertained. Arms crossed, eyes small and grin wide. He half mocks, “The young ones are charming for sure these days.”

“Spoken like a true Grandpa,” Jungkook remarks. You press your lips into a thin line, but with a faint smile. You only listen; you’re in the territory of two friends who spend their time roasting each other. You’re not on that level yet, so you observe. “But I had to.”

“You had to, huh?” you joke. Okay, observation broken. Your body tilts towards him. “You didn’t need any of your charm for… this. But still good to know.”

Because you would’ve been putty in his hands, no matter what — charm or not.

"Can confirm," Yoongi agrees, nodding towards his friend, "that he was also a proper mess the last couple weeks. Very out of character."

Your eyes roll to the side to catch a glimpse of him, but the moment you detect the rosy dust on Jungkook's cheeks, you avert your gaze immediately.

Admittedly, the guilt in the middle of your chest is undeniable. But there's comfort in knowing you were never the only half who was deeply, perpetually falling.

Yoongi scratches his temple, doesn't meet your eyes; possibly shy when it comes to conversations like these. But he sounds warm and gentle when he says, "I'm really glad you guys are back."

You’re similarly timid, feeling strange. As if someone’s congratulating you on a fresh marriage. Or maybe that’s just the emotion you want, need to feel.

You say, “Thanks.” And then, ever-so-terrible with compliments, add a little, “Let’s say it was you. Double thank you to the man of the hour.”

Yoongi pulls a grimace hitherto unseen; it doesn’t faze Jungkook, but the Joker-esque grin and wide-eyed nod have you bursting into laughter. His friends are pleasant, you think.

If there was a way to lure Jimin in and convince him of this group’s collective appeal, you wouldn’t hesitate. There’s only a limited time you want him to play the petty, protective friend.

“So, how have you been?” Jungkook eventually asks.

Yoongi rubs the corner of his eye, stretching his injured leg under the table, “Never better. The bank is surviving without me. Besides, I haven’t gotten around to making some music in a while.”

“Tae did tell me you were enjoying your days off.”

Jungkook reacts with a tiny chuckle, but your eyes widen. You let him finish his sentence, and then spit, “Wait, wait. You make music?”

“Oh, I mean… I’m not any good,” he explains, wiggling a hand, a little startled as if he forgot you didn’t know yet. “I just. Make a few beats every now and then and write my own bars and stuff.”

“Wait, rap?” You stare between the boys, to and fro, only a little offended that you didn’t know you had a brooding future musician in your midst. “Can I hea—”

“No.” The answer is immediate. You pout. “Before you ask, I am way too much of a coward.”

“He’s amazing,” Jungkook intrudes.

And you whine, “Unfair, Yoongi.”

He imitates your expression, leaning back, copying your stance, and answers in the same childlike tone, “Warm up to me first! I’ll show it to you one day.”

“One day I’m gon’st hear it,” you declare, overly dramatic with your chin up, “you have my taste in music, you know? I know I’ll like it.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“I can try.”

Yoongi blows a raspberry. You’re not sure what you expected; maybe subtle hostility. But the sense of casual camaraderie is refreshing; lounging comfortably in his living room was a picture far from your mind until now, and you think he enjoys the unforeseen gathering, too.

Because after a moment of stillness, a faint smile touches his lips, his voice back to normal and deep as he remarks, “It’s nice that you guys came. I get bored here a lot.”

Right. You kept wondering.

You don’t dive into the matter immediately, instead drenching your voice in a teasing lilt, “Even though Jimin visits you?”

“Shut up.” Mock exasperation rolls his eyes as Jungkook appreciates your joke, one foot pressing against yours under the table. “No. It’s just been lonely since Tae moved out. It’s a two people thing with two bedrooms.”

He shrugs his shoulders, attention fully on you. Jungkook either doesn’t have much to say or doesn’t want to interrupt. Only listens.

“Living here alone feels like I’m wasting space and money,” Yoongi finishes.

Curiosity piqued, you probe, “What did Tae say when he left?”

“He offered to let me move in with him. But that’d be pointless.”

“Why so?”

“He’s awesome for offering, but I think he wanted his own place, you know? Why would I intrude then? But I did tell him I’d look for another place.”

“Have you been?” you ask. You still remember how happy Taehyung looked last time you met him alone.

How he spoke so highly of a life on his own, gladly interrupted by the occasional visits Eun granted him. Yoongi, you think, would probably benefit from acquiring his own place, too — one that doesn’t remind him that someone left him behind, inhabiting a vacant space thought for two.

“Every now and then,” Yoongi admits. “Will think about it some more once my leg’s healed.”

You nod in understanding, a thoughtful hum escaping your lips. Yoongi soon leans forward, naked arms on top of the table, and delves into a discussion about the rising costs of rent.

He outlines the challenges of finding the right place in the bustling city, and explains his worries about the empty space in a too-large apartment. And you listen intently.

But as minutes pass, you can’t help but notice the contemplative silence Jungkook has fallen into.

It’s always the same with him — thoughts you can’t read, questions you need to postpone.

Because you do glance over at him, observe the distracted furrow of his brow, the distant look in his eyes. You understand he’s once again lost in unknown thoughts, and you sense how jumbled his mind must be.

But you still decide to hold off for the moment, out of respect for the ongoing conversation. You don’t focus on addressing his apparent preoccupation until it keeps going until later, way after you’ve bid Yoongi goodbye.

“Why do you seem so reserved?” you ask in the car, his home your new destination.

It must be around quarter past ten; you should still be able to meet Tae within half an hour. Yet, despite the brooding rush, you can’t help but wanna drag out the ride, finish this conversation.

“Hm?” he voices.

Did he not hear you? Maybe.

You sigh, seeking an available parking spot. You’ve already turned into his street, way past the park, halting close to his entrance. The engine dies, sudden silence inside the vehicle.

“Okay,” you turn towards him, forearm against the wheel. “You’re a lot less enthusiastic now. What’s up?”

He looks distracted. Drags his teeth over his full, pink lower lip hard enough for you to repeat, “Hey. What’s wrong?”

“Uh.” Cue big boba eyes flitting to you. “I was just. Thinking about something.”

“Wanna share?”

“Yeah. Yeah, uhm. I swear I’m not trying to be mysterious, just. Not sure how to phrase it.”

He’s easing himself into this whole thing. The entire opening up act and being fearless with his feelings. So you don’t push him, but encourage, “Try. If not now, then maybe later, though?”

“No, no. Now is fine.” He frees his eyes off the dark bangs when he shakes his head a little, preparing to voice his hidden thoughts. Then, he breathes, “Yeah, so…”

One more second.

And.

“What if you dropped your plans of moving into that apartment?”

Oh. What?

Does he mean what you think he means…

There are only two options, right? And you choose to go with the one that would embarrass you less if it turned out wrong.

“Should I… do you think I should stay with my family?” you ask, your voice cautious.

But when his hands shoot up, immediately denying your assumption with round eyes, you breathe out through your nose. Relieved when he clarifies, “No, not at all. I mean, it’s up to you, but that’s not what I meant.”

So then…

“So you’re saying—”

He interrupts, rushing before he can back down, “Move in with me. And Yoongi could take the apartment you were considering.”

Fuck.

You didn’t expect your heart to jump up to your throat like that. It’s a day full of brief heart failures. You barely know how to react anymore.

You stare. Then stare a bit more. And eventually, you simply ask, “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean…” He gulps, averting your gaze all of a sudden before it lands back on yours. You chuckle quietly, unprompted, and it boosts his confidence. “You stayed at mine for days and it worked. It could… you know— keep working.”

The suggestion lingers like a fresh breeze, grazing your cheeks and twirling around you like a soothing force. He beams — though subtle, he seems to interpret the simultaneous rise of your eyebrows and your lips immediately.

Still, he inquires, “I don’t know… too soon?”

Technically yes. But then again, no. Because he’s right — you’ve already experienced a piece of heaven, tasted the bliss of domesticity with Jeon Jungkook.

“You really are serious about this, yeah?”

“Only if you want me to be,” he counters, less tense than before, but a hand rubbing in nervous circles over his knee, “if not, then I was absolutely joking.”

An awkward, little chortle fills the small space of the car; you shake your head, teeth out and smile bright. There’s sweetness in knowing that his affection is real. That the thought of shared future pains, joys and days — that it’s all actually become so unbelievably real.

The car is cool in the shadow, but you feel a strange heat coursing through your body. At the end of the street, you see the sunlight brighten the moment he laughs. Fitting.

The crinkly eye smile softens when he reaches for your hand, pulling it off the wheel and wrapping it in his. There’s an automatic reaction in your chest, a constant racing when he says, “I mean it, though.”

Brief pause. He looks down to your fingers.

“I think I got used to having you there. And then, at Yoongi’s I had this… I don’t know, overwhelming urge to tell you. That,” his teeth worry his lip, releasing it softly, “I want you next to me for as long as possible.”

You understand.

He means every minute that society and norms don’t force you out of the house. At nights and in the mornings, on off days and holidays. To fall asleep next to his presence, to wake up on the same mattress, too.

And the longing is undeniable; you know that it is. But you’re already swamped with decisions as it is — could you call off the apartment right here, right now? Rethink all you discussed with the landlord, Taehyung or yourself?

Life decisions are harder than that, and despite all the wants infiltrating your body, you can’t dive into this without a couple more following thoughts.

You keep gazing into his smouldering eyes, more intense when he looks up. Let their effect send a thrill down your spin, a surge of yearning through your veins.

And then, you acknowledge the need for prudence. You savour the moment, let the anticipation built, and flash a sultry smile to ensure that, yes, if not now, then one damn day, I’ll be yours entirely.

“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything to work more than this,” you admit, “but I need to—”

You halt. Words come hard to you these days; and the two of you are sensitive. It’s not easy to reunite after weeks of overthinking and distance; and you don’t want to provide more reasons to overthink.

But you forget that as sensitive as Jungkook is, he’s just as understanding and gentle, too.

Because he says, “You need to think. And I know you can’t just pack your things and move over, I just— I wanted it out there.”

“I know. I know.”

“And I,” he continues, “I actually thought you were gonna say no right away since you’re getting out of your childhood home just now, so naturally, you would wanna be alone for a while and—”

You lean forward, pulling your hands out of his grip. His eyes shoot down, baffled and confused, but you don’t give him a second to think or speak. In a moment’s notice, his cheeks are squished between your palms, his bunny face now akin to a duck.

“I don’t want to be alone. I’ve been alone all my life,” you tell him; Jungkook eyebrows furrow in empathy and worry, but you smile, “I don’t wanna be anymore.”

His expression and voice are dorky when he speaks, first words incomprehensible. You let go, watching the red splotches on his cheek, and he repeats, “Is that a yes?”

“It’s… I don’t know. A to be continued.”

“I’ll live with that.”

You don’t know if it’s the electrifying prospect of a life together or the confidence he follows his statement up with, but the insanity burns wild in your head. Untamed and dizzying.

“And I’ll wait for however long.”

“I didn’t even ask, I’m sorry… but are you starting work later today?”

You stand in the middle of Taehyung’s living room, a hand over your eyes to protect them from the bright sunlight. He’s busy piling the saucers and the cups, and you wait as he drags a vocal in thought.

“No, no. I’m off today.” He stands, and you automatically walk the short distance to the kitchen, lingering at the door frame. “Need the afternoon for an appointment at the doc. So yeah.”

“Oh. Everything okay?”

He doesn’t speak yet, dishes in the wash basin too loud. They clink and rattle; the moment you’ll move to an apartment by yourself, you’ll have to wash them yourself, too.

Maybe you can make your place as aesthetically pleasing and beige as Taehyung did. You don’t know — you couldn’t imagine much today nor discuss further details about the contract and rent and general house rules.

The landlord bailed on you last second. And Taehyung sacrificed over an hour that he could’ve spent keeping Eun company between her morning lessons.

You apologised the second you entered his apartment instead, thankful for the invitation to tea, yet harbouring guilt for wasting his time. But Taehyung proved incredibly kind, waving off your concerns immediately.

He asked, playfully offended, “So you’re saying a tea party with me is a waste of time?” And then he laughed, immediately shaking his head, “Nah. It’s fine. Am glad someone finally prefers tea over coffee, too.”

So now you’re here.

“Yeah, just a check up,” Taehyung answers, “vamps drew my blood and will tell me today if it’s good or not.”

“Interesting way to refer to doctors,” you admit, backing away when he leads you to the exit. You need to be at work in forty minutes tops. “Good then.”

He hands you your blazer, silent for a moment before he says, “Talking about feeling unwell.” You look up, arm halfway through the blazer’s sleeve. “What were you doing getting shitfaced like that?”

“Uhm…”

Word travels fast. Your cheeks heat up, fingers curling into fists. You smack your lips, letting out a tiny laugh, and ask, “Eun told you, huh?”

“Mhm. Scolded her for taking you to the bar and leaving you alone.”

You sigh.

You should’ve guessed that she’d tattle. And of course you might appear like the helpless, heartbroken girl, seeking comfort in alcohol, dark clubs and blue neon lights. It’s a little embarrassing, actually.

“Kook was there, though,” you defend.

“I know. I called when he was still at your place.”

Huh? What else did he do when you were asleep? Painted a Louvre-ripe masterpiece, probably.

Taehyung decodes the dozen questions in your stare, tumbling until his back leans against the wall. He explains, “We just talked for a sec. He sounded worried, so I didn’t prod too much. Just don’t do these things anymore, okay?”

Huh…

You can imagine it well. Partly because you remember the way he looked at you that night: distressed beyond belief, giving you soft orders, insisting on help everywhere — the car, the shower, the bed.

But also because you know him.

And you don’t think you needed to see him in those very moments to know he must’ve brushed through his silky hair. Must’ve looked through your room, gaze stopping over your sleeping figure.

Voice strained on the phone, yawning, shaking his head because he must have been a little mad at you, but comforted that you were resting, too.

You remember the tone of his voice, soft as a piano tune but saddened nonetheless.

”What did you drink? You’re… in such a bad state.”

You shake the words off. God, he was there for you more than you’ll ever know.

You say, “That’s nice, though, Tae… I didn’t think you’d ever get so worried about me.”

“Hey. You’re still my friend,” he promises.

He’s possibly been the only person throughout this entire ordeal to not be pissed at you or annoyed by you. You never doubted that he still liked you.

“I might not know you inside out like Eun or Jungkook do, but you’re part of this group. So naturally, you’re important, too.”

You push your hands into the pockets of the blazer, gripping the car keys inside. Bashfully, you smile. His sincerity pumps warmth through you; it’s crazy how good belonging somewhere, to someone, can actually feel.

It’s refreshing. New.

“Wow,” you murmur, shuffling your feet, “thank you.”

“You’re glowing, you know. That’s nice.”

“Am I?”

He nods. “I can’t wait to see him glow either. A couple weeks were a couple too long.”

Those couple weeks felt like someone ripped out the hands of time, keeping them from moving. Your brain aged faster in that time, deep in a bottomless abyss. You don’t want to experience it again.

And you don’t want to imagine Jungkook in the same pit again. Looking for you, but bumping against walls, painted with his past that made him stumble back instead of pulling him forwards.

Your eyes trail down the hallway, looking at the small paintings and decorations on the wall. You take in the furniture, inhale the pleasant colours. Imagine his living room in its entirety, the sunlight seeping through the windows. Curtains pushed aside.

Your apartment could be like this, too.

But.

“Tae,” you begin. You wrap your fingers around your rattling car key; lick your lips. “Do you think I’d like it here?”

“Hmmm,” he voices, gazing down as if he could look past the parquet floor and to where your potential apartment stands nearly empty. “Yeah. I mean, I like to think so, because I’m very happy here.”

He stops abruptly, the tone of the last syllable not matching a sentence’s end. You wait as he smiles a little, creating a thought, “But you could be happy somewhere else, too. Happier even.”

His words hang in the air, a sense of both possibility and uncertainty tangible. You were wanting to venture into this new chapter of your life with hope, but also with trepidation.

Suburban areas are nice, but you opted for the heart of the city — the vibrant tapestry of dreams and opportunities. You didn’t expect the journey to be fraught with sudden doubts.

The best thing, however, is that doubts and dilemmas never seemed this… tempting.

You tell him, “There’s always a place that makes people happier, for everyone.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice tinged with wisdom. “Only, some people already know of it, and some keep searching for it.”

“And I am—”

You pause, anticipating for him to finish the sentence; he responds, “You gotta know.” There’s a playful twinkle in his eyes, support and acknowledgment hiding right behind — matching his words, “I’d be bummed if you didn’t become my neighbour, but. Also just happy you guys are happy.”

Too kind for this world.

In your endearment, you laugh, suddenly stepping forward for a brief, thankful hug. A silent gesture of gratitude for his friendship, no matter how shallow or new.

The people you surround yourself with offer endless reassurance, and you’re lacking the words to express your appreciation.

“Thank you, Tae. Eun’s right when she praises your constant respect for other people, you know?”

Taehyung, maybe a little perplexed, brings a hand to your back, patting gently as he states, “No worries. The worst is over.”

You hope so. God, you genuinely hope so.

You pull back, tucking your hair behind your ear and bid him goodbye with one last nod. Taehyung closes the door behind you with a humorous thumbs up, and you grin before it’s silent in the hallway again.

There’s a tiny window outside, overlooking the street down there and the cars flitting by. The area isn’t as peaceful as Jungkook’s — more lively and noisy. You can see the city’s river if you look far enough.

And as you step closer to the glass, you envision your own apartment again. You imagine the soft glow of the lamp before you go to sleep. The comfortable couch you want to plant in the back of the living room, curling up with work or your laptop or a cup of hot chocolate.

You picture the view of the city as you step to your open window, glancing out as the steam of your beverage swirls in the evening air. Contemplating the world outside.

But then you start rethinking Jungkook’s words, too. The idea of belonging and happiness, of domesticity and what could be.

And at last, you visualise what it’d be like if you didn’t see any of this — the lively street, the river in the distance. Wonder how you’d feel if the horizon looked different.

If you stared out and saw a different canvas instead.

The changes in your life are drastic in some way, but Jungkook always stays the same.

Your house lies quiet most of the time; as days pass, you frequent your room, then drop by in the living room, greeting the staff, grabbing dinner and retracting back to your beloved bed.

Jungkook’s apartment, baby-sized compared to your place, allows a much livelier atmosphere. Maybe because you don’t need to yell for him to hear you from another room. Or maybe because it’s just the two of you.

Perhaps even because you find solace in the couch, in the smaller smart TV in front of it, the glass table, the carpet, the homely furniture in general. The scent reminds you of wood, but you connect it with him, too.

It’s different from the room you grew up in. Different from the luxurious chimney and marble you’ve seen all your life. And you must admit that you enjoy it a lot more, too.

One of the few reasons why your mood changes from exhausted to merry the moment you knock at his door on Thursday. He was expecting you, because when he opens, he beckons you inside immediately, pulling you in and planting a generous kiss on your cheek.

A smooching sound accompanies it, his foot closing the door as he suggests, “Dinner first or TV?”

“Shoes.” You laugh. You slip out of your thin jacket before tackling your snickers quickly, your clothes suddenly itchy and uncomfortable. “Shoes first, and then shower? Can I?”

“Yeah, of course.”

It’s not the first time that you’d be doing it. But there’s still something new and pure about this new chapter of your life; one that comes with polite questions and reinventing reality, apparently.

Redrafting life as you knew it and striving towards something better.

“I knew it, actually,” he says, forefinger wiggling, “I put a fresh towel on the washing machine. Also had a handful of your shirts here, so there’s one of those on the towel, too. And my joggers… Sorry, you left none of those, uhm—”

He’s started walking ahead, scratching behind his ear, but when he notices you not following, he looks over his shoulder. Blinks at you, staring into his living room and back, innocent voice unsure, “Come?”

“Yeah. Yeah, just— you didn’t have t—”

“I know,” he interrupts, breathing a sigh in faux frustration, “I know I never have to. But I figured you’d wanna shower.”

“…Thank you, Kook.”

You wish you could say more; express your gratitude the way you want to. At least your body is jubilating, craving the hot steam of the shower. Starving further for some peace when you step into the bathroom and detect the neatly placed clothing.

Jungkook halts at the door, gripping its frame, a little shy as if you didn’t breathe each other in for the last couple of weeks and months. He’s looking at you, waiting for something, and when you raise an eyebrow in curiosity, he snaps out of whatever daydream he was in.

“Oh. Right,” he mumbles, cheeks flushed, “sorry. I’ll leave. Can heat up the food. Or, or do you wanna order in?”

“Anything’s fine.” He nods. Opts to walk away, big hand flattening his hair at the back. It takes a moment for your heart to riot as you watch him leave, immediately babbling, “Actually. I was—”

Returning within a moment, he looks alarmed. Less so when you point a thumb to the shower and suggest, “Do you wanna join?”

“You in the shower?”

No, doofus. Join to watch the washing machine unsoil your sweaty clothes.

You clear your throat. “Yeah?”

“I uhm… Is that okay?”

Goddamn. Redrafting life as you knew it, you said.

You just didn’t expect the two of you to still tip-toe around each other. Seems you still have a lot of adjusting to do.

You try to break the ice.

“Acting like I’ve never seen you naked.”

“No, I know,” he responds, “I was just thinking that you…”

You can’t quite decrypt what he’s trying to say, but you do perceive the flash of concern in his eyes. It’s a tiny glimpse, barely there; but you see it. And you think about it.

Try to understand, let moments pass — until you’ve grasped his thinking.

The night he helped you clean up was the last time you stood under a showerhead together; maybe he thinks you’re still connecting it to the night’s trauma or borderline dangerous intoxication. And perhaps you’re wrong.

But you still take a breath, and then segue, “Already took a shower, didn’t you?”

You know he did. He’s addicted to cleanliness, sensitive to scents; he hoards diffusers, skin care products and new underwear like a treasure. And showering is always the first thing he goes for, a beeline to the bathroom after work out sessions and intense summer days.

You follow up with, “It’s okay, if you did. I’ll just go alone and hurry to dinner, then?”

“No, no… No, it’s fine.” He starts his sentence fast, but slows down halfway through, awkwardly. “Of course I can join. What’s some extra refreshment, right?”

“That’s the reason, huh?” you mock, laughing when he shrugs his shoulder. “Keep acting like you’re not the biggest simp around.”

Your confidence boosts his own, too. The signature smile is soft, lips curved gorgeously, but the subtone of his words is teasing, and even a little cocky.

“Of course. I know, I know.”

“Come then.”

You offer a stretched hand, curling your fingers in and outwards, and he places his warm palm into it like a key to a lock. Albeit tense and nervous, your body feels good next to his. The telltale awkward signs of a new relationship don’t deter you from indulging in its sweetness.

So you’re not surprised at how quickly you undress, throwing each other’s clothes at the back of the washing machine and planting kisses whenever one of you bares their shoulder. Eyeing each other from bottom to top.

You think you ogle for a moment too long, though — and how could you not with the freaking silver chain dangling from his neck?

An exciting evening lies ahead, you can already tell.

It’s fresher now outside, and all of Jungkook’s windows are open. Despite the cosiness of the bathroom, you rush under the hot shower stream.

Only, it’s not as boiling as you’d like it to be. Jungkook starts and finishes his showers ice cold, so you screech when you meet water from the Antarctic. You jump on your spot, arms around your torso.

And when you allow yourself one single glance at him amidst the breathlessness, you notice that the asshole is doing it on purpose. Same old. Rouses core memories.

Jungkook wipes over your hair and your face, drenching them thoroughly. You only realise he’s smudged your mascara when he starts rubbing underneath your eyes gently, managing to get some of it off.

“Fuck,” you curse, “I forgot about that. Should I take it off first?”

The intention is to slip out, use one of his cleansing skin products and get the mess out of your face before stepping back to him. But you don’t make it far anyway; he yanks you back before your foot can even touch the mat.

And then, the moment passes in a blur.

Tense body back against his, he tugs you close. Holds both your wrists in front of your breasts, leaning in without a warning, and then — connects his dripping lips with yours.

If there was any space to gasp, you would. Instead, your fingers instantly dig into your hand, sharp nails scarring the skin. You move your fists, trying to touch him, but he holds you in place firmly.

That is, until his digits relax, trailing up your shoulder to your neck, jaw and then to your cheeks. Face in your grip, you let him control the pace. You find an anchor in his bicep, holding on; kissing isn’t enough.

You wish he could eat you up. Wish the tongue finally touching yours, swirling around it, was everywhere on your skin at once.

You feel a slight twitch underneath, right against your body; ready to devour, hopefully soon to explode. But Jungkook gasps for air when his lungs give out, allowing a break, backing away with your face still between his hands.

And then, he utters something surprising — something you didn’t expect in the heat of the moment at all.

“I was meaning to tell you something.”

“…Oh?”

“I’m uh. I’ve been meaning to tell you for days. I just never quite got around to it and we were so busy and tired all the time and—”

“What is it?” you break in, heart pounding at an unnatural speed. “I’m here now, so…?”

For a second, you expect this to take a whole different turn.

The database in your brain empties the moment you scour it for an answer, preparing yourself for molten knees and dissolving hearts. Or maybe, it’s already clarifying to liquid, jumping out of your chest and flowing down the drain along with the water.

But he doesn’t say what you anticipate. Though, what he does admit has your nerves glowing neon white anyway.

“So— the first night of my showcase. On my birthday?” he starts. You feel the muscles of your face change, and he sees it, immediately assuring, “No, no. Don’t worry. I was just gonna say that a guy came to me by the end of it? And—”

He lets all of it sound like an unsure question. But you think you know where it’s going — you hold your breath under the already suffocating water.

“And?” you prod.

“And turned out Namjoon invited him, and he’s kiiiinda a big shot in the art business? Like, he’s a gallery collector, he said. He’d invest in my art and acquire it and have it showcased in bigger museums for more recogni— I know!”

Your mouth and eyes opened halfway through his quick explanation, fingers back in fists, pressing against his solid chest and then moving up to hook in his silver chain. You’re restless in the congested space, suppressing the high pitched sounds.

He puts his hands on your hips, snickering in joy as he says, “Be careful before you slip.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Thankfully I’m not, angel,” he shakes his head, bangs sticking to his forehead, “not this time, at least.”

You raise a hand to his pec, tapping against it, “Wait. So just so I understood correctly — they’re gonna put up your stuff there for an even bigger audience to see, yeah?”

“I mean, the gallery is definitely far bigger than the exhibition I participated in.”

“Oh my god, Jungkook, the exhibition already had a shit ton of visitors!”

He nods, proving a point.

You feel an electric current in your blood. Pride, that’s what it’s called, too. You sling your arms around his neck recklessly, nearly falling, but you can’t be bothered as you exclaim, “This is so— I don’t even know how to react, Kook!”

And who could convince a big-shot art connoisseur so quickly after graduation anyway? Jungkook’s god given talents are never praised for nothing — you knew it. Fucking knew it.

Won’t make it anywhere, your ass.

“That’s so fucking awesome.” You stare, out of breath all of a sudden. God, if there was a way to express your delight. “When is it happening? Are you selling the one you showcased?”

“I don’t know yet. And no. That’s too… personal to me.” You blink, nodding. Still overwhelmed with how his pieces made you feel — of course they’d hit even harder for the artist himself. “He wants something in a similar style, though. I’ll make something new for him.”

“What’s it gonna be?”

It’s a simple question. You swear it’s nothing too deep.

But Jungkook’s gaze changes. An amused, delighted expression replaces a neutral one, head tilting to the side just a little. His lips, already slightly swollen from the kiss, move up, eyes kind and sugary.

If you only knew how your small details affect him, too. How you looking at him like this, expectant eyes split wide, innocent and gentle, shoots an arrow to his heart.

You just don’t know.

He brushes the hair sticking to your cheek back and tells you, “You’ll see. I’ve been working on it these days, but. Will show it to you when it’s done.”

You can’t even be mad. If it was up to you, you’d probably wait for the big day, too — can’t spoil the surprise, need to cry tears of pride and joy in public.

So all you say, deep from the heart, is, “You’re the fucking coolest person I know.”

“Nah—”

“The coolest.”

“Funny,” he retorts, as bad at compliments as you; throws them back like a boomerang, “thought the same when I met you at the party last year.”

“…Gross.” That’s what you say. But you still shake your head; overwhelmed, smile plastered to your face and cheeks hurting. “God, Kook.”

And that’s all.

You keep holding his stare, finally too tired of the distance to endure any longer — and then lean in. You stop a couple inches away, watch his head angle more, mouth steering towards yours. The smile is mutual, fingers seeking a spot to settle on on each other’s bodies.

Your heart monitor would be wilding right now — the effect of your lips meeting clear as day behind your ribs. And this time, you don’t stop.

The push against his chest is immediate, his feet slowly tumbling backwards. His tongue burns hot against yours, your lower lip fitting perfectly in the gap between his lips. There’s a sharp hiss when his back finally touches the tiles, mouth open but not leaving yours.

Teeth soon clash, and you opt for more of his taste, well aware that you just cannot kiss more than you already are. His hands move up and down, never settling, both your lips harsh and impatient. Your tongues keep moving in patterns, thirst never quenched.

You break the kiss solely for oxygen purposes, but he uses the moment to let his palm wander from your face to your hair, grabbing a patch. One hand pushes against the small of your back, though soon dropping to your ass, fingers between your ass cheeks, teasing the clenching hole.

Fuck.

The moan isn’t intended, but very welcome — you love the sound of it as much as he does, followed by his own. An automatic reaction. His hips indulge in the tiniest movements, length jerking against your body; no more than an inch of his fingertip pushing into your ass.

“Fuck, Jungkook,” you breathe, eyebrows furrowing, mewling against the corner of his lips. “More, now, please.”

It’s an attempt. Of course he won’t act that fast — you know him well enough. He’s been a soft gentleman often enough; but after holding back the past few days, missing it for weeks, you know it won't be easy on him either.

One of you will be on the brink of tears soon; until now, it’s usually been you.

You take a deep breath, agitated when he laughs. He retracts his hand, smoothing back his chaotic mane before leaning in for another peck. And that’s all it remains — interrupted immediately, saliva mixing with the shower water.

“I’m so fucking crazy for you,” he confesses; the shiver doesn’t hesitate crawling down your spine — neither does Jungkook, peppering your neck with kisses.

His actions are smooth — you let him do anything. Like, explore every little spot of your skin. From the softness of your face, down to the flesh of your ass, echoing hard when a flat hand slaps it out of nowhere.

You propel forwards, barely aware of your surroundings. The shower raining onto you is the only indicator of where you still are.

So when he turns you carefully, 180 until your back touches the tiles, you don’t realise his intentions for a moment. Only when he changes his approach, digging your shoulders hard into the wall, knocking you out of breath.

“Are you trying to—” you ask, but he interjects right away.

“Don’t question it this time, okay?” His face inches close again, teeth suddenly pulling and nibbling at your lip. “Just let us do. Lemme do, yeah?”

His chest presses against your tits before he backs away and palms your mounds, squeezing nearly painfully.

For only a heartbeat, though — he doesn’t stall further. Because another second passes before you’re turned in his grip, chest not touching his anymore, but the wall now. From behind you, he grasps your hips, dragging you back just a couple inches; enough to sneak his hand through.

“But whenever things get too much, you…”

You nod. Promise, “Will tell you. I will.”

“Good.” His cock pokes between your ass, and he spreads its cheeks. Lets the hardness rest between them, sliding up and down. “Gonna make you feel so good, though. Wanna make you feel so fucking good.”

Wow… wow, f—

Not that you were ever interested in it before, but…

Part of you wants him to shove it in anywhere. Wherever the fuck he wants. You’d endure all hour-long foreplay and pleas and tears for him.

And perhaps he’s thinking the same. Perhaps you even spoke it out loud — you wouldn’t be surprised if you did. But you choke on your spit when he says, “Missing the sex toys. Like… What do you think of new ones, hm? Someday, maybe. Like— like an anal pl—”

“Please,” you beg, “I’ll do fucking anything for you.”

Break in conversation. Then, “Holy shit.” He chuckles. Fuck — his voice is deeper now, isn’t it? “You’re being whiny. I thought you’re a badass business woman, but you’re so whiny.”

“Because— I can breathe when I work.”

“Ohh. And now,” he whispers, close to your ear, hand moving. Up and further up, stopping around your throat, as if he’s testing your statement. As if he could tell him anything about the state of your lungs. “Now we’re not as focused, right?”

“No thinking when I suck your dick.”

“Dammit. Really don’t wanna wait to fuck you numb.”

You’re shamelessly jittery, patience out the window. “Don’t then. Get to it now.”

“Nope. I know you’re not ready yet. And I’m not either… so—”

He steps closer, forcing your body further forward until your cheek is squished against the wall. His fingers leave your throat to find another target; something far more south, a lot more dangerous.

One small circle drawn around your clit, you gasp, hearing him ask, “You think you can come with just my fingers?”

“I don’t know. I honestly think I need—”

He chuckles, and you can’t help but laugh, too. You’re hilarious sometimes.

“You think you’re so smart. But we can still try, though.” He says it casually, as if the two of you don’t exactly know that he’s perfectly capable of pulling through. But his voice still softens when you don’t answer, “Hey. You wanna try, sweetheart?”

“Yes. Anything,” you convince him, “anything, Kook.”

“Good girl. The best, always.”

His touch vanishes. You let out a mildly confused sound, observing with an unfocused vision how he opens the shower door a little. He reaches for the towel on the washing machine, drying his fingers, other hand moving the shower head until it’s mostly wetting his own back.

It’s a tiny detail, really. You only told him once how action around the clit might become uncomfortable with hands priorly washed or wet, and it seems he remembered.

Your eyes shut when he returns to your bundle of nerves, massaging gently, skilled. It starts slow at first; you feel the hot wetness build in and around your entrance, the line between the shower water and your arousal fading.

Jungkook’s movements, calculated and systematic, only spur your body on. He’s always known what he’s doing; has analysed and explored what you want. How you want it.

It’s true heaven to you: the way he kisses your cheek. The way he draws moans out of you, the motions around your swollen bud rhythmic. Your back and limbs tingle; you don’t know what to do with yourself.

And when you can’t stand still anymore, Jungkook orders, “Stop that. You’ll break my jaw.”

“Sorry.”

Your apology is timid, tiny; he laughs. “You cutie… you’re adorable even in moments like these.”

You throw your head against his shoulder as if to oppose him, opening your eyes, looking straight into his eyes. Your eyebrows are kissing, tension between them, mouth agape.

And he adds, “Or maybe not.”

He lifts you up a bit, dragging your body along the wall — you didn’t even notice that you slid down this much, angled, ass darting out like this. But you also don’t mind the arm that rounds your torso, just underneath your tits, keeping you steady when he takes it up a notch and—

“Oh my god,” you squeak when he pushes two fingers in. “Yes, yes, please—”

The incoherent, random requests are his favourite. Most of the time, he knows better than you what you’re pleading for. Which is why he doesn’t stop this time; probably more in the mood to please you than tease you.

From this position, he can’t reach knuckles deep, but just enough to brush the walnutty spot inside. And to your surprise, the orgasm builds up fast; the first quiver takes over your knees, but you understand that this is nothing compared to what’s to come.

You press your hands to the wall, holding onto remnants of your sanity when he kisses your neck, and along your damp shoulders. His mouth is hot against your pulse, wet hair tickling under your jaw. He bites lightly; soothes the fleeting sting with his tongue. Vampiristic.

Like a sensual massage, well thought out, pornographic.

And then he picks up on pace. Whispers, “That’s right— we got this—”

He starts pumping into you; relishes your incomprehensible curses. The thumb over your clit and the impatience of his fingers inside are a dichotomy, and you don’t know what to focus on. Which is why you stop thinking altogether.

Jungkook takes a sharp breath, quiet whistling sounds included, and then groans into your ear when you do. He keeps his motions up diligently, fingers a bit deeper with each time your ass moves back an inch.

As an aid, he shifts his arm, too, pushing forward, palm pressing against your clit now.

And when you come, you melt. Nearly collapsing, you keep moving, on edge, every spot of your body in tremor. You can barely breathe; you’ve been nestled in the heat of the shower for way too long.

He notices your tremble in an instant, encourages, “Got it. Got you. Keep going, baby, c’mon.”

The peak is blissful; you don’t want to ever fall off the edge again. Want to remain in this starry, gorgeous ache. Your eyes could stay in the back of your head; the world may keep fading. And you don’t need to know where you are.

All you know is that your voice sounds odd, high when you pant, “Don’t go away yet.”

“I’m right here. Right here, got you,” he repeats, holding you upright.

Jungkook knows — knows how to get you from lowest lows to your highest highs. Today was as pleasant as a day at work can be; but if he’s ready to do all this to you on any other, worse day, too, you might never encounter grief again.

He scatters kisses all over your jaw when you’re done — busies himself as you catch your breath, swallowing, eyes closed. Once you’ve caught yourself enough to utter fragments of sentences at least, you tell him, “Something not human about you, Jeon.”

“Oh. Are we back to surnames now?” He cackles, soothing motions along your arms. “Are we gonna shake hands, too, once we’re done? Bow and say thank you?”

You shake your head, though the stupid smile doesn’t wait to spread on your face.

“You’re dumb,” you say.

“You make me dumb.”

He drops his touch, brushing your pussy again — maybe as a test. But you’re sensitive and vulnerable, closing your legs and opening your mouth in response. He’s sly; uses the moment to push two fingers in right away, pressing your tongue down.

And you, as challenge-accepting as ever, start sucking, tasting some of yourself. You wrap your hand around his, moving your head, chest still heaving from the exhaustion. Your eyes close slowly enough for him to see them roll back, a reaction to the images your brain creates.

Like, the thought of the member currently poking you replacing those digits. The prospect of emptying him entirely.

“Fuuuuck— wish my brain could take a picture of this and save it forever,” he says, voice strained.

You open your mouth, licking a strip along his finger, past the tattoo. “What’d you do with it?”

“Would… would bring it to the forefront of my mind,” Jungkook begins, reclaiming his hand and dragging it down to your waist, “and use it whenever you’re away.”

“Hmmm… and then?”

“Would just…”

He doesn’t continue. Only shakes his head, lifting his shoulders, stance desperate and wanting; maybe he’s even a little out of his mind.

You egg him on, “Show me if you can’t say it.”

It’s a surprise that he obliges, but then again, it’s not. You always forget just how weak he is — that his heart sits right there in your palms, his body a magnet to yours.

So you’re endlessly pleased when your eyes flit down to a hand around his dick. Stroking slowly, its head hard against your pelvis. And you manage to watch a tiny second longer until the floor beckons you towards it, down to your knees.

It’s uncomfortable immediately; slick and odd. But you’re distracted by your dry tongue, thirsting, ridiculously hypnotised by the cock dangling in front of you. And then his thighs… muscular and thick. You reach out to them, holding them, steering forwards.

Despite his delicate frailty, you don’t fare any better. Ready to bruise your knees like an obedient doll, eyes wide when you look up at him. You grip him softly, urging him to remove his hand, stroking in his stead.

You pass all pleasantries and hesitations, and dive in immediately — leading your mouth to the tip before wrapping your lips around it delicately. Determined, you let only a second pass, eager as you start moving right away.

Bobbing your head, you take him in as much as your gag reflex allows. He’s too big — it’s impossible to ever swallow him fully. But no matter how greedy you are, that’s it.

You don’t give into it all the way just yet.

Instead, you back away after another lick. Straighten your body, drawing in and repositioning until you can push your tits together around the stiffness.

His groan tumbles out of him broken, choked, a hand against the wall. His abs are rippling, bicep bulged, nipples tiny and perked. Dark brown. Eyes hazy.

You want to do so many fucking things to him — want to mount him. Pull his head back by his long strands. Want, need to kiss him, rub yourself on him, back and forth along his cock until his moans become uncontrolled. Sticky white cum sprayed over his tummy.

Your nails in your skin, yearning for more — that’s one of your billion thoughts.

Instead, you summarise your wants, whispering a single, simple, fucked out, “I…” You gulp down the knot. Shiver at your position, craving the hot water a little now. Then command, “Fuck my mouth.”

His eyes threaten to fall out of his head; like they always do. He knows it’s a constant reaction, too, it seems, because, “God. I’ll never get used to you saying this.”

“You better, though.”

“Right. Right…”

He caresses your face, pushes your hair back. Perhaps he’s had enough of the pace; because he soon reaches for your arms, compliant deer kicked out of his head as he forces your wrists up and crosses them against the wall.

One hand is all he needs to hold them in their place. One hand gripping them hard, disabling any movement of your arms.

You let out a strange, obscene sound, finding utter liking in this gesture.

But despite your pleasure, he still eases you into the process, the heart tattoo grazing your cheek. A touch so soft that you think he’s praising you, wordlessly and gently. Making sure you’re absolutely okay with whatever he does to you.

And you confirm it with another blink, stretching out your tongue, ready. Holding his gaze. Mesmerised and frustrated, he says, “You’ll kill me with the way you look at me.”

Jungkook fuels your confidence with vigour each time, eloquent through scorching heat, too. Because you don’t think you’ve ever smiled this self-assured before you knew him; or been certain about your power over others.

You used to be far more insecure than that, feigning ignorance and carelessness, but reevaluating your decisions every step of the way. Months ago, you could’ve never predicted such a shift in conviction towards yourself.

So it’s new to you, but invigorating at the same time, the grin you sport, the words you utter, “Killing you isn’t my intention,” when he doesn’t, you move your head towards the leaking head of his cock, awaiting destruction, “wanna make you feel more alive than ever.”

The breath tumbling out of his mouth is ragged, pinky finger twitching a tiny bit when you wrap your lips around the tip and then let it go with a plop again; like it’s a lollipop to you.

Your knees move closer to his feet, and he stretches his one hand to your shoulder, making sure you don’t get hurt on the slippery ground. But you’re far too distracted to appreciate the gesture just yet, even though you feel the faint tickling along your limbs.

“I got it,” Jungkook then says, back in charge, hands back on the protruding, thick veins.

He moves his hips forward, testing. You roll out your tongue once more, closing your eyes. Try to make more room in your mouth, despite knowing it’s a thing of impossibility. And to your chagrin, it takes only a few more seconds for you to be full already.

Taking in as much as your throat allows, you gag when you reach your limit, letting out a tiny cough, salivating. You still can’t move your arms; his fingers are like chains around your wrists.

“That enough?” he asks. “I’ll stop here, okay?”

You nod. Wait. When he doesn’t move, you start pulling back, and then push forward again immediately. Your tongue is drenched in absolute filth; the spit trails down your chin, and you wish it was his.

But that’s not the point of it all — you’re not supposed to comfortably bop your head back and forth, are you? Despite the daily softness between the two of you, you want to be used. Want all his greed.

And he knows. Asks, “What do you need?”

Of course you can’t speak. He’s aware of that; stares down at you as you breathe heavily around him, mouth stuffed to the brim. Cheeks aching from the circumference.

You moan around him, parting your lips, moving your tongue from under his dick to swirl it around it a little. You move back, tasting the liquid minimally dripping out of his slit. Fuck, you want all of it, in thick, sickening ropes, in loads and buckets.

“Won’t even back away to speak,” he teases, words contradictory, because he won’t allow you to take a break either. Shoves himself inside again; you’re embarrassed that you only manage half of his length. “The dedication is hotter than it should be—”

Full, coherent sentences. How?

But even his string of thought breaks when he starts in earnest. Filling up your mouth once more, as much as he can and then a bit more for good measure. You adjust to his movements, suck down immediately.

You don’t care about the loss of voice later; you want to eat him up entirely.

His strokes grow harder by the second, rock hard inside you. You move your head until the head pokes against the inside of your cheek, and the tight wetness affects him, his knees buckling by one single inch.

“Easy…” he whispers, shaking his head, water drops landing on your face. “Fuck. Wanna have you hanging off the bed one day. Wanna see my cock ram your throat…”

Easy, he said. He’s definitely not being easy on you, though. Not with these admissions. Not with his motions.

The thrusts aren’t just hard, but deliberate and controlled, too. Your head keeps pushing back, lightly touching the wall. You’re far over sucking his dick, way too obedient and submissive to define it like that.

No, you’re being fucked. Gagging and choking around him, sucking in the spit whenever only his tip remains inside, sounds lewd and specific. Coming from the back of your throat, wet, hot and bothered.

God, you wish you were strong enough to take him all the way down to the base, licking at his balls, feeling his twitching dick thumping at the very far back. But you guess this is more than enough for him, too.

Because he holds your wrists harder, a rope around them, digging into your skin. The free hand wipes your hair away again, your body sweat-soaked while the shower water still trickles down his back.

He holds you there; then reaches for your nipple; pinches it hard over your heavily heaving chest, pleased when you open your eyes and look up at him. Waterline damp — the dangling chain might just be one of the reasons for that.

“Bit more,” he mumbles, and you think he’ll surrender right there, inside your mouth.

Which is why you sit up straighter, more determined, licking at the underside of his cock when he drags it out a little. His balls hang in your face and you reach for them, tongueing, hungry, not wanting him to move away now.

He doesn’t. Not yet. Relief courses through you, swallowing around his thickness again. Rolling your eyes back, hearing subtle “Doing well, so well, angel”s, ignoring the pain in your arms as he holds them upright.

You hollow your cheeks when he buries himself in deep, struggling when he stops right there. He doesn’t move; your eyes well up harder. All air enters and escapes through your nose, and you’re shaking, holding his stare as he keeps his cock in place, absolutely still.

That is, until you can barely breathe anymore, nails digging into your palms, arms trying to escape. He doesn’t say a word yet, only lets your hands drop. Your shoulders crack a bit, and you shake your arms, filling up your lungs, your palms next to his feet.

His cock is covered in your spit when you look again; your gaping mouth and chin similarly drenched.

And only when your head stops spinning, does he hold his hands towards you, urging you to take them as he says, “Sorry, baby. You did so well, I…”

You grip his fingers feebly, getting up on weak knees. Instead of holding onto your hands, he soon wraps an arm around your body, pulling you up before he asks, “Less next time?”

“No,” the word comes out as a squeak, throat already affected, “I’ll always tap if I feel it’s too much. I promi— promise.”

“Good,” he praises, a kiss to your damp forehead. He turns the water off. “That’s all I want, baby. Look at me.”

You’re already exhausted, staring down, fatigue fuelled by the hot water. Your eyes flutter open as you meet his gaze, and he puts a hand to your cheek, thumb on your swollen lower lip.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he compliments; his hand must be heating up under your touch, “did you know? So sweet and stunning. It makes me sick.”

“Thought I was the only one. You…” He looks at you, and you hold him tight, smiling about your joke in advance. “You have such an effect on me, it makes me wanna throw up.”

Right. So in love, it makes your stomach turn.

“Please don’t,” he pleads, conjuring a tender eye smile. The wide grin is unreal. “And let’s get out of here. We can’t keep standing here.”

“Waste of water.”

“Yes, waste of water. That, too. And I should have some lube in the bedroom.”

Of course he’s as impatient as you — although you’re almost a hundred percent sure you could do without that stuff easily. The insides of your thighs are slippery, and you’re certain the shower wasn’t the sole reason for that.

Your legs feel weird, your body heavy when you finally get out. The cosy bathroom is filled with steam and heat, but at least you can breathe easier here than under the piping hot water.

The mirror is fogged up; you glance into it to check your state, but recognise nothing but your vague form. You wipe a stripe the size of your hand along it as you walk past, halting at the door. And when you look back, Jungkook is making quick, brief work on picking up the clothes you haphazardly threw to the side before.

“You don’t wanna do this later?” you ask, still fond.

It’s just him cleaning up the floor, but… you enjoy watching him do mundane things. You might never be able to explain why, but you do.

“Just throwing them into the washing machine. Will turn it on later,” he answers.

He straightens his body with a sigh when he’s done, sniffling as he usually does. His eyes are hidden behind his long hair, so he lifts both his hands to brush the soaked tresses back. The muscles of his arms are mountainous and firm. Tattoos ending at his shoulder.

He’s indescribably pretty like that. Looking up, lips parted, jaw chiselled.

You observe him for a bit longer, gaze trailing down his body. Small nipples, broad and sculpted pecs, six painfully visible rectangles of abs. Cock still mostly awake.

Fuck.

Crossing your legs, you bite your lips, one hand on the door handle. You take in the domesticity. The moment might be subtle and casual, but something about it is incredibly homely.

How you speak to each other, and how his washing machine is cleaning both your clothes. It’s the little things, isn’t it?

Your eyes are fond when you say, “Whenever it does happen… I can already imagine all of it clearly.”

“Hm?” He blinks at you. “All of what, baby?”

“Of being here with you. All the time.” His motions stop. He drops his arms, a strand falling back into his face, but he doesn’t care. Glances at you for a couple seconds until you smile and nod towards the door. “Let’s go.”

But it seems he changed his mind in this split second that you turn to the exit.

Because all of a sudden, just as he did before, he tugs you back. And just like before, you land against the wall, having him staring at you as if he’s seeing you for the first time. His voice is a whisper, enchanting, “Okay… you know what. Forget it.”

“Huh?”

“Fuck lube, okay?” His eyes are glued to your lips. Then to your pupils. He looks lost. “We can manage. Don’t need the bedroom… just you. Want you right now.”

“Jungko—”

You don’t anticipate it — so it draws a small moan out of you when his fingers suddenly graze between your legs, digging in for just a moment. Fingering you for a split second as you gasp — and then they disappear again.

He moves in to kiss your cheek. Just a peck first. Then his lips open against your neck, hand moving up your body and pushing your tit up. His tongue soon joins the fun, darting through his parted lips, sucking your tits hard. Biting, groaning, moaning.

“Jungkook.” You push your touch through his hair as he kisses his way further down, nibbling at your sides, and you whine, “Don’t wanna wait, Kook…”

His eyes are closed and his voice hushed, raspy and deep as he says between kisses, “I’ll be gone for a moment, baby. You’ll barely notice, I promise.”

Strange how he means distanced from your kiss, not from your body. Strange how you miss each other while in the same room, but not melted into each other.

You’re losing your mind. Throwing your head back, ruining your hair against the tiles. Eyes droopy and hazy, mind turning in various directions as you relish each touch and peck. Your body relaxes; all the weight of the world off your shoulders.

Jungkook fondles your body, caresses all of you, planting kisses on your tummy, your waist, your pelvis. Continues to tug at the flesh of your thighs with his lips. It feels like a massage, not painful but gentle. Careful as he hoists up one of your legs, throwing it over his shoulder.

And then… he starts.

His tongue flashes out to your clit. Parts your folds. It’s difficult from this position, but his pointy wet muscle paints patterns over your pussy. And you reel.

Jungkook truly is an artist. Knows to make you mewl, turns your breaths laboured. You move your hips, guiding his face closer with your hand in his hair, slowly riding it. The French kisses, the brush against your thighs… he’s…

God.

“God,” you echo, “I love this, I—”

He’s feasting. Letting out alluring sounds, spurring you on, and you almost topple over the edge. But Jungkook knows what he’s doing — leaves you yearning, moving away and up to you.

When he said he’d be gone for a moment, he truly meant it.

Your lip quivers when he looks at you, ordering a soft, “You’ll come together with me.” He raises your chin. “Okay? You and I together. Always.”

Must be a hidden message. He’s not just talking about sex anymore, is he? But him and you in one bubble, separated from the world. Nothing but you, you and you.

You barely wait another second. Instead, you immediately lurch forwards, initiating a kiss beyond sinful from the start. Teeth clashing, tongues feral. For a couple seconds you breathe into each other, letting out odd noises, his hand pulling your leg back up again and pinning it against the wall.

You’re on your tippy toes when his cock teases your entrance, his lips soon on your shoulder again. Cold chain brushing your skin. He’s sucking harshly, guiding his dick inside with determination. Sheer impatience is palpable in his touch and audible in his sounds.

The head of his dick parts your folds, diving in; and you let out a moan so lustful that he grows downright desperate against your shoulder. Standing here like this is hard, too; so he puts his palms on your ass, commands—

“Jump once.”

“What?”

“Jump,” he repeats, “I’ll hold you. Want you, please.”

“Okay…” you mumble. You put your hands on his broad shoulder, readying yourself, “Okay.”

And then you do — immediately wrapping your legs around him. And he lets you fall slowly, body pressed against yours, so you’re sandwiched between him and the wall; so he can guide his hardness back to your cunt.

You drop onto it slowly, carefully. Impaling yourself on him, inch by inch penetrating your insides. The more you take in, the deeper the crease between your eyebrows. And when he’s bottomed out, you feel like… yourself again?

Because what moment is more intimate than this? What moment allows you to crawl out of your shell more than this?

Even if in a crude sense, this is yet another definition of home. And every definition can be traced back to him.

“You feeling alright?” he asks, and you nod immediately.

“Is a bit weird, but…” you hold onto him, one hand moving to his face. You don’t finish your sentence; only nod, exhaling against his lips.

“Can I start?”

Another nod; and then he starts pumping in. Slowly in and out; you’re firmly in place against the wall, slipping just a little. His hands engulf your ass again — his strength is mind-numbing, and his sounds loud as he splits you in two.

Your eyes shut for a mini moment, and when they crack open again, they’re met with the still mirror. It’s fogging up again, yet still clear enough to make out Jungkook’s back; the form of his body. Your thoughts tangle up.

You’ve seen him shirtless a million times before, fully bare — but it might be the first time you’re enjoying this very perspective. And the entirety of him… leaves you gasping. Butt naked, ass muscles flexing, the triangle shaped back smooth. Where do his guts even fit?

They’re a blessing, those reflections, catching the way he’s standing, ramming into you. And then you, burying your nails into his shoulder blades, expression fucked out, body moving up and down the wall. Having things done to you by him.

You’re so fucking lucky.

You mutter, “Kook…”

“Yes, baby.”

“You look so good… so…”

“Mmmh, you do, too,” the sentence starts in a clear tone, but morphs into a whisper, “just… can’t see enough of you… shit, babe—”

He leans in, parting your lips with his, your tongues touching as he delivers a rough jab just once. And that’s when things stop working for you.

Because soon enough, you’re swaying to the side, nearly falling; as his protective instincts kick in, immediately holding you, his cock jumps out. And he shakes his head, pecking your temple once, and then deducts, “Okay. This won’t do.”

“Hmmm,” you hum in agreement, weak on your legs, “bad idea for sure.”

“Hold up.”

He’s quick to turn you around, thoroughly in charge of your body tonight — you’re fully under his mercy. Ready to kneel and bend for him. And Jungkook, understanding your boundaries, gives you all you need — knows what to do, knows when to stop.

And you keep handing over control; more so when he pushes you over the sink, stating, “Okay. Looks easier.” A pause. “Looks so much fucking better, too.”

Wish you could see. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re tense.

He leans down to kiss your back. His dick pokes between your ass cheeks again, slipping down and further down until it makes itself home between your nether lips again.

It falls into it in one fell swoop, swiftly, as if it’s no effort at all — guess it never is.

And god, does the position feel heavenly.

Balls deep inside; the first angle that allows full unhinged, animalistic mode.

But he still starts out slow; with long strokes and a hand in your hair. You tumble backwards a little, urging him to move too, lifting your ass higher and pushing your legs together for maximal effect.

Allowing more tightness for him; more friction for you.

“I… missed fucking you so much,” he says between thrusts. “You feel unreal.”

You guess you do. He does, too. Maybe the two of you need a reminder that this is all too real; perhaps a tantalising equivalent to a wake-up-pinch.

So you suggest, “Fuck me harder, Kook.”

“Hmm… want that?”

“Been waiting so fucking long.”

And while a lover of patience and anticipation — who is he to reject your wishes after the entire ordeal occurring in this room? The two of you have dragged out this moment plenty.

So he listens fast; soon using your neck as leverage as his inked fingers wrap it smoothly. Agreeing, “It’d be my literal pleasure, babe.”

God, he’s a dumbass — but you can’t physically react. Too caught up in something else; storing the laughter and jokes for later.

Because he picks up on pace, not too much right away; but enough for his hips to slap against your ass. Enough for you to be catapulted forwards with a whine, cheek pressing to the glass.

You lift your hand, accidentally wiping again, but only manage a trail, hand sliding down. From behind, you hear a hoarse praise, “Looks so fucking hot,” he draws a sharp breath, nearly hissing, “I promise I’ll be careful, just…”

He pulls at your hair. Shoves his cock inside rougher, face closer to you, lips to your cheek. Swallows hard enough for you to hear, and then, “Tell me if it’s too much. Am careful until I can’t be, baby.”

Until he loses control. He says it right before he drops all inhibitions and — goes feral.

You squint your eyes shut, calling out his name; the word echoes in the small room, and for just a second, you worry the neighbours might hear. And then right away, you stop caring again.

Because you want this man. Now and later and forever; want him like this, want him in any way. This isn’t just sex to you — if that’s what you wanted, you’d download an app like your freshman self used to.

No.

No matter how obscene, there’s meaning in every one of your touches; in every stroke, in every word, in every single time you lose yourself in him.

Your stomach twists as he jackhammers into you; you’re craving proximity, craving all his attention. Want all of his emotions and touches raw and merciless. Want to see him.

Although, when your shut eyes open, you only see blurry forms in the mirror moving, him behind you. He squeezes your neck; you see that much before he slides it down your body, straight to your clit, no detours.

He pushes his knee up for a second, touching the edge of the sink and balancing on one leg, but drops it again soon. The white painted, stainless steel of the sink, previously cold on your tummy, burns against your skin now. A chafing feeling.

Jungkook draws more forms against your clit, but then retracts his hand; instead, squishing your tits, indecisive where to touch. But it’s the last move he makes before he straightens his body, palms on your ass until he spanks just once and…

Pulls out again.

What?

“Look at me, sweetheart,” you register.

You pant, fingers clutching the sink and gulping down the tiredness before you manage a turn. Your eyes land on his dick first; it’s fully drenched in your arousal, so unbreakably stiff.

He whispers again, “Look at me,” but the moment you do, he doesn’t withhold your stare for too long. Instead, his hands are back on your cheeks, drawing you close, seeking your lips. His never-satisfied thirst matches yours; you want to remain here and freeze time.

With your arms around his neck, he guides you towards the washing machine, pushing the clothes further aside. He helps you get on it, but you argue immediately, “This could be dangerous, right? Shouldn’t sit here, I think… might break…”

“It’ll be okay,” he says, making himself comfortable between your legs, pushing them apart with his thighs. Two fingers hold your chin, lips ghosting over yours. “Is a cheap ass thing… want a new one anyway.”

You wonder if he’ll say that about all the furniture he’ll fuck you on. Because observing his eyes, you know that he will — will soil every inch of his apartment within, what you anticipate, a short period of time.

But unfortunately for the washing machine, you’re too weak to reject the offer.

So you hold him tight, jostling him closer to you as you ask, “Yeah?”

“Mhmmmm.” The word drowns in your moan when his cock glides back in; when will you ever get used to this? “Don’t worry… won’t break as badly as we will.”

Well, fuck.

The ridges of his cock drag just right along your walls, the angle making your mouth water. Your cunt is burning; and he still dares to ask, “Okay like that?”

“More than okay, Kook… more than—”

He always screws you numb; barely ever lets you finish your sentences. Your moans have become a constant interruption, along with the goddamn things he says, “Your pussy is so good. So, so good.”

And then he’s back making out with you, sweatier than before. His body is enticingly warm, muscles working on you. Both his and your hair sticks to the nape of the neck or your back, and you hold onto him, keening against his lips.

Then, you lean back for a second, keyed up as fuck, propping up your body with your arms. Your palms press against the back of the machine, and he inches close to explore the bare skin of your torso. His chain skims your nipples, as if on purpose; and he kisses you here, there, everywhere.

Neck, clavicles, tits, jaw.

Perspiring without an end, all of this could be gross. But instead, you feel hyped up, sexy as never before. Dizzy at the sight of his golden skin, the small beads of sweat spreading on it.

It takes one or two more minutes of this insanity until things come to an eventual end. A glorious end, that is — filled with deep moans, squealed calls of names, unrhythmic thrusts that fasten for the finale.

“I’ll come,” Jungkook states, and you shoot back up to him, holding his head against the mounds of your tits. He kisses between them, breathing irregular, words muffled, “Gonna come so hard, what the f—”

And when he does, you lose all coherent thoughts immediately. Not that you could think before — but his uncontrolled exclaims already make you wish for a whole new round. Nevermind that your pussy is wrecked and beaten.

Vocal as ever, he finishes with deep shoves, slowing down with each second. His lips remain open between your collarbones, and you feel his eyebrows draw together. Thick strings of hot cum filling you up, your cunt tightens.

And somehow, after all this, he still finds the energy to sneak his hand between your bodies, blindly seeking your clit until he finds it. Familiar circles render you breathless, even though they’re lazy — but picking up on intensity when he leans back, still breathing hard.

He looks absolutely done — still fucking the rest of him into you. But you’re moaning and groaning, and he’s far from giving up as he says, “Come with me, baby.”

Honestly, he doesn’t need to tell you. You’re already calling and blurting out random words, already limp. Wrapping your legs around his torso with the tiny remaining energy you have left, absolutely insane.

Jungkook kisses you one last time. And you let the build up in your lower tummy and pussy proceed; up and up and up to the peak — until he delivers one last stroke, cock already softening, finger on your nub diligent and…

You milk his dick in its entirety. Your pussy clenches and unclenches. Random figures swim in your vision, flashy behind your eyelids. Limbs trembling, body a mess and fingers hooking into his chain, you only notice now that you’re repeatedly whispering his name.

Winding and crying. Trying not to tug too hard, to break the jewellery, but still urging him closer, closer.

You’re shivering, surviving the vertigo, breathing stagnant. Trying to control it. Quivering like fucking crazy, not feeling your legs.

Also hating how his cum is dripping onto the damn washing machine. In your hazy mood, you laugh a little.

It takes a bit of time for the two of you to calm down, to dim the adrenaline in your nerves. Your chests rise and fall in unison, still clutching to the embrace. His skin is flushed, yours hot, skin tingling with the lingering heat of the passed passion.

And when he finally moves back, looking at you, you see half a dozen things in there. Satisfaction and vulnerability among them. Maybe even a hint of mischievousness, proud of whatever just happened; happy with the emotions it conjured.

Stars in his eyes. Contentment, composure and affection at last.

A pleasant stillness follows, the world outside the bathroom nonexistent. The aftermath of the steamy encounter lingers until you break the silence after all.

“When the hell,” you start, throat dry, “did you get so broad?”

“…What?”

“You just. You looked endless in the mirror. You’re so—”

Amused, he displays a grin as sly as you adore. He tsks and then mocks, “Stop drooling.”

“You first.”

His chuckle is throaty; a result of the constant exclaims and the absolute dehydration. You give the two of you a moment to collect saliva on your tongue, to swallow and wet your cords.

Your fingers paint an invisible, light pattern on his skin; tracing his tattoos is one of your favourite things to do. You jest, “That’s a good way to destress.”

He arches an eyebrow, then rolls his eyes — but the devotion towards you behind the gesture is irrefutable. It carries into his words, no matter how playfully mocking his tone or his sighs, “Everything for the princess.”

“So,” you pause, lips curling into a soft smile. “Is this what I’m gonna be getting for the rest of my life?”

You see it immediately. The explosion in his eyes; the burst of stars in the depths of his pupils. Clear as the night sky, fond and sweet and magical. Guess you spoke big words for sure.

“…The rest of your life, huh?” he asks.

“No?”

“Is that what you want?”

Ever-the-boomerang, you gauge his reaction, closing the distance between you. Lips barely apart, you throw back again, “Don’t you?”

You don’t need to glance through his ribs, lungs, blood and skin; you see the swelling around his heart. Emotions swimming in it in abundance. You see all of it right in his eyes.

And his voice proves it; delicate and quiet, “Baby… you make my heart drop to my stomach all the time. Do I not look at you like I want a rest of my life with you?”

Gosh. You’re too weak for this.

“Look at me like that more often,” you answer, breathing against him, eyes dancing with delight, “maybe I’ll believe you then.”

“Huh,” he makes, letting out an entertained huff, “brat. Maybe later. Let’s get you cleaned up and dressed for now, alright?”

Right. You forgot you’re still here. Snapping back into reality is always a task.

Of course it is.

Because your world is a cocoon; you don’t want to leave it just yet. And maybe, somewhere in the near future — you won’t have to anyway.

Jungkook and you don’t waste minutes doing formalities tonight. No flickering candle flames; no organised set up of your table. You dim the lights, snatching a lamp from his bedroom and rely on it along with the TV’s brightness.

You filled your plates and stomachs with a dish he’s wanted to show you for a while. It’s some special Jeon recipe — limited to him specifically, not his family. The brief cut in your relationship kept you from the meal, but watching him fiddle with the pots and cutlery was worth the wait after all.

He’s still proud of it; you’re filled to the brim, sick to the core, but the noodle-Buldak-mayo-perilla-oil-combination introduced the night just perfectly.

Your body is limp against his after dinner, bloated. A mutual agreement concluded that watching a movie might be the easiest activity you could indulge in to further destress. So you cuddle up, eyes droopy as you wait for the Netflix logo and thump to subside.

You let the username float by, though unable to suppress your giggle. Your back shakes against him, his hand halting mid-air, remote control in it, and you comment, “Letjungcook7. You’re such a dork.”

“Why?” You look back, met with raised eyebrows and round eyes. “Do you not like it?”

“I love it. Don’t you ever dare change it.”

He tuts, trademark smirk tilted; responds, “And don’t you ever change your Sunny Baudelaire icon.”

“God, she’s an iconic baby,” you groan, enthusiastic; your hands gesture to the TV, Baudelaires nowhere in sight, “I will never shut up about this show.”

“That’s why you’re not allowed to change it. Kinda cute how much you love it.”

“Jungkook,” you tug at his unoccupied arm, placing his wrist and palm over your belly button, “would you ever rewatch it with me?”

His hand rubs gently over your shirt, and then drops until his fingers are toying with your — his — jogger’s strings. “I’m a pro at rewatching. I’m down.”

You whisper a dragged celebratory word, eyes back to the screen. He’s scrolling through the genres fast, barely inhaling the titles and summaries. And when he skips three more of the stuff you’d usually settle on, you say, “Don’t think you’ll find anything on there.”

Ironically enough, he answers, “We’ve barely looked. Look. Knives Out’s second part is on there.”

“I just watched it recently. Hmm, what about that Poe movie with Christian Bale?”

On cue, he passes it three seconds later, only stopping on it for a moment before he voices, “Hmm…”

You wait. Drag out another second. Then conclude, “Okay, you’re not feeling it. Got it. Something else?”

“What about Disney?”

“What about scrolling until we fall asleep?”

The hand still busy with the strings moves up to your sides, pinching you lightly. You flinch, hard enough to nearly break his nose, overdramatic by nature. Amidst your commotion, you hear him say, “Don’t mock me. I’ll kick you from the couch.”

“I’ll just stay on the floor then.”

“Angel, I swear.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry.”

But you’re not.

Because the bicker continues for another ten minutes, remote control snatched every now and then, ideas suggested and immediately rejected.

Jungkook admits his guilty pleasures merely a couple minutes later, and you conjure all your patience and discourse abilities to explain why you can’t watch The Notebook or Titanic anymore.

But once Dion’s soprano voice builds a nest in a lobe of your brain, you give in, half laughing, half agitated as you tackle the 90s classic — only for Jungkook to click out again.

“It’s no fun when we’re not both ready to watch it.”

“Dude…”

More scrolling, you guess.

Five more minutes pass — and eventually, Titanic deserted, you sing the songs of Coco instead. You expect Jungkook’s attention and lips to shift halfway through the movie, tracing down your neck or along your sides – a standard for a weekday movie night.

But to your surprise, he powers through it with minimal dialogue and wide, focused eyes. Palm above your ribs, moveless under your shirt and his cheek pressed against your heartbeat, you assume he’s fallen asleep by the time the credits roll.

Until – you feel warm liquid wetting your shirt, a sniffle combining with his shaky breath before you ask with your own damp eyes, “Babe— are you crying?”

His answer is delightfully unashamed and immediate, “I’ve never watched Coco without crying.”

The soft strains of the movie’s soundtrack won’t let your eyes dry either; but Jungkook seems far more into it than you. Adoration burns hot in your veins.

“You never told me that!” you exclaim.

“Because it’s not worth telling. Should be a given — these movies are made to cry to!”

You giggle through your tears. Jungkook’s mind works in miraculous ways — non-judgemental, yet probably flashing a side-eye to those who do not partake in a sob fest during Coco or Encanto.

“I honestly love how you’re not a toxic male at all, you know?” you point out; you feel a huff against your chest.

At least he’s smiling through the brief sadness, too.

You crane your neck, not quite turning around just yet, and watch him rub his cheek clean off the tears. Not that his eyes have stopped welling up, though.

For a moment, you observe, staring at the swollen, pouty lower lip. His pupils glimmer in the TV’s light, long locks brushed back; half of them tied in a tiny ponytail.

You could overthink every detail of his face. Tell him all about his everlasting elegance. Instead, you only lower your voice, soft as you say, “You look pretty even when you cry.”

“Thank you,” he returns, though fingertips still work at the liquid, and you can’t help but laugh.

You can barely believe that’s the same confident beast who was pressing you against cool tiles just an hour ago. The stark contrast baffles you.

You’re amused when you question, “It really affects you so much?”

“Everything about it!” he immediately argues. You expand your eyes. “The way Coco looks at Miguel at the end. And that freaking moment when she meets her parents at the end. Does it not affect you?”

“Oh, of course it does,” you defend, “I’m a story girl. I’ll cry reading and watching these things, for sure.”

“And then the lyrics,” he continues, in his element a hundred percent, “the thought of remembering someone even after they’re gone and far away…”

The further his sentence progresses, the more the words blur. His voice is feeble, hoarse when he gets to the final syllables. When he pauses between his rambling to draw a breath, you hear a heartbreaking shake in his inhale.

And the exhale sounds like a quiet sob.

You turn back immediately, pressing onto the pause button, remote control still in his hand. The credits darken the room as opposed to the movie’s colours before. You see a damp trail along his cheek, eyelashes wet.

Your smile vanishes as you stare a little longer. The blanket falls from your chest into your lap when you lift your arm from under it, hastily drying his tears with your thumbs. Just slightly, he leans into the touch, but his face soon falls, an attempt to hide.

You ask, “What’s wrong?”

Jungkook isn’t embarrassed of tears — you figured this out without him admitting it to you. But he’s embarrassed of the guilt he feels; acknowledging it when he speaks.

“It’d just be nice,” hands holding his face drop; you touch his chest, “to make up with the family like this. They made it look easy.”

You keep looking. Bewildered, unable to answer for seconds too long. You blink until the words sink in properly, incapable of more than, “I’m sorry, baby.”

“No, no,” he argues, shaking his head, “I mean. Who am I to tell you something like this?”

“It’s okay. Your worries are legit worries, too. Look at me,” you reassure, prompting him to meet your gaze. “You’re not a bad person. Okay? It’s… so terrible that you think you are.”

“I fucked up.”

It dawns on you once more that he firmly believes that; causes a searing sting. The process is neither a smooth nor a quick one — you know it’ll take a while for him to convince him otherwise. To drop his current beliefs about himself.

“You didn’t,” you refute, firm certainty and conviction in your voice. “That’s not how a fuck-up is defined, I promise you. And those who are actually wrong probably know, too.”

“It’d just be nice,” he starts again; the shrug of his one shoulder doesn’t distract you from the misery and self-loathing in his eyes, “if he called at least.”

“I know. I don’t know, I… do you think you could call instead?”

Jungkook’s lashes brush his skin, the apples of his cheeks not as round and squishy as usual. Yet, the sadness makes him look younger, softer.

You sigh; a warm blanket isn’t enough anymore. You need to wrap him in the comfort of the world — ideally, in his father’s care.

Jungkook opens his mouth for another argument, but then holds it in, says after another moment of contemplation, “Actually… There’s a gathering coming up. I’ll see my people there, so… I don’t know. Trying won’t hurt, right?”

“It never does.”

His eyes start unfocusing. You recognise it in the way he glues his gaze to a point on the glass table, unblinking, staring nowhere in truth. You keep your attention on him for another second, hoping he’ll look at you, even if forlorn.

But when he doesn’t, you wrap your arms around him instead. His chest is calmer against your head now, breathing as soft as the palms that find your back. He presses you into his body by mere inches; you barely notice.

Your fingers draw shapes on his arm, a subtle consoling gesture. In the background, you hear the song fade, volume lower now. The movie soon transitions to something else; you don’t pay any mind to it, drowsy and distracted in his embrace.

But then your mind wanders; to the man keeping Jungkook’s thoughts hostage. You remember the conversation the two of you had last Sunday. You recall the way your hand held his broken heart together.

You wish it was as easy as a small scar — an echo of whatever once transpired, but also a reminder that it healed.

Then, for a second, you think of your own wounds. How they still need to be cured, too. How years and time alone won’t fix issues; you need to tackle them actively — maybe at some point, the two of you can.

You laugh softly against his shirt, burying between his pecs; joking, “We’re perfect for each other. Dysfunctional families and whatnot.”

His chuckle is still a light tremble, but genuine enough for you to celebrate. His hands push a little harder into your back; your body shifts up his lap, butt half on his thigh. Eyes shut, still sniffling.

Jungkook wraps around you like a soothing force, an invisible bubble. A bandage despite carrying all bruises. You sigh in contentment, head dizzy from exhaustion; waking up just when he blurts a question again.

“You really think that, right? That I’m not a bad person.”

You crack your eyes open a slit.

You understand. Someone who overthinks needs multiple repeated reassurances — you’re the same.

So you nod against him, guaranteeing, “You’re… kind of ridiculously amazing. You’re someone who gives all those people hope who don’t believe in humanity anymore.” Pause. “And I admire you in every way. So much.”

He doesn’t respond. You wait. Further dead silence, interrupted by the soft sounds of the TV. You lick your lower lip, dropping your gaze to where your thumb rubs his wrist. Tracing a vein.

His mellow voice reverberates, a melody to your eardrums when he whispers, “We’d do this so much if you were here all the time.”

“Crying in each other’s arms, huh?”

He clicks his tongue, accompanied by the grin you’re certain graces his face, even if you can’t see. You hear it in his voice all the more, “Sure. Also, have dinner together. Shower and watch movies together. Laugh and cry.”

You smile. “I still can’t believe it, you know? That you want this… and me at all.”

“You feel that, too, yeah?” Fingertips move up your spine, between your shoulder blades and then to the nape of your neck. Tickling, grazing gently. “I promise I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t truly feel all that, though.”

“What’s all that?”

“Just.” His chest rises. Then falls. “Everything.”

One of your heartbeats freezes, you’re sure. And when it comes back alive, you think — maybe he doesn’t need the world’s comfort after all. Or his father’s care. Maybe yours is enough right now.

But then again.

You’d be damned if you kept your traumas intact. Or his. You took each other as you came long ago — as vulnerable human beings, with a whole lot of baggage. With all the injuries on your heart.

Yet, this isn’t a state you want to accept. For neither of you.

Your unwavering belief remains steadfast — that one day, things need to become… okay.

So you gulp down all the pain, lighting a candle in your chest, and say,

“It’s not over yet, baby.”

Zara keeps yelling orders around. Her voice, usually collected and tender, is agitated today. You can barely imagine how many little tasks, how many stressed phone calls must be overrunning her.

You establish a distance between your device and your ear, protecting your hearing with one eye squinting shut. And when she returns to the conversation, you exhale through the nose.

“Sorry. You were asking—”

“How’s it look?” you repeat.

“I mean, everyone’s stressed,” she responds, clearly frustrated; as if it should be obvious to you. And it is; but you’ll spiral, too, if you don’t keep your calm, at least. “A lot to do.”

“You’re sure you don’t need me to come earlier?”

“All good, love. You’re not a manager yet,” she stops her speech to mumble something to another co-worker, imaginary hands jam packed with preparations for the press conference. “But when you are, you won’t know what to do with all the stress.”

“Great outlook into a potential future.”

“I just mean you should enjoy things while they last.”

Zara isn’t the only one wandering up and down the building to assure perfection. She’s only one of the big mentors, managers to handle everything; responsible for the catering and content to be presented at the conference.

Her team stands firmly behind her, but you don’t blame her for still allowing her head to steam. Of all busy people in their blazers and slacks, however, she’s been the only one to spare some time for you.

You’re grateful for her enthusiasm and support. You smile as you ask, “Do you think I can answer everything the way I intend to?”

“I think so.”

“It’s so new to me.”

“Yeah, but you’re a natural at this stuff. And also,” she speaks slower now. The chaos behind her has calmed a little; her voice echoes off somewhere. Perhaps a restroom. “Things are looking good.”

You stop sauntering through the room, pausing in front of the bed’s corner before dropping onto it. Dragging your tongue over your lower lip, you blink, and then ask, “You’re sure?”

“We had a couple conversations over here. Made a few more phone calls, and I think you don’t need to worry about a thing. We’ll come up with something if things derail, though, okay?”

You’re uncertain, still anxious. Should this afternoon flop, you’ll be screwed.

You need it to succeed. You can’t afford misfires. Ugh.

Restless, your foot taps against the floor. You try not to think of things going astray; try to think of a smooth progress, not precarious in any way.

Yet, you ask doubtfully, “Can we do that?”

“We always can. That’s business.”

Guess she’s right. Your mother has saved you one too many times — from stupid things you did as well as from things you never needed saving from.

A rich human being’s power over the media — and frankly, the world — is unbeatable. Barely to be underestimated.

“Okay,” you mutter, “thank you.”

Despite only hearing her voice, you imagine her nod, the way she often does. You miss the warm, promising palm on your shoulder. Appreciate that she’s still here instead of dropping you to the side; leaving the call to handle more relevant issues.

No, she lingers there; you hear her breathe until she asks, “Are you bringing your man, too, by the way?”

Your man.

You straighten your back in pride, bright smile back, “Yeah! He said he’d come and support me. But he’s not home yet.”

“Oh? Well, you gotta be here in three hours. Where’d he go?”

“God knows. But don’t worry about punctuality.” You hear a hum, glancing up at the clock. Past noon. “Hey, also. My parents are definitely gonna come, right?”

“Babe,” she drags the word a little, and you can almost see her side-eyeing you, “journalists will be present. Cameras everywhere. At least your mother would never miss such a thing.”

Right. Cares about that company too much.

You remember the times she proved it to you. When you’d come home from middle school, eating some extravagant lunch while watching her talk on TV. Conversing with your staff.

“Okay. Good,” you say, happy about that very answer for once.

Outside, a door creaks. Steps echo through the hallway, a soft call of your name following as you hear the jingling of keys stop.

He sounds joyful.

You get up, phone halfway off your ear as you say, “Hey, I should go. I think that he—”

And the moment you look at the open door of the bedroom, your heart stops. For a second, you fear an intruder at his apartment, but the longer you look, the more your brain gives out.

The black-white-red jacket hugs his broad shoulders comfortably, the thin white sweater underneath it nearly transparent enough to reveal his tiny nipples. But despite his stature, it’s not his body that kills the power in your head.

It’s the—

You murmur last words into the phone, making out a goodbye that doesn’t reverberate as much anymore. She’s probably out of the restroom again; too distracted to give your mumble any attention anyway.

You place your phone where you previously sat and inhale his appearance carefully.

First off — you can see his ears. Can see most of his eyes. His forehead.

His hair is still dark, but it’s tamed. The wild locks, usually a feature you’ve gotten used to over the span of that one year, lay comfortably on his head. In fact, most of them are gone.

You feel a needle in your chest, but one of the surprising sort. Not painful at all.

“Wow,” you only say.

He reaches to the nape of his neck, fingertips brushing the hair there. “Yeah?”

You move towards his body, eyes fixated on every hair strand. Then, close enough, you state the obvious, “You cut your hair.”

“I… yeah. Is it terrible?” he asks, round eyes meeting yours. He raises his hand again, to his ear this time, scratching behind it for a second. “Not used to it at all. But I figured I’d look a little more serious as an artist like this.”

Really? Most artists you knew cared the least about a fancy appearance.

Then again, Jungkook doesn’t look fancy. He just looks different. Breathtaking, more mature, older.

His cheekbones look more chiselled now, his eyes wider. You could pass out right here, right now, and he still wouldn’t know how relentlessly he affects you.

“More serious?” you ask, less because you need an explanation. More because your mind keeps wandering, and you can’t fathom a word he’s saying.

“Just. Needed a change, I think,” he admits, “and wanted to adjust to a press conference’s typical look, too.”

“You did this for the press conference?”

“I wanted to look put together.”

Your heart dissolves and dissipates. His voice is soft as a petal, tender like the colours on his arm. The expression he sports is unsure, like he wants to hide — waiting for your opinion.

He really put thought into this. Woke up this morning and set a goal with purpose, not uttering a word to you to surprise you a couple hours later.

You don’t know what to say. You barely know what to feel, except this unbearable urge to ramble down every piece of tiny emotion he’s ever made you feel.

You want his body wrapped around you, engulfed in a blanket, head on his chest and slumbering for the rest of your life. Want to mumble little confessions, shiver when his lips touch your scalp.

Overwhelmed — that’s what you are.

“I loved the long hair,” you finally admit, “I guess I got too used to it, so I need to adjust, but. But… this is so… It… it suits you.”

You’re stumbling over your words, suggesting doubt. Not the way to go. Perhaps they shouldn’t have chosen you as one of the press conference speakers after all.

Jungkook’s concern grows visible in his big, round pupils; expressive, a true glimpse into his heart. You feel bad because you’re not as good with words as he is, and because he seemed so happy about his choice.

You just can’t fucking express yourself — even though you’re melting inside, falling harder. And maybe he notices your awkwardness, because he tries again.

“You’re uh— sure you don’t hate it?”

“No! God, no. It’s different. You look amazing, Kook. You look like…”

He swallows. “Like what?”

“You’re so pretty, Jeon Jungkook.” You say it with genuinity this time. He closes his lips, blinking, and while he attempts to veil his relief, you still see the high rise of his chest. “You look fucking gorgeous, no matter what you do. I… I mean it.”

The answer satisfies him. His risen shoulders drop a little, tension falling off, and he fixes the already perfectly sitting collar of his jacket before he smiles. Just a little, a subtle twitch of the corners of his lips.

As soft as his response, “I always aim to reach your level, you know?”

You roll your eyes. Partly to keep them from watering because your heart is bursting. Splintering like every morning and every night; you wonder if you’ll ever get used to it.

A couple gentle words lie heavy on your tongue, pressing against the muscle to let them out; but at the prospect of actually uttering them, your guts twist. You don’t want to throw up before the meeting.

So you remove the tightness from your chest with a deep exhale, nearly until your lungs are dry, and say, “Shut up.”

Playfully, you deliver a soft push against his chest, laughing when his dramatic ass stumbles backwards. Submerged in those goddamn dimples, you immediately grab the hem of his jacket and before you know it, you’ve taken a step forward and landed in his arms.

You sneak your arms underneath the leather-ish material, not hesitating for a second before you’re squeezing his torso. He lets out a choked sound, groaning, but reacts similarly fast as you.

His heartbeat accelerates for a moment, right against your ear as you make yourself small. The sweater smells like his favourite detergent and him; musky, fresh. Your palms, flat against his back, crave deeper touch.

Nothing crude; just an afternoon on the bed behind you, limbs entwined, laughing about things that probably aren’t that funny anyway.

For a moment, the silence transcends words. You inject the blend of gratitude and affection through your touch, ensuring he understands.

But when it’s not a testament to your emotions enough, you speak against his chest, voice very likely muffled, “You didn’t have to do this for me… you just. You never have to do anything for me, but you still do.”

“I’ll do anything for you.”

Immediate and sincere. Voice unwavering.

God, you’re not his strongest soldier.

A smile tugs at your lips, and you chide, "Stop that."

"What?"

"If you keep saying these things," you continue, a frisky lilt in your voice, "I'll die. Do you want me to die?"

Jungkook chuckles. Always a soothing melody in a hushed room. He remarks, grip still wrapped around you securely, "Acting all innocent now."

You don’t understand right away what he means — but then you hear his heartbeat, picking up on pace again.

Makes you want to squash him harder. Melt into him further.

“Shut up, Jeon,” you respond with a nudge, cheek pressed against his shirt. Just a moment longer — just a couple more seconds to inhale the solacing scent.

Your heart is unguarded; he could sever it if he wanted to. He’s proven that he has the power to. Yet, you keep fuelling it, vulnerable in his warmth as you say, “You’ve no clue what you mean to me, Kookie.”

Your vivid imagination might be forcing things upon your mind that aren’t actually there, but you do think you perceive the way his entire body melts. Nearly limp, in a state so relaxed and peaceful that you have only experienced in the mornings before.

Waking him up for work, feeling weightless limbs wrapped around you, passed out.

His fingers trace patterns on your back lightly, stirring from bottom to top and back. They first stop at the small of your back, then lift off your body, hands suddenly on your shoulders.

He pushes you off him, your movements reluctant, and looks at you with profound sincerity. His voice matches his expression, gentle and adoring, “Will you tell me how much I mean to you?”

Amidst the delicate minutes you spend standing between the bedroom and the living room, you almost forget that there’s a world outside. It’s a little more grey than before, similar to the suit you’ll be wearing in a couple hours.

You remember the prospect of an audience, the answers you’ve prepared, to questions they probably will ask. Zara told you they wouldn’t hold back — they’d phrase their inquiries friendly, but still keep the intentions devilish.

Right.

The world is still turning out there. You want it to stop for the two of you — frozen moments. But it can’t, at least not yet. Right now it’s too real; and you guess that the worst part is that in your line of business, it will keep revolving around people like you.

Whether you want it or not.

So maybe, if it truly needs to keep spinning and can’t halt for you, keeping you in the centre, you should give it something to talk about, too.

Something crisp, something new. Without a care for it, but all the care for you and the man in front of you.

Which is why you spare him another fond smile, forehead calm and your demeanour confident — and tell him, “I’ll do my best to let you know."

The audience stretches to the far back. All the rows are filled to the brim with reporters or guests. The shutter of the cameras and the flashing lights are agitating.

You look down.

Nervously tapping your feet on the stage, you shrink into yourself inch by inch. Your seat is uncomfortable, though padded, a little too warm against your ass right now. Zara notices your tick and puts a steady hand to your knee, repeating for the millionth time today, “Stop. It’ll be okay.”

“It’s just dawning on me though, Zara.”

“What is?”

You nod faintly towards the mic and the attendees, tell her, “That I was actually chosen to speak. They shouldn’t have chosen me.”

“You asked for it.”

“Yeah, but there are more important things to discuss.”

Zara’s lips form a circle; she shakes and lowers her head, sending out a beam of air that you feel on your wrist, blazer sleeves rolled up. You’ve been like that all evening.

“You can do it,” she repeats patiently, “you’re the boss’ daughter and they want your opinion. You’ll hit them hard with yours.”

You suck in a breath, leave the air in your cheeks, and then puff it out again. “I want to. I hope to, I just— never thought it’d be this nerve-wracking. Don’t wanna say anything wrong.”

The subtle shake of her head continues — or reemerges —, lips in a thin line, eyes slowly blinking, “Mh-mh. We talked about it, okay? Practised all the questions they could ask. You’ll be good.”

“You gotta promise.”

“As much as I can, babe, it’s up to y—” She takes in your falling face, holding back with a sigh when she sees the dread in your pupils. “I promise. Of course.”

She taps your knee, softly and lightly, and then says, “I’m so curious about everyone’s reactions. Like. Gosh, just look at those people.”

You understand what she means. “I know.”

Zara places a manicured thumb on her matte red lips, mumbling, “Here for entertainment. At least a third of them will add their own fantasies to the articles they’ll write. Hypotheses and manipulative, neutrally phrased thoughts. Cockroaches.”

Funny. That’s what you call them, too. A collective understanding, you see.

But.

“Shhh,” you voice, “they—”

“It’s fine. They know it, too. Like lawyers do.”

Can’t refute. Eun told you one too many times how unfair the law business usually is, and how she’ll strive to not have anyone ever manipulate her. To remain genuine.

“Yeah, but,” you still argue, “I imagined they’d be listening in all the time. Don’t they do lip reading and stuff?”

She nods, a finger still on her mouth, smiling, “Mhm. I also feel like I could say whatever, but it’ll be you they’ll focus on today.”

Your heart drops, an uncomfortable twist in your guts adding to the stress. Might have to dash to the bathroom at the very last minute. You curse, “Shit, Zara… I should fucking ru—”

“Stay. You can do this. I promise.”

“Okay,” you take another deep breath, helping your oxygen-lacking, spinning head, “okay.”

You look back to the media present, ready to survive questions; prepared to provide answers. The moderator is talking to your mother at the front, covering the mic with a hand.

They gave you around five minutes to speak, and in that time, you need to answer everything. How you do it is up to you, but the pressure to perform in a certain way, accordingly, weighs heavily on you.

But it’s alright.

You’ll just need to stay confident. Stick to your message. They’ll have things to say anyway — and you’ll make the best of them.

You stare past the lights, squinting to find him, raking your neck. His figure towers in the back, easy to detect, and once he meets your eyes — or perhaps never having averted his from you — he lifts a hand to wave in tiny motions.

Then, he drops his fingers again, entwining them in front of his body. He isn’t necessarily allowed here, but you were able to sneak him through in advance. So now he’s a couple feet from the wall, choosing to stand rather than sit, so you find him easily.

So you seek his eyes for comfort if need be.

Before you parted near the entrance, he said, “I’ll be offering a dozen thumbs up like a fool if you need me to.”

You chuckled — but maybe he meant it. Because his smile and nod undoubtedly dispel your fears; as if he can see you struggling.

The seconds drag on, and the conference begins seven minutes later. Your mother is the first to talk, outlining a general overview of what’s to come. Of Charmante’s philosophies, of its success, praising the team.

Then, she forwards to important employees like Zara, letting them ramble about launches or ideas in depth. Business strategies, partnerships, bringing across points that you usually don’t get the chance to share.

This is legit press; even though out for a loophole, they won’t follow you around or hide in the shadows. Incessant and vexing, but at least they’re allowed here.

Conversations about new collections, store openings as well as expansions and customer engagement pass in a trice, and at some point, another coworker is uttering last words to a last question.

And you realise — that you’re next.

The moderator introduces you with pride; everyone applauds, smiling at you fondly despite all the controversies. ”Controversies.” Under quote marks, as Zara pointed out, because you never committed an offence.

You stand on weak knees. Trembling when you grip the podium. It’s like the sound in the room fades, a single peeping tone overshadowing all noise. You barely blink anymore; not even the flashy white can shut your eyes.

And god, you can hear your breathing. Your damn heart. Your nose sucks in all the air available in the room, or at least in the building, and then you open your mouth to speak.

a/n: this is not a cliffhanger!! tumblr just doesn't allow to drop looong posts anymore, so here's the rest of the chapter lol, keep reading and enjoying, i love you and will see you on the other side!! and don't forget to support this chapter, folks 🥺 <3

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