#SO I try to make up for it with ample warnings like this

[aceyalonso]

pretty in pink - CARLOS SAINZ

pairing : carlos sainz x girlfriend!reader kinktober day 16 - lingerie

summary : spending 23 grand on a shopping spree? that's something only y/n can do, but of course the money spent will always be worth it, especially when she gets something that can benefit her and carlos

warnings/notes : swearing, a bit of plot, smut, spit, nipple play, oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex (always use a condom guys!), hair pulling, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, fingering, anal sex, mention and use of sex toys, gagging, praise kink, explicit photography (with consent of course)

word count : 5.7k

a/n : sorry if this took so long, i was so busy these past few days

main masterlist | kinktober masterlist | taglist form

Y/n walked through the front door, arms laden with shopping bags. "I'm home!" she called out cheerfully, expecting Carlos to greet her. When there was no response, she assumed he must still be asleep after his training session this morning.

Humming to herself, Y/n made her way to the kitchen, setting her purchases down on the counter. She opened the refrigerator door, bending over to grab a bottle of water.

Suddenly, strong arms encircled her waist from behind, pulling her back against a firm chest. Y/n let out a startled yelp, heart leaping into her throat as she spun around.

Carlos grinned down at her, dark eyes gleaming with mischief. "Well hello there, beautiful," he purred, voice low and husky. "Welcome home."

Y/n rolled her eyes, but couldn't help smiling back. "You scared me half to death, you jerk," she laughed, playfully swatting his chest. "I thought you were asleep."

Carlos chuckled, his hands sliding down to rest on Y/n's hips. "Oh, I was sleeping like a baby...until the bank called to ask if my credit card had been stolen. Apparently, someone went on quite the shopping spree today."

Y/n bit her lip, trying to look innocent. "I may have gone a little overboard," she admitted sheepishly. "But you know how it is when the girls drag you out shopping. One minute you're just browsing, and the next you've maxed out three credit cards."

Carlos raised an eyebrow, amused. "Eight thousand dollars at Sephora? What exactly did you buy, love? The entire store?"

Y/n giggled, leaning into him. "Maybe. But you should see the new eyeshadow palettes I got! They're to die for."

"And don't even get me started on Victoria's Secret," Carlos teased, his hands dipping lower. "Fifteen grand? I think that's more than the GDP of some small countries."

Y/n giggled, playfully swatting Carlos' chest. "C'mon, don't be such a killjoy! I got it for you!"

Realizing how that sounded, her eyes widened and she backpedaled quickly. "Wait, no, that came out wrong! I didn't buy you lingerie to wear, I swear!"

Carlos raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Really? Because I have to say, I'm a bit interested in this... development."

"No, no, nothing like that!" Y/n laughed, shaking her head. "I just figured you'd like seeing me in some of the new sets I got. You know, for your viewing pleasure and all that."

She bit her lip, a coy smile playing on her lips. "I'll model them for you after dinner, if you'd like. Give you a little private fashion show."

Carlos' eyes darkened, his gaze raking over her appreciatively. "Mmm, I think I'd like that very much, amor."

After dinner, Y/n led Carlos to their bedroom, a mischievous glint in her eye. "I have three sets to show you tonight," she purred, her hands sliding up his chest. "And I think you're going to like them very much."

She disappeared into the walk-in closet for a moment before emerging in a stunning white lingerie set. The bra was all lace and delicate straps, barely containing her ample breasts. The matching thong was equally skimpy, hugging her hips and leaving little to the imagination.

"What do you think?" Y/n asked, doing a slow spin. The white lace contrasted beautifully against her golden skin, making her look like a naughty angel.

Carlos' eyes darkened with lust, his hands flexing at his sides. "Fuck, Y/n," he growled, his voice low and rough. "You look gorgeous."

Y/n smiled, pleased by Carlos' reaction. "Thank you, baby," she purred, giving him a quick smile before sauntering back into the closet to change into the next set.

A moment later, she emerged in a stunning blue satin ensemble. The bra was a plunging push-up style, making her breasts look even more voluptuous than usual. The high-waisted panties hugged her curves, the satin smooth and cool against her skin.

"What do you think of this one?" Y/n asked, striking a pose. She ran her hands down her sides, tracing the curves of her waist and hips. "I thought the color would bring out my eyes."

Carlos' mouth went dry at the sight of her, his cock already starting to harden in his shorts. "It does," he managed, his voice strained. "It brings out how fucking sexy you are."

Y/n chuckled, her eyes flickering down to the growing bulge in Carlos' shorts. "Whoa there, big boy," she teased, sauntering closer to him. "We've got one more set to go. You need to calm down before you explode."

She reached out, trailing a finger along the waistband of his shorts, feeling the heat of his skin. "Although," she purred, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper, "I can't blame you. I'd be pretty excited too if I had a sexy girlfriend parading around in lingerie."

Carlos groaned, his hips bucking into her touch. "Fuck, Y/n," he growled, his hands settling on her hips. "You're killing me here."

Y/n grinned, giving his bulge a little squeeze before stepping back. "Patience, Carlos," she said, placing a peck on the corner of his lips. "The best is yet to come."

With that, she turned and headed back to the closet to change into the final set, leaving Carlos aching and wanting.

Y/n emerged from the closet for the final time, and Carlos' breath caught in his throat. She was wearing a soft baby pink set, the color he loved most on her. The bra was a delicate lace bralette, barely containing her full breasts. The matching thong was equally sweet, a tiny bow adorning the front.

"This one's my favorite," Carlos said hoarsely, his eyes devouring her. "You look absolutely stunning, Y/n."

Y/n smiled, pleased by his reaction. She did a little twirl, the fabric riding up to reveal the curve of her ass. "I'm glad you like it," she purred, walking towards him. "I picked it just for you."

She stopped in front of him, looping her arms around his neck. "So, what do you think of the whole collection?" she asked, pressing her body against his. "Did I do a good job?"

Carlos nodded, his lips brushing against Y/n's skin as he spoke. "Mhm," he murmured between kisses, his hands sliding down to grip her hips.

He pressed his mouth to her abdomen, trailing kisses across her soft skin. "Turn around for me, hermosa?" he asked, his voice low and rough with desire. "I want to see the back again."

Y/n shivered at the command in his tone, and the way he took charge. She obeyed without hesitation, slowly turning in a circle so he could admire the view.

The thong rode up as she moved, revealing the curve of her ass and the tiny pink thong nestled between her cheeks. Carlos groaned, his hands flexing with the urge to grab and squeeze.

Carlos' eyes darkened with lust as Y/n turned, revealing the tantalizing view of her ass barely covered by the thin pink thong. "Dios mio," he breathed, his hands flexing with the urge to grab and squeeze. "Can I rip it off?"

"Carlos, no," Y/n protested weakly, even as a thrill raced through her at his intensity. "I just bought this a few hours ago."

But he was already moving, his large hands gripping her hips and spinning her back around. In one swift motion, he hooked his fingers in the delicate fabric of the thong and ripped, the sound of tearing lace filling the room.

Y/n gasped as the flimsy garment gave way, Carlos tossing it aside carelessly. He pushed her back onto the bed, crawling over her with a predatory gleam in his eye.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he growled, his hands roaming over her bare skin. "I can't wait to ruin you."

Y/n whined as Carlos manhandled her, his rough treatment sending a thrill through her body despite her protests. "Carlos, c'mon," she pleaded, even as her hips bucked up against him. "I really liked that set."

Carlos just grinned, a wicked glint in his eye. "Sorry, baby," he purred, nipping at her earlobe. "But you look even better out of it."

He kissed down her neck, his hands sliding under her to unhook the delicate bra. With a flick of his fingers, the clasp came undone, and he tossed the lacy garment aside.

Y/n's breasts spilled free, and Carlos groaned at the sight. "Fuck, you're perfect," he growled, cupping the soft mounds in his hands. He lowered his head, his tongue flicking out to tease a pebbled nipple.

She arched into the touch, a moan escaping her lips. "Carlos," she gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair. "Please..."

Carlos paused, looking up at Y/n with a raised eyebrow. "Please what?" he asked, his voice low and teasing. "Are you asking me to stop ruining your pretty lingerie?"

Y/n bit her lip, shaking her head. "No," she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not asking you to stop."

A slow, wicked grin spread across Carlos' face. "That's what I thought," he purred, his lips curving into a smirk.

He continued his journey down her body, his kisses growing more heated as he went. He nuzzled the soft skin of her belly, his stubble rasping against her sensitive flesh.

Lower and lower he went, until his face was level with her pelvis. He inhaled deeply, the scent of her arousal filling his nostrils. "I'll buy you another pair of this set tomorrow," he promised, his voice muffled against her skin. "But for now..."

Carlos dipped his head between Y/n's thighs, his tongue delving into her folds with sensual, deliberate strokes. He took his time, savoring the taste of her, the way she writhed and moaned beneath him.

"Carlos, baby," Y/n gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair. "So good, god you're so good."

She ground against his face, her hips bucking as she chased her pleasure. But Carlos wasn't having it. He pushed her hips back down, holding her in place.

"Calm down, mi amor," he murmured against her skin, his voice vibrating through her. "I've got you. Just relax and let me take care of you."

Y/n whimpered, her body trembling with need. But she forced herself to still, trusting Carlos to bring her to the heights of ecstasy.

Carlos rewarded her obedience with a long, slow lick, his tongue swirling around her clit. He alternated between broad strokes and targeted flicks, building her pleasure steadily.

Carlos continued his assault on Y/n's pussy, his tongue delving deep, savoring every inch of her. He wasn't rushing, wasn't devouring her like a starved man. No, he was taking his time, committing every taste, every texture to memory.

The way she dripped onto his tongue, coating his taste buds with her essence. The little gasps and moans she made, music to his ears. The way her thighs trembled on either side of his head, her body surrendering to his touch.

He was messy, spit dripping down his chin, smearing across his cheeks. But he didn't care. All that mattered was Y/n, her pleasure, her satisfaction.

Carlos kept his mouth firmly planted between Y/n's thighs, his tongue delving deep into her soaked folds. God, she was so wet, her arousal coating his chin and dripping down onto the sheets below.

He moaned against her, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. His nose bumped against her clit with each thrust of his tongue, the sensitive bundle of nerves throbbing with need.

Y/n's legs slowly wrapped around his head, her heels digging into his back as she pulled him closer. "Fuck, baby," she panted, her fingers tightening in his hair. "Keep going, it feels so good. Like that, just like that."

Y/n's moans grew louder, her hips rocking against Carlos' face as he devoured her. She gasped as she felt his fingers teasing her entrance, circling the sensitive flesh but not quite penetrating.

"I want more, Carlos," she whimpered, her voice high and needy. "I want your fingers inside."

Carlos obliged, slowly pushing one finger into her tight heat. He groaned at the feel of her, hot and wet and perfect around him. He pumped his finger in and out, curling it to hit that special spot inside her.

Y/n keened, her back arching off the bed as he fingered her. "Yes, yes, just like that," she chanted, her walls clenching around his digits. "Don't stop, please don't stop."

Carlos thrust his middle finger deep into Y/n's pussy, the longest digit providing the perfect stretch. She moaned loudly, her legs shaking as he pumped in and out, curling his finger to hit her G-spot with each stroke.

Her body seemed to be at war with itself, her legs trembling and threatening to close, but her pussy clenching greedily around his finger, silently begging for more.

Carlos could feel her getting closer, her walls fluttering around him, her moans growing higher and more desperate. He doubled his efforts, adding a second finger and rubbing her clit with his thumb.

"That's it, baby," he growled against her skin. "Cum for me. Let me feel you."

Y/n's body tensed, her orgasm building slowly but surely. It took a few moments, but when it finally hit, it crashed over her like a pile of falling bricks.

Her back arched off the bed, her mouth falling open in a silent scream as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her. It was as if they were in a soundproof room, her moans echoing off the walls, filling the space with the symphony of her ecstasy.

Carlos worked her through it, his fingers never ceasing their relentless assault on her sensitive flesh. He lapped at her clit, drawing out her climax until she was a writhing, trembling mess beneath him.

Finally, she collapsed back onto the bed, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. Carlos gently withdrew his fingers, pressing a tender kiss to her inner thigh.

Carlos continued his worship of Y/n's body, his lips trailing kisses up and down her trembling thighs. He took his time, savoring the taste of her on his tongue, the feel of her soft skin beneath his lips.

Then, unable to resist any longer, he dipped his head back between her legs, his tongue delving into her soaked folds once more. Y/n gasped, her hips bucking up to meet his mouth.

He ate her out with fervor, his tongue swirling around her clit, dipping into her entrance, lapping up her essence. Y/n shook beneath him, her hands fisting in the sheets as she tried to anchor herself against the onslaught of sensation.

Carlos could feel her getting close again, her walls fluttering around his tongue, her moans growing higher and more desperate. He doubled his efforts, determined to bring her to the edge once more.

Y/n's hands fisted in Carlos' hair, tugging him closer as he devoured her. "Baby, you feel so good," she panted, her hips rocking against his face. "Keep going, don't stop."

Carlos growled in response, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. He redoubled his efforts, his tongue delving deep, lapping at her walls, flicking rapidly over her clit.

Y/n's thighs began to tremble, her body tensing as her second orgasm approached. "Carlos, I'm gonna... I'm gonna..." she gasped, her words dissolving into a high, keening moan as she came undone.

Carlos worked her through it, his mouth never leaving her pussy, prolonging her pleasure until she was a boneless, satisfied mess beneath him.

Y/n came again and again, her body shaking with the force of her orgasms. Carlos gentled his touch, his tongue lapping softly at her sensitive flesh as she rode out the waves of pleasure.

He pulled back, pressing tender kisses to her trembling thighs. "You're so pretty when you cum," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. "The way you shake, the sounds you make... it's the hottest thing I've ever seen."

Y/n whimpered, her body still twitching with aftershocks. Carlos' words, combined with the feeling of his lips on her skin, sent a fresh surge of arousal through her.

"More," she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper. "I need more, Carlos. Please..."

Carlos trailed kisses up Y/n's body, leaving a trail of hickies in his wake. He nipped at her neck, his teeth grazing her pulse point. "Can you take more, mi amor?" he growled, his voice low and husky. "You're already shaking so much..."

Y/n whimpered, her body trembling with need. "Yes," she gasped, her nails raking down his back. "I need more, Carlos. Please, I can take it. I want it all."

Carlos grinned, a wicked gleam in his eye. "As you wish," he purred, his hand sliding down to palm her ass. "But first..."

He captured her mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue delving deep, claiming her, tasting himself on her lips. Y/n moaned into the kiss, her tongue tangling with his, her body arching into his touch.

Carlos' hand slid from Y/n's ass to her lower back, his fingers tracing teasing patterns on her skin. "The panties would look pretty with that buttplug I got you," he murmured, his voice low and seductive. "You know, the one with the pink heart gem?"

Y/n nodded, a shiver running through her at the mention of the toy. "I was planning to use it soon," she admitted, her voice breathy with anticipation.

Carlos smiled, a wicked glint in his eye. "It's such a shame though," he purred, his fingers dipping lower, teasing the cleft of her ass. "I already ripped the panties."

Y/n gasped, her hips bucking involuntarily at the touch. "Carlos," she whimpered, her voice a mix of need and frustration. "You're such a tease."

"All part of the fun, mi amor," he chuckled, his fingers continuing their maddening dance. "Now, where did I put that thing?"

Y/n pointed to the nightstand beside the bed. "I think it's in there," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "Your side."

Carlos released her, rolling over to rummage through the drawer. He pulled out the pink heart-shaped buttplug, holding it up triumphantly. "Found it," he grinned, crawling back over to Y/n.

He ran the smooth metal over her lips, letting her taste the cold surface. "Open up, baby," he instructed, pressing the tip to her mouth. "Get it nice and wet for me."

Y/n parted her lips, taking the buttplug into her mouth. She sucked on it, her tongue swirling around the base, coating it liberally with saliva.

Y/n looked up at Carlos through her lashes, her eyes wide and innocent, the buttplug still nestled between her lips. She sucked on it slowly, sensually, her cheeks hollowing as she applied suction.

"Fuck, you're so cute," Carlos groaned, his cock twitching in his pants at the sight. "Such a good girl, getting your toy all wet for me."

He reached out, cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing over her plump bottom lip. "That's enough, mi amor," he murmured, gently withdrawing the buttplug from her mouth. "Time to put it to better use."

Y/n whimpered softly, her eyes following the movement of the toy as Carlos positioned it at her entrance. He pressed the tip against her, applying gentle pressure, watching her face intently for any sign of discomfort.

Y/n moaned as she felt the cool metal of the buttplug pressing against her sensitive skin. Carlos watched her face intently, gauging her reaction as he slowly pushed the toy inside her.

"That's it, baby," he crooned, his voice low and encouraging. "Just relax and let it in. You're doing so well."

She continued to whimper, her hands fisting in the sheets as the buttplug stretched her, filling her in a way she hadn't experienced before. It was a strange sensation, but not an unpleasant one, and as Carlos twisted the base, the pink heart-shaped jewel nestled snugly between her cheeks.

"There," he said, satisfaction evident in his tone. "Don't you look pretty with your new toy."

Carlos helped Y/n onto her hands and knees, admiring the way her ass jutted out, the buttplug nestled snugly between her cheeks. He ran his hands over her curves, spreading her open, exposing her most intimate parts.

"Can I take a picture, mi amor?" he asked, his voice husky with desire. "I want to remember this moment forever."

Y/n hesitated, a blush spreading across her cheeks. "Mhm," she murmured, nodding shyly. "But... but don't show anyone, okay?"

Carlos chuckled, pressing a tender kiss to the small of her back. "Of course not, baby," he assured her. "These pictures are for me and me only to enjoy."

He grabbed his phone, snapping a few shots from various angles, capturing Y/n in all her vulnerable, exposed glory. Each click of the shutter sent a thrill through him, the knowledge that he was the only one who would ever see these images, that he had her complete trust.

Carlos groaned, his eyes roaming over Y/n's exposed body. "Fuck, you're so pretty baby," he growled, his voice thick with desire.

He quickly shed his shorts and boxers, his hard cock springing free, bobbing between his legs. He moved behind Y/n, gripping her hips, holding her in place as he teased the tip of his cock against her entrance.

He rubbed it back and forth, catching on her clit with each pass, making her gasp and shudder. "Look at you," he purred, his fingers digging into her hips. "So wet and ready for me. I can't wait to be inside you."

Y/n whimpered, pushing back against him, desperate for more. Carlos chuckled darkly, continuing his maddening tease, keeping her on edge, making her ache for his touch.

She panted, her hips wiggling back against Carlos. "Carlos, I want more," she pleaded, her voice high and needy.

Carlos smiled, pushing just the tip of his cock inside her. Y/n moaned, her walls fluttering around him, trying to draw him deeper.

"That's it, baby," Carlos purred, reaching around to wiggle the buttplug. Y/n cried out, her body shaking as the toy shifted inside her, sending sparks of pleasure racing up her spine.

Even with just the tip inside her, Y/n was moaning like she was in a porno, her body responding to every touch, every tease. Carlos grinned, loving the effect he had on her, the way he could reduce her to a writhing, desperate mess with just a few well-placed touches.

Carlos grabbed a fistful of Y/n's hair, pulling it back into a makeshift ponytail. "This pretty mouth of yours needs to shut up this time around, okay?" he growled, his voice low and commanding. "You were so loud earlier, we already had noise complaints last week because of you."

He reached for her ripped panties, balling them up and pressing them into her mouth. Y/n's eyes widened, a muffled whimper escaping her as he tied the fabric around her head, effectively gagging her.

"There," Carlos purred, admiring his handiwork. "Now you can scream all you want, and no one will hear you."

He lined himself up, the head of his cock nudging against her entrance. With one hard thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, stretching her, filling her completely.

Y/n's muffled moan was music to his ears, her body clenching around him, welcoming him home.

Y/n's back arched as Carlos filled her, her fingers digging into the pillow in front of her. Despite the gag, her moans were still loud, her pleasure evident in the way her body moved, the way she rocked back against him.

"Shh, baby," Carlos chided, his hand coming down on her ass in a gentle spank. "Be quiet now."

He repeated the action, alternating cheeks, the sting of his palm mixing with the pleasure of his cock inside her. Y/n whimpered, her hips jerking with each impact, her moans muffled but no less intense.

Carlos grinned, loving the way she responded to him, the way she surrendered to his touch, his control. He continued his steady rhythm, pounding into her, his balls slapping against her clit with each thrust.

Carlos looked down, groaning at the sight of Y/n's pussy, so wet and stretched around him. "Fuck, you're taking me so well, baby," he grunted, his hips snapping forward, driving into her harder.

His hand found the buttplug, wiggling it, teasing her. He pushed it halfway out, then twisted it, pushing it back in, making Y/n's body jerk and shudder.

"That's it, take it all," he growled, his voice rough with pleasure. "Take my cock, take the plug, let me fill you up."

Y/n whimpered, her body trembling, torn between the pleasure and the slight discomfort of being so full. But Carlos didn't let up, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate, as he chased his own release.

Carlos cooed softly, his voice a stark contrast to the intensity of his thrusts. "So cute, baby," he murmured, reaching around to pinch Y/n's nipples, rolling them between his fingers. "You always look so pretty in pink."

He punctuated his words with a particularly hard thrust, burying himself deep inside her. Y/n's body jerked, a muffled moan escaping her as the buttplug shifted, pressing against her walls.

Carlos grinned, loving the way she looked, the way she felt, the way she responded to him. He could feel his own release approaching, his balls tightening, his cock throbbing inside her.

"Gonna cum," he grunted, his hips slapping against her ass as he chased his pleasure. "Gonna fill you up, baby. Fuck, you feel so good."

Y/n's body was weak, her muscles trembling with the effort of holding herself up, of taking Carlos' relentless thrusts. But fuck, it felt so good, the pleasure consuming her, overwhelming her senses.

She moaned around the panties in her mouth, the sound muffled but no less desperate, no less needy. Her pussy clenched around Carlos' cock, her walls fluttering, trying to draw him deeper, hold him closer.

Carlos could feel her tightening around him, could hear the desperation in her moans. He knew she was close, could feel her body tensing, preparing for release.

"That's it, baby," he growled, his hand snaking around to rub her clit. "Cum for me. Let go, let me feel you."

Y/n's body seized, her orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave. She shook and trembled, her moans rising in pitch, her pussy clamping down on Carlos' cock like a vice.

Carlos groaned, his hips stuttering as he found his own release. "Fuck, baby," he grunted, his cock pulsing inside her as he filled her with his cum. "You're taking it so well."

He collapsed over her, his chest pressing against her back, his arms wrapping around her waist. They stayed like that for a moment, both panting, both trying to catch their breath.

Slowly, carefully, Carlos pulled out, watching as his cum dripped from Y/n's pussy. He reached for the buttplug, gently removing it, tossing it aside.

"You did so good, mi amor," he murmured, pressing a tender kiss to her shoulder. "I'm so proud of you."

Y/n turned in Carlos' arms, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "I want more," she whispered, her eyes dark with desire.

Carlos grinned, his hand sliding down to cup her ass. "Anal?" he asked, his voice hopeful.

Y/n bit her lip, nodding shyly. "Yes," she breathed, her body already trembling with anticipation. "I want to try it, with you."

Carlos' grin widened, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Are you sure, baby?" he asked, his tone gentle despite his eagerness. "We can take it slow, go at your pace."

Y/n nodded, her resolve strengthening. "I'm sure," she said, her voice steady. "I trust you, Carlos. I know you'll take care of me."

Carlos guided Y/n to sit on his lap, her back pressed against his chest, her legs spread wide. "I'll take the plug out," he murmured, his fingers trailing over her skin. "And I'll help you, every step of the way."

Y/n nodded, leaning back into him, trusting him completely. Carlos reached between her legs, his fingers finding the base of the buttplug. Slowly, gently, he pulled it out, the metal sliding free with a soft pop.

She moaned, her body clenching at the sudden emptiness. Carlos soothed her with soft kisses to her neck, his hands rubbing her thighs. "Shh, I've got you," he whispered, his voice low and reassuring. "We'll go slow, just relax."

He reached for the lube, slicking his fingers generously. "Tell me if anything hurts, okay?" he said, his tone serious. "Your comfort is the most important thing."

Carlos circled Y/n's entrance with a slick finger, gently pressing in, breaching her slowly. Y/n whimpered, her body tensing at the unfamiliar intrusion.

"Breathe, baby," Carlos coached, his other hand rubbing soothing circles on her stomach. "Relax for me."

He worked his finger deeper, curling it slightly, searching for that special spot. When he found it, Y/n cried out, her hips bucking involuntarily.

"There," Carlos purred, rubbing the spot firmly. "Does that feel good?"

Y/n nodded frantically, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. "Yes," she gasped, her voice strained. "It's so intense, but so good- Fuck..."

Carlos added a second finger, stretching her slowly, preparing her for his cock. He scissored them, gently, carefully, watching her face for any signs of pain or discomfort.

Carlos continued his gentle ministrations, his fingers moving in and out of Y/n's tight heat, curling and stroking, finding all the sensitive spots that made her gasp and moan. He kissed her neck, her jaw, her lips, murmuring words of praise and encouragement.

"You're doing so well, baby," he whispered, his thumb brushing over her clit. "Taking me so perfectly. I'm so proud of you."

Y/n whimpered, her body trembling under his touch, under his words. She felt so full, so stretched, but it was a good ache, a pleasure she'd never known before.

Carlos could tell she was getting close, her walls fluttering around his fingers, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He doubled his efforts, his fingers pumping faster, harder, his thumb rubbing tight circles on her clit.

"Cum for me, mi amor," he commanded, his voice low and rough with desire. "Let go, let me see you cum"

Y/n's body seized, her orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave. She whimpered and moaned, her hips bucking wildly, her inner walls clamping down on Carlos' fingers.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she chanted, her voice high and breathy. "Oh god, Carlos, it's so much, it's too much-"

Her words dissolved into incoherent babble as the pleasure consumed her, her body shaking and trembling in Carlos' arms. He held her tight, his fingers still moving inside her, drawing out her climax, making it last as long as possible.

"That's it, baby," he crooned, his lips brushing her ear. "Ride it out, let it take you. You're doing so fucking well."

Carlos gently turned Y/n's face towards him, his eyes locked on hers. "Look down, baby," he instructed softly. "See? It's all the way in."

Y/n's gaze followed his, her eyes widening as she saw the slight bulge of Carlos' cock inside her, stretching her, filling her completely. "I feel so full," she whispered, her voice awestruck. "I can feel you everywhere."

Carlos grinned, his hands sliding up her sides, cupping her breasts. "That's because you're taking me so perfectly," he praised, his thumbs brushing over her nipples. "Every inch of you is wrapped around me, squeezing me, hugging me tight."

Y/n moaned, her hips shifting slightly, the movement sending sparks of pleasure racing through her. "It's so big," she breathed, her eyes fluttering closed. "But it feels so good, Carlos. So right."

Carlos couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight of Y/n riding him, her body moving with a wild abandon, her eyes filled with nothing but pure, unadulterated lust. Her hair was a mess, falling gracefully over one shoulder, her tits bouncing with each thrust, her mouth open, drool leaking from the corner.

She was a vision, a goddess, and she was all his.

Carlos gripped her hips tighter, his fingers digging into her flesh, guiding her movements, helping her chase her pleasure. He watched as her body tensed, her walls clamping down around him, her moans rising in pitch.

"That's it, baby," he growled, his voice rough with desire. "Ride me, take what you need. Fuck, you look so beautiful like this, so perfect, so mine."

Y/n's body shook, her movements becoming more erratic, more desperate. She was close, so close, teetering on the edge of oblivion.

Her body tensed, her movements becoming more frantic, more desperate. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum," she gasped, her voice strained, her eyes wild with pleasure.

Carlos could feel her tightening around him, her walls fluttering, clenching, trying to draw him deeper. "Keep going, baby," he urged, his hips snapping up to meet her downward thrusts. "Let go, cum for me. I've got you, I'm right here."

Y/n threw her head back, a silent scream tearing from her throat as her orgasm crashed over her. Her body shook, her pussy clamping down on Carlos' cock like a vice, milking him, trying to pull him over the edge with her.

Carlos groaned, his own release building, his balls tightening, his cock throbbing inside her. "Fuck, baby," he grunted, his hips stuttering, his rhythm faltering. "I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna fill you up, fuck-"

As their orgasms crashed over them, Y/n's body spasmed, her movements becoming jerky, uncoordinated. She fell forward, her chest pressing against Carlos', her face nestling into the crook of his neck.

Carlos' arms wrapped around her, holding her close, his cock still buried deep inside her, throbbing with the aftershocks of his release. "I've got you, baby," he murmured, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. "I'm here, I'm right here."

They stayed like that for a long moment, their bodies joined, their hearts beating in sync. Carlos pressed soft kisses to Y/n's hair, her forehead, her cheek, murmuring words of love and praise.

"You did so well, mi amor," he whispered, his voice low and tender. "You took me so perfectly, gave me everything. I love you so much, Y/n. So fucking much."

taglist

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kinktober taglist; @cloud-55 @emryb @sie17136 @jaimeleannavanlloman @wosof1 @wholetmewritethat @glitterbitch1 @under-seasoned-pasta @sinners-98-world @lewishamiltonismybf @lilorose25 @zestytimbit

[bonefall]

Heads up! There is going to be a very long and detailed post about making sausages dropping in a few hours.

It's got a big red content warning and a readmore, so nothing is going to get gruesomely dropped on you, but make sure you add "butchery" or "cw butchery" to your tag filters to be extra safe if the idea of processing animal carcasses is upsetting to you!

It also has an image of sausage casings before they're scraped. I tried to whack the post with as many CWs as I can think of but I'd recommend "cw meat" or "cw organs" if you need them.

[deoidesign]

I've been... Busy 👀

Trying to get all 4 arcs from season 1 into books!

(not available for sale, these are print proofs. I'm planning a Kickstarter early next year!)

[nereidprinc3ss]

trolley problem

in which fem!reader has been gambling with her life and spencer reid is more than a little concerned

flangst, hurt/comfort warnings/tags: passive suicidal ideation from reader, she keeps risking her life, that really grinds Spencer’s gears, established relationship, existential dread, existential euphoria, lots of stuff about grief and death and self worth, not advocating for this, pretension from the author, blasphemy probably?, reader gets fuzzy from prescribed painkillers, arguing, hospital stuff, mention of sleep paralysis involving spiders, reader gets shot but she’s fineee, I pander to intro to philosophy takers, bau!reader, neurodivergent coded reader, if she’s not exactly like you I’m sorry, bean soup a/n: one day you’re in a writing slump literally the next you are in your notes app for six hours writing whatever the fuck this is but I think I love it even tho it’s weird and I hope u like it too!! btw this was gonna be called cotard's syndrome but then I never once talk abt cotard's but if u care that might be interesting context for the motif of not feeling human/alive, WC 3K

Spencer hasn’t spoken to you since the doctor left the room five minutes ago. 

The air is antiseptic as you take it deep into the hollows of your lungs and trap it there for a moment, trying to optimize oxygen intake without actually having to breathe very often. Hospital smell is as universal as it is suffocating. It reeks of everything but death—flowers, blood, bleach, vomit. A humiliating, desperate scramble to defy the very thing that defines mortality. It’s pathetic. It reminds you of the worst instances of failure and loss and denial in your life. It curdles your blood. Literally rots you from the inside out. 

You’ve had ample time to ponder that smell over the last few months because you keep ending up here, and some time ago you decided the institution of the hospital is inherently absurd. It’s stupid to think you could avoid the one absolute condition on your corporeal form: impermanence. It is the only thing that is promised, and people still waste their lives away running from it. It is the ultimate self-fulfilling prophecy. 

So around the time you acknowledged that hospitals are simply monuments to the self-importance of man, you gave up on trying too hard to preserve yourself. You’ve seen death too much and too often. You’ve tried staving it off with prayer and the miracles of modern medicine, and it never matters in the end because it’s all magical thinking anyway. All the wallowing and the bargaining and pleading never got you anywhere. 

You’ve accepted that from the moment you were born, you were marked for death. 

But you’re not a complete nihilist. You’re not even totally resigned to the abject certainty of death—because you’ve found a loophole.

Everyone has as many chances at escaping death as other people are willing to offer them at the cost of their own lives. Not many people are willing to make that trade—someone else’s life for their own—but you’ve decided you are. Because if not you, then who?

It’s not that you don’t see the value in your own life, as Spencer keeps making it sound. It’s just the opposite. You understand that you’ve got an extremely valuable resource, and you don’t just have to sit on it. There are things you can do. Choices you can make. Ways to defy death. 

Just… not yours. 

Or maybe you’re just in deep denial. 

Either way—this is a philosophy your boyfriend intentionally refuses to understand. He gets mad, or some kind of upset, every time you try to explain it. Usually he ends up leaving the room close to tears. You never feel good about it.

Right now he’s presumably trying to give you the silent treatment and not doing a very good job. 

“Stop holding your breath. Why are you—stop that.”

Spencer’s frowning, skin sallow and milk-blue under fluorescent lighting. Purple seeps from around his eyes like spilled wine on a white table cloth. Your stomach turns. 

“Sorry.”

He doesn’t tell you not to apologize. You don’t expect him to. 

“Why are you doing that? Does something hurt?”

Other than your entire bicep being on fire due to the 9 millimeter Luger it recently came into contact with?

“Not really. I just don’t like the smell of hospitals.”

At that, he gets stony again. Like, Medusa stony. You feel a tightening in your chest that has nothing to do with a lack of air. His arms are crossed. A silk lined blazer drapes over your lap, and you wonder if he’s cold in just that white button up. It’s translucent in this light, like onion skin, or maybe something less organic—the folds and wrinkles look like fabric, but lots of things look like something they aren’t. In the Pietá, Jesus lounges dead on his mother’s lap, his cheek pressed to her arm like either of them have warm flesh, and her skirts drape from her knees and fall to the ground in delicate folds just like Spencer’s jacket and looking at pictures of it you swear you could find comfort there too—but if you wanted to make space for yourself next to Jesus you’d have to do it with a chisel and mallet. You’re starting to think that’s what it’s going to take with Spencer, as well. 

“So stop walking into active gunfire. You’ll spend a lot less time here.”

Every deep sigh (of which there have been several) calcifies you further. Ironically, you never feel less alive than you do in a hospital. 

“I didn’t walk into active g—”

“I’m not debating it with you. It’s not a discussion.”

“So you’re just going to be pissed at me for the rest of forever? I mean, if it’s not a discussion—what are you gonna do? Break up with me?”

You feel yourself dripping poison in the well. Even as you say it. As his head tilts toward you slowly and intently from his spot against the wall, and his warning gaze is cold and unforgiving and weighs 3.35 tons.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Talk?”

“Don’t try and manipulate me by implying that there are no options between permissiveness and dumping you!”

“I’m not manipulating you. And I don’t need your permission to do anything.” 

The first part is an incredulous scoff as well as a blatant lie. You are manipulating him. Chisel and all. At least, you were trying to. It clearly doesn’t work very well. His jaw clenches.  

“Is this worth it to you? Fighting with me like we’re children solely so you don’t have to take accountability?”

“Accountability for what? I made a choice. I don’t regret it. You’re upset because I did my job.”

A beat. 

Silence always makes you feel the gravity of your words. 

“Do you believe that?”

His voice softens so much, so quickly, it splinters down the middle. 

You’ve never been known for your light touch. For someone who sees eviscerated bodies nearly every day, and prides herself on her evolved understanding of mortality, you often forget other people are not, in fact, impenetrable marble—they are flesh and blood and bone, and you’ve splattered yourself in the evidence of that. 

“What?” You murmur. You easily turn timid, when you’re afraid you’ve been too heavy-handed. Spencer’s seen you sob over the birds who hit the windowpane and never reappeared from the shrubbery—their delicate wings, their little beaks—he didn’t mean to, Spencer, and now he’s dead! He’s seen you spend forty minutes catching a spider with a cup and an envelope rather than smush it, even though you have reoccurring episodes of sleep paralysis wherein a giant arachnid is sitting on your chest, hissing and clacking its pincers. He knows you are, at your core, kind and good. 

It’s a little scary for someone to know that about you. It’s a little scary when you see your own vulnerability reflected in their eyes and the way they speak to you, the way you see it in him now. 

“Do you believe that the choices you make regarding your safety don’t concern me at all?”

“They’re… my choices to make,” you whisper, but you’re less sure than you were a minute ago. 

“I’m not talking about that—I’m talking about how it feels like you are trying to kill yourself every time we’re in the field.” His voice shakes. You swallow. “You have been hospitalized for four serious injuries sustained on the job in the past five months. Every time I bring it up, you—you talk about life like it’s optional for you. Like you’re not only willing to give it up but are actively looking to throw yourself in harm’s way every chance you get. You think that doesn’t terrify me?”

There’s a small chip in the paint on the wall next to him roughly the shape of Africa. 

“It’s not like that. I’m… I’m just having an unlucky streak.”

He snaps. 

“Luck isn’t going to get between you and a bullet. Ever.”

“It’s my job, Spencer.”

“No. It is a risk of the job. Not a defining feature or requirement. But you keep running toward gunfire like you have a quota to meet.”

“Spencer, I’m not doing it at you. I’m not trying to get myself hurt.”

“Well it doesn’t really feel like you’re trying to avoid it, either,” he shoots back immediately, and you feel the anguish radiating from him until it lodges in your own chest, like it was always yours. Maybe it was. 

You want to make it better, but you don’t know how, and even if you did, he’s pushing off the wall and crossing the room toward the door. 

“Where are you going?” You call, a little too desperately for your liking. 

“You need to eat something.”

Which translates roughly to he’s pissed and upset and he needs to leave the room. You’ve done this song and dance before. 

However, food and an absence of him are contenders for the absolute last two things you want right now. 

“Spencer, please don’t—”

But the door is already whooshing closed. 

You stare at the grey and white checkered floor. Light bounces off the waxen reflection—some sort of parallel universe you can’t reach, perhaps. The whole room is desaturated. A mechanical humming threatens to drive you insane. It doesn’t feel like a place for living humans. You’re not convinced you are one. 

When he comes back, maybe ten minutes later, nothing’s moved at all. In fact you’re not even sure you’ve been breathing. 

The door closes as quietly as it opens. 

This time, wordlessly, Spencer comes to you. You see his shoes first—his serious adult shoes. You wish he was wearing his Converse. 

Then you see the bottle of apple juice he’s cracking open for you. Blue lid. Same kind you always get. 

“You didn’t bring food.”

“You wouldn’t have eaten it.”

Fair enough. 

You take the bottle with your good arm and sip shallowly—all that adrenaline and the subsequent interpersonal strife has left you nauseous. The drink is too sweet. It clashes with the tang of metal in your mouth. 

Still, you drink enough to satisfy him, and then you’re tossing his jacket aside before balancing the bottle between your thighs so you can screw the lid back on. He doesn’t go back to the couch or his spot on the wall. 

Spencer doesn’t pull away when you lean into him, but it does take him a moment to reciprocate. You’re still grateful all the same when he cradles the back of your head to his stomach like you’re made of porcelain. 

“I don’t think you understand how upset I am,” he says quietly. 

Only Spencer Reid could be furious with you and still hold you like this. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. 

“That’s not good enough. You need to stop risking your life like that.”

He doesn’t get it. Your brows flutter as they try to furrow but even holding that expression saps you. Maybe the pain meds are finally kicking in. 

“I just wanna help people.”

“That doesn’t explain to me or justify your urge to do it at the cost of your own life. We all want to help people, angel. The whole team. That’s why we do what we do. But we don’t run into shootouts. We don’t split off and provoke people with guns when we’re unarmed and unprepared.”

“But it worked. She got away.” You feel a spark of fulfillment at the memory of Gloria Sanchez in JJ’s arms just before the ambulance doors had slammed you into your first cage of the night. 

“We don’t know if he was going to kill her. He might not’ve fired at all if you didn’t go running toward him. That wasn’t strategic, it was reckless and irresponsible and you know that. I know you do. So something else is going on.”

The pressure in your nose that usually precipitates tears comes as a surprise. 

“I just—if that’s how I can save someone, why shouldn’t I, you know? Why do they have less of a right to live than I do just because they’ve been deprived of the choice? If I have a choice, and they don’t, I should choose to… to help them. That’s my job.”

For a long moment, you listen to your own breath, muffled by Spencer’s shirt, and the mechanical humming, and something dripping, and the low, buzzy chatter of nurses far down the hallway.

When Spencer next speaks you get the sense he’s holding a lot back. His voice is taut enough it wavers slightly. Taut enough that if he weren’t speaking so quietly he might be yelling. It’s like pinpricks all over your body—not enough to hurt, but enough to make sure you’re paying attention. 

“You can’t help anyone if you’re dead. Do you understand me?”

And yes, in theory, you do. But that doesn’t negate your original point. It only takes one life or death moment for you to utilize the most valuable resource you have. What happens after is no longer your concern. 

“On the psych evals you helped develop it asks if you think it’s appropriate to sacrifice the one to save the many. The answer is supposed to be no. If you say yes you get flagged. The FBI frowns upon… lever-pullers. And that’s exactly what I’m doing if I let one person die when I could’ve potentially saved them.”

“Protecting your own life is not pulling the lever. What you’re doing isn’t smart or morally righteous. You’re just throwing yourself across the tracks, too. If you were to fail a psych eval right now it would be because you’re passively suicidal. And you know what? The FBI also tends to frown upon self-immolative delusions of grandeur and girls who like to play sacrificial lamb.”

“’M not a… sacrificial lamb…”

“No,” Spencer agrees quietly, stroking your hair. “You’re not.”

And you can’t react to the fragility in his voice, or the content of his words, and the fact that when he says it he means something different—you can’t do anything about it. You can only catalogue it. You can only know that he loves you, and feel a little guilty about it.

Some time passes. You don’t know how long he remains standing so you can doze against him. He does not smell like the hospital. He’s the antidote for whatever grief they distill from widows and orphans before aerosolizing it through the whole place. 

“Baby?” He asks eventually. You know the lilt of it. He’s been thinking. 

“Hm?”

He hesitates. 

“Can we talk about you maybe taking some time off of work?”

“You heard the boss,” you mumble. “I can’t come in for at least a week.”

“I mean beyond that.”

You intend to respond, but by the time you open your mouth you’ve lost the prompt in all the brain fog. 

“You’re so comfy,” you murmur dreamily. “Thank you for being mad at me.”

If he responds, you miss it. 

You’re imagining the bed waiting for you at home, once the doctor is done observing you—warm, neatly made. Blankets woven with soft fibers. A mattress that will sink under your weight. You think of Spencer, who’s shaping himself to you, Spencer, who intentionally inhales when you exhale at night to make room for the rise and fall of your chest against his. You think of the imprint of his buttons on your cheek. You are both flesh and blood and bone. 

Strange, pill-induced half dreams and visions and memories take over. You’re in that alleyway again. That man fires. You don’t blink or scream or feel. 

Just before the bullet makes contact you’re standing in front of the Pietá. It’s massive. Spencer is there, too, holding your hand. 

You can’t actually see him, only, you know he’s there. You feel his warmth, his presence, when he leans over to whisper in your ear. The way you know him goes beyond sight. 

The Pietá—meaning the pity, in English—is 6’7” and six feet wide. It weighs 6,700 pounds. Michelangelo had to quarry the block of marble himself. He was only 25 when he finished. The Basilica keeps it behind bulletproof glass. 

Jesus and Mary behind bullet proof glass. 

God. Who’d try to kill Jesus a third time? He’s already dead. 

Besides—they’re both made of stone. Bullets would probably just ping right off of them. Or maybe they’d shatter just like you did. 

Probably not though. You’re not actually made of marble. You’ve no idea what it feels like to be a statue and get shot at. You sure know how it feels as a human, though—and it feels like shit. You don’t really know why you keep doing it. None of your reasons are good enough for Spencer, and he’s, generally speaking, pretty smart about some things. 

Maybe you’re tired of being human.

Maybe you’re tired of sleeping on your arm funny and waking up to a hand in your bed that doesn’t feel like yours and remembering all the hands you’ve held moments before they couldn’t hold yours back. Or tired of those moments where you are being held and it’s so unbelievably perfect and then someone has to let go, or when someone you love hugs you goodbye and you realize that there will always be a final I love you, or simply getting older and watching potential life paths fall away like rotten fruit to the ground. Maybe life is sometimes so good it hurts and you can’t bear it. So you tempt fate. You walk a tightrope because even if you fall and it can’t ever feel good again—at least it can’t hurt either. At least you won’t lose anymore. 

And yet. 

It does feel good, sometimes. Sort of often, actually. Even when it’s awful. 

Dead Jesus and Mary, with their marble skin and their bulletproof glass and their holiness and their virginity and all the other things they have that you don’t. Nobody can hurt them anymore. Not ever. 

Maybe that’s something you envy.

But you doubt they’ve ever been so terribly, wonderfully alive as you’ve been, or as comfortable as you are like this, leaning into Spencer’s warmth and his softness, in the hospital, or the Vatican, or your dreams. Your bicep was ruined but it’s healing. You are capable of ruin and rebirth in the same lifetime. In the same day, in the same hour. 

You doubt that in 520 years, behind bulletproof glass and unyielding, eternally flawless skin, they’ve ever felt as invincible as you do now. 

You doubt they ever could. 

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

fill with fire, exhale desire, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: He smokes cigarettes. You hate it. You always have a lighter in your pocket. He is pissed off because it isn't for him, you say. So much is said, but the truth is in the silence.

wc: 26.7k; warnings: rated M (18+) for language; smoking cigarettes, negative attitudes about smoking, quitting smoking; mentions of misogyny in South Korea; slow burn; constant bickering, tbh; smut (fem reader, striptease (?), heavy making out, scratching, penetrative sex, he puts his hand over her mouth and she licks it, multiple orgasms, handjob, fingering); non-idol!AU - smoker, pining, bratty!JK x cold, independent, insomniac!reader; reader's POV

--

“Got a light?”

You reached in your pocket and pulled out the lighter that you always kept on you. It had a dragon insignia etched into the black metal. Heavy and substantial. Serious enough to bruise if thrown with enough force. You flicked it open with your thumb and raised it.

Jeon Jungkook leaned in, holding a cigarette between his lips expectantly.

You made your distaste evident in your expression.

He smirked.

You pressed the button and the orange flame shot up. Burning paper and tobacco. The end of the cigarette glowed red. You pulled your hand away, flicking your wrist to extinguish the flame. Slipped it back into your pocket and resumed not looking at him. You heard him inhale with a satisfied sigh before bleeding out smoke to the sky.

“You smoke too?”

“Fuck no,” you snapped. “I’m not disgusting.”

There was a sharp sucking sound of Jungkook’s incredulous annoyance. “Hm. Then the lighter’s just for me, huh?” His voice was throaty with nicotine. You hadn’t moved away yet. He nudged your shoulder with his knuckles. You didn’t react. “You like me that much?”

You could smell the fumes in the air even though he was attempting to be careful about it. That was the thing about smoke. It got everywhere. A gaseous parasite. You didn’t reply. Instead, you stuck your hands in your denim jacket pockets and acted as if he wasn’t there. Predictably, not a single person looked your way, even with your pleated blue plaid miniskirt was grazing the bottom of your ass and your black pleather corset showing off the ample curve of your breasts.

No one wanted to deal with the big tattooed guard dog smoking just behind you.

He was trying to stand close but not too close. You wondered if Jungkook was aware of how much subtilty he lacked. He likely had no clue. He called your name, casually, desperate for some sort of attention.

“Just say it.”

You turned your head maybe an iota of a degree in his direction, glaring at him from under your black baseball cap. Seething.

“The lighter is not for you, Jeon Jungkook.”

His lips twisted into a pout. He ran a hand through his shaggy black hair which definitely worked on other people. Just not you. He held the lit cigarette away from you, and so you spared him a little more of your gaze, pivoting your black boot to view him at an angle.

“You’re lying,” he asserted with false confidence. “You’ve always got it when I ask.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t mean that it’s for you. Could be for someone else.”

This revelation did not pacify him. The opposite, actually. His brows knitted together. The corner of your lips ticked upward. This pissed him off even more as you seemed to imply scenarios that he very much did not like. You were curious on what how he would approach it.

“Yeah, right. Sure.” He took a quick drag and blew it towards the sky. His dark eyes locked on you. He called your bluff. “You don’t like smoking. There’s no way you would hang out with anyone else who does. You already told me that’s the reason we’re not dating.” Uncertainty etched into his stern expression. “… Right?”

You tilted your head at him.

You watched your silence infuriate Jungkook. He puffed up his chest a little, which was admittedly impressive even in his oversized black t-shirt. He had big pectoral muscles. He had picked up working out to add an addiction in attempt to subtract one. He did smoke less in your presence. But not zero.

“Right?”

He was being very demanding and prissy right now.

You pursed your lips and sucked on the side of your teeth. Then you said, “Yup. That’s the only reason.”

Despair ghosted over his features. He glanced down at the cigarette in his hand. There was slightly more than three-fourths left. His eyes went from you to the concrete sidewalk and then back again. You frowned.

“Don’t even think about littering,” you warned.

He clicked his tongue and flicked ash behind him. “So? Who is it?”

“Who is who?” You taunted back in the same irked tone, minus the underlying insecurity.

“The other person you’re cheating on me with,” Jungkook snapped.

You weren’t bothered by his fury. “I’m not cheating on you if you’re not my boyfriend to begin with.”

He shot you a look that could have scalded most. “And whose fault is that?”

“Yours.”

“Tch, then be my girlfriend and take them from me.”

“Not how this works,” you countered, shifting your stance away from him. Slight panic flashed over his features. You ignored it. “My bus is coming soon.”

“Ugh,” he tutted. “I hate that you go to concerts alone.”

“Well, maybe if you didn’t spend your money on smokes, you could join me.”

“I asked,” he growled. “I have the money. You said no.”

You sent him a soulless smile. “Because you smoke.”

Jungkook looked ready to put out the cigarette on his own arm. But you were already backing away. He half-followed, still talking.

“You’re going dressed like that? You’re going to get groped.”

You did your best to not call him stupid. You settled for an eye-roll. “Why do you think I stuck around after you asked for a light?” You stopped. So did he, avoiding closeness. He looked confused. “Men stay away from me when they smell smoke on my clothes. Either I smoke or I’ve got a boyfriend who does. Either way, not attractive.”

He flinched at your double-edged comment. Then, with a measured amount of bravery, Jungkook took a step forward and tapped your chest with his hand that held the cigarette. You made a displeased face. A tendril of smoke drifted upwards for the suspended second that he held his fingertips to your skin. You narrowed your eyes at him. He backed up, lifting both hands up in defeat. He licked his lower lip, looking down at you.

“If the lighter’s not for me, then what’s it for?”

There was a metal screech of heavy brakes behind you, closer to the street.

You glared up at him, wishing he picked better addictions.

Only time could tell.

“Arson,” you replied, and turned around to step onto the bus, leaving Jungkook alone once again. He would tire of it soon enough.

-

You scowled.

“Why the fuck are you here?”

The crowd was parting as you were heading to the train station. Just before you were meant to enter, a man approached you with a plastic bag and a bottle of water. He looked almost as aggravated as you felt. His hands were occupied so for once he couldn’t ask for a light.

“Is that any way to greet someone waiting for you?” Jeon Jungkook growled.

You were far from impressed. “Did I ask you to wait for me?” You answered yourself. “No, I didn’t. So, you’re the stalker here.”

His dark eyes shifted over the passerby you had no interest in. He looked back at you with a peeved expression. “Better me than an actual creep.”

“Spoiler alert: you are an actual creep.”

You kept your distance, wary, and made to walk around him. Something flashed in his gaze but he shut his eyes and sucked in the side of his cheek with a sharp sound. His body turned, semi-following you. You noticed he was wearing a black leather jacket, a different cream shirt, and dark olive cargo pants. Same black sneakers from earlier though. His black hair seemed faintly damp. He must have taken a shower. Perhaps he went to work out while you were gone for hours.

“At least take the water and food,” Jungkook scoffed, holding out the items. “You’re probably dehydrated and hungry. Don’t your feet hurt from standing so long?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Nothing.”

You stopped and stared him down. He rolled his eyes. He seemed hurt. It didn’t matter if he was avoiding your gaze; you could tell. There was no reason to soften your tone, but at the very least you reached out and took the water bottle from him. The condensation felt nice on your palm already. You unscrewed the cap with a cold expression and heard the plastic crack. He hadn’t tempered with it, at least. A part of you felt bad for assuming the worst, but, then again, this was South Korea. You took a sip and pointed with the cap to the plastic bag.

“What food?”

Jungkook started, diverting his peek at your reaction in hopes you didn’t notice. You had. “Pan-fried tteokbokki,” he mumbled.

One of your favorites. At least he used his ears sometimes. “You really balled out, huh. How much I owe you?”

He took offense. “You think I don’t make enough money to treat you?”

“What do you need to treat me for?”

“Aren’t we friends?” Jungkook shot back.

You were mid-sip when the damage was already done. You saw him freeze up and then quickly look away. People walking past were giving you both weird looks, splitting around the two of you as a river does to a pesky rock stuck in the middle. You lowered the water bottle. He shoved his free hand into his front pant pocket. His knuckles indented the fabric. You looked from them, to back up to his face. His brows were knitted together and he appeared to be biting back an insult.

Or something else.

You reached for the bag.

Hooked your fingers around the handles. He didn’t let go. Nor acknowledge you. You tugged lightly. He remained an immovable statue. You took a step forward and pulled up, turning your face away from his chest in the process.

Jungkook whipped his head back and glared down at you.

His grip tightened. You pressed your lips together as the side of your fingers touched the side of his. He smelled fresh. He had definitely showered. The stale scent of his cigarette from earlier still lingered on your denim jacket. You shifted your eyes and made eye contact. Close. Not touching, though. Just enough for a misunderstanding that wasn’t going to happen because both of you were crystal clear on your stances.

He let go of the bag.

The weight fell onto your fingers.

He was searching for the words but you interrupted his thoughts.

“You gonna make sure I get home safe?” you asked.

He looked away. “Don’t be stupid.” Tightened his jaw. “What kind of man would I be if I just let you wander around at night by yourself?”

You watched his profile. He didn’t turn back. You stepped back. His eyes followed, as unnoticeable as he believed, and you let him have that, choosing instead to start walking.

“Might as well eat while it’s warm. I could sit down for a bit.”

You didn’t look back to see if he was after you. You heard him bite back his reply and swiftly pivot, and then it was both you against the night of blaring headlights and a dissipating crowd, feeling two kinds of alone despite all the people around. You ended up at the underground food court. Probably where he purchased the tteokbokki to begin with. Found a table and unwrapped the container. A paper-sleeved wooden skewer was tucked against the lid.

Jungkook threw himself into the seat across from you and pulled out his phone, beginning his doomscrolling.

It was still warm. Lightly spicy. Probably a bit too heavy for late night but that was why it tasted better than usual. You caught his darting glimpse as you ate. Raised an eyebrow. He pretended not to notice. Or was it that he pretended not to care? You raised the skewer and tilted it towards him. He continued to ignore you even though his body was halfway turning.

“Want one?”

“I’m fine,” he instantly answered. Almost smugly.

You knew what he was doing. Still, you acted as if you didn’t. “I can’t eat it all anyway. Don’t waste.”

Those dark brown orbs shifted back. His eyebrows furrowed. He did his best to sound annoyed. “You don’t eat enough.”

“Even if I didn’t, I should eat something healthier,” you pointed out, keeping your face neutral.

He reached for the skewer and you pierced one of the rice cakes instead. Soaking it in the sauce and holding it out. Jungkook locked eyes with you. You slid the container closer so he could lean over it.

He took the skewer from your fingers and fed himself.

All while staring at you.

The eye contact was broken by his eyes closing. Enjoying the food. Crispy, warm, spicy. Chewy on the inside, in that satisfying way that one could enjoy the seeping heat all over the tongue. He stabbed another and ate that too, without asking. You hadn’t expected him to. You hadn’t expected him to do any of this, actually. You drank another sip of water.

“I’ll take the train home.”

“I don’t think so,” Jungkook grumbled with full cheeks, sliding the container back to you and shoving the wooden skewer in your hand. His brief touch lingered. You searched for his expression but he covered the lower half of his face with his other hand, keeping his eyes shut and chewing as he spoke. “I came on my bike. I’ll drop you off at your place.”

Now that was sounding a little too familiar. “I’ll be fine on my own. I’ve done it before.”

He cracked open an eye and you could tell he was frowning even though his hair had fallen over his temples. “Just because you’ve done it before doesn’t mean it’s smart or safe.”

He underestimated your resting psycho bitch face. You speared two pieces of tteokbokki and crammed them in your mouth. Chewed with irritation. You swallowed. “No one is out to get me.”

Those three-quarter moons remained unconvinced. “That you know of.”

You raised your eyebrows and moved to continue eating. “You watch too much true crime.”

“You don’t watch enough. You are the one that should be cautious,” Jungkook retorted.

“I am cautious.” You glanced at him above pan-fried rice cake. “But you can’t live always being afraid of possible horrors. If I did that, well, I would sleep even worse than I already do.”

You ate.

Jungkook lowered his eyes and went pensively silent.

There wasn’t anything to say. You cleaned up. Threw away the remains appropriately. Began to walk with him subtly leading the way. The night felt darker. Quieter. The concert crowd was gone and now the streets were full of night owls on their own lonely missions. You pretended passersby parted to let you and him through. The more likely answer was avoidance though. There wasn’t anything that friendly about Jungkook’s rigid presence and your inherently cold one.

In a parking lot now.

His black and chrome motorcycle was parked. A beast in its own right. Lately, you had been thinking of his addictions. Tattoos. Motorcycles. Cigarettes. Chasing after the un-chasable. Was he simply a thrill seeker or was he attempting to break an internal perfection that he had been living by for far too long? Or just doing anything that came to mind to try and feel something? You stopped walking when he did. He did his thing. And then Jungkook held out a lump of black fabric to you.

You raised your eyebrows.

He half-shrugged. “You can’t get on the bike in that skirt.”

He was right. You didn’t want him to be right. You took the lump that turned out to be a pair of his sweatpants. The Nike ones he usually wore to work out. You made a face. He rolled his eyes as he produced the helmet.

“They’re clean,” he huffed. “I ain’t nasty.”

You had quite a few comebacks for that but you kept your mouth shut. You wondered if he noticed how he slipped out of his practiced Seoul dialect for half a sentence. You noticed. You averted your eyes. It was late. The adrenaline was wearing off to soreness. You could only give about a rat’s ass of a fuck right now. Fuck it. You started bending down.

“Woah!”

All of a sudden you felt a strong grip on your forearm, pulling you back up and dragging you forward, sandwiching you in between the large motorcycle and Jungkook’s scowl, quickly letting go once you glared. You narrowed your eyes. He gave you a disapproving frown.

“I’m wearing shorts under this,” you hissed under his chin.

“Booty shorts, maybe,” he snapped back. “Also, shorts or not, they don’t hide your shape. Idiot.”

He was wrong. You were wearing black boyshort-style panties. Semantics. Instead of bending down, you raised one leg to lower the inner zipper of your boots. Immediately, Jungkook caught your shoulder, steadying you. You didn’t thank him. You glowered. He glowered back as you undid the other one. You stomped down and bunched up the legs of the sweatpants, first sticking in one foot and then the other, doing a little dance in and out of your boots, before forcefully yanking them up your legs. He didn’t let you fall, but he also didn’t look either, swiftly turning his head to stare out into the street. There was a brief moment where you had to decide to tuck in your skirt or let it flare out over the top of the pants. You opted for the latter, straightening and smoothing out the pleats over the crotch of his borrowed sweatpants.

He glanced back and frowned.

You noticed. “What?”

His eyes drifted up. Brow knitted together. He let go of your shoulder. “Not fair that you look cute,” he muttered.

“I look dumb as hell.” You bent over and rezipped your boots, adding under your breath, “But it’s better than nothing. I guess.” You stood up again.

There was a shifty, expectant silence.

You wanted to go home and sleep. At the same time, you wanted to be awake. Jungkook hesitated for a moment and then handed you the helmet in his hands before circling around you to grab the other one he had stored, leaving you to figure that shit out on your own. He avoided your gaze as surely as you did his. The whole scene looked less weird that it felt. You heard the engine purr to life. He said something and you ignored him, buttoning up your jacket so your valuables wouldn’t fall out. Not your best look, however, you had not planned any of this in any capacity.

Jungkook was already seated, his long legs extended to the asphalt to steady himself.

“So, you–”

You placed your hand on his bicep and stepped onto the footpeg, nimbly swinging your leg over to balance behind him. Underneath your hand, you felt him stiffen as you settled, sliding your other arm around his back and temporarily landing on his hip before you removed the hand on his upper arm to grip his waist.

“O… Oh.”

He cleared his throat.

“I’m good,” you confirmed even though he hadn’t asked.

He felt warm and solid and you did your best to ignore it.

“R-Right.” A pause before he said, “Hold on, alright?”

You squeezed his waist.

“Mhm.”

Jungkook took you home.

-

“I’ll get the pants back later,” he said as you handed him the helmet back. “Go on up.”

You observed him. Jungkook did his best to be calm and not jittery. He gave you a strange look, realizing that you were analyzing him. He had killed the engine so he didn’t have to shout. He cradled the helmet you had borrowed with one hand, the other on the handle of his motorcycle for a moment before using it to raise the visor to uncover his dark eyes.

You paused.

Then, you unbuttoned your denim jacket, reaching into the inner pocket for your lighter.

You held it out to Jungkook.

He glanced at it, and then at you.

You ticked your head. “You’ll need a light again. Inevitably. Take it.”

His gaze sharpened. He looked away quickly, and you could tell by the contortion of his features that he was shoving his tongue into his cheek, letting out an annoyed huff. Then, he shook his head, as if your audacity was something to behold. Jungkook then transferred the helmet to the crook of his arm and shoved his dominant, tattooed hand into the inner pocket of his leather jacket, ripping out a slightly crumpled cigarette box with one corner torn open.

He slapped it over your dragon lighter.

“Shit.”

You stared at your palm. And then at him. Jungkook glared back, exhaling hard.

“Take ‘em,” he mumbled. His Busan dialect was even more obvious now. His voice was gruff and his manner blunted. “Just fuckin’ take them.”

“I don’t want these,” you retorted.

“Yeah?” His eyes narrowed to daggers. “Neither should I.” His eyes shifted down and then back up. “Inevitably. You’re so fucking full of it.”

You almost flung both objects at his face. Almost. Yet something made you reconsider. Something about Jungkook’s demeanor shifted. He tried to keep his tone sharp but it was dulled by his body language. He cocked his chin in the most falsely cocky way.

“You think I’m gonna want ‘em?”

Your gazes locked.

“Then I’ll have to come to you to get ‘em.”

You pursed your lips. “I’m going to throw them away.”

He dared you. “Do it.”

“You’ll waste your money and time.”

“And I’ll be reminded you’ll never let me live it down,” Jungkook growled. “I’ll think twice before putting myself through that fire.”

Silence.

Eye to eye.

You held his stare.

Then, you lowered your hand, clutching his cigarettes and your lighter, backing away, and quickly spinning on your heel, striding into your apartment building. You punched in the code. Behind you, you heard the swift kick of an engine roar and then a fading zip away as you yanked open the glass door. You didn’t look back. You pocketed Jeon Jungkook’s cigarettes.

-

Nights later, you sat on the floor next to your bed, flicking your lighter on and off to kill the flame and revive it. Over. And over. You stared at the tiny orange burst. Then extinguished it. Then ignited it again. Such a small light. So fragile and yet so capable of burning this entire apartment down. You breathed out. Fixated on the dancing flame. Time passed.

You sat in silence.

You snapped the lid closed, snuffing it out.

The room was semi-dark. Your bedside table lamp was the only light on. The curtains were open, giving you a view of the city skyline etched into the black sky. The area was actually pretty quiet. You got lucky with a neighborhood full of older folks who mostly minded their own damn business. The apartments were older in a homely sort of way. The most telling trait of the apartment complex was the general unease in the air. Probably because some of the older folks had died in their apartments before. People could be superstitious like that. Maybe you were too. You just didn’t see it as a negative.

Which said a lot about you.

You looked up to your nightstand. Next to the dingy chrome base of your lamp was an open pack of cigarettes. The box was missing maybe three or four of them, you guessed. You hadn’t torn it open to confirm.

Behind your head, your phone began to vibrate.

You lifted your hand and placed your lighter on the nightstand. The lines of the dragon engraving caught the low light, casting shadows over it. Your hand pivoted and you felt around the bed. Found the smoothness of the screen and pulled your phone to you, lowering it to your lap before looking at the caller ID. You frowned slightly once you noticed the time. That late, huh? And this person almost never called or texted. Well. At least not to you.

You accepted the call and brought it to your ear out of habit.

“Ya. You,” mumbled the slurred, distorted voice of Jeon Jungkook.

You responded just as politely. “What?”

He let out a huff. There was a fair bit of rustling and maybe the sound of glass on table. “I want you to know something.” You didn’t reply to that. It wasn’t a question. He paused anyway. Maybe expecting you to reprimand him. You stayed silent. “Ah, fuck.” He exhaled hard into the microphone. You held your phone slightly away from your ear even though you couldn’t smell the alcohol on his breath. “Look. I’m not drinking because I need a smoke.” You doubted it. “I just felt like drinking. It’s Friday.” He wasn’t wrong. “I… I get it, okay? I get why you don’t like it. Makes sense and all. I…” He trailed off again, struggling to find the words. “But I’m not like you. I’m not. I don’t have my shit together.”

“I don’t have my shit together,” you interjected. Should be obvious from you answering his call perfectly awake at three in the morning. He didn’t seem to be thinking rationally at the moment though. If he ever did.

“Fuck off.” He lost control of his Seoul dialect. Kept going back and forth between upstanding citizen and gruff Busan satoori. You wondered if he was aware. Probably not. “You have it way more together than me. I’m fuckin’ trying. Ugh.” His tone tightened. “It’s not… It’s not how you think it is. It’s not.”

You weren’t sure you thought it was anything but you let him talk. Nothing else to do, after all.

“I have great parents, you know.” He sighed. Despondently annoyed. “They’re awesome. I wanted to be a good son. That’s… I mean, doesn’t everybody? I listened to them. I listened to be teachers. I listened to my classmates. I wanted to be a good person, so I did everything asked of me from others.” His voice deepened to a soft growl.

“But… People take. I didn’t even realize it.”

You realized that Jungkook sounded sad.

“They take when they know you give. And I gave, because my parents taught me to be a good person and I didn’t want to disappoint them by people calling me heartless or cruel. But…” Mumbled something you didn’t catch. Cleared his throat. “It was becoming too much. I got fed up. I had to start saying no. But not before I had already said yes to a lot of stuff that I shouldn’t have said yes to. I had already developed bad habits by then.”

A few seconds of silence.

You broke it. “You’re too easily influenced,” you accused.

“Yeah, fuck me,” Jungkook grumbled. “Fuck me for not knowing that there are people are out there don’t have my best interests at heart and want to see me fucked up because they feel some type of way. My bad.”

You figured that was common sense. But maybe not. Maybe not, considering the way he talked about his parents. You pushed back your own personal biases despite their intrusive nature.

“Is your family disappointed in you?” you quietly asked.

“Me?” He let out a humorless laugh. “No. No, they’re supportive. Even if they don’t like my tattoos or the piercings or whatever, no one has ever made me feel shit about it. Everyone is positive. Even began to like those things about me when most elders would lose their shit.” He sighed. “But… I still didn’t quit the cigarettes. Just didn’t smoke around them, because I didn’t want to see my mom sad. But still. I didn’t even want to try to quit.”

A moment of reluctance.

“Until… Until I met you,” sighed Jungkook, his deep voice heavy.

Was that supposed to be flattering? You didn’t have time to ponder it.

“Hmph… I’m so envious of you.” A light thud. More rustling. He sounded a little muffled and a lot out of it. “You’re never ruffled. No matter what anyone says or does, you’re always yourself. You don’t relent even when I act like a prick. It’s so… Hah. I can’t do that.” He sounded defeated. “I try to not care too. I’m trying. I’m trying so fucking hard. The second I think I’ve got it, yes, this is me, I remember it’s not. It’s not. I just copied someone else I saw that I thought… Copying you… You’re right. Lots of people told me to quit. Or keep going, it’s not that bad. They can all fuck right off, until…”

A weak shuffle and then you could barely hear the whisper in between the phone lines. His face was seemingly buried into something. He sounded both far away and so very close at once.

“What am I doing…? It doesn’t… Doesn’t make sense.”

You almost said something. It wasn’t the right time. You shifted your position on the floor, leaning back against the bed. He must have heard that you were still on the other side of the line. He dragged more strength into his voice. As much as he could muster, anyway.

“How…” He shuddered. Whispered your name under his breath in the same way sailors called to stars to navigate the sea on a cold night. “You told me I should quit and… Yeah. I know you’re right. I know. I… The other night…”

The night you attempted to give him your lighter to keep.

Jungkook sniffed. “You can’t… Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter how you do it,” he mumbled. “You do. You just do. And so do I. I gotta just do.”

You finally spoke.

“Yes,” you sighed. “That’s the truth.”

Cradled the phone, leaning it against your temple.

“The world doesn’t care.” He sounded resigned but no longer on the edge. “Everyone just does what they wanna do.”

A long pause. For some reason, you had the impression that both of you were curled up somewhere at home suddenly feeling not at home. Maybe it was the time of the night. Or the alcohol on his end. Or the insomnia on your end. The long seconds marched on. Then, Jungkook asked you a question with a statement.

“I wish I knew what… What I wanna do.”

Silence.

You half-smiled knowing he couldn’t see it. Preferred, actually, that he didn’t. “Gonna be honest,” you chuckled. “I don’t know what I want to do. I follow my instincts and accept wherever I end up.”

He snorted. Haughtily. It was meant to dent to your demeanor and it was about as effective as a puff of popcorn. “Of course. Hah.” Exhaled hard, taking the fight out of himself. “You really… You really don’t know…?”

You debated what you did and didn’t know. “About what?”

An irritated huff. Something about your tone seemingly made him hesitate, though. He caught the gist of what was unsaid. Maybe it was because he was drunk. Sober Jungkook could never.

“If.” Just that. If. “Ah…”

He breathed out your name. It was very late. The darkness was at its peak. But Jeon Jungkook breathed your name with the capacity of a dreamer, half-conscious and losing fast.

“I won’t let it end like this.”

There were a few minutes of quiet.

You hung up before he could start snoring in your ear. A small part of you kind of wanted to hear it. But, instead, you hung up. Placed your phone on your lap. Stared straight ahead, to the windowsill and the peek of the city skyline against a black sky. You thought about his voice on the other end. Calling for you. You sat in silence. Night bled away. You wanted to reach for the lighter again. Your instincts told you not to.

So, you hoisted yourself up and crawled under your covers, giving in to exhaustion’s embrace.

-

The next time you saw Jeon Jungkook was an evening at a convenience store. It was a coincidence. Or perhaps one of fate’s great jokes. You spied him the second you walked into the small establishment. He was talking to a tall man with a sun-kissed tan and longish black hair in soft curls. They obviously knew each other. Jungkook’s laugh was his typical bright guffaw that he tried to stifle to not be a public disturbance.

For a second, you almost forgot that call from a few nights ago.

You looked away, heading to the other side of the store.

Before you did, though, he had glanced in your direction and done a double-take. You moved into an aisle, out of sight, heading to the back, changing your original intent for being here. This particular convenience store was family-owned. It had a small section where the owner’s wife prepared fresh gimbap daily. You wondered how many people knew about this, because it was always stocked. Maybe they preferred to buy from bigger stores, not trusting a small business. You grabbed a tray of heftily-filled tuna gimbap before heading to the fridge section for drinks.

Jungkook was standing there.

You pulled back into the aisle.

His back had been to you, so he didn’t have the chance to notice. Half-in the fridge, picking something out among the electrolyte replenishers and flavored waters. He carried a black backpack that seemed heavy with things. Workout stuff, you assumed. His companion earlier had a towel around his shoulders and had worn a red tank top with exaggerated armholes, revealing a built chest and defined arms. Jungkook’s black hair looked slightly damp, possibly sweaty, pushed back and away from his forehead. He was wearing an open navy hoodie, white tank top, gray sweatpants, and white sneakers. It was safe to assume the backpack had workout shit in it. You wondered where the other guy was. He had been very tall. Easy to spot over the tops of the aisles, but he seemed to no longer be in the store. He must have left, then. No one to distract Jungkook any longer. Hm. You still wanted a drink, but.

Not that badly.

You zipped your black hoodie over your exposed stomach once you noticed the cashier was the elderly woman. You probably would have zipped it no matter who it was. The older generation just tended to be less subtle about their judgements. You approached the register and she smiled, greeting you. You slid the tuna gimbap over to her.

He was behind you.

You glanced at the glass behind the cashier. The cabinet held various brands of cigarettes. It was very well-polished, and you could see Jungkook behind you, sternly staring at the back of your head. You turned around.

He shot you a questioning look, furrowing his eyebrows.

“The total is–”

In his hands was a big bottle. Some kind of sports drink. You took it from him, and put it next to your tuna gimbap. The old woman didn’t quite register the speed of your action, blinking several times.

“Sorry,” you said. “Could you please add this too? Thank you.”

Clearly, she could only focus at one thing at a time. She did not realize you had snatched the drink from the man behind you, which would immediately raise eyebrows. Instead, the older woman was preoccupied with searching for the barcode, turning the bottle this way and that, poking the scanner against it.

Adding it to your receipt.

You felt a hand on your shoulder.

You pulled out your card as the cashier stated your new total. Tapped it as Jungkook hissed your name under his breath, but you ignored him, accepting the purchase as the cashier carefully packed up your meal and someone else’s drink in the same small clear plastic bag. She smiled her customer service smile and then noticed the disheveled punk behind you with a slight widening of her eyes.

You thanked her again and wished her a nice day before gripping his hoodie sleeve and dragging him with you.

Immediately let go when you exited the establishment, finally paying heed to the muttering of curses behind you. You reached into the thin plastic bag and pulled out his drink, pivoting slightly to give it to him. Jungkook snatched it from your hand, scowling.

“I don’t need your fuckin’ charity,” he snapped.

You wondered if he even remembered his drunken laments. “It’s not charity.” You affixed an impassive expression. “Not for you, anyway. Just making it easier for the cashier.” You began to take a few steps in the direction you needed to go.

He scoffed, “What are you doing, anyway?” and cocked his chin at you. “Stalking me now?”

You wondered if he was wishing for that. “I’m retrieving dinner like everybody else at this hour. ‘Cept you, I guess,” you added, unzipping your hoodie again even though the sun was dropping fast.

“What the–”

And Jungkook quickly jogged up beside you, shielding your body with his.

“The hell you doing?”

You glared but didn’t stop walking. “What?” Impolitely.

He pointed to your sports bra with a flick of his wrist. “Uh, you can’t leave the house like that.”

“I already have,” you pointed out. His eyes were glued to your sports bra and the low-waisted black Nike sweatpants clinging to your hips.

“And you think nothing is going to happen to you?” Jungkook indignantly shot back, blocking your way and darting his gaze around as if offenders were already on the horizon.

“Whether it does or not has no bearing on what I’m wearing,” you dryly replied. He was repeating a tale as old as time. Not that that made it any less real. It was all heard before, though. “You act like I haven’t lived for decades knowing the horrors of the world.”

His expression changed. Still frustrated. Slightly put off by your wording. And, sadly, comprehension. “That’s not what I mean.”

“That’s what you’re coming off as.”

“Not my intention,” he grumbled.

“Intentions don’t mean much in the face of what actually happens,” you said, glancing at him.

He shut up.

You almost regretted spilling your honesty.

“Sorry,” he said softly.

He seemed beaten down by your response. Eventually he shook his head and ran his free hand through his windswept black hair, trying to sneak a glimpse at your face. You were already staring at him. That threw him off. He looked away, flustered.

“Can I at least accompany you back?” he offered. Awkwardly.

You ticked your head. You knew that his gym was near that convenience store. “Don’t you live around here?” He had mentioned it, once. “I need to take the bus.” Earlier, you were aware that there was definitely a chance for you would run into him once you chose your destination. But it was the closest spot to buy liquor, and you hadn’t felt like traveling further. Then the original plan changed once you encountered Jungkook. Remembering all that made you pause. You diverted your gaze, adding, “Forget it. Go home.”

Monotone.

Your dismissal clearly annoyed him. He let out an exaggerated exhale and blocked you again when you tried to walk around him. You narrowed your eyes but didn’t raise your head. His tank top was tight, revealing the contours of his muscle. The shoulder of his hoodie had slid down, exposing part of his tattoo sleeve. Dark rings of petals in a hypnotizing mandala. The artist was talented enough to make you pause to admire. Then you swiftly looked away, anywhere else, shifting to his jaw. He stuck his tongue in his cheek and steeled himself.

“Fine.” He came to a conclusion, apparently. “I need a smoke.”

A ripple of aggravation shot through your temple. You turned your stare to fixate on Jungkook. He glared back, twice as stubborn.

“You serious?” you snarled. “Go back to the store then and buy some yourself.”

He rolled his eyes. “The fuck is the point of giving them to you, then?”

You jerked back, disgusted. “I didn’t fucking want them, asshole.”

“Yeah, well,” he pressed, becoming more resolute by the second. “That was the deal.”

You planted a palm on his chest and shoved him out of your way. Unbelievable. “There was no fucking deal,” you retorted, walking fast. He kept up because he was an annoying prick. You glowered, bristling at his presence. “What? You think you can do whatever you want, Jeon Jungkook?” The audacity of this bitch. “I’m not gonna fuckin’ give them to you anyway. So, promptly, fuck off.”

His fingertips touched your shoulder.

You yanked your body back as if scalded.

“Don’t touch me.”

He pulled his hand out of the air but didn’t back down. Those dark brown eyes narrowed. His lips thinned. Anger clouded his features. And. You felt your icy composure become brittle when you observed the distressed sadness poorly hidden underneath said anger.

A tense stillness.

“They’ll kill you,” you steely stated.

His gaze shifted. Contorted. The expression of all too well.

“Yeah.” He exhaled hard. “That’s the truth.”

Then his eyes drifted back to you.

All the fight in the air drained out. Neither of you dared to speak. There were volumes written within this shared quiet. Strangers walked past, sending you both strange looks. You and him were too busy being struck in three-in-the-morning thoughts shared during an impromptu phone call. You looked away. So did he. There was a loud screech of metal and heavy tires on asphalt. You didn’t say anything. You only had time for an instinctive decision.

You tapped Jungkook’s forearm and waved, quickly running to catch up with the bus.

Less than a minute later, him and you stiffly sat next to each other on worn seats, trying your best not to glance at one another or make eye contact with anyone else. It was mostly successful, other than a strong-smelling middle-aged man that was eyeing everybody a little too closely. He settled on you for an unknown but undoubtably nefarious reason. Jungkook shoved you against the side of the bus and firmly put his backpack in his lap, blocking the view of your torso from the stranger’s perspective. Either the random man noticed the silent hostility or lacked object permeance when drunk. He changed course.

Both of you relaxed slightly.

You zipped up your hoodie anyway. Couldn’t hurt. You lifted your head. By mistake, your eyes locked with Jungkook’s. He looked like he wanted to say something but he stayed mute for now. It was a quiet bus ride, leaving both of you in roads of thought neither of you wanted to be in.

-

“You can go home now.”

Jungkook reminded you. “I need a smoke, remember?”

You held your apartment keys and frowned at him. He gave you a casual shrug you didn’t trust. He held onto his backpack and the drink you had bought him, now half-empty. You turned away, licking the side of your teeth. Glanced from all the closed doors around you. You couldn’t shake the tension at your shoulders. Passed by his face. There was something in his expression. You let out an exhale through your nose and shoved your key into the lock, harshly twisting it.

“Fine. Go look for them,” you invited not-so-invitingly.

The door was old and jammed in the frame. You shoved it, hard, and it swung open with almost too much force. You grabbed the knob before it could hit the wall in a practiced motion, crossing the threshold to remove your shoes and scoot them by the wall. He followed, somewhat startled by your daily habits. You ignored him. Instead, you headed for the tiny kitchen with your tuna gimbap, intending to devour it as Jungkook did his search. Chopsticks from the drawer. Taking out the tray of food and placing it on the counter while you balled up the plastic bag to put it in the correct recycling bin. Yanked off the lid and picked up the end piece to eat.

You chewed.

It was fresh. Pretty good.

Without turning around, you removed your hoodie and threw it to the side. It shot to the back of the sofa and clumped. You kept eating. You had already heard Jungkook lock the door, remove his shoes, and dump his backpack on the hardwood floor with a thump. The cigarettes were exactly where you left them. Next to your bedside table lamp with your lighter leaning against them. You ate another piece, staring at the bottom of your gray-stained cabinets, and only now realizing how hungry you were. Huh.

It was eerily quiet.

Weird.

You chewed on your third piece and twisted your body to find Jungkook still standing by the door, staring at your living room with wide eyes. The apartment was quite small. Maybe a little bit crammed. The living room had a black fabric sofa, a dark-stained coffee table that had seen too many late-night dinners, and the TV on a low storage unit.

And mirrors.

Mirrors all over the walls. Most of them were small. Some were vintage with aged metal frames or darkened bamboo frames. Some of them weren’t in the best shape, the reflective glass becoming patchy and spotted. Some were a little more than smoked glass. They were all from thrift stores or resell markets. There was no real rhyme or reason to their placement all over the living room other than chaotically aesthetic. The ones on the bookshelf unit by the window were all lined up. Unique pocket mirrors with various shapes. There were a few anime and cartoon character motifs sprinkled in.

“What the fuck…?”

He finally gave you a look slight frightened concern but mostly confusion.

You shrugged. Casually. “I like to collect mirrors.” You munched.

“No shit?” Jungkook still looked mildly appalled. He furrowed his brows to regain some sort of control over his face. “And you called me a creep.” Still, he shuffled further in, peering over them. “There’s so many of them… The fuck you need all this for?”

“Nothing.”

He shot you a look over his shoulder and quickly diverted his eyes once he noticed your exposed shoulders. “Nothing?” he echoed indignantly.

“There’s no real purpose,” you reaffirmed, grabbing another piece of gimbap with a click of your chopsticks. “Why does anyone have a collection?”

Jungkook snorted. “Collecting music albums or even plushies is less weird then…” He paused. Then angled his body slightly, as if to listen to what you had to say without directly viewing you. “Is there a reason you collect mirrors?”

You, too, stilled. Seeing the back of his head and his broad shoulders suddenly reminded you that this was the first time you had ever invited Jeon Jungkook into your space and rather impulsively at that. You faced the counter again. The gimbap was about three-fourths gone. It was probably a good idea to finish it all now. You chewed on your lower lip, debating on whether or not to tell him the reason.

“When I was young,” you said, directed to the unfinished gimbap. “I didn’t like looking at myself in mirrors. Guess I had some kind of complex about them.” You didn’t elaborate. You positioned your chopsticks over another piece of the roll but didn’t yet pick it up. “When I moved in here, I didn’t really care about decorating it either. Figured it didn’t matter. At some point, I got tired of the blank walls, so I went to a secondhand shop to find something to put on the wall, and I remembered I don’t like mirrors.”

Hated them, really.

“So, I brought one because I thought the design was cool. And kept buying them.”

You half-laughed, mirthlessly.

“I decided it’s stupid to hate something like that, anyway,” you muttered, and chomped down another piece. You should have gotten out the soy sauce. Hah. With self-exasperation, you opened a cabinet to take out the small glass dispenser. Poured a little on the edge of the tray to dip the last few pieces in.

“That’s cool.”

His voice seemed louder, somehow. “You called me a creep,” you hummed.

“I didn’t call you a creep,” Jungkook said behind you.

You turned around, bristling. He was distracted, looking around your relatively neat kitchen. Probably taking note that there were no mirrors here. You restricted your collection to the living room walls to prevent overbuying. His eyes stopped at the gimbap on the counter at waist height. His dark eyes raised. Tentative. Your pulse accelerated a bit. You kept your expression neutral, chewing slowly.

“Thought you needed a smoke?” you asked after swallowing. You waved your chopstick towards the bedroom. “Be my guest.”

The tips of his ears flushed pink. He was sort of looking at you but also not. You tried not to notice that his navy hoodie had fallen off his shoulder, revealing his defined, tattooed right arm all the way to his elbow. His hands were shoved into the side pockets of his sweatpants. He was in the middle of scrutinizing yours.

“Are those mine?” Jungkook asked, completely ignoring your question.

You flicked the side seam by your thigh. “I’ll wash them and give them back. Seemed pointless to wear them for only a short while and wash immediately.” You leaned against the counter. “I haven’t forgotten. Don’t worry your pretty little head.”

His eyes shot up to your face at your comment. You shared a glare. Both of you held it more out of stubbornness than intimidation. For what reason, you weren’t sure. There were only parts of him you disliked. Not all of him. Well. Maybe if you and him dialed back the hostility, then.

Both of you broke eye contact at the same time.

“They… They look good on you.” It wasn’t said in a sarcastic way. The sincerity was somehow more alarming. “Keep them.”

“No thanks,” you retorted with more familiarity than you intended. “I don’t need your charity.” You shouldn’t have said that.

It didn’t end up mattering, though.

“Do you remember when I called you a couple nights ago?” Jungkook suddenly blurted, thrusting you both into whiplash of conversation topic change.

You froze.

There was no cue to tell you what was the right thing to say. It was best to glance at his expression to find out, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to. There was something about the distance of a phone call that made deep conversations easier. But you realized from his abruptness that he, too, must have been struggling to bring up the elephant in the room. Could have let it sleep, but this guy wouldn’t let it be.

Still, you understood him.

You pursed your lips and rubbed your collarbone with your free hand. “Only one of us was drunk and it wasn’t me,” you finally sighed. Raised your head.

His ears were very red now. You saw Jungkook battle between being a smartass and his natural self. You saw him wish he was a natural smartass. He cleared his throat, his chest tensing. “Uh… Sorry,” he mumbled. “Sorry about… Calling so late.” He cleared his throat again despite his discomfort being purely emotional. His eyes shifted. “I didn’t think you’d answer… But you did.” He chanced a glimpse at your reaction.

You shrugged.

Casually.

He nodded quickly even though you hadn’t said anything. “I don’t remember everything I said,” he rambled in a tone that clearly indicated he did. “So, don’t, uh, don’t take it too seriously.” He was taller than you but it didn’t feel like that right now.

You considered his words and quietly replied with, “Okay.”

His eyes drifted to the kitchen counter. Lingered on your waist, but not for long. He ticked his chin towards the leftovers. “Can I have a piece?”

Wordlessly, you held out the chopsticks so he had access to the other, unused end. He hesitated. Then pulled a hand from his pocket. You moved out of the way as he retrieved the chopsticks from your grip and took a step to be closer to the counter.

It was weird.

Standing in your small kitchen next to Jeon Jungkook eating your dinner leftovers.

Mostly it was weird because it didn’t make you highly uncomfortable or positively annoyed. It felt normal, which is what made it otherworldly odd. As if you were getting used to his presence beside you. You winced and tried not to make it obvious. You heard him try to say your name between bites.

“Chew your food,” you muttered, angling your face away but not your body. Couldn’t bring yourself to watch him eat. You heard the rattle of the plastic tray against the counter as he dipped in the soy sauce. Then you felt a nudge by your arm.

Before you could stop your natural reaction, you were face-to-face with Jungkook who was holding out the last piece to you with full cheeks and an expectant expression. You blinked at him. The blunt end of the chopsticks was used, but he was holding out the gimbap with the slender side. The end you had been eating with. The seaweed glistened with soy sauce. His free hand was under the chopsticks, cradling air in the dire last resort that it fell. He roughly swallowed, looking more annoyed with each passing second.

“Open up.”

“No,” you automatically replied.

He rolled his eyes. “Come on.”

You made a face. “This is weird.”

He made a face back. Disturbing. “Shut up and open your mouth.”

“I wo–”

That was precisely the moment Jungkook shoved the chopsticks into your mouth. Instinctively, you lowered your jaw to catch it all, glaring at him. He scowled back, about to remove the chopsticks before you caught them in your teeth with your mouth full of tuna, vegetables, and rice. There was a brief, pointless tug of war before you pulled your head back rather than let him perform the action. Jungkook squinted at you, irritated, and you were just as perturbed, chewing decidedly before swallowing.

Sudden silence.

He lowered the chopsticks to balance them on the empty tray. You ran your tongue over your teeth to catch any rice stragglers. It became hard to maintain eye contact. Now he was facing the cabinets and you were facing the living room of mirrors. Minutes ticked by.

The quiet became violent.

You whipped your head to Jungkook. “So, what–”

He spoke at the same time. “You know I’m not joking, right?” he asked softly.

His profile was statuesque. Instantly recognizable. Imprinted in memory. And then his dark eyes shifted, his black hair framing his temples, and now Jungkook was searching for your eyes that remained on him. You shut your mouth. He realized he had interrupted you.

“What did you want to say?”

You faltered and then shook your head. “Not important.”

His brows furrowed. “Don’t–”

“Joking about what?” you interjected. “Don’t try to distract me.”

He was, rightfully, irate. “You–”

You wrapped an arm around your midsection, suddenly feeling cold. “Is this about you quitting smoking?”

Immediately he noticed. Your demeanor demanding him to answer was a little too intense to be ignored, though. “That’s…” He tutted, his voice deepening slightly. “I’ve already quit.” You raised an eyebrow. “What?” He was trying to unconvincingly convince you. It had barely been a couple weeks, anyway. ‘Ugh, okay, fine. Maybe I bummed a cig a couple of times. But only for a couple puffs. Don’t fucking look at me like that,” Jungkook snapped. “Like you don’t have any bad habits.”

“I have bad habits,” you answered coldly. “But I also deal with how I feel. Something you should get started on.”

He threw up his hands and began to back away from the counter, until.

“Is this how you want to spend your life?” you asked.

His back was to you now. Reluctance took over, rendering his movements as statuesque as he looked moments before. You stared at his back, wondering if you had gone too far. Wondering if these shared moments were all for naught. Not really in the very real chance that he could leave and never look back, but in the very real chance that he did and nothing changed for him. Or for you. In the chance that your interactions would ultimately mean nothing in this life when it was very clear that both of you wanted to mean something. Anything.

“I don’t.”

You looked up and Jungkook was looking back at you over his shoulder. He lowered his gaze when your eyes connected before half-turning to face you, halfway between running to and running from. You asked yourself, if it was anyone else, would you stay this silent? Before it registered, you reached out and tugged his hoodie sleeve.

After all, you did always have a light for him.

He raised his eyes.

“You’re trying. Aren’t you?” You gave him a dry smile before letting go.

His lashes lowered to waning half-moons. Then he ticked his head, asking, “Do you really hate it that much?” His eyes found yours. He already knew the answer and was asking it anyway.

You told him the truth. “Yeah.”

The corner of his lips flicked upwards wryly. “Damn. So honest.”

You almost laughed. “Well… You wouldn’t like me at all if you knew I was a liar.” Then your words caught up to you. “Not that you do,” you added after a beat.

“I do,” corrected Jungkook before looking away.

Maybe he was embarrassed by his admission. You, however, were preoccupied with other thoughts. The mirrors. Your insomnia. His tattoos. His cigarettes. Your coldness. His fire. The way you tended to lock down your deep emotions and the way his tended to spill out when they overflowed. You held the lighter. He longed to burn. You liked him. That thought lingered. You hated the smoking, true, not only because of all the obvious discomforts, but also because you had a feeling that he knew he could quit and only did it to further punish himself for things he didn’t do.

You just had a feeling since you, too, punished yourself for things you didn’t do.

You felt something soft brush against your shoulders.

His hoodie smelled like him, herbal and fresh with depth, with a vague hint of washed-out acid smoke. You glanced over. He looked apologetic, gesturing to your arm over your midsection. His built chest and sculpted shoulders were mildly distracting. His white tank top clung to his body, not leaving much to the imagination. You frowned. Jungkook saw your face and braced himself for a reprimanding.

You asked him a question you had been wondering for a while now.

“Did you plan this?”

That wasn’t what he expected. His features twisted into confusion. “Uh?” He seemed to forget his anxiousness for a moment. “Plan what?” The perfect deer-in-headlights look.

You angled your body to better face him and held the edge of the hoodie, narrowing your eyes. “You know what I mean,” you warned.

He sensed danger and held up his hands in defeat. “I don’t?”

Those big brown eyes begged you to believe him. Either he was stupid or a really good actor. You relaxed slightly. You weren’t banking on the latter and really hoped you were right. You grimaced, backing away. It wasn’t fair to let learned behavior judge him yet constant vigilance was also needed for survival. You sighed, stepping around him.

“Never mind. It’s late. Just sleep in my bed. I’ll take the couch.”

“The fuck?” Jungkook followed, infuriated, much like the rest of the night. “I can’t do that.”

“The buses aren’t running this late,” you stated matter-of-factly. You waved him away, plopping onto your sofa with a tired exhale. “Or you can call a taxi, I guess. You want money for that?”

He smacked his hand down on the back of the sofa and scowled, bending down to intimidate you.

“I am not some kid!”

You looked up at him.

Jungkook froze, realizing the closeness.

He was naturally a very handsome man. You had always thought so. Never told him. He had probably heard it enough. He faltered, losing the fight but not yet letting go of the sofa. You observed the line of his jaw and thought about how hard he had to work to fulfill the image others had of him. How hard he worked to break that image, only to shoulder a different set of expectations, for only a certain level of coolness could combat the goodness he lost. If not one thing, then another. He must not have felt that he fit those ideals either. He couldn’t win.

You worried that he simply liked you in a vain attempt to feel some level of control.

Crestfallen, his eyes wandered, then realized he couldn’t because then he would be staring down your chest or at your thighs. He pretended that he wasn’t looking and raised his head, saying the first thing that came to mind.

“I feel like I don’t know you at all.”

It wasn’t so much accusatory as it was a revelation.

You lowered your gaze and realized you were staring at his chest or his crotch. That was out of the question. You almost wished he would sit down next to you, but he was right. There was a moment where you considered brushing him off as you did with everyone else. Your eyes connected. As you stared into those dark brown orbs, your instincts taunted you, asking you want you were afraid of.

“There’s nothing good to know,” you admitted. “Better to keep things to myself.”

His expression told you he fucking hated that.

He looked up to the mirrors around the room. You could see he was still a bit creeped out by them and tried very hard not to say it. Your elderly landlord did often joke about how you were inviting spirits into your home with these old mirrors. You usually countered with they also symbolized fate, to which he guffawed and asked how many fates you needed.

Sometimes, it felt like you needed every chance you could get.

“I can’t sleep in your bed,” he finally concluded, steeling himself.

“Your smokes are on my nightstand. So is my lighter.”

The door to the bedroom was partway open but Jungkook even didn’t look in that direction. His ears were slowly turning scarlet. He distracted himself with your statements. “What? Why?” He frowned. “I thought you threw ‘em away.”

You shrugged. “Seemed like a waste of money.”

He muttered under his breath. “Yeah. That’s what they are.” He looked a little ashamed. Shook his head, trying to convince himself. “Even more reason not to go in there and be tempted.” He began to step around your legs, shooing you away with a gruff, “Move.”

You didn’t move.

“You hate my bed that much even though you want to get in it?” you quipped.

Jungkook started. “That’s–”

You stood up abruptly.

It was so fast that he had no time to react. One moment you were sitting and the next you were standing right up to him with only a whisper of breath between your bodies, peering at his face. His hoodie fell off your shoulders and onto the cushions. His eyes widened, lips parting, and you witnessed him holding his breath as if that would somehow stop time.

Seconds that felt like hours ticked by.

You wondered how it would feel to be held by him.

“Fine,” you whispered, staring into his eyes. “I’ll get you a blanket and a pillow.”

And you walked around, letting him breathe again.

-

Being awake was torturous due to constantly fighting invasive thoughts. Being asleep was worse due to remaining imprisoned in those intrusive thoughts blended with uncontrolled imagination, which was your presumed explanation for your insomniac nights. Yeah. And people wondered why you kept to yourself. Such was being human, so once again you gave into the insanity of doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result because it could not be avoided.

Everyone had to sleep, after all.

And you woke up a few hours later, as predicted, wrenching yourself out of a dream you didn’t want to be in, trying your best to remember none of it. You were used to it. Routine of the night, so to speak. That made it more annoying than anxiety-inducing. You laid on your back in relative silence, staring into the darkness of the ceiling and running your fingers over your sheets. A folded portion of the duvet was trapped under your left side and you impatiently yanked it out from under you, forgetting the images of betrayal in the wake of another’s selfishness.

For tonight, anyway.

There was a loud snore on the other side of your bedroom door, offending your ears at this late hour. You sat up. You had been a little surprised at Jungkook accepting your offer. Then again, everything was happening because of split decisions and obvious desires. And some logic. Just not much. You hadn’t talked much after you handed him the extra pillow from your bed and a soft fuzzy blanket. There wasn’t much to talk about, not to mention both of you were trying to pretend as if this wasn’t happening. In movies and television shows, this would have gone in a whole different direction. In reality, it was a lot more awkward and untimely.

You glanced over to the nightstand that held his cigarettes and your lighter, barely making out the outlines of the items. Maybe his initial intention really was to come just to get them. Or maybe it was to put you in a compromising position or something like that. Neither of those things happened because neither of those things were who he was, only ideas of what he thought he could be, but he hadn’t thought any of it through, so now he was snoring up a storm on your sofa without a care in the world.

Unlike you, it seemed like his sleep was solace rather than a battleground.

You tapped a finger against the bed and then sighed, pulling yourself out from under the duvet to grab a large t-shirt to pull over your head. Headed to the bedroom door and opened it quietly, slipping out to the kitchen accompanied by Jungkook’s noisy and uncoordinated nose symphony. He was facing the inside of the sofa but, unfortunately for you and fortunately for him, had powerful lungs. There wasn’t much worry about rousing him. You opened the fridge and took out a bottle of water, hoping the cool liquid could refresh you somehow.

You faced the sink and took a few sips.

Was friendship even the correct word for what you and Jeon Jungkook had? It was more closeness from coincidence rather than a direct seeking out of the other. Closeness that became closer before either of you realized it, slowly losing all the people in between until only you and him were left. Maybe that was why he had a sort of fixation on you since everyone had distanced themselves for various reasons, relationships, careers, adventures. Then again, fixation seemed to be his defining feature.

You almost snorted, and would have if he wasn’t sleeping on your couch.

But maybe not, as he had paradoxical, flighty tendencies too. Always influenced by someone or some media he consumed. You weren’t without your own flaws, you knew. Deep thought and constant existential crisis didn’t exactly make for good company. Sometimes it was better not to think so much, which was why you tried to fight your instinctive nature at times. You looked over to the mirrors on the living room walls, taking another drink. They were small, not very useful as a looking glass or for nitpicking an outfit before leaving. You had not been lying when you told Jungkook that you bought them to get over your hatred of them. There was a time when you hated seeing your reflection because the person in the mirror wasn’t matching up with the person in your head.

Irrational, yes.

Reality was irrational.

You rested your ass against the bottom cabinets of your kitchen and sipped from the water bottle. You knew you weren’t a good person since you had long given up aspiring for something great. Anyone worth anything aspired for something great. Not even failure was frowned upon the in the presence of a dream nowadays. You didn’t understand why Jungkook was snoring in your apartment right now, why he cared if you got home in one piece, why he was trying so hard to quit smoking for someone like you who lived in irreverence. South Korea valued productivity, beauty, and giving away one’s humanity for the cause. Not giving a fuck made you no better than the bottom of the barrel.

You couldn’t answer what he so heavily hinted at because it just didn’t make any sense.

Maybe he was just dumb.

Jungkook snored particularly loud and choked, throwing himself into a coughing fit.

You frowned and made your way over to him as he shrimped up and groaned, highly displeased and groggy from this turn of events. There was no obvious reaction to you approaching him. Either he didn’t hear you or didn’t register where he was.

You placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Nrgh…”

“You alright?” You kept your voice low, a level above a whisper. “Want some water?”

He said your name as if underwater. Muffled and out of it. You pulled your hand away as he turned over and sat up, squinting hard. “Uh?” He was still wearing his tank top which was now wrinkled around his waist. The top of his chest glistened with sweat. He probably usually slept shirtless and didn’t do so to be polite.

You held out the plastic bottle in your hand. “Water.”

He wasn’t thinking straight because he grabbed the bottle from you without objection, as if he wholeheartedly accepted you were the cold-water fairy of his dreams. He drank without so much of a thank you and with his lips right against the opening, crushing the latter half of what was left in only a few seconds.

“Uwah…!”

He dropped his hand, breathing out hard. You glanced at your empty hand. Comtemplated on giving him a reality check of what he just did but instead decided to let it go.

“Uh… Why are you awake?” he asked you blearily, becoming more awake by the second.

Some truths were better left unsaid for now. “Getting used to your snoring,” you mused, dropping your hand.

Jungkook seemed embarrassed. Looked from the water bottle to the coffee table behind your legs. The distance was too great for it to be casual. He clung onto it for emotional safety. “S-Sorry about that,” he mumbled, straightening his tank top and rubbing his neck.

“It’s probably a side effect of your smoking,” you commented.

He shot you an angry pout but there was no retort when you were right. “It’s probably my rhinitis,” he huffed. An uncomfortable, short silence.

Once again, both of you were reminded of a late-night call in the dead of night.

You held out your hand for the water bottle. After a moment, Jungkook handed it back. Apparently, it still hadn’t occurred to him why it was half-empty.  He seemed more curious about you being awake. You wondered that too. You gestured to the pillow.

“It’s not comfortable, is it?”

He followed your gesture and half-heartedly shrugged. “I’ll be okay.” He shot you a look. “Worried about me?” His deep, sleepy voice sounded a lot cockier than he looked. He looked like a puppy that had just woken up after napping in a weird position. His black hair was sticking up every which way.

“I’m always worried about you,” you replied with a deadpan face.

His eyes widened.

You followed up with, “You’re an idiot.”

That pissed Jungkook off. He reached up to smack you and you caught his hand in the air. That woke him up. But honestly you were losing sleep and energy fast. It made you catch his fingers at an odd angle, almost a caress, and you were too tired to care, sighing before backing away, slowly letting go of his hand. His fingertips slid over the inside of your wrist. You turned your back to him.

You headed to the kitchen and tossed the bottle in the proper recycling bin.

He called your name.

“What?” you grumpily replied, straightening.

“You’re not wearing pants…” Jungkook reminded you.

You had to bend over to access the sorted trash. “Lucky you.”

His tone became gruff. “Don’t be so reckless in front of a guy.”

You half-turned and raised an eyebrow. He was still firmly seated on your sofa. “You act like I’m not standing in my kitchen next to my knives,” you pointed out, ticking your head in the direction of your knife block. “Also, are you implying that you’re a trashy guy?”

“I’m not a trashy guy,” he snapped angrily.

“Then what do I have to be worried about?” You took the steps towards your bedroom door.

“I just don’t like how you obviously have no interest in me,” Jungkook muttered under his breath, throwing himself down onto the sofa and turning his back to you.

You stopped in the doorway.

He was not provoking you. He sounded more like a kid that didn’t get his way rather than an adult trying to reverse psychology you. His words were not meant to change your mind. Yet, all of a sudden, you began to wonder what the fuck you were dancing in this limbo for. All because you didn’t want to be someone’s reason for anything? Well, congratulations, you failed. You failed your dream of a pointless existence. Woohoo. You rolled your eyes to the sky and turned around.

He was still pill-bug-positioned when you grabbed his shoulder and yanked him from the cease in the sofa, lowering your head to hiss, “Stop being a fucking brat.”

You expected him to tense up. His head jerked around and Jungkook stared at you. Wide-eyed, as if you had just pulled him out of a top hat by his ears. You glared, physically tired and tired of this shit, sliding your hand down his collarbone and cupping his chin, pulling him to better face you, tilting your head to narrow your eyes at him.

He sputtered. “W… What?”

“You heard me,” you answered in a clipped tone. “Get up.”

“Huh?”

You let go of his chin and slapped his upper arm. “Get up.”

In a tangle of long limbs and bewilderment, you yanked him up by his forearm, snatching the pillow from under him. Dragged him and his twisted blanket skirt into your bedroom. You hadn’t given him enough time to unravel himself. You let go of his forearm and slammed the pillow onto the empty right side of the bed, pointing rudely to the rumpled poof.

“Lay down,” you ordered.

Jungkook waved his hands, panic rising in his gravelly voice. “I can’t–”

“I don’t give a fuck,” you interrupted and marched behind him, shoving the small of his back. He got the hint after a short flailing about, shuffling towards the side of the bed before flopping onto the duvet like a caught tuna. He tried not to make eye contact, but you weren’t looking anyway, too busy crossing over to the other side and slinking under the duvet.

He squeaked out an, “Um…”

“Shut up,” was your automatic grumble. “Go to sleep.”

He answered in a small voice. “But… What if I snore…?”

“I know you’ll snore,” you grunted, reaching to him and pinning his shoulder down. He was above the duvet, half-wrapped in the blanket you had given him earlier. You had noticed he was still wearing his gray sweatpants so he wasn’t indecent. Not that it mattered. “I’ll get used to it.”

“I…”

You made a growling noise in warning, squinting at his face.

He gulped. “I just… Wanted to say thanks…”

You let go of him and turned your back, firmly closing your eyes. Jungkook was right there. You had a queen-sized bed. Big enough, but not so big that he could pull himself far away from you. You could feel his presence. It wasn’t a bad thing, though.

“You’re welcome,” you mumbled curtly and didn’t say any more.

-

When he opened the door, he looked disheveled and distractable, noisily chewing gum, jerking his head around your periphery as if he expected you to bring an entourage to shake him down. You stood at his doorstep, perturbed. His dark eyes flickered to you and nearly bulged out of his head.

“The hell are you wearing?” Jeon Jungkook blurted without any formal or informal greeting.

You thought you would be used to it by now. It was becoming kind of funny, in a way. “These are my work clothes,” you calmly explained. It was true that he hadn’t seen you in a nice silk blouse and fitted pencil skirt before. Dark teal and jet black, respectively. “I have a job I go to.”

This was the logical answer but it was not exactly the answer Jungkook wanted. You could tell by the knitting of his brows, his still open mouth, and the way he was just staring at your hips instead of continuing the conversation. His black hair was sticking up in the back. As usual, he was wearing casual clothes. A big, light gray t-shirt and charcoal sweats.

You raised your hand and shut his jaw so you didn’t have to view his half-chewed pink gum. “You’re going to the gym, aren’t you?”

It broke him out of his trance. He looked irritated, chewing again. More than that. He looked jittery. “Yeah.” He seemed to be having a mental debate. You wanted no part of that. “I was about to drink a protein shake while waiting for you.”

“Cool,” you said in an impassive tone that indicated you had no interest in protein shakes. You reached into your mid-size black leather bag and pulled out his black sweatpants, now clean and smelling of dryer sheet. “Here, then.” You lifted your head to hold them out.

Jungkook had abandoned his front door.

A muscle in your cheek twitched. His apartment was more modern, although about the same size as yours. Space was a luxury. The door was slowly closing without the aid of someone holding it. You smacked your palm against the light wood and pushed it open, your black heels clicking on the dark gray hardwood. Or was it vinyl? Hard to tell and you didn’t care to inspect. The walls were bright cool white. His big black backpack was on the floor of the short entrance hall. It was slightly open. Black boxing gloves with yellow accents and white towels were shoved in there. You expected him to be messy but all of his sneakers were lined up against the wall. Could use a shoe rack, though.

Jungkook reappeared, gum-less this time, carrying a shake tumbler with a vanilla-colored substance in it, clanging it about with one hand and trying to be chill. As chill as a nonchalant freak-out would be.

He coughed and asked, casually, “You go dressed like that to work?”

You weren’t sure why he gave a shit about what you were wearing. “Perks of an administrative desk job. Dress code.” You waved the rolled-up sweatpants in his direction. “Take these.”

He gave you a suspicious look as if you were the one to decide societal expectations for female office wear. “Who are you trying to impress?”

“The HR department,” you replied, deadpan. “I’d get fired if I showed up to work dressed like you.”

He nodded, agreeing but not convinced. “What if someone hits on you?”

“I set them on fire.”

Jungkook gawked at you.

You dropped your outstretched arm and clicked your tongue. “I don’t do anything. No one is allowed to date a co-worker and I’m not interested in any of them,” you explained. If only he knew that you sat alone in a cramped office and reviewed budgeting for university laboratories so no one was heedlessly using government funding. It was thrilling stuff. “Why do you care if someone hits on me?”

His eyes narrowed. “Of course, I care. I don’t want some asshole harassing you.” Before you could tell him to look in the mirror, he muttered, “Do you really think you won’t get hurt looking that hot?”

The real answer was that you didn’t care.

You tossed his sweatpants onto his backpack while saying, “Workplace harassment is very serious. I doubt my superiors want a scandal. You’re right. I’m considered attractive, so they want to keep me as a model employee and for gender equality points.”

“What about the train?” Jungkook pressed, stepping closer.

You almost rolled your eyes. “The subway is always shitty. Everybody knows that,” you said. “I’ve been taking the subway since high school. I’m pretty good at spotting psycho now.” You looked up at him with contained venom. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know that,” he snapped, placing his protein shake on the floor before confronting you again. “I just don’t like it.” He glared back.

You raised an eyebrow. “You don’t like that I can take care of myself?”

“No,” Jungkook stubbornly repeated. Frustration crept into his features. “It makes me mad.”

One look at his face and it was obvious what he was implying. There was no reason to give in, though. “That sucks.” You patted the top of his chest condescendingly. “Maybe you need to see a therapist for that.”

He jerked his head towards the mound on his backpack. “Take the pants back and put them on.”

You wondered if he was being this way because he had paranoia or because he had nothing better to do. “No,” you refused. You crossed your arms. “Don’t be this way only for yourself. Plus, I just washed them.”

Like an ox, he didn’t relent. “Then I’ll get you a different pair.”

You noticed you didn’t smell the scent of smoke on him. Not strong or faint. It was obvious he didn’t smoke in his apartment, but he probably did at the roof of the complex or somewhere similar. You didn’t know him to be a heavy smoker, but it inevitably got onto his belongings. You tilted your head. There hadn’t been any smell that night a couple weeks ago when he slept over at your apartment where you had eventually forced him to snore on the bed.

You had woken up to Jungkook sprawled out, snoring into the pillow and one arm on your tits.

Explained your dream where you felt annoying pressure on your chest. That morning had been rather uneventful other than waking him up and kicking him out of your apartment. You had the decency to be more polite than that, but neither of you were in a state to talk about it. Neither of you seemed to be morning people. You simply told him you had work. He had mumbled he did too, and he had to race out to get ready in time. Only now had you found time to stop by his apartment to return his borrowed sweatpants. Maybe you had been avoiding it a little bit. Texts between you both were sparse. Asking for his address and asking if he’d be home. You peered into his dark eyes. Jungkook paused. He seemed to sense that you weren’t walling him anymore.

“When was the last time you smoked?” You made sure not to sound accusatory.

He started. “Uh…” He looked sheepish. “I’ve been trying to last a month at least…” He gestured behind him to what you assumed was the kitchen. You could see part of his living room from here but not much. His couch was cognac brown leather. “Been chewing gum and going to the gym a bunch to fight the cravings.” Frowned and sighed. “It’s hard,” Jungkook bitterly muttered. He glared. “Bet you’re loving this.”

Unluckily for him, you weren’t intimidated by puppy growls. You nodded, noncommittal, and looked down. His charcoal sweatpants looked soft. Worn in with wear. Your eyes flickered back up. His followed with slight confusion etching into his expression. You held his gaze until you felt his discomfort.

And then you made an impulsive, instinctive decision.

“I’ll agree to borrowing another pair of your pants,” you finally said. He looked relieved. “As long as I get to pick which pair.”

He seemed puzzled but shrugged. “Sure?”

You pressed for confirmation. “Agree or not?”

“Yeah, sure,” Jungkook responded sharply. “What, you that desperate to raid my closet or something? Go ahead, then.” He waved a careless hand into the apartment.

But you stayed where you were. You stepped forward with a click of your heels. He stepped back in his house slippers, bewildered but still defiant, not yet realizing that you were not herding him further inside. He moved as if to let you lead the way, except you turned your body to block him, watching his every move.

His shoulder blades hit the wall.

Those big brown eyes blinked slowly. “Uh…”

You glanced down and then back up at his face.

Jungkook’s eyes tracked your movement. Didn’t get it. You repeated the dip of your chin and lashes, then back up. Dead silence. It slowly dawned onto him. You cocked your head, removing your crossed arms as his eyes became wider.

“W… What…?”

You didn’t let him hide his reaction, tracking every quiver of his lip and awkward chuckle. “They’re clean, aren’t they?” you asked as if it was the most sensible question in the world.

“Uh, well, yeah, b-but…” Jungkook stuttered, trying to decipher how serious you were or if he was even understanding the implications of your stare. “T-That’s…”

You backed up a step. “Then it’s a no?” you offered. “And you will stop trying to white knight my outfit choices?” You made yourself clear. “I won’t be changing them simply because you hate my clothes.”

His eyes narrowed. “I don’t hate your clothes. I like them. That is the problem,” he barked.

You gave him a blank look.

Jungkook sighed out of his nose before looking away and saying in a clipped tone, “Fine. I’ll change. Whatever.”

You moved before he could, blocking his way again.

He growled under his breath, glaring down. “What?”

You held aggressive eye contact. “We’re behind closed doors,” you reminded him. Gave him the pointed up-and-down. “Go on.”

Slight panic laced into his expression. “Uh… Are you serious?”

You already knew Jungkook wasn’t commenting on your fashion because he thought it was inappropriate. It was for the same innocuous reason that you were asking him for the charcoal sweatpants he was wearing right now. Well. Demanding.

“Deadly,” you answered him with a deadly smile.

He might be bigger and stronger than you, but he lacked the imposing audacity. You waited. He didn’t move. Ten full seconds passed. You had your answer, then. You gave him a curt nod and readjusted your grip on your work bag, about to turn away.

A strong hand wrapped around your wrist and gently pulled you back.

You backtracked to stand in front of him again. His eyes darted about somewhat nervously. “I get it…” he mumbled, still holding onto your wrist. His other hand was drifting down. He seemed uncomfortable but not in a bad way, which struck you as odd. He lifted the hem of his shirt a bit. It caught on the front tie of the sweatpants. The tips of his ears were pink. Jungkook hooked a thumb under the waistband and averted his eyes.

You reached forward and pulled on the end of the looped strings.

He nearly yelped and jerked back, causing the tie to come unraveled. You had leaned over a little to get access. Lifted your gaze to look up at his shocked face. He was speechless. You didn’t straighten up yet. Just stared into his eyes. His lips parted but no words came out.

You smiled.

He uneasily let go of your wrist. You backed out of his personal space. Jungkook gave you a strange look and stripped off his pants with a swift tug downwards, bending a knee to kick them up and into his hand, immediately holding them in front of his body.

“Here.”

He thrust the balled-up sweats into your chest. You looked at it. Then at him. Then tried to crane your head downwards.

“H-Hey!”

He waved wildly. You stumbled. He tried to catch you without dropping anything. Your hand came up to press against his chest, causing him to back against the wall again, clutching his pants in front of his crotch. You paused and searched his expression as you pulled back your hand. He was in between conflicted and stunned. His legs were quite defined. At least he didn’t skip leg day. You decided to do it. Lowered your bag to the floor so you had use of your two hands. You reached behind you for the invisible zipper of your skirt and pulled it down. Jungkook seemed to be in a perpetual state of silence. You had to wiggle slightly to free yourself of the tube of black fabric, stepping out of it primly before standing back up, leaving you in your sheer black stockings and with your blouse barely skimming the tops of your thighs.

Now both of you were holding your bottoms. One of you was simply dumbstruck. The other folded and rolled up the skirt, tucking it into your elbow, and stepped up to him. Immediately, his free hand shot up, planting right above your left breast, dark tattoos stark against his tan skin from the overhead light.

“W-Whoa, wait…!”

You tilted your head and rested your hand on the sweatpants he was now desperately clutching to his lower body. You tugged. He did not let go. You raised an eyebrow and began to lower your head. His fingertips hooked under your chin and yanked you back up to his terrified expression of wild eyes and fish mouth. You remained emotionless, giving him nothing. His cheeks flushed pink.

“I… I just need a second–”

You closed more of the distance, placing a leg in between his slightly open ones. His grip on your chin tightened. It didn’t scare you in the slightest. In contrast, big bad Jungkook looked like he was about to sink into the floor. You stilled. Maybe this was too far.

You leaned back a little but didn’t remove your leg. “A second for what?”

He swallowed hard, averting his gaze again. “U-Uh, j-j-just a s-second to breathe… that’s all,” he muttered.

“What’s the issue?” you calmly inquired.

“N-Nothing,” and that sounded like a whole lot of something.

You shifted your leg and your stocking-covered shin rubbed against his calf. Jungkook made a very strange noise and hastily pulled his hand back. You did not stop the contact. You simply watched the emotions play across his features as he shut his eyes, wordlessly mouthing swears before clenching his jaw and sliding up the wall to delicately back up.

“You sure it’s nothing?” Twice as unassuming and immediately tipping him off that you were aware of his predicament.

His brows furrowed. “Shut up.” He took in several deep breaths.

You hummed. “Is it that big of a deal?”

“Yes, it is,” Jungkook hissed. He cracked open one eye. “Have you no sense of danger?”

You did your best not to smile. Failed, but only just. “Not with you.”

Relief and annoyance washed over him. “Shut up,” he said again and you were beginning to realize he did not really mean for you to shut up. “Ugh.” He thrust the charcoal ball of fabric into your chest. “Here. Put it on.”

“No longer embarrassed?” you asked, catching a glimpse of his partial erection.

Jungkook pointedly looked away from you and stared at his own front door. “I’m not embarrassed. Put the pants on, damnnit. I can’t look at you.”

“Sure, you can,” you quipped as you slipped on his sweatpants. “I’m sure you’ve checked me out at some point.”

He sucked in the side of his cheek sharply. “It’s not the same. And, besides…” He trailed off.

You smoothed out the front and tightened the strings. Jungkook reluctantly brought his gaze back to you, checking you out. You tugged your blouse out of the pants a bit to give the two disharmonious pieces more balance. You filled out the top of his pants a bit more because of your ass. The whole ensemble was a little odd, but only if one looked too closely.

He frowned. “Why do you look good?”

“It’s the heels,” you absentmindedly replied. “Besides, what?”

For a moment, you thought Jungkook wasn’t going to respond. But then his eyes raised, locking to yours determinedly. “If I can make it to a month, then…” He faltered before regaining his composure. “No, I will make it to a month. And all the rest. But when you see how serious I am, then… Then I want you to seriously consider me.”

Now it was your turn to avert your eyes. You didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Guilt settled as you realized that he was more intuitive than you gave him credit for. But you came back to him, eventually. His dark brown orbs lit up as you spoke.

“Sure.”

-

In a surprising turn of events, Jeon Jungkook actually greeted you with a breathless, “Hey,” for once when you answered his call, only to follow that up with, “The fuckin’ gym is closed, fuck.”

You blinked at your phone, put it on speaker, and tucked it into one of your upper kitchen cabinets to prop it up. It was not a video call. However, your hands were currently occupied. “I’m sorry,” you replied dryly, turning down the vent fan.

“Ugh, I really needed it today,” he grumbled, mostly at himself rather than at you. You heard the sounds of traffic and the white noise of wind. “And it’s cold tonight, hmph.”

You mentally calculated the day as you picked up the plate and tongs again. “Why was it closed? It’s not a holiday as far as I know.”

“I dunno. Note on the door said family emergency, so I guess I’ll find out later from the manager,” he said absentmindedly. It was a bit weird that Jungkook was treating this like small talk when he almost never called. You weren’t sure what you were supposed to do or say about his predicament, so you began to place the slices of meat onto the hot pan, which immediately began loudly sizzling with popping oil. It must have picked up on the microphone. You heard a startled noise and then, “Whatchu doing?”

“Making dinner. And meal prepping at the same time, since I’m already cooking,” you replied, nudging the slices to fit all the meat in. Hm. Wouldn’t be the first time. Hm.

“What are you making?” He was sounding a bit too eager.

“Braised vegetables and pan-fried samgyeopsal,” you answered, reminding yourself to check under the lid. The bok choy and enoki mushrooms were just barely done. You quickly removed it from the heat before returning it the sizzling pork belly.

“Ugh.” He sounded jealous. “I’m jealous.” Guess he was. You found yourself smiling and quickly stopped, lightly adding a little flaky salt before starting the process of turning them over. You might die from a heart attack but not without a full belly of pork belly. “You’ve made me hungry. Maybe I’ll go get some ice cream.”

You mused. “Gym closed, so ice cream on a cool night is the solution?” The edges of pork belly were becoming that sweet golden caramel. Your kitchen was becoming decadently fragrant.

“This night is shit, anyway,” Jungkook complained. “I’d come over but you’d kick me out.”

You paused at his words. Then you busied yourself with taking the plate to the sink while raising your voice so he could hear you. “I didn’t kick you out last time.”

There was a short muteness that your both mutually agreed on before he sighed dramatically. “Fine, fine. I’ll go home without the ice cream.”

You tutted. “I’m not the food police. Go get your ice cream if you want to.” You began to portion out the vegetables into the glass tupperware that you had already lined up.

“Nah,” he muttered. He really enjoyed this seesaw, huh. To be honest, you didn’t mind it. Maybe calling it fun too out of line, but. “I shouldn’t go into the convenience store, anyway. I don’t wanna break my streak.”

Only stubbornness could solidify self-restraint, it seemed. You checked the pork belly. It was done, so you turned off the fire and began to plate up your soon-to-be and future meals. Took less time because you had boiled the samgyeopsal first to keep the meat tender, removed it before it was completely cooked through, sliced it, and then pan-fried to completion. You plated the last of the vegetables, added the final helping of pork belly, and drizzled a bit of soybean paste on top. A small part of you wanted to take a photo and send it to Jungkook. Rub it in, perhaps. You picked up your phone and opened the camera app.

“Hey.”

“Uh?”

You filled the photo space with a close-up shot of your simple meal and sent it to him. “Check your messages.”

There was a scuffle and Jungkook grunted before gasping and then bringing his phone back to his ear. “Hey, fuck you.”

You couldn’t help it. You laughed.

“Man… You suck.” He didn’t know the half of it. He was mumbling a tantrum on the street. “Ugh, now I’m so hungry... And mad. I’m mad at you.”

In between tee-hees and bites of your dinner, you placed your phone onto the counter. “If you buy me lunch, I’ll let you have one of mine,” you joked. Mmm, the meat was cooked just right. You mentally patted yourself on the back.

“No… I can’t do that,” he grumbled, taking your joke seriously. He scoffed. “Instead, I’ll bring a steak and make you cook it for me.”

“Steak?” You considered his suggestion. “Sure, I can cook steak.”

“Hah, see, you won’t – wait…” You heard a sputter and what sounded like a tumble. Or maybe the beginnings of one caught in the middle. He did have good reflexes. “O… Oh.” He sounded winded. “I thought you were… Thought you were gonna refuse.”

You nibbled on some delicious enoki mushroom. “Why?” You knew full well why. Just wanted to make him squirm. Also, him thinking you couldn’t cook a steak annoyed you. As if you didn’t know the value of medium rare. Hmph.

“A-Ah… Well.” He coughed and promptly changed the subject as embarrassed people do. “Are you eating right now?”

“Mhm,” you hummed. “It’s very tasty. I did a good job.”

You could him suck in an inhale of childish disappointment. “I’m suffering here.”

“No one is asking you to.”

“Hmmmm, I don’t like this.” And yet he stayed on the line. It sounded like he was jogging the streets. Maybe trying to arrive home faster and keep his body temperature up.

You imagined it. Then you told yourself to stop that. “Do you have something to eat at home?”

“There’s probably something,” Jungkook puffed. “Probably not as good, but I’ve got freezer stuff. I can cook, though,” he insisted.

You hadn’t questioned it. But you did now. “Hm, really?” You half-smiled in between bites of bok choy.

“Yes, really.” Very adamant. “Someday,” he added, in the tone of someday proving it.

You remembered the last time he was in your kitchen. The last time he was in your apartment. You looked down to the cropped black t-shirt and the familiar charcoal sweatpants you were wearing. The scene was set. Still, it didn’t clarify how to feel about it. Answers were usually simple. Believing them was a different story. He called your name. Without thinking, you answered right away.

“Mhm?”

“I’m home,” Jungkook grunted.

Maybe you supposed to pop confetti. You let it go and asked, “Less angry about your lack of gym time?”

“Not really.” But he did sound less stressed somehow. Maybe it was the cardio of the jog. “I guess I gotta find something to eat now. Lemme put you on speaker.”

The number of times he could have hung up increased. And yet he hadn’t done so yet. You were almost finished eating. You could have ended the call right now. Said you were busy and done your chores without further distraction. It just didn’t feel right. That said enough. Well, at the very least, you thought you should accompany him on his food adventure.

He exclaimed loudly. “Ah! I found some corn ice cream at the bottom of my freezer! Nice!”

Your palm made contact with your forehead. “I guess you must be the gods’ lucky one,” you mused, mopping up your last bite. Time to clear the kitchen. Sad.

“You know it,” he cheered.

You heard him ripping open the plastic with gusto. Would have sounded cocky if it wasn’t for his barely audible happy noises. You began to tidy up the kitchen to distract yourself. Putting away spices, collecting the various cooking utensils into the sink, wiping down counters, putting the lids on the now cooled-down meals. You stacked them in the fridge. You didn’t try to hide what you were doing but, then again, Jungkook was seemingly too mesmerized by his ice cream to speak. Amidst your domestic tasks, you saw the parallels of being in the same place in your respective apartments, both together and apart at the same time with only a thread of technology connecting each other, and you glanced at your phone screen, wondering if he had hung up on you. The call was still active.

Such a mundane existence.

And yet.

You stood by your sink, the washing up the last to do, and you abandoned it to stand by your phone. It seemed so… annoying to have simple enjoyments taken away by complicated thoughts. Maybe there was a better word for it. But that wasn’t the point. The point was that you were listening to Jungkook enjoying his small happiness of the day and wondered if he intentionally or unintentionally shared it with you. Wondered if the intention even mattered in the face of what was.

You broke the relative silence. “When do you want me to cook that steak for you?”

The faint sound of licking lips. He must have scooted closer to his phone, because the volume of his words was louder than the sounds from earlier. “Uh…” You waited. “I think my one month of no cigarettes is coming up soon. Maybe then…?” He trailed off awkwardly.

The crumpled pack was still on your nightstand next to your lighter. You hadn’t touched either. They were collectively collecting dust. You opened your mouth, reconsidered, and then said what was on your mind.

“I never hated you just because you smoked.”

Maybe it was better that you couldn’t see each other. “Yeah, but…” He let out a breath. “It was the reason why you didn’t want to be around me.”

You couldn’t deny it.

“I get it, though,” Jungkook muttered softly. “I didn’t really want to be around myself either. Maybe I haven’t had any great failures, but… That means I haven’t had a chance to grow from hardships. Coasting, sort of. I need to push myself to be better, because I’m definitely not where I’m supposed to be.”

Your eyes raised which caused you to realize you had dipped your head. You wondered who put those thoughts in his head, but the answer was all around you. In the subtext of conversation of strangers, friends, family.

“It’s weird,” he continued, maybe forgetting you could hear him slurp in between words or because his ice cream was rapidly melting. “I was talking to a friend about you and he asked me if you ever needed anything from me, ever.” He sucked in a breath. “Tch. I kinda hate that, but also it made me realize… Isn’t that the most natural I’ve ever been with anyone? No expectations… Maybe even negative.” He laughed a little, and you could imagine him shaking his head. “Is this how you want to spend your life? No. I want to be someone that you might need someday.”

You didn’t say anything about him talking about you to other people. It was slightly funny of him to think of you as an enigma when you felt that you were so simple, really. Maybe that made you the root of his complicated thoughts. Maybe not. He was right in that you did your best to not depend on others, even going out of you way to not need others. Not expecting anything from them to not be disappointed. You didn’t see that changing anytime soon, but, an exception?

All rules had them.

“I’m looking forward to making you that steak,” you chuckled. “I need to finish up the dishes, so I’ll let you go. For now.”

“A-Ah…” Jungkook cleared his throat. “Okay. S… See ya.”

You half-smiled. Even though he couldn’t see it, you were sure that he could hear it in your tone. “You will,” and you ended the call.

-

You found a small package addressed to you in your mailbox. No return address, no postage, but it had relatively neat handwriting that seemed familiar somehow. You tucked the soliciting letters under your arm as you re-locked your postage box. The packaging was brown paper. You turned it over in your hand.

For your collection. Jeon Jungkook.

You almost snorted. He could have. But he didn’t. You suddenly felt odd, so you quickly walked back to your apartment, shouldering your mail and your work bag, fitting the small package into your palm. The mail room was on the ground floor. You went up the flights of stairs to the far-left unit. Unlocked your front door and went in, using your shoulder to push it open.

You closed the door behind you before you opened the brown-paper wrapped parcel.

The outside packaging unfurled. Tissue paper and a bit of foam. Something told you he didn’t pack this. This was the work of the elderly who sold it to him. Smooth steel. But you felt something on the side against your palm. You turned the disc around. It was one of those snap-close clay art mirrors. The kind delicately handmade by a practiced artisan’s hands. You ran your finger over it, entranced by the ridges and matte texture. The focal point was the gradient of orange depicting tiger lilies. The background was black, making the small imagery stand out.

Tiger lilies, huh.

You opened the pocket mirror and saw your bewildered expression staring back at you. Your initial compulsion was to look away. Your intrusive thoughts interrupted, asking you if you really hated what you saw. You looked and your reflection looked back. You lifted the mirror slightly, inspecting your makeup. You barely wore any to just barely get away with it at work. It still looked good.

You half-smiled.

“You’re so fucking full of it, Jeon Jungkook,” you chuckled, tucking the mirror into the pocket of your work bag before going about the rest of your night.

-

He was quite excited for steak day until you made him speechless.

“U-uh, hey! Ahem. Hey. I have the steaks. You didn’t say if I should bring vegetables, so I also got cabbage, carrots, shitake mushrooms, I didn’t know, I guessed, sorry, and I can help cook if you need someone to watch the vegetables while, uh, I can chop or clean or anything at all… um, why are you dressed like t-that…?”

If it was his plan to greet cool, calm, and collected, he failed. You opened your apartment door to gum-chewing, wide-eyed, rambling Jeon Jungkook wearing a baggy but heavyweight white button-up and dark blue jeans with white contrast stitching. Black belt with a bright gold buckle. The hem of the jeans draped well over his black laced boots. His black leather jacket was jammed in the crook of his elbow with the groceries. His jacket had silver zippers, which didn’t match his belt. The button-up was done all the way up to his neck, which didn’t suit him.

You let him go on his rant and tried not to smile.

The situation was not exactly funny. It was obvious that he was out-of-sorts by the frantic way he was gnawing on his gum like his life depended on it. You had to wait for him to take a breath. He was too far gone in his speech for you to interrupt him. You almost dared to call it adorable. Didn’t because that wasn’t part of your image even though clearly Jungkook had completely broke the image he wanted to craft for himself over his entire time of knowing you. For his sake, you pretended nothing was amiss. You simply took the groceries from his hands while saying, “Change of plans.”

His jaw was slack. You could see the pink wad of gum stuck to his molars. Lovely. “E-Eh?”

You noticed his black hair looked a little messy and windswept. It was longer now, too, giving him an unintentional rockstar vibe. Thankfully his brain was too preoccupied with being unable to catch up to the moment to notice you noticing him. You backed up into your apartment to place the bags on your kitchen counter, busying yourself with putting everything into your refrigerator.

“I want to take you somewhere,” you said to the shelves of your fridge, clearing out space. Oh, wow. He really did buy high-grade steak. Two of them. And a giant head of cabbage. “I don’t like carrots,” you commented. “But I’ll make them for you and you can take home the rest.”

He sputtered with the elegance of a caught bluefin tuna. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t – T-Take me somewhere?”

In the middle of placing the last thing, the bundle of carrots, into the fridge, you said it.

“Yes. I want to take you on a date.”

To be honest, you weren’t sure if it would come out as confidently as you heard yourself, but there was no going back now. You had debated before this day had come, turning over the tiger lily pocket mirror in your hand at night. Debated if the unwillingness was worth it and decided it wasn’t. You weren’t sure if Jungkook was thinking the same thing you were, but then he showed up. Over-dressed. Vibrating with nervous energy. Talking too fast. One look at him and you knew. You could think you had all the time in the world, but it wasn’t true. You turned around to see Jungkook’s dumbfounded expression at the entrance of your apartment and you knew.

Despite never believing in anything and thinking everything was going to shit, well, you might as well go down with a feeling of a life well-lived.

“A d… date…?”

You closed the door of your refrigerator. “A date. You’ve heard of those, haven’t you?”

He looked like he hadn’t. “I… uh… Yes?” You had meant the light jab to bring Jungkook back to Earth but both of you were currently stuck on cloud nine. “Is that why you…?” His hand raised and made a vague gesture.

Your own hand raised to smooth back your hair from your bare shoulder. “Ah. Yes.” Since your closet was mostly made up of comfy, work, and concert outfits – in that order – that amount of classy date pieces were slightly nonexistent. You had one black dress made of a slinky soft ribbed texture that was what you ended up wearing. It reached the floor, which suited the night climate of this time of year. The rest of it was quite sexy, though. The fabric made the dress cling to and accentuate your curves. The straight neckline and thin straps were maybe too flattering. Jungkook’s eyes were certainly wandering to the general area of your collarbones. You usually wore this dress in a very specific way, which you intended to do so tonight, but it couldn’t hurt to let him admire.

Yeah.

Admire was definitely the word.

Just like how you were letting him admire you walking up to him, sending him into a mild panic, knowing exactly what you were doing but trying not to think about it, instead focusing on what had been bugging you ever since you had seen it. “This… I’m sorry, but this doesn’t suit you,” you muttered, unfastening the first few buttons of the shirt and shaking it out to a more relaxed collar. He smelled good. Oh, wow, he smelled very good. Bergamot and cedarwood, it seemed. “It looked too stuffy.” You noticed the thin gold chain underneath. Oh. Perhaps the unintentional mixing of gold and silver was intentional after all. You righted the chain so it was more visible, his warm skin under your cool fingertips, and maybe you were imagining it or was that a shiver between you and him at the contact?

Your hands awkwardly hovered over his chest.

It was hard to look up but you made yourself do it.

Jungkook seemed startled but at the very least thawed from the initial shock. “O-Oh, but…” Surely he was not staring at your cleavage. Surely. You might have put it right in his line of vision, but, surely. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “It’s c-cold outside. At least…”

It was certainly an exaggeration to call it slow-motion, and yet somehow that was the only way to describe it because now you were the one frozen in extended seconds as he tumbled his leather jacket into his palm, grabbing it by the collar and lifting it up, up and to his left hand, flaring it out with a loud flap before draping worn-in warmth over your shoulders. The sudden weight caused you to tilt forward lightly. Your open palms pressed against his chest to steady yourself. His hands stayed on your shoulders. Both of you were staring at each other for too long.

At least no one was here to record it.

He spoke first. ‘I, uh, I took a lot of my clothes to professional cleaners,” Jungkook said quietly. “Since… It gives me a good reason to not… It cost a lot.” His ears were probably as red as yours.

You inhaled, raising your chest, and noticed how new the leather smelled despite him owning it for a while now. Your faint smile was now inevitable. “I really appreciate it,” and you did. He didn’t have to, and he did.

The light in his eyes must have been your imagination. “R… Really?” Or maybe not. He was breathless and there was no obvious cause for it.

Never in wildest dreams and insomniac nights and daytime silence full of running thoughts could you have created this present time where you felt that you saw him and he saw you. From all the gray haze moments of the past to those bright uncertain days of small happiness in the future, you knew you could do it alone, but, for once, it seemed unbearable to do so.

You leaned up and kissed him.

Your eyes had closed as you tilted your head to close the distance. Maybe you should have considered seeing his surprise. Maybe you were too nervous to. It was only a simple press of lips-to-lips. Still, you found respite. A strange tingle shot through you as you felt Jungkook kiss you back. Somehow, you felt his relief of you taking charge of a moment that he had wanted to happen for a long time.

After a savored moment, both of you broke apart.

Afraid to overstep. Slightly shocked that that just happened. You snuck a peek. It was impossible to not call him adorable and thankfully you were too high off the moment to say anything. He caught your eye. You let him, gracing him a coy curve of your lips.

His cheeks bloomed pink. “Y-You… You wanna wear my jacket?”

You lightly shook your head, reaching up to touch the back of his hand. “You’ll be cold. I was going to wear a sweater over my dress,” you explained. His expression fell a little bit despite your logic. “But I wanted to wait to see what colors you were wearing so that I could choose something that pairs well. It would be nice to match somewhat, right?” Immediately Jungkook perked up again.

It was just a damn hot pot date. Why were you both grinning like idiots? The world never did make any sense, hmph.

-

In spite of best efforts, you dozed off on his shoulder.

Dinner had been a little bit awkward. Not so awkward it was unpleasant, but enough where you had to pull yourself together to bring him back to his usual self. You wore a fluffy, thick, cropped white sweater over your black dress, giving you some much needed warmth for the cool night and giving Jungkook back his sanity. Then you took it away by hooking your arm into his, holding onto him as you both rode the train in thoughtless silence. The hot pot restaurant had newly opened and was packed with curious customers. In a stroke of luck, the host managed to find seating due to your small party size. After a brief explanation, you made a beeline for the lineup of ingredients. It had taken a mountain of vegetables, shrimp, and fishcakes on a plate to break Jungkook out of his trance.

“W-Woah! You eat that much?”

You had tilted your head. “We’re sharing. Duh.”

A flash of annoyance. “How do you know what I like to eat?”

“What don’t you like to eat?” you countered.

Jungkook puffed a cheek. “That’s not the point!”

It wasn’t the most deep of conversations. Still, it did bring you both some peace to know that you hadn’t lost what you already had. There was always that fear and it was good to know that the fear was unfounded.

“I only want one egg.”

He spoke over you, “Too bad, you’re getting two,” using one hand to crack another to poach in your boiling bone broth. You made a face at him as you mixed minced onions and garlic into your chili oil, sesame oil, and soy sauce combination. He waved a third egg at you threateningly. You were adversely terrified. He became distracted by your concoction. “Let me try.”

“No. I’ll make you your own.”

“We’re sharing.”

“There are limits,” and you promptly walked off to do just that. For his credit, he didn’t snatch your hard work. Might have been because his food wasn’t finished cooking yet. Semantics. “It’s my treat, by the way.”

Irrtation was going to permanently furrow his brows if he wasn’t careful. “I don’t need your charity. Besides, you’re hurting my pride as a man.”

You cried for him. “Boo hoo.” Sarcastically.

“You’re not paying.”

“You wanna fight?”

His dark eyes narrowed. “Kinda if you keep this up.”

You pretended to lift your sweater.

Jungkook almost threw himself over the two boiling pots of broth. “Gah! What do you think you’re doing?!” He tried not to yell, hissing low between his teeth. “You’re crazy!”

“Putting you in your place,” you answered dryly.

His expression was between flabbergasted and aghast. “D-Don’t do that!”

Not the deepest of conversations. You smiled. He noticed, and looked away quickly, his ears turning pink as he busied himself ordering plates of meat. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to cook the steaks like you had originally promised. It would have made a great first date, even. And yet. Yet, you didn’t want to, because for some reason following the original plan felt symbolic of something ending instead of a beginning. You were confident in your cooking, and still the possibility of even the slightest failure made it so that you couldn’t relax. Maybe it was selfish to drag out a promise. Nothing about Jungkook’s demeanor indicated he was against it, though.

“What?”

You blinked, realizing you had zoned out in his direction. “Nothing. Just…” He frowned. You almost wanted to ask him if he was disappointed by this turn of events. He was already shoving a plateful of thinly-sliced flat iron steak into his hot pot. “Just realized we’re only here now because of a cigarette and a lighter.”

His eyes cast downward. “I’m sor–” he began.

“Who knew a bad decision could turn into such a good one.”

Jungkook snapped his head back up, surprised. You gave him an impassive expression complete with a raised eyebrow. The corners of his lips tugged upwards. He tried to hide it. He wasn’t as good at it as you were.

“Yeah. I guess…”

He sounded a little too happy for that lukewarm response. You reached into your bag, pulling out a pocket mirror to needlessly check your makeup. He noticed the tiger lilies nestled in your palm and positively beamed. You did your best to wipe your stupid smile off your face and clipped it closed to resume the meal. The rest of the dinner was similar. Well, largely focused on how many plates of shabu-shabu meat both of you could consume to make the restaurant regret seating you. At the very least, Jungkook had been impressed with your gall.

Points gained there, heh.

So, now, in spite of best efforts, Jungkook leaned his head against yours and dozed off with you on your sofa, curled up under the same blanket he had used to sleep over some nights ago. Sleep came a little too easily with full bellies. He had asked if he could sit down for a bit before heading back to his place. Because, you know, it wasn’t good if he became drowsy while driving his motorcycle. You had shrugged, casually, turning on your television to whatever late-night show was on to provide some form of mild entertainment. Distraction, really, so neither of you felt pressure to talk.

Turned out, falling asleep told you more than any conversation.

It might have been the food. The comfort of the blanket. Someone familiar being there. Whatever the cause, the stars aligned and you knew what it meant. One instance of sleep arriving quickly did not mean that you would never have a restless night again. It did not mean everything was different. But it did mean that what was already there wasn’t a lie. You thought you had done enough to spite him, but best efforts were useless in a wake of loud, hard-headed, brash Jeon Jungkook. It shouldn’t work. You were reclusive, blunt, guarded. An unfathomable match, and yet you could never seem to shake him. Apparently his fondness for you was so strong that continued meetings were inevitable. The prospect of the next time had become a regular instance. Monotone days were suddenly saturated with unexpected melodies. You kept telling yourself there was nothing else better to do than to put up with his antics.

There had been no real reason for you to believe that he would change.

He just did so he could define his own ideal of worthy.

Unconsciously, Jungkook was sinking into the cease of the sofa, into dreamlessness, taking you down with him into the cushions. You dozed practically on top of him, unknowingly nestling into his waning embrace. If you had your wits about yourself, you might have given him more conspicuous space, but he was so warm that you forgot that you didn’t typically like physical touch. Or maybe you didn’t mind as much because you knew deep down that he liked it. It was a small sacrifice for his happiness. Something like that. Ah. Right. Anyway, eventually you awoke to no-context ruckus on the television screen. Annoyed, you pawed for the remote on the coffee table and blindly turned it off. You wouldn’t have even bothered to open your eyes except for the fact that you were clearly on top on Jungkook, oh, and so you blinked slowly, line of vision shifting, realizing he wasn’t asleep.

He was pretending to be.

You placed a hand on his chest. One of his eyes cracked open. You raised an eyebrow. He almost jumped out of his skin. Probably not expecting you to be staring at him.

“Were you watching?” you asked.

“N-Not really…” Discomfort laced into his expression. “Um… You’re on my left knee a little weird.”

You shifted quickly. “Sorry.”

Relief. “No, uh, I fucked it up a bit while boxing a couple days ago,” Jungkook sighed. You could feel his inhale through your hand on his chest that you still hadn’t removed. “Think I hit it at a weird angle.”

You pointed out the obvious. “You’re not supposed to use your legs in boxing.”

He sent you the gift of a classic eye-roll complete with the bow of a scowl. “I lost my balance and fell.”

You calm expression didn’t change as you added, “Bad knees are the first sign of aging.”

His dark eyes narrowed into slits. “You–”

And proceeded to grab you by the waist. You shot up instinctively, straddling his hips, and your hand on his chest slid up. His eye went wide. He froze. You froze, realizing what you were doing. His hands were loosely around your waist with his fingers flaring out over the top of your ass. You moved your hand, resting it on his shoulder. Not on the offensive but on edge. You did your best to hold his gaze while in the precarious position. He immediately apologized.

“S-Sorry.”

“No, ah…” You shook your head. “I’m sorry.” You shouldn’t have moved to choke him out just because he was horsing around yet it was hard to really know with men these days. Still, thinking of Jungkook in that way after everything he had done for you was unfair. “I’m too used to having to protect myself.”

There was a sea of regret in those dark brown orbs. “I wasn’t going to…” Hurt you, and that part was obvious. He frowned, realizing your reaction and words said what needed to be said without saying it. “I promise. I’m not like that.”

You stared into his eyes. “I know,” and you did.

His expression became determined. “No, really.” He frowned. “I can’t help–”

You cut him off. “Is that why you have a hard-on right now?”

Dead.

Silence.

The cushions of your sofa were old, causing your knees to sink in further due to the prolonged concentrated points of pressure. You looked down. He looked up. Nobody moved. You had thought about it. Maybe. Not in any deep sense so as to not set any unrealistic expectations. He had very clearly thought about it if the rising tent of your dress in between your legs was any indication. You weren’t able to fully sit down on his crotch due to space constraints, but, even with jeans on, the distance down there was dwindling.

In short, Jungkook was obviously packin’.

You raised your eyebrows. He grimaced. He was trying not to stare at your thighs spread over him or how easily your waist fit in his hands. “Listen… Uh.” Brave of him to break the silence. “I… I’m not a disgraceful kinda guy, okay? I wasn’t planning anything. And I’m seriously serious.” His voice deepened as his eyes darted about. “Serious about…” His gaze lifted, navigating to yours.

Your lips parted, understanding him perfectly well.

However, your dress was stretching too uncomfortably. Distracted, you broke eye contact, reaching down to yank the hem from under your knee while extending your other leg to the ground to maintain balance. The fabric bunched up to your hips, draping over his lower body. You felt the friction of his jeans against your bare inner thighs. Then, you felt the friction in his jeans pressing up in between your legs.

Well.

That would be the expected result, huh.

Jungkook was beside himself. “W-W-What are you do–”

You raised your head. He stiffened. Everywhere. He was still holding you by the waist. Time was moving too fast and too slow at the same time, much like whatever this was. You made eye contact, diving into those wide eyes, searching for something to be afraid of. The scariest thing about all this was how readily he matched up with your intent to cross all the lines.

“Do you wanna kiss me?” you asked him.

His voice quivered. More out of poorly contained excitement rather than anxiousness.

“Are you crazy? Of course I wanna fuckin’ kiss you.”

There was no good reason for care-about-nothing you and caring-too-much Jeon Jungkook should match up well, and yet perhaps that was precisely the reason these puzzle pieces fit together. He lifted his torso from the sofa far too easily, meeting you halfway. With one hand on the back of the sofa and the other on his chest, your lips brushed against his. Inhale, and his warm citrusy cologne mixed with his natural scent filled your lungs. He tilted his head, closing the distance. There was no pressure of a good first kiss as it was already over with. He pulled you closer.

A kiss was not particularly special, but everything about him was.

Terrifying.

As the saying went, you felt the fear and did it anyway.

Lips to lips, electric. Your fingertips gliding over his skin, spreading the button placket before descending, unraveling him like a flower, your tongue tracing the edge of his lips. His breath hitched. His hands on your waist tighter, turning, and you adjusted accordingly, letting him sit back against the sofa with you on his lap. His fingers slid under your sweater, fanning over your back like unraveling petals as you unbuttoned his shirt, drinking in his gasps. Sinking deeper. He tugged your sweater upwards and you released him for a moment to lift your arms, arching your spine, shedding the white onto the floor. His hands on the small of your back lifted you in return, and you arrived to the view of his own white shirt barely clinging onto his shoulders, revealing tan skin and his hard work at the gym.

Your eyes trailed upwards and Jungkook hesitantly smiled, uncertain of what you were thinking.

You dipped your head and licked up his chest.

“Whoa, wha–aah, f-fuck…”

Perhaps this was a strange thought but you felt this compulsion to taste his skin. You pushed his head back and crossed his neck with kisses. Teeth. Tongue. You felt his fingertips press into your back, his hips rise, a moan bubble up in his chest. He tried to speak between gasps, his hands sliding down to your ass as you licked up to his jaw, intoxicated by the taste of his skin.

“I didn’t r-realize… o-oh…”

You flicked his earrings with the tip of your tongue, dissipating your breath so it was whisper soft against his jaw. “Deep down, you knew there was more under this surface,” you murmured and as you said it you thought of black water but the reality was reflected all over the walls, in small snapshots of mirrors from older and modern times. Yes, a mirror was the more apt imagery. Your tongue coiled around his ear, whispering his name low and slow. “You don’t like it?”

“I didn’t think you were crazy…” Jungkook gasped. He pressed you down onto his lap, hiking your dress up further. An exhale drifted past your ear. “I didn’t say I didn’t l-like it…”

With a single finger, you turned his head to face you. Half-moon eyes hazy with lust. He ticked his head, putting on the bad boy front you always knew was a front, and you rocked your hips against his to create the rhythm. He sucked in a breath, your name on the tip of his tongue, and you placed your lips against his temple to ensure that he could feel every word as much as he could hear it.

“No matter who came before you, I hope you outmatch them all.”

He viewed you from his periphery.

You smiled in a dangerous way.

There was the briefest moment where he mirrored your smirk and then he lowered his head, catching you off guard with his lips against your pulse. By instinct, your fingers laced into his black hair, tilting your head to give him more access. Your eyes wandered among the walls. In smoked glass. In craved frames. From every angle, snapshots of Jungkook kissing down your neck and you pulling the straps of your dress aside, pressing his head downwards. His lips over your collarbones created an intricate network of pinpointed pleasure, blossoming, overlapping, your nerves singing. You hooked a finger down the center of the neckline, dragging it to a risqué level. His warm breath washed over your skin.

Anticipation on a knife’s edge.

You gazed down through the shadows of your lashes. He was watching you through his own. Wondering without words. So many times Jungkook had asked for a light to ignite his addiction. You saw the writing on the wall before he did.

You tugged the top of your dress downward.

“Fuck…”

You fanned your hands over your ribs pushing your bare breasts upward. Little did he know there was a shelf bra in the dress. Probably didn’t care. He clenched his jaw and frowned slightly, his cock throbbing from below. You could feel it because you were sitting on it.

“It’s annoying that you know how hot you are. Stop knowing how to act hot too.”

You wondered if he ever looked in a mirror. “That’s rich coming from a guy that works out to make his chest big.”

He pressed his lips together before grumbling, “So…?”

You lifted you body and put your tits right in front of his face. He tried to throw you off as his lips made contact, but then was immediately distracted with the taste, running his tongue over your nipple with a moan. Strong hands on your waist again. Your own hand slid down the crown of his head, sliding in between the collar of his shirt and his shoulder muscles, caressing them as you felt sparks from his light sucking. He kissed across your chest to access the other and you breathed out, electric and erotic, your nails turning inward.

His groan was gravelly, rough from pleasure.

“Ugh, fuck, scratch me.”

You dug your nails inward and he whined into your chest, sucking harder, flicking his tongue against your nipple. You moaned to the ceiling, arching your back, and now both of your hands were on his shoulders, creating a crisscross pattern of pink under his shirt collar. There was no rhyme or reason, only instinct. Jungkook growled, taking a swift moment to yank his arms out of his shirt before pawing at your hands to explore more, touch more, repaying you with divine lips and tongue. Either he liked pain or he loved pain. Hm. You had your opinions but you kept them to yourself.

You laced your fingers into his hair, arching your back. He extended his tongue and instead of him licking upwards, you curved your body downwards, only losing contact when it was physically impossible. You lowered your head slowly. Your tongue traced your lips. He was breathing in shallow, perfumed breaths tainted with your taste. Pupils dilated. Under the influence.

You stared into his dark eyes. “You can still stop.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, right. I was in it before you were.”

He wasn’t wrong. Time moved too fast and too slow at the same time. You slid off his lap, gripping the side of your dress and pushing them down your hips. He rose, entranced, and you backed up, out of the way of the coffee table. In the room of mirrors – the living room – clothes began to slide to the floor one by one. Your tousling of his black hair had made it gone rogue, draping over his eyes as he tugged the back of his shirt out of his pants and let it fall. You took another step back while reaching forward, pulling apart his belt buckle. He glanced down as he was tugged forward. With one eye on you, he pulled the strap from the pin. You held the buckle. Pulled. He guided the black leather to smooth exit. For a few moments, you had him by the leash of his belt, dragging him into the bedroom.

Wouldn’t be the first time.

From the look on his face, he remembered.

You held onto the belt after it made its escape, twirling it around in your hand. Jungkook’s dark eyes narrowed. “Don’t.” You didn’t say anything and that was more alarming. “Do not even think about it,” he warned, his tone becoming lower, gruff. You smiled. You flicked your wrist and he halted.

You coiled the black leather around your thigh.

Tightened it by crossing the ends.

Oh, he was looking now.

“Don’t what?” you taunted, turning as you reached the end of the bed. Instead of lifting your knee to the edge of the mattress, you gripped the crossed straps of his belt and hoisted your leg upwards, adding a little bounce of your ass as you looked over your shoulder.

He didn’t expect the showmanship. His mouth squeaked out an, “Are you serious?”

Muscles, tattoos, and he still didn’t know what to do with all that. Your other hand grazed the curve of your ass to the hem of your seamless panties, hooking a finger over the edge and tugging it towards the center dip.

“Okay, fuck, you’re gonna make me bust in my damn jeans,” Jungkook muttered, looking annoyed at the tent in his pants. His hand was already undoing the button. You smiled, releasing your leg, walking over to the nightstand by the bed. The box of unused cigarettes was still there along with your lighter. You only glanced at them, dropping his belt to the side and opening the drawer, pulling out a string of condoms.

Turned around and Jungkook shot you a disbelieving look with his cock sticking out of his pants. Still in his boxer briefs, so obviously hard that he was past the open zipper. You didn’t back down, approaching him with his death sentence dangling from your fingers.

He tried not to seem flustered. “You’re busy, huh?”

You stopped in front of him, tilting in your head. “Busy waiting for you to make a move.”

He sucked the inside of his cheek. “Tch. Am I supposed to believe that?”

“You tell me.”

You sat down on the bed, placing the condoms within easy reach. Crossed your legs. Stared into his eyes, daring him to believe that you were lying. You saw bite his lip. Looking you up and down, so you did the same, watching him shove his jeans down further. You ticked your head.

“Or maybe just don’t fall for my tricks, hm?”

And you fell back onto the bed, lifting your legs, reaching under. Put your weight on your shoulders while you hooked your fingers onto the sides of your panties, pulling up, up, slipping one leg out. Then the other. Flicked your wrist and sent it flying. Then you spread your legs to reveal his stunned face.

You pulled a condom oof the line and held it out to him.

He looked uneasy, stepping out of his jeans and kicking them away. “Uh… You sure?” He tried to sound calm but his voice was shaking. He was trying to flip it on you.

You smiled. Casually. “I give you permission to find out.”

This did not ease Jungkook’s worries. He was too busy to staring at your pussy to formulate any more sentences, though. He took the condom from your hand, pushing down his black underwear. You looked. He saw you look. Confirmed that he didn’t work out because he was lacking in his pants, that was for sure. Your gaze went back to his face. He didn’t know what to think about your reaction, because you purposefully didn’t have one.

Instead of speaking, you reached down in between your legs and spread your wet lips.

Lowering your lashes. Slow smirk. Jungkook sucked in a breath and ripped open the condom. His underwear was sliding down his legs, but you were too busy being fixated on the way his arms moved, carefully rolling down the condom as he watched your fingertips trace your slit, drawing circles around your clit. The heat turned into wetness. He moved closer. You curled a leg around his hip. He put a hand on your thigh, positioning himself over you. Made eye contact. You looked back curiously, spreading the upper lips of your slick pussy.

He slid the bottom of the slick head against your clit and made you both moan from the contact.

Rubbed, slowly. Your insides throbbed with need. The lubrication made it even better. You pulled your hand back and tipped your hips upwards, and then he slid in. He gasped, his inhale catching in his throat. The hand on your leg tensed. You pressed your calf into his ass, pushing him deeper.

“F-Fuck, what–”

Your expression must have indicated that you were going to shove him in yourself, because Jungkook took one panicked glance at your face and thrust in, loudly swearing. He shut his eyes but you caught a peek of them rolling upwards as you dreamily sighed from the feeling of fullness, squeezing all around to feel more, the pressure becoming pleasure.

“You can move.” Just in case he wasn’t sure.

“Shut up,” Jungkook snapped back, shifting his hand to grab your thigh, yanking you into his crotch. He cut off his own moan by clenching his jaw. You smiled. Sweetly. He glared as viciously as he could, which wasn’t much, and thrust hard enough to make you both gasp. He was resisting from commenting about your tightness. “Stop smirking at me like that.”

You tested fate.

“Make me.”

The light was playing tricks. Or maybe his hair was casting shadows over his darkened gaze. Or perhaps this was possession of passion that made him lean down. Locked gazes. He covered your mouth with his free hand. You let him, waiting to see where this would go. He began to move. Slow, deep, building the heat between your joined bodies. Staring into your eyes, and you stared back, clenching your core to increase the unfurling bliss, so damn good, watching his lashes lower, his lips parting, heated breath drifting out like invisible smoke. You raised your hips to meet him, moaning into his palm. He bit the edge of his lower lip, the tiny mole centered underneath suddenly visible.

Your tongue traced his fingers, dripping saliva.

He spread them, entranced by the way you thrust your wet muscle in time with his hips, coiling towards the small finger tattoos you knew he had. Jungkook swore under his breath, gripping your thigh harder, but he wasn’t reaching the force you both craved. With reluctance, he removed his hand from your open mouth, watching the charming curl of your tongue disappearing in between your lips before gripping your other hip with his wet hand, cocking an eyebrow at you.

You reached back and grabbed fistfuls of your duvet, bracing yourself with an open-mouthed smirk.

He thrust hard and you rose to meet him. Both of you cried out at the radiating smack of force between bodies. Nothing for show. Just pure raw lust, chasing the high, giving into the lust. Heat into tension. Your back arched. He pulled you to him. You squeezed him all around. With each loud slap you felt pleasure ripple through your body, making your breasts bounce to his rhythm, and you let out a soft moan, sensing the ripple turning into a cascade, your insides tightening, closing your eyes once the vicious throb overtook your hips, drowning in orgasm.

“Oh, fuck–”

Jungkook didn’t even get to choke out his surprise before his own orgasm hit him. You felt his fingers dig in, snapping your bodies together. His drawn-out groan became the sonata to the punctuated sensation of inescapable euphoria. Wet. Hot. You gasped at a jolt of ecstasy rattling in your ribs. You felt his cock jerk inside you as his hold on you lessened, switching to kneading your thighs. Your brain was so hazy that his touch seemed to amplify the addictive heat, your legs closing in, keeping him in place.

“Could’ve… fuckin’ warned me…”

He panted hard, squeezing your ass roughly. You didn’t care. It was hard to when his slip to his Busan dialect was so attractive. You reveled in the bliss for a moment longer before lowering your legs, realizing the source of the heat was Jungkook whose body seemed to be ten thousand degrees. He pushed back his hair, revealing his glistening brow and cheekbones. Gasping for breath. He pulled out before stripping off the condom with a hiss.

“What am I supposed to do with–”

You sat up, using your elbows to lift your body. It was harder than you thought because the aftermath of tension had left a residual tremble throughout your nerves, but you ignored it, living on determination alone. Jungkook started, not expecting you to move so quickly. You didn’t give him time to react, reaching down between your bodies.

“A-Ah, don’t…!”

He stuttered, gasped, then moaned, his eyes rolling back into his head. Slippery. Hot. Covered in lube and cum and now your fingers wrapping around his length, finding him half-hard. You gave him almost no pressure but all contact, glossing over the shaft until his cock swelled in your hand, ghosting over the head with your palm. He bit back a yelp, not yet opening his eyes, almost whining. His reaction drove you, sliding forward a bit to the very edge of the mattress. He held his breath. Snuck a peek. You angled your body to expose more of your inner thigh and lifted him.

His eyes widened.

You sandwiched his cock in between your palm and your inner thigh, sliding your body back and forth to stimulate him. He inhaled sharply, shooting you a look of indignation, and yet his hips began moving anyway. You gradually increased the pressure. His head tipped back, groaning to the ceiling, becoming harder and harder with each stroke.

You reached over to the condoms and held them out.

Jungkook lowered his head. “Seriously?”

You lifted your hand from his pulsing, wet cock. “Saying you don’t want to?”

“I didn’t say that,” he retorted.

You pulled one off. He handed you the used condom. There was maybe a second and then he gave back the empty foil wrapper in which you tucked the used one into, folding it carefully so there was no spillage. It wouldn’t take long, anyway.

Part of you wanted to say that, but you held your tongue.

Hands on the back of your thighs, lifting your legs. Jungkook pinned your knees to your chest and slid back in, lowly growling, “How the fuck are you so tight,” but you were too enveloped in the sensations, wet and hard and your inner muscles closing in, molding to the shaft. The swollen head hit that depth you could really feel, and you sighed, lifting your hips. His hands slid off your legs and hit the bed, sandwiching you in between the bed and his hard chest.

Your eyes locked with Jungkook’s.

It was intense, rough, carnal. You forgot your surroundings, clutching the duvet and his tattooed forearm, matching each slap of your bodies with a breathless gasp, your calves on his shoulders, his erratic breath melting into shuddering moans. You were moving up the bed little by little from the force. Your name slipped from his lips. Your pussy clenched involuntarily and then the rapid thunderous pulse overtook your senses. He lasted a little longer this time after your orgasm, but not much longer, succumbing to the vicious call, burying his entire length inside you and gritting his teeth to muffle his moan in his chest.

It should have ended there.

You could barely breathe. Suffocating from your own thighs. After an erotic, elated eternity, Jungkook lifted his upper body, gasping apologies. You could barely hear them, orgasm still ringing in your ears, having to relax your muscles one by one. The bed was a mess. Duvet bunched up. Condom wrappers garnishing the ground. Clothes all over the floor. Your legs crossed, sliding down. Jungkook was standing somehow and you could tell that even he thought that was a miracle. He offered a hand. You took it, letting him shakily pull you up to your feet.

His breath washed over your cheek.

You looked up at him. His dark orbs shifted towards you. Waning. You tilted your head. Half-moons. Lips to lips. You drank in his exhale, kissing him deeply. Still electrified. Hands all over, igniting fire over skin. His lower body bumped up against your thigh. Slippery hardness pressing into softness. The scent of sex clung between you and him. You reached down. Touching him. Stroking his cock with your fingertips while kissing him. You felt his hand snake between your legs, sliding two fingers into you. One by one, your fingers closed in. He stroked your clit before thrusting his fingers back in, swallowing your moan into his throat. You began to slide your hand up and down. The combination of lube and cum delivered that delicious friction that he was looking for. At this point, the fervor was so intense that the pace was fierce, fast, a contest of who could get each other off faster while in lip-lock.

You shoved your tongue into his mouth.

Jungkook sucked on it, pushing a third finger into your soaked pussy, all the way up to his knuckles. You welcomed it, working his entire length, jacking him off tight and harsh, and all of a sudden he let go if your tongue, gasping with a pinched moan, his hips jerking forward. Hot spurts of milky white shot down your inner thigh. Not much, but definitely enough to witness and feel. Something inside you snapped and you had to grab his shoulder to avoid falling over, your nails digging in a halo as your pussy spasmed, sucking in his fingers with a wet squelch, your legs snapping closed to extend the feeling. Breathless moan against his ear. You leaned against him with your juices leaking down your legs and sticking to his fingers.

Delicious.

Satisfyingly ragged. Blood pumping. Both of your bodies burning, or at least yours was and his chest was alarmingly sweaty. You slowly untangled your hands from each other but they lingered low, suddenly realizing how much needed to be cleaned up.

“Uh…” Jungkook panted. “I’ll help…”

He better. “Yeah. We should, hah, clean up.” Your tongue traced your lips. “Then sleep.”

“I didn’t bring clothes,” he mumbled distractedly.

You lifted yourself from his shoulder. “I still have your sweatpants,” you reminded him.

His dark eyes slid towards you. He tried to frown. His eyes were too eager and sparkly for that. “Oh. Yeah…”

“You can go home if you want,” you offered while naked and with his cum sticking to your thigh.

He sucked on the inside of his cheek sharply. “You can’t say sleep over and then take it back.”

“Then take it in the first place.”

“I was gonna,” Jungkook snapped, and grabbed your arm, pulling you in for another kiss.

-

“Did you mean it?”

The room was relatively clean now. The trash was appropriately in the trash. The clothes had been lumped into an ambiguous pile on your dresser. Teeth had been brushed. You had set aside a spare toothbrush for his use only. Seemed appropriate. He was not wearing his sweatpants. Turned out that was not his preferred way to sleep. It wasn’t yours either. He was only in his boxer briefs and you were only in your panties. Your bodies were now minus each other’s bodily fluids.

“Mean what?”

You tried to yank the duvet into a more acceptable orientation before climbing in. After a pause, Jungkook lifted the other side and tried his best to settle in.

“That you were waiting for me to make a move.”

Tried his best because he seemed to be distracted by the conversation. You adjusted your pillow and nestled in a section of the duvet that was not that close but not too far away either. It was a king-sized one for a queen bed. Plenty of sharable coverage. You didn’t interfere with his routine and he didn’t with yours. You took the time to think.

“Hm.” It wasn’t wholly true after all. “I didn’t know if you were going to make a move or not.” He snorted under his breath but you ignored it to finish speaking. “After the first time you stayed over… It was more that I figured being prepared was better than not being prepared.”

“That’s…” He sounded uneasy.

“I can’t live hoping for something that might or might not happen,” you said without facing him.

He seemed annoyed. “Why not?”

You pointed out the obvious. “I don’t think you should change your life only to appeal to me. You should do it for yourself.”

“Well, I did,” Jungkook grumbled. He cocooned himself in a good chunk of your duvet. That was the tell of a blanket stealer. You would have to keep an eye on him. “I quit for you. It was always you. It’s happened already, so accept it.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

He grunted. “Just like how I shouldn’t have started smoking in the first place. Guess that’s the kind of shitty guy I am.”

Silence.

He wasn’t facing you. You were looking up at the ceiling. Closed your eyes because there weren’t any promises up there. The promises were always next to you. He seemed cold, but you knew better. He didn’t know how to be a cold person. He tried his best and it was a constant failure.

“Aren’t you happy you broke that people-pleasing of yours?” you asked softly.

There was a short, reluctant pause before he muttered, “You’re a butt.”

You burst out laughing. Big, muscly, tattooed man curled up in bed with you retorting with a child’s insult was too funny. Jungkook growled, rolling over to shake your shoulder with contained fury. You kept laughing even when he gave up and took the pillow out from under him, repeatedly bopping your torso and legs with it. There was no strength behind it. Plenty of salt, though. You opened your eyes mid-snicker and looked over to him. His arm was extended over to you. His black hair was all over the place. He shook his head like a Doberman and scrunched up his face. Frowning. On the verge of a pout, really. He could have looked madder. He would never make it as an actor. Your laughter died out.

“You were gonna totally back off if I didn’t have condoms?” you teased.

He looked exasperated. “Seriously? I’m not some untrained dog who hasn’t eaten in days! You… There’s plenty of other choices we have! I’m a good guy!”

You smiled. “I know.”

He immediately stopped protesting. It was as if all the fight drained out of him. There was a whole universe in those big dark brown eyes. And then it occurred to you that, back then, Jungkook could never quite meet your eyes even though he was always looking your way. Every day came with a dark night. He would ask you, got a light, and you would hold up the flame, shining light into those dark eyes when he used to lean in.

It was strange, then, to see the light that was there when now his eyes locked with yours.

No lighter required.

“You really tried to pass off as a bad guy. Almost fooled me, even.”

His eyes narrowed into slits. “Ugh, fuck you.”

“You did,” you quipped.

Jungkook flung the pillow behind him and scooted alarmingly close. You instinctively tried to move out of the way but there was no more bed to escape to. His strong arms wrapped around your shoulders and dragged you back to him, threatening you with, “Shut up. I’m hugging you.”

You failed to listen. Classic. “I didn’t ask to be hugged.”

There was a foreign tingling feeling that raced all over your skin. Not from the physical closeness, but from the other kind of closeness. You felt your shoulder bump against his firm chest. He even threw his leg over your hip and yanked your legs closer, cocooning you with his frame. You almost thought he was trying to extend the night.

Instead, he simply latched onto you like a barnacle.

“I don’t care. I’m a bad guy. Hmph.”

Quiet.

You placed your hand on his forearm just under your breasts. This was going to become very hot and sweaty in the long run. But you let it be. You didn’t want to let go either, even though you weren’t exactly doing the holding on. You used your other hand to drag the duvet back up under your chin. He didn’t stop you. You felt him squeeze you a little tighter once you were comfortable, as if to confirm. You patted his arm.

“Your hand is too hot,” he complained in a mumble by your ear.

“That sucks,” you said and didn’t move it. He didn’t try to shrug you off either. “I’ll make your steak tomorrow.”

He pretended to gnaw on your shoulder. “We can’t have steak for breakfast.”

“Why not? We’re adults.”

“That isn’t what adults do.”

“Then I give up on being an adult.”

“Me too,” he huffed. He perched his chin by your head. “Alright, I’m down.”

You debated on telling him. Telling him why you purchased the lighter in the first place. Even before him, it constantly stayed in your pocket. It only came out on the darkest nights when the insomnia was the worst. A flame and a human life followed the same trajectory. At night was when the flame danced the brightest. You would watch the flame dance. Contemplated. Extinguished it. You even did your due diligence of refilling it when it was low. When Jeon Jungkook appeared in your life, you ignited the flame for him without much thought. That was, after all, the intended use the lighter. It made sense to use it as such. You found yourself reaching for it less because, well, what if you ran into him? He would always ask and you would always provide. When he had handed you his barely-used pack and said he was done, you too gradually began to leave the lighter behind. The two objects had begun to collect dust night after night. Untouched. Originally your lighter wasn’t for him, and yet.

That small flame had led him to you.

The universe planned well.

“Hey, Jungkook?”

“Uuh?” He sounded very sleepy and not quite conscious.

“My lighter was for you, after all.”

“Mmmm…” He nestled closer and squeezed your arm. “That’s good.”

You smiled as he drifted off to sleep. He still snored, although less intensely. His grip on you relaxed but was no less meaningful. Slowly, the exhaustion caught up to you, and you went willingly, following Jeon Jungkook’s path to dreams. You would have to get used to this new routine of the night.

--

masterpost

[ervotica]

hehe dark!rafe fucking jj's ex bc she spiraling after the break up and using hella drugs so he's just degrading & using her however bc she's beneath him and he can't help but record it and send it to the male pouge's

warnings; DARK, smut (18+ only), drug use, dub-con (r is HEAVILY under the influence and not very aware), throat fucking, fingering, slight daddy kink, breathplay, degradation (I may have gone insane with this one I fear)

A cruel hand is splayed against the top of your spine where the base of your neck begins, subduing you enough to keep you from thrashing as Rafe curls his fingers against the spongy walls of your cunt. You're alight with pleasure, the lick of a flame igniting your every muscle as you gargle into the sheets below you; you're not entirely sure how you got here but your drug addled brain is too hazy with the white-hot euphoria he is so kindly granting you.

He groans at your blank eyes, breath hot on your skin as he licks a long line against the column of your throat and bites down, taking great enjoyment in the way you wriggle and whine.

"Please," you gasp out, that coil in your belly drawing tighter the longer he keeps his fingers nestled against that spot deep in your pussy that makes you scream.

"Please, what?"

"Please, daddy. Lemme cum."

"Attagirl." His grin is wolfish, teeth pointed and bared like a predator. "Little fuckin' whore, aren'tcha, kid? Bet Maybank never made you feel this good."

You shake your head vehemently, almost incomprehensible where you're drooling into the pillow beneath your balmy face.

He tweaks his fingers once more and suddenly the dull flame of bliss has roared to life, squeezing every one of your muscles like tendrils as you gush and your hole clenches around his thick digits.

The muted roar of white noise is all you can hear for a good while; eyes rolling, lashes fluttering, limp and spent from just one orgasm.

You don't see him next but rather you feel him. A thick mushroom head prodding against your swollen lips, the taste of bitter precum on your tongue as he feeds his cock down your spasming throat. A gag rips through you but he pushes past it, unfazed by your own discomfort as he chases the feeling of your tender gullet tightening around him.

"Yeahhh, that's good," he unabashedly moans, deep and gravelly. His cock pushes at the thin skin of your neck, flesh bulging as he settles your nose in the thatch of hair at his pubic bone, heavy sack pressing lewdly atop your gurgling mouth with every rut of his hips.

Bubbles of spit ooze from the corners of your stretched lips and then you're suddenly blinded by white light. The flash of a phone camera crowds your vision and Rafe doubles down, hips pistoning against your slack face as he groans and grunts, degrading insults pouring from his mouth.

"Dirty slut, all you're good for 's takin' dick, right? Just a filthy little hole for me to use when 'm bored."

You purl and choke around him in an effort to voice your complaints, but all it seems to do is spur him on further.

"G'na have this throat trained in no time, kid. You're my personal cocksleeve from now on."

He wrenches himself away despite being seemingly on the precipice of blowing his load; you gasp and whimper as he turns to prop the still recording phone on the dresser behind him, twisting a large handful of your mussed hair around his hand and dragging you across the expanse of the king sized bed. Your neck contorts in an odd sort of manner as he positions you with your head hanging upside-down from the side of the plush mattress. It gives him ample leverage to use you without care; he's not bothered if you pass out, he'll use you either way.

It's rough, borderline abusive, how he fucks your throat. Hard and fast and unrelenting despite your almost continuous retching and slapping feebly at his thick thighs. The bulge in the divot of the soft flesh only becomes more prominent, his spongy head pushing from the inside as though it's trying to rip through you.

His hand reaches between his own legs to plug your nostrils and a menacing chuckle hits your ears as your vision blurs and your eyes lose focus and roll to the back of your skull.

He lets up just as you're on the cusp of unconsciousness, dick never leaving your warm cavern as he reaches blindly behind him for the phone. Forearms dig cruelly into your ribcage as he props himself up and zooms the camera in on your sopping, swollen cunt, parting your petal soft lips and slipping two fingers inside to bully another orgasm from you.

"If I were you, Maybank, I'd have never given up this tight cunt," Rafe rasps. "Fucked the poor thing dumb, already. 'M keeping her."

He presses send before you can protest- not that you'll ever be able to. You'll be too cockdrunk to ever notice what he's done.

[puck-luck]

have your cake | quinn hughes

warnings: overstimulation, multiple orgasms, oral (fem!receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v, coming on reader's body, subspace (not directly called that but gf is DEEP in SOME headspace) pairing: birthday boy!quinn hughes x fem!reader summary: it's quinn's 25th birthday, so fem!reader gives him the chance to do his favorite thing in bed for as long as he would like. wc: 2992

“Thank you for dinner, sweetheart,” Quinn says, bringing his napkin to his face and wiping his mouth. “And thanks for not making my birthday such a big deal.”

He had asked for such, so you were just trying to follow his wishes. The Canucks hadn’t had a game today, so Quinn had gone to practice like normal. He had grabbed a drink with Petey, Garly, and J.T. afterward as a special treat for his birthday. You know that Tocchet had asked catering to make Quinn a singular birthday cupcake, since he isn’t the biggest fan of sweets during the season.

With you, though, he just wanted to spend his time. You made him a steak, his favorite. On the side, you baked a potato and heaped a healthy pile of green beans onto his plate. For fun, you made some cheesy garlic bread, and although he doesn’t normally eat gluten during the season, he’s never been able to deny your fluttering eyelashes and doe eyes. 

He cleared his plate. He always does, but you feel especially proud of your cooking today.

“You’re welcome,” you respond. “I’m glad you liked it. Has your birthday been good?”

Quinn nods. “It was a good day. Very calm. It’s still weird without Jack and Luke, but I talked to them earlier. They called me before practice, right after they got out of the gym.” He pauses, reaching out with his palm up so you take his hand. “This dinner is the cherry on top.”

“You haven’t even had dessert yet,” you tell him. “Since it’s your birthday, you get to have your cake and eat it, too.” You’d been thinking about the pun for hours. It might not make the most sense, given the dessert that you’re going to offer him in just a few minutes, but you think you’re funny. You’re on the last few bites of your own dinner, so you want to clear your plate and load the dishwasher before you offer him anything.

“Baby, I don’t need anything sweet,” Quinn says. “I already had something today.”

You take the final bite of potatoes, then swallow. You stand, collecting his plate and stacking it atop your own. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

“What is it?” Quinn asks.

“A surprise,” you tease, winking at him as you rinse the debris off of the plates with hot water. Then, you load the dishwasher and wash your hands, drying them with the towel that hangs near the sink.

“You’re such a tease,” Quinn laughs, pretending to chide you for withholding. He stands from the table and washes his own hands, but as soon as he’s done, he takes the opportunity to get handsy with you. He dries his hands on your clothes, leaving wet handprints over your ass and waist, plus one over one of your tits for good measure.

You twist away from him like you hate the antics, but it’s just the precursor to his dessert, which he doesn’t know yet. Sure, he’s probably hoping to get laid tonight– and it is his birthday, after all– but you had other plans.

Quinn rarely gets to do his favorite thing in bed. Part of that is because you’re both busy and when you fuck, you want to fuck. You like getting to the point where Quinn’s ample cock is buried inside you, filling you with his come, all while he murmurs little nothings about “you’re mine,” “gonna put a baby in you,” or the like. 

His favorite thing is to lay between your legs and eat you out until your thighs are squeezing his head and covering his ears and suffocating him. Like you said– you’re normally greedy for his cock, even impatient (which is how he often describes your attitude in bed), but today is Quinn’s birthday.

So, if he wants to, and he will want to, he’ll eat your pussy for dessert. He’ll eat you out until he’s had his fill, no matter how many orgasms it takes. You already set two full bottles of water on the bedside table in your shared room, plus you bought some fruit at the store so that you can recharge when he’s done with you. You’re expecting overstimulation, a fuzzy brain, and maybe even tears as a result of the pleasure.

You’re prepared for anything, because you’re at the mercy of the birthday boy today.

“Go to our room,” you tell Quinn. “I’m going to bring you dessert in bed, okay? I’ll be there in a few minutes. Just let me get everything ready.”

“Good idea,” Quinn says. “Then we won’t have to leave bed afterward.”

You playfully roll your eyes at him and shoo him away, but he’s absolutely correct. That’s the whole point.

Quinn goes, blowing you a kiss just before he walks out of sight because he can’t help himself from being silly when you share a domestic evening together. 

Once he’s gone, you pretend to prepare a dish. You open and close the fridge a couple of times, you click the lighter like you’re lighting candles, you remove plates and cups from the cupboard so that he hears the clatter and suspects nothing. As you move around the kitchen, shuffling along inconspicuously, you remove your clothes. 

Underneath your normal leggings, t-shirt, and one of Quinn’s Canucks sweatshirts lies your favorite part of the outfit. You’d been planning to do this since the end of September, so you’d had plenty of time to go to Victoria’s Secret and buy yourself a black, lace crotchless teddy. Quinn will get to look up at you in the (not-so cheap) fabric and admire how it fits you without sacrificing his ability to eat you out. There’s no barrier between your cunt and his tongue, despite the fact that you’ll still be clothed.

You have planned everything out to the final detail, to the final possibility, and you might be just as eager as Quinn will be when he sees you.

So that you’ll have something to snack on when he’s done, you actually wash the fruit you bought earlier and put it in a bowl. Holding the bowl in one hand, you politely knock on the bedroom door before entering.

Quinn is already in the process of removing his shirt and getting ready for bed. When you walk in, he turns to meet you. When he sees what you’re wearing, he freezes and his lips part in surprise.

In a second, you watch his expression melt into his typical “my brain has turned off and now the only thing that I can think about is getting my girlfriend in bed” look. 

“Happy birthday, baby,” you say, biting your lip as you take in his reaction. You put a hand on your hip and pop it to the side, showing off your outfit. 

“Are you my present?” He asks, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“I’m your dessert,” you correct.

“Even better,” Quinn decides, crossing the room and getting his hands on you. 

“Wait,” You tell him.

Quinn pouts, but drops his hands to his sides. 

You give him a little twirl, revealing the way that your behind is only partially covered by the lace of the lingerie. You move slowly, giving him plenty of time to stare at all of the parts of your body, thoroughly taking you in. 

He gives you a low whistle as you turn. You touch his jaw when you’re done, then you turn to the bed. You actually crawl from the foot of the bed, giving him a show.

When you collapse against the pillows, making yourself comfortable. Quinn stares at you, walking to the bed and touching your ankle. He draws a star on your skin, surveying the view.

“What can I– what do you want me to do?” Quinn asks, eyes still raking your figure.

“Whatever you want,” you reply. “It’s your birthday.”

“Whatever I want?” Quinn repeats.

You hum in affirmation. “Your fingers, your cock,” you list. You raise your eyebrows, bringing one of your legs up into a bent position. His eyes are drawn to your core. “Your mouth.”

Quinn’s attention snaps to your face.

“Whatever you want,” you confirm again. “For however long you want. All night, even. Birthday boy.”

“I love you,” Quinn says, climbing up onto the bed and settling between your legs. “You’re perfect.”

“I expect the same kind of treatment on my birthday,” you banter back, moving with his touch. He nudges your knee, so you spread your legs for him.

Quinn doesn’t reply, running his fingers over the fabric that lies on either side of your pussy. He pushes his thumb against your clit, applying pressure but not giving pleasure, not yet.

You take it as a sign that you’re in for a long night. So, you shift and make yourself more comfortable. You look down, watching Quinn.

He’s gentle to start. He presses sweet kiss after sweet kiss to your folds, to your clit which is still hidden. He takes his time.

You’re not sure which is true: if you’re wet of your own accord, or if Quinn’s gentle licks and smeared kisses make you that way.

In the end, it doesn’t matter. You’re wet and Quinn’s getting to do what he loves. You’re comfortable, he’s making satisfied noises as he grows more eager, and everything feels good.

You touch his hair, smoothing it off of his forehead. You tilt your head, admiring him with slow blinks and a serene smile on your face. 

Quinn has a one-track mind at the moment. Until he’s drawn an orgasm out of you, he won’t look up and check in. 

His tongue teases you, traipsing along your slit and circling your clit leisurely. He’ll run his bottom lip over the skin, letting it drag along your core and create unexpectedly satisfying friction. He’ll nose at your clit, bumping his features along your most sensitive points, just because he can. Quinn’s eyes are closed, fully immersing himself in the moment.

He works his tongue into you over time, at first teasing you with flicks and short dips, but it doesn’t take long for him to grow greedy for more– greedy for your release all over the muscle. It’s then that he licks into you as best he can, using his thumb to stimulate your bundle of nerves. He repeats the same motion over and over– prodding his tongue into you, drawing it out… again and again, all the while he’s pressing against your clit.

Your first orgasm builds slowly. Slow and steady wins the race, they always say, and Quinn is drawing the orgasm out of you like the tortoise in this race. You’re starting to feel a bit jumpy, like the rabbit, your hips aching to move beneath him and grind against his face.

But, this is his birthday present. You restrain yourself because it’s his gift. He gets to set the pace. If Quinn wants to make this the most built-up, desperate orgasm of your life, he’s allowed to do so.

It takes minutes. Minutes of Quinn humming and licking and touching you with the pad of his thumb until you feel yourself start to crest over the wave of your climax. 

“Close,” you breathe out.

Quinn pays you no mind, just continuing his ministrations until you’re clenching down on his tongue with a whimper. Your hand clutches his hair, trying not to seize up beneath him as you come, riding out the waves with his tongue still poking around inside of you.

He moves more slowly as you come down from your first, withdrawing his tongue from your cunt and licking over the slick that accumulated after your orgasm. 

“Again,” Quinn murmurs. He doesn’t allow you to take a breath before he finds your clit with his tongue and latches on. 

He seems committed to making your subsequent releases quick. His mouth feels like the tube of a vacuum against your clit, unrelenting and merciless. He’s sucking, and sucking, and sucking. 

Quinn is starting to get sloppy. He’s got slick all over his lips, all over his chin. He stares up at you now, nothing behind his hooded eyes. He’s just taking you in, looking at you from his favorite angle. 

His hands are resting on the insides of your thighs, laying securely to keep your legs spread for him. His pupils are dilated, massive and dark. His jaw works– you can see the bones in his face shifting as he tastes you. His face is scruffy as he nuzzles against you.

It isn’t long until you come again, just as strong as the first one. This climax seems to hit you harder, just because it came more quickly.

“Another,” he says into your skin, shifting one of his hands to push a finger into your heat. He doesn’t move his mouth from your clit, only intensifying his suction. 

“Fuck,” you reply, halfway between a moan and a cry for… something. A break? For more?

You’re not sure. Things are starting to blur together and turn fuzzy. You’ve come twice without a moment of reprise, because that’s what Quinn wants. You’ll give him as many as he desires, until you physically cannot give any more.

You close your eyes and lose track of time, seeing stars the next time Quinn makes you come. He’s worked up to a second finger now, scissoring them and removing his tongue from your clit to shove it between his fingers. All three are inside of you, bringing you over the crest again.

Then, a third finger and his tongue on your nipple. 

Then, again, with his tongue on your other nipple. 

Another with his mouth pressing insistent kiss after insistent kiss to your cheeks, lips, and neck. 

Your vision is black, then reeling with colors like that scene in Ratatouille when Remy mixes all of those different flavors, then like television static on an old TV. 

“One more,” Quinn’s voice comes out of the darkness.

You whine, high in the back of your throat. 

“I know, sweetheart,” Quinn murmurs. He’s touching your face, wiping underneath your eyes. “I know. You’re doing so well. You’re being so good for me. I love you so much– give me one more on my cock, okay? Then we’ll be done.”

“Quinn,” you keen, opening your eyes and finding it hard to look at him through the wetness there. You hadn’t realized that the overstimulation had gotten to you so much– but that’s what multiple orgasms will do to you. That’s how you react when your body is experiencing so much pleasure that it’s painful.

“That’s right, baby, I’m right here,” Quinn assures you. You can feel his cock nudging against your entrance, which feels like it’s gaping. You’re certain that your clit is swollen from the stimulation, the excessive stimulation. He sinks into you, inch by inch, cooing quietly to keep you grounded. “You’re so close already, I can feel it in the way you’re squeezing me. It’ll be quick, baby, I promise.”

He continues to talk while he fucks you, telling you how good you’ve been. He tells you how sexy you are, how perfect. He tells you how hard he’s been since you walked into the bedroom in your dirty, pretty lingerie and how he honestly thought he was going to come in his pants when you clenched down on his fingers for the third time and a weak dribble of your cum had dripped down his wrist. 

You’re far gone. Sure, you’re there– you can feel him inside, pumping into you and throbbing against your walls. You can feel the way Quinn’s lips move over your own when he kisses you and when he speaks, feeding the words directly into your mouth. His fingers are toying with your puffy clit, and you’re sure it feels nice, but all you can feel is heat and friction.

“Quinn,” you say again.

“Let go,” he instructs under his breath. “Let go for me. Come around my cock, baby.”

You nod, agreeing to a seemingly-impossible task. 

Quinn is always able to make the impossible happen. Your final climax manifests in shaking legs and bolts of lightning in your stomach, churning and folding in on itself. Your eyes are squeezed shut, tears leaking from the corners, which Quinn kisses away.

He doesn’t come inside you. After you reach your final peak, he pulls out. He jerks himself above you, continuing to kiss your face and praise you for being so good to him. He comes all over your stomach and you’re glad– if he had come inside you, or somewhere equally as sensitive like your tits, it would be far too much when the time came to clean you up. With his cum on your stomach, he’s able to wipe you down without causing you any discomfort.

When it’s all over, he helps you sit up and drink your water. He kisses your temples and your forehead, your cheeks and your jawline. He surrounds you with one of his big t-shirts, like a massive hug, and he pulls you onto his lap so that you can collapse into the crook of his neck. Quinn rubs your back and convinces you to eat some of the berries you brought into the room earlier.

You’re tired when you’re able to verbalize a full sentence again. You’re exhausted, really. Quinn pushed you to your absolute limit, although you’re not dissatisfied with the way things went. You sought a night where he could do whatever he wanted, which he did, and now you want to sleep.

“Happy birthday,” you muster.

Quinn breathes out a chuckle, cradling your jawline as you stain his neck with a splotchy kiss. “Thank you again for being so perfect,” he says. “You made my birthday so special, baby. Let’s sleep, okay? I’ll cuddle you all night long.”

Within minutes, you’re drifting off to the lullaby of his breath.

[miniimight]

can you write one where mikey tries so hard to hide your relationship but he lets you into toman without you really being all that strong (he just wanted you around) and some members try to hit on you and he teaches them a lesson?

I LOVE YOUR WORK BTW!!!! OMG

HIDDEN RELATIONSHIP ! but some new toman members make it not-so-hidden

with mikey + fem!reader

warnings unwelcome attraction, they corner you and try to force you into a date, a guy puts his hands on you against your will

notes i love this request !! :D i think i went overboard tho lol

mikey was the epitome of attention as the leader of the growing toman. he really couldn't help the fact that emma was known as his sister, but he desperately tried to keep the fact that you were his girlfriend under wraps. couldn't have dumb kids trying to use you against him or get you caught up in gang wars.

every time he dropped you home, you slid off his bike and handed him his spare helmet (more like his only helmet, cuz he didn't wear one).

"bye, mikey." you hummed. "pick me up tomorrow?"

you didn't even have to ask. "yeah." he leaned back in his seat, one hand resting on the bike handle while the other was held in front of you, palm towards the dusky sky.

you slipped your hand into his and he squeezed it, lingering as if he were contemplating something. you waited patiently.

he was so tempted to pull you back into his arms. who cares about the toman meeting when it meant a few more minutes with you?

he sighed and gave in, pulling you closer to the bike bashfully. he looked shy to ask. he'd never spent much time with you after school as he usually ran with his friends. but this time... he just wanted you close.

"ride with me?" he mumbled. "...again?"

you tilted your head slightly. "but... i thought you were gonna hang out with your friends?"

he tugged you forward, forcing a little yelp out of you as you fell into his shoulder. he hugged you tightly, his voice muffled against your chest.

"we never get to hang out for long..." he said. just this once, and no one will notice. maybe he could introduce you to his close friends this time? "it'll be okay. trust me."

you smiled and climbed on again, clasping the helmet buckle under your chin. "okay."

his bike roared to life, zooming down the streets.

[]

he parked his bike nearby, but far away enough so that it'd look like he walked to the meeting spot. your eyes drank the sight of the crowd down there. you knew who mikey was and what he was involved in, but never actually saw it for yourself.

he pouted. "why do you look so surprised?"

you chuckled. "aw, don't pout. i know you're a hotshot, mikey, but seeing all your guys is a different thing."

"not all of them are my guys." mikey whipped out his phone. "anyways, i want you to meet my sister."

you blinked, whipping your head to face him. he already had the phone to his ear. "now?!"

mikey grinned mischievously. "hey emma? i've got someone here, come to where all the bikes are parked."

after a few minutes, his sister came running up with a groan. "what do you want mikey—oh!" emma's jaw dropped. "a girl?!" she pointed an accusatory finger at mikey. "explain yourself!"

mikey smirked proudly and pulled you closer, his arm strung around your shoulders. "a girlfriend."

"girlfr—?!" emma paced in a frustrated circle. "and you didn't tell me?!"

"yeah, cuz it's supposed to be a secret!" mikey retorted, huffing. "and i know you'd just tell ken-chin or something."

emma gaped at the two of you for a moment. you waved meekly, squeaking a "hi, emma. i'm y/n."

she rushed towards you, clutching your hands in hers. "tell. me. everything."

mikey smiled despite his front of annoyance, ruffling both your heads as he walked by. "come on."

as mikey walked, gang members scurried away to make ample room for their president and the two that flanked him: his sister and who they assumed was her guest. he soon reached the platform where all the captains gathered. his crew looked more curious than confused at your presence.

"oi, emma," draken narrowed his eyes at the blonde, the first to pipe up. "you can't just bring whoever you want to these things."

emma opened her mouth to retort, but mikey nudged her side. that was enough to make her revise what she was going to say. "whatever."

you, on the other hand, were confused, thrown into a whole new environment that you knew nothing about. seeing all these violence-prone tough guys made you feel so small and weak.

mikey observed you as your eyes nervously darted across the crowd of toman. he leaned towards you to whisper while his friends were occupied by a chatty emma, his hair brushing against your ear. "just stay where i can see you and you can see me."

"so, at the front?" you gave him a skeptical look.

"wherever you want, i just wanna see your face." he smiled, eyes closed. heat rose to your face as you cast your gaze elsewhere. dork.

you and mikey were pulled from your own little world when emma huffed and puffed at draken.

"ugh, this is boring anyway!" emma turned on her heels. "come on, y/n!"

"oh! okay..." you blinked and gave mikey a parting glance.

the boys watched the two of you race down the steps.

draken scoffed, standing at mikey's side. "why was that girl looking at you like that?"

mikey smiled to himself, his heart thrumming happily. "dunno. might be in love with me or something."

they all laughed at him. yeah, as if!

"emma, slow down—!" you grunted as you wove through all the boys gathered, ignoring their smirking or curious faces as you desperately tried to keep her flowy blond hair in your sight. but it was dark and the black uniforms didn't help one bit.

you paused, looking around.

you lost her. you cursed and just focused on making your way to the back, being alone around all these weird teenagers didn't sit well with you.

"hey."

the firm grip around your wrist sent chills down your spine. you tugged once in a hopes to slither away but with no luck.

"what're ya doing here?"

you turned to see a group of guys surrounding you. your heart dropped into your stomach. your eyes drifted upwards. you couldn't see over their heads; you couldn't see mikey.

"oh, just hanging out with a friend..." you answered. "i'm gonna go now..."

"hold on, you think we buy that?" the one doing all the talking scoffed. "you're a girl here at a gang meeting, what 'friend' are you visiting, huh?!"

you flinched at the tone, unable to find the words.

"wanna know what i think?" he bent down to look you in the eye. "think you're just looking for attention. what, need a boyfriend, sweetheart?"

you hurriedly shook your hands, staring at them with panic. "no! no, i have one! i have a boyfriend." you hoped that would deter them, you desperately hoped they would leave you alone. your head swiveled around. some were taking amusement in the interaction, others were turning a blind eye.

"really?" he asked.

you found yourself glaring at him, despite the uneven match. "yeah."

the boy paused and surveyed you, his nasty gaze raking over you. his lips curled into a smirk. "ha! why should i believe you?"

you resolve crumbled. you whimpered at the failed attempt to get the fuck out of here which did nothing for your case.

"aw, sad you got found out?" he grinned down at you, shoving his hands in his pockets. "it's okay, we can go somewhere together after this, how about that?"

you scoffed, crossing your arms. "i said i have a boyfriend." who, for all the class he lacked, had way more class than this piece of shit.

that seemed to anger the boy. "quit lyin, we know you ain't got shit."

mikey, please just notice me. you begged silently, hoping for some miracle that'd get you out of this situation.

"did you hear me?" the boy hissed, grabbing your wrists. you gasped and glared at him, pulling against him with all your might. "quit—" he grunted. "cut that out!"

you felt cornered and tears pooled in your eyes. your heart felt almost cold as you let your impulses take over, screaming, "let go!"

mikey was eagerly listening as his captains addressed the gang, but his mind was still looking for you in the crowd. he searched for minutes and still couldn't find anything.

he wilted. was he just a bad boyfriend? not being able to recognize his girl in a crowd?

then he heard murmuring, hushed whispers, before he heard your voice.

"let go!"

his face scrunched and he rose to his feet. let go? who had their hands on you?

he marched to the front of the platform, scanning the crowd with newfound intensity. draken seemed to notice and did the work for him.

"oi!" draken's voice made the gang fall silent. even the guy who acted big froze in front of you. "why the fuck do you have your back turned to your leader when he's addressing you?"

mikey saw a couple boys distance themselves from the commotion, where he saw. anger flared into his body and he itched to beat someone to death.

you were looking at him, completely distraught.

he flew down the stairs, shoving past the members towards you. hatred radiated off him in waves as his eyes never left the sight in front of him. someone—his gang members—were fucking disrespecting you. he felt embarrassed and enraged.

the boy who had pressured you immediately let go. you stumbled backwards before looking at mikey. even now, you didn't know if you should run to him in front of everyone.

your doubts were squashed when he opened his arms. you inhaled deeply. your breath shook as you blinked the tears from your eyes, speedwalking towards him. the silence was killing you. what a reveal, you thought. you didn't care though, just happy to be in mikey's arms.

mikey hugged you tightly, pulling back to observe you for any damage. he ghosted his fingers over your wrists. "did they hurt you?"

you gulped at the menacing edge to his voice. you shook your head. he gave your wrists a soothing squeeze.

the aggressors' eyes flickered between you and their leader.

you smiled sweetly and pointed at mikey, mouthing boyfriend!

they paled.

you grinned. get fucked.

"do you know what you just did?" mikey asked, shrugging off his coat and putting it around your shoulders. he walked past you.

"h-hey... i didn't know—" the guy scrambled backwards, his voice dripping with desperation.

"who cares?" mikey's eyes were cloudy. "even if she weren't mine, are you trying to make toman look bad? if you're gonna be pathetic, do it somewhere else."

the guy took that as a cue to leave, quickly turning around.

"who said you could leave?"

you blinked and he was on the ground, mikey's foot landing gracefully.

"huh?" you mumbled. before you could even process it, he was standing over the other bystanders, holding them by their shirt as he landed punch after punch.

when they were all piles of bones on the floor he stood up, dusting his pants and slipping his hands in his pockets. "you're not welcome in toman. you better not let your faces be seen around here any more or i'll bash your head in."

you pulled the wings of mikey's coat closer to your body. despite the violence, you felt... warm and soothed by mikey's actions.

draken dismissed the meeting and the gang practically ran out of there, eager to get out of mikey's area of impact. the founding members and emma remained.

mitsuya looked sheepish when he asked, "i guess she really was in love with you, huh?"

mikey turned his nose in the air. "of course. why would i lie about that?"

pah scoffed. "do you even know yourself?"

you inched closer to mikey, unsure of your place here. he held you by your waist, reassuring you. your racing heart slowed down, little by little.

"hey." surprisingly, draken looked a little embarrassed, probably because he treated you like some rando when you were mikey's girlfriend. "you... we're not like that brat, okay?"

"yeah, what a disgrace!" pah interrupted, huffing.

"you don't have to be afraid." draken continued, glaring at pah. "just like mikey, we'll look out for you."

you smiled, coming out of mikey's side just a little. "thank you. i'm y/n, by the way."

mitsuya groaned. "oh, now it all makes sense." you voiced a confused hum and he elaborated, telling you that mikey would always go on and on about you. his friends thought you were just a crush of his, and since they'd never saw you they honestly thought you were a figment of his hormonal imagination.

your cheeks burned. "oh... no, i'm totally real."

emma peeked out from behind draken. her eyes were glossy and she sniffed, toddling towards you. "y/nnnn!" she wailed, hugging you. "i'm so sorry!"

you pat her back. "emma, it's not your fault! oh my god. please don't cry!" you looked at mikey for help but he just smiled. that smile faded when he realized that his friends and sister were slowly pushing him outside their little circle, wanting to know everything.

"okay, get off." mikey's demeanor changed in an instant. he slipped in under draken's arm and grabbed your hand, tugging you behind him.

"hey, no fair!" emma exclaimed, running after her brother. "you had her for who knows how long but i can't even get to talk to her for five minutes?!"

mikey sped up, laughing. "she's my girlfriend, not yours!"

"mikey!"

his bright laughter brought a smile to your face. he mounted his bike and made sure you were secure before revving off into the distance, his friends hot on his tail.

you gripped mikey's torso, nuzzling into his back. "thank you."

"don't thank me." mikey replied, quiet. "should've never happened in the first place."

your cheek rested on his shoulder blade, staring at him. his hair cascaded just enough to obscure his eyes from view. "i'm glad i have a strong boyfriend to protect me." you giggled.

his chest puffed with pride. "i am pretty strong."

you rolled your eyes.

"but it's not just us anymore." he turned his head to meet your eyes. "you have a new family, now. and they're all gonna look out for you."

your jaw hurt from how hard you smiled. your heart fluttered. resting your head on his back again, you squeezed him tight.

[]

the peaceful drive soon turned into a competition when the toman captains tried to race mikey down, determined for answers. emma, who rode on draken's bike, was especially vicious.

© miniimight ! thanks for reading <3

[snowball-doie]

| pairing: dad!Jaehyun x fem!Reader

| warnings: 18+ MDNI. Poly!ilichil. Angst! Daddy kink. Unprotected vaginal sex. Creampie. Breeding kink. Cock warming themes. Pregnancy kink(?). Pregnancy. Emotional damage for Jaehyun stans.. <3

| wc: 4.7k

| aurora's note: ....you know..... i had this in the drafts of my poly!ilichil x oc book back in august.............. i feel like i unknowingly manifested this... sorry... um.. little bit of context you need is y/n and poly!ilichil already have a daughter together, her name is Reyna, and they all agreed to not know who her biological father is. i didn't want to change too much from my original story... sorry..

You didn’t want to talk about it. Not for a single second. About two months ago, Jaehyun sat everyone down in the living room with the life and color drained from his face, his hands fidgeting with each other as he paced back and forth in front of the TV for a good two minutes before Doyoung begged him to stop and just say what was on his mind. Jaehyun immediately froze, turned, and spit out, “I auditioned for the military band a couple of weeks ago.” The room went still. “I got accepted today. I’ve decided to go early, in November, just to get it out of the way, so that Taeyong and I can come back together to look after Reyna, instead of all of us just going one at a time.” That didn’t make any sense— That made it worse! Everyone expected that it would be one at a time, making it easier to share the load of running such a big house while having a little one running around. How the hell was it helpful to have him leave early— Two years early, by the way. So you decided you didn’t want to hear it, so you got up to leave with the excuse of going to take care of the baby, while the others sat in silence, staring at Jaehyun with shock.

It took a few days before you could look at him again. He tried to talk to you about it, wanting to explain himself and the fact that he was going into the military band so that he would have ample opportunity to visit, probably with Taeyong too, just to cheer you up. But you didn’t want to hear it. There was a crying baby in your room, begging for her dad, and you wondered what you were going to do with him gone… Yeah, there were the others. Of course they would always help out. But Jaehyun had a special touch with your daughter that put her to sleep whenever she was fussy or made her giggle whenever she was scared after a silly nightmare. There were times when you couldn’t help her but he could. How could he leave her?

“Let me feed her so you can rest,” Jaehyun begged from outside the door one afternoon when he heard her crying because she was hungry and you were grumpy while bouncing her in your arms, trying to get her to calm down. You gave in. The door opened, and Jaehyun took your daughter in his arms with a smile and a happy coo that instantly cheered her up. “Hi, my sweet girl. Let’s get you something to eat so you can nap with your mom.”

While he left with the baby, you crashed in bed, finally able to take a nap for the first time in a few days. The other boys tried to help out and get you to rest, but you had locked yourself away ever since Jaehyun said he was leaving— You didn’t want their help, because who could you trust? Next thing you’d know, Doyoung would be surprising you with his early enlistment, too… And maybe Jungwoo would follow suit… You didn’t dare to dream that Hyuck would leave you, too, but the concern lingered in the back of your mind. Jaehyun had flipped your whole world upside down, and you hated him for it.

By the time you were able to look him in the eyes again, the boys returned to their schedules of taking turns looking after the baby, and Johnny was cooking meals for a silent household since everyone was walking on eggshells around you. They’d just gotten their daughter back, no one wanted to start another argument that would have you retreating into your bedroom again. But Jaehyun observed you closely. Physically, he was at a distance, but his eyes followed you, like he was expecting you to say something to him. And you did.

“Mark and Haechan won’t even be here to see you off.”

Everyone in the kitchen went to a standstill.

“Reyna and I can’t go either.” If people took pictures of you, a random lady, holding a baby at his enlistment ceremony, the internet would’ve burned to the ground with speculation that would’ve flushed down the drain years of hard work keeping your relationship a secret.

Doyoung shifted uncomfortably on his seat while switching Reyna to his left arm to cradle her as he ate his breakfast that Johnny made.

“You’ll miss so much… Her first steps… Maybe her first words too…”

Yuta put his clean plate in the sink for Jungwoo to wash. Johnny turned off the stove before taking his own plate filled with eggs and sausage to his seat at the table. However, no one else moved or spoke until you stood, your plate still untouched, and left to go to your room.

Another two days later, there was a knock at your door, followed by Jaehyun cautiously peeking in to see if you’d send him away after throwing a pillow or something more… damaging than that. To his surprise, when you didn’t object to his appearance, he entered completely, closing the door behind him before slowly sitting on the corner of your bed. Reyna was napping in Mark’s room because he was trying to make the most out of seeing her before he and Haechan had to go back on tour in Europe for a whole month.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, baby.”

You stared at him, hoping that if you didn’t move and kept your breathing steady that you wouldn’t fall apart and start crying.

“But I am going—”

You gulped, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes.

“—and I hope that you’ll support my decision in time.” He bit his lip and played with his hands anxiously. “I know I’m going to miss out on a lot with Reyna, and the rest of you too. It kills me that I might not be here for her first steps, or when she’s teething and keeping you all up every night, or when she says her first words… But I’d rather give up some of that than give up her first day at preschool where she makes her first real friends, or when she gets her first stupid playground crush on some stupid kid who doesn’t deserve her a single bit.” Both of you chuckled quietly. “I want her to know that I’m her dad. If I leave now, she won’t know, and by the time I come back, she’ll learn who I am and always know that I’m her dad, and that I’m never going anywhere ever again. That’s the choice I’ve made. To be remembered by her, and to experience other things with her, I have to give up some of the other stuff now—”

Jaehyun was caught off guard when you threw the covers off your body and immediately leaned forward, putting your weight on your knees, so that you could kiss him gently. It took him a few seconds to snap out of his trance and reciprocate your kiss. His hands caressed your cheeks, fingers tickling your earlobes, his lips and tongue fighting for dominance.

But then he pulled away for air. His gaze was lowered in shame as he whispered, “I don’t want to fight these next few weeks. Can we just… Can we try to have fun? Be normal?”

“I’d like that.”

With a sigh of relief, Jaehyun pulled you on top of him while he simultaneously shifted to sit more comfortably on the bed. He cradled you close to him, like he was afraid to ever let go. In return, you held onto him, fingers tangling in his hair, your forehead pressed against his temple, staring at his dimples that Reyna and Jungwoo liked to play with— Everyone joked that was the one thing she must’ve inherited from Jungwoo, her uncanny obsession with Jae’s dimples and smile lines. And so the two of you stayed like that for what could’ve been hours on end. Every so often, Jaehyun would shift slightly beneath you, kissing you, rubbing your back comfortingly, whispering words of praise and affirmation. When he asked if he could spend the night in your room with you and Reyna, you replied with a nod. Then when Mark returned with Reyna, you took her while Jaehyun laid with his back against the headboard of your bed, his legs spread wide enough for you to sit comfortably between them while your back was resting against his stomach, both of you staring down at your daughter, watching as she slept so soundly knowing that her dad was there.

As promised, you and Jaehyun acted like things were normal. You didn’t want to talk about him enlisting. He didn’t want to upset you. The rest of the house was terrified of setting you off again. So things went on like there wasn’t a doom’s day clock in the back of their minds, counting down the days until November 4th. Mark and Haechan seemed content with the decision to pretend like nothing was wrong because it made their quick stay at home between tours go easier, like how they went out to lunch with Jae almost every other day, and the three of them would play with Reyna in the living room whenever she had a lot of energy in the bouncer Hyuck bought for her.

The evenings were reserved for you and Jae. It started innocent at first, casually cuddling together and watching a TV show he’d been dying to cross off his list for a while. But then he asked you out on a date. Of course those weren’t uncommon in the house— But you going out in public with them was next to impossible, so it struck you as odd that Jaehyun would want to run the risk of a scandal so close to his enlistment… Then again, who were you to deny him? You wanted to savor every moment with him that you could, so against your better judgment, you said yes, letting him spoil you to an entire date night out and about.

During the drive home, Jaehyun’s hand was placed high on your thigh while he massaged it fairly roughly although it was mindless so you didn’t care to stop him. He was distracting you, though. While you tried to admire the city out your window while listening to some of his music, his fingers on the inside of your leg, his cold rings against your skin, his big palm threatening to slide under your dress… You wondered if he had other intentions. He seemed preoccupied with the road while humming along to the music, but his hands seemed to be in a different world from the rest of him.

When you pulled up to the house, Jaehyun ran around the car once it was off so that he could open your door before you could even unbuckle your seatbelt. With a wide grin plastered across his face, Jae took your hand and led you inside, switching to caress the small of your back possessively as you entered the living room to find the boys playing a Mario Kart tournament— Jungwoo, Mark, Haechan, and Johnny were playing  while Yuta bounced Reyna in his arms.

Despite Jaehyun’s obvious attempts to rush you up to his bedroom, Johnny paused the game when Mark stopped the two of you with an innocent question about how your date went. Jaehyun gave a quick, half-assed reply of, “Good,” before trying to corral you again; However, you stayed to tell them about everything the two of you did. He took you to a fancy restaurant that many celebrities took all their “hidden treasures” to because of the staff’s reliable secrecy, and the fact that all the patrons were there with someone they didn’t want to be spotted with, so no one was going to snitch. After dinner, Jae drove you two around Seoul for a bit, going up some of the mountains to the look outs before driving back down to look at the city that was buzzing with nightlife.

“It was lots of fun, yes,” Jaehyun admitted with an impatient smile. “Now, if you don’t mind, she and I are going to be busy for the rest of the night.”

Hyuck looked up. “Can I join?”

“No.”

With that, Jaehyun took his hand in yours then dragged you up to his room which was second on the left, putting him between Johnny and Yuta. The door slammed shut behind the two of you once you entered. Jaehyun immediately pushed you up against the wall, his hands pinning you with nowhere to escape to as his lips began attacking yours.

“I want another one,” he muttered between kisses.

“What?”

“A baby…” He took off your dress and bra. “I want another baby.” His hands began running over your stomach. “Want the boys to send me pictures of you while I’m gone…” He left a big hickey on your neck, forcing you to hiss at the pain. “Want to know that I did it this time… That I have something to look forward to when I come back.”

You fiddled with the buckle of his pants while he latched onto a nipple. “Won’t you be sad, though?”

“Why?”

“You wouldn’t be here…”

“I’ll come back and visit every chance I get.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

You pushed his pants and boxers down to his ankles. He stood and took off his shirt. With your hand suddenly jerking off his hard cock, you whispered in his ear something wanton about wanting to have another baby with him, and that set Jaehyun off. He used his strength to pick you up and prop you against the wall while he replaced your hand with his own so that he could line his tip up with your wet entrance. He chuckled in your ear. It was pathetic that all he did was touch your leg in the car and beg you for a baby and suddenly you were dripping wet for him. But that was Jaehyun. He was sexually appealing just by existing, how could you not be turned on just by the mere sight of him?

Jaehyun truly wasted no time pushing into you. His hold on your body never wavered, fingers digging roughly into the undersides of your thighs so that he could support you while fucking into you at an unrelenting pace. You knew that he’d been pent up for a little bit. Ever since “the conversation”, Jaehyun hadn’t gotten laid by anyone in the house, and that was difficult for him since he was the type of guy to relieve stress by sticking his dick in something, but since you were pissed off, you didn’t entertain him, and the boys were keeping their distance too. Jaehyun had a lot of pent up energy. Between wanting to fuck-out some of his feelings and wanting to have another baby, there was really no reason for him to hold back. So he gave you everything he had.

You tangled your fingers in his hair as he continued to piston in and out of you, strangled grunts reverberating from him every time he hit your clit with his unshaved pubic bone. Even though you were trying not to think about the inevitable, it was impossible to ignore the feeling of his long hair between your fingers and under your palms as you tugged on him to force him to kiss you. Jaehyun did so eagerly, his tongue immediately claiming dominance that you always so willingly handed over to him. With your legs wrapped around his small waist, Jaehyun spun, his cock still inside of you, and he set you on the bed before immediately going back to fucking you. There wasn’t a single moment of reprieve where you could catch your breath. He had a goal in mind, and there was no reality in which he wasn’t going to fill you to the brim with load after load throughout the entire night. Who knew taking silly risks like going out in public together would get him so riled up.

“My good girl,” he cooed lovingly in your ear, “taking my cock so well.” He sucked at your neck to leave a hickey while you whimpered and bucked your hips up into him. “So eager to be filled.”

“Please, Jae—”

His grip on your body tightened threateningly.

“Please, daddy!”

Jaehyun moaned against your skin, one his hands drifting between your bodies to rub your clit as a reward for being good, calling him the name he loved so much. The fingers working on your clit suddenly stopped. You whined, squirming beneath him, desperate for the pleasurable friction to return, but Jae held you still.

“Don’t move.”

You complained with a pout, “Daddy…”

“I know, baby girl, don’t worry, I’ll let you cum. I gotta cum first, though… Then—” He slammed into you roughly. “Then you’ll cum to make sure you take in every drop. Got it?”

You nodded eagerly. “Every drop.”

“Good girl.”

His muscular body swallowed you whole as he put all his weight on the bed, his long hair falling in his face while he kissed you passionately, his legs forcing yours to stay spread wide while his cock stretched you wide, his tip making you wince because it felt like it wa kissing your cervix over and over and over again. He was being a bully. He had you pinned to the point you were immobile, left paralyzed to his will and the chorus of moans the two of you were letting out with every thrust.

“I’m getting close, princess. Shit.” Jaehyun put even more of his weight on you while his hips made shallow thrusts rather than having your hole suck in every single inch each time. “Be good and take my cum.” A final, pornographic grunt set Jaehyun over the edge. His hands squeezing your waist for dear life, his lips pressed to yours, his saliva mixing with yours. “Good girl,” he mumbled.

As he thrusted a few more times to ride out his high, Jaehyun pushed himself upright, moving his weight to his knees so that he had a clear view of your wet cunt which he decided had suffered enough and deserved to finally have an orgasm. His fingers returned to your clit. Both of you moaned when your walls tightened around his cock, pulling in his cum, which only egged him on— All of his focus was trained on making you cum with his big cock still buried inside of you. Jaeahyun was admittedly somewhat of a master with his fingers. Now that he had his sights set on his text task of forcing an orgasm out of you, his skillful fingers rubbed your sensitive nub at a fast pace but in various directions and patterns so that the stimulation was constant and overwhelming, turning you into nothing but moans and pleas for him to have some mercy on you. However, one of Jaehyun’s hands didn’t waver from your hip. He kept you as still as he could while your stomach twisted into knots, his cock all too noticeable. He seemed to know what you were thinking.

He grinned ear to ear and moved his palm from your hip to the bottom of your stomach, pressing on it slightly before he slowly moved his cock. “Feel me, princess? I’m right… here…” And then he pressed his thumb down.

“Oh, fuck— Jae— Daddy— Please!”

“Please, what?”

“Please let me cum!”

“Cum for me, pretty girl.”

You let go within an instant, your body fighting against his hold, your hands desperately clinging to the sheets and his hand that was torturing your overstimulated clit.

“Keep fucking my cock like that, princess. Just like that. So fucking good—”

He threw his head back as he twitched inside of you, another load flooding into you as your own high faded. The two of you were just trading orgasms. He was the worst.

Jaehyun finally loosened his grip and removed his fingers from your throbbing clit. Both of you slumped, but he didn’t pull out of you, instead he reached over for a pillow that he slid under your hips to keep them elevated before he rolled his thumbs over your hardened nipples for fun.

“I’ve got another few rounds in me,” he told you. You looked at him with exhausted, heavy eyes. He was glowing with energy, his hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, his toned abs extending and clenching as he panted, his muscular thighs twitching when he shifted his weight around to sink into you again. “Be good and keep your legs open for me, okay?”

You nodded, “Yes, daddy,” surrendering to his will for the rest of the night.

Every day after that, Jaehyun would find a rhyme or a reason to have one of the other boys look after Reyna while he fucked you for hours on end in his bedroom. Balls deep in you, he’d always mumble things about knocking you up, having another baby, leaving you with a parting gift. For whatever reason, you didn’t take him seriously. You played into it, moaning that you wanted him to fill you up, to give you a baby… Why you never expected that it would actually happen was beyond you. Nearly three weeks straight he was fucking you into his mattress in every position imaginable. Loads and loads of his cum seeped out of you, day and night, while you were sitting at the dining table eating meals, or while you were cuddled with one of the other boys for movie night. You were an idiot to not seriously think about the consequences.

That was until the dreaded D-Day everyone’d been avoiding for so long.

Watching him from the open doorway of his bedroom, you could see that Jaehyun had pretty much everything ready to go. His hair was already cut short— Shorter than you liked, and they all knew that after the Taeyong debacle in April where Jungwoo had to apologize profusely to you for two weeks straight. His room was in perfect condition, everything was put away neatly, his clothes that were remaining at home were hung up in the closet or neatly folded in his drawers— Even though you said you would keep his clothes fresh so that he would have things to wear when he’d visit. On his desk, there was a stack of letters which you could see had Reyna’s name addressed on the front, along with dates for every week until his discharge. She wouldn’t be able to read them, but he probably expected you or one of the boys to read them to her in his stead. That hurt too much to consider. You didn’t want to think about all the ways he’d poured his heart out for her in those letters, and how you would have to say them out loud like you weren’t suffering without him, that you didn’t miss him every second he was gone.

You gathered the courage to ignore the letters so that you could finally knock on his door with a quiet sniffle. Jaehyun quickly glanced at you to see who was visiting before he returned to his packing. His suitcase was nearly full, there were just a few last minute clothes and toiletries he needed to stuff inside.

“Hi, baby girl. Come in.”

As you stepped forward and sniffled again, Jaehyun looked over his shoulder at you, then once he noticed the tears pooling in your eyes, he stopped packing and turned to you completely.

“What’s wrong?”

“Can we talk?”

“Yeah, baby. Of course.”

Jaehyun sat next to his suitcase on the bed so that he could pull you sideways onto his lap. “What’s got my baby girl all upset, huh?” He wiped away one of your tears. “I’ll be back in a few weeks—”

“Please don’t leave. Please. I’ll do anything to keep you here, just don’t leave us.”

Jae sighed and kissed your cheek, leaving his lips pressed against you while he thought for a minute. “I’m so sorry, baby, I have to go, you know that.”

You started crying even harder, clinging onto his black sweatshirt, babbling more pathetic pleas for him to not leave. He just kept saying how sorry he was between your sobs. There was no reasoning with him, the same way there was no reasoning with you. He decided that he was leaving. You decided that you couldn’t accept that. The two of you were at a standstill in which his pride and honor was winning against your emotional argument. He knew that it wasn’t easy for you to let go, so he tried to just ease your mind only slightly about seeing him off for training at the least… That still wasn’t good enough for you.

“I’m pregnant, Jae.”

He froze underneath you. “What?” he croaked.

“I took tests ‘cause I was late, and given the last few weeks, I was suspicious…”

One of his hands drifted over your stomach. “Is it mine?”

“Of course it’s yours, stupid. You wanted a baby so bad, so I didn’t sleep with any of the others the past few weeks… Of course they’re fucking yours. That’s why I can’t let you leave.”

He chuckled happily before kissing you passionately, his smile sticking to your lips. The idiot was over the moon with excitement while you were crying on his lap like a wounded puppy that had been ditched on the side of the road. That was practically what he was doing to you. Leaving you early. Leaving you on the side of the road to fend for yourself. Meanwhile he was laughing to himself, mumbling things about how happy he was, that he was relieved you were having another baby— His baby. It was exactly what he wanted, so of course the fucker was satisfied with himself. 

“Please, Jae. For us, don’t leave.”

His smile faded and his eyes fell shut. “I wish I could stay… But we both knew that even if this happened, I’d still have to leave, princess.”

He tried to comfort you with a million different promises that honestly went in one ear and out the other. He would visit every single break he was given. He would be there when the baby would be born, same with Taeyong. It would be a bit longer until Doyoung or Jungwoo would enlist, so you would have them by your side through everything, keeping you company whenever he couldn’t. Everything was going to be okay. He was going to be okay—

“I don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl.”

“I know he’s a boy.” Jaehyun’s touch drifted back and forth slowly. “I’ve had dreams for the past few weeks that we’d have a boy.” Finally, his hands left your stomach to reach up and cup your face gently while he wiped your tears away with his thumbs. “We’re gonna be okay, princess. When have I ever lied to you?” You couldn’t reply, you just tucked into his touch affectionately. “I love you.”

You fisted the dense fabric of his sweatshirt in your hand to keep him close to your body. “I love you, too.”

“It’s time to go,” Johnny said from the doorway where he must have been watching and eavesdropping like you were minutes prior.

Jae sighed anxiously. “Okay, just give me a second to throw the rest of my stuff in my bag.”

“Yuta’s got Reyna downstairs for you.”

He nodded. “Thanks, hyung.”

After Johnny left, you slid off Jaehyun’s lap reluctantly so that he could finish packing while he quietly explained the letters for Reyna on his desk, how he wanted one of you to read a  letter to her once a week, every week until his return. He didn’t care if she wouldn’t remember anything in the letters. His words meant something, and he was eager to come home to her… and to you. He said that last part after zipping his bag shut and turning to face you while holding it. Eighteen months. He’d be back in eighteen months. There’d be so much to look forward to in that time, like all of Reyna’s milestones, and having another baby. He implored you to send him as many updates as possible, just so he was in-the-know and had keepsakes to get him through those eighteen months. And all you got in return was one last “I love you,” as he left the house with only a small handful of the boys to head to his enlistment ceremony.

another aurora's note: sending all the valentines love and support <3 he'll be back before we know it. my asks are always open if you want to talk.

[pedge-page]

Cravings

Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x F!reader

Summary: Pussy eating king frankie, who gets his aforementioned nickname when you tried to come up with ways to prevent him from relapsing back to coke.

Warnings: soooo much oral —pussy eating, cum eating, grinding, dry humping, cumming in pants, kissing, Frankie's mouth is everywhere, alcohol, drunk sex, unprotected sex, little dub con since Frankie doesn't ask if he can cum inside, overstimulation, free use esc situations

Notes: This is NOT the Frankie free-use series I mentioned before; I'm a bit delayed with writing it, so here's something else i had started as a drabble but then... did not stay a drabble. Please like and reblog if you enjoy this fic!

18+ ONLY

- - - -

Rather than drowning himself in coke, Santi slyly suggest he drowns himself in pussy instead. The guys around the table laughed, but you kind of agreed and told him you'd help set him up on hookups. Frankie didn't want to go through the trouble of having to find a potentially different girl each night. Plus, his cravings were sporadic. He would need his fix in that moment whenever it came.

He remembered back when you had drunkenly admitted guys could hardly satisfy you because you had a high drive, usually cumming on your fingers at least 6 times a day before bed, often times more on lonely weekends. He was left speechless at the time, but now he couldn't get Santi's proposition mixed with that knowledge of you out of his head.

You tried to cook him meals instead or buy him hoards of candy, but the idea was stuck in his mind. You knew you'd be a convenient alternative, given you only lived less than 10 minutes away and was always around when he needed help. But you were afraid of crossing that line with one of your all time best friends.

Eventually, being around him so much—"on call" as the boys put it—left you susceptible to his sweet touches, ghosting lips against your ears, sporadic twitches and jittery hands, antsy fingers dancing along your hips. You considered the option heavily before finally caving: you were doing this to HELP him, as his friend. Just a little relief every so often when he absolutely needed it.

You came 9 times on his tongue the first time. It wasn't even that he was trying to make you cum, but the eagerness in the way he moved so fast, growling and moaning at the taste, his lips attached and never left your heat. His big nose just perfectly bumping your clit each time he pointed his tongue dove deep into your craving hole, curling up and hitting that soft spot inside you left you shaking and crying out his name, back arched and fingers clawing at his shoulders.

He was sated for almost 6 days (and you needed the ample recovery time because not even your fingers could make you cum so hard) before the craving hit again. Incessant knuckles pounded your doorstep. You had barely unlocked the door before he was shoving himself in and devouring your mouth with his. "I need another hit, carniño."

He didn't wait for a response, knocking you on your ass on the sofa and stripping your sweats and panties off before throwing one leg over his shoulder. Flattening his tongue, he licks a long strip along from your hole to your clit, obscenely guttural moans from the back of his throat filled your ears. He looked wild-eyed and crazy, as if starved for weeks and was finally given the sugar rush of the century.

You inevitably move in with him, claiming his spare bedroom, worried about how bad he gets when he goes anything longer than a few hours without you.

He makes you ride his face until you're suffocating him, and he still can't get enough. Your juices flood his mouth and nose and his eyes roll back as he loses air. You try to get off and apologies, but he's caged your thighs with his muscular arms, holding your pussy flat against his face as he devoured you more, ignoring your squirming pleas. He hums against your nub, the vibrations sending you into your own addictive high. You cum again, and again, and again, and soon you're tugging his hair, crying his name with fat tears down your cheek, leaning back and scratching at his chest to let off, but its useless. He's so lost in your cunt that you become light headed, barely holding on to the headboard as your lower body continues to spasm.

He only pulls off for a minute, squeezing his nostrils to force out your juices. He's so dazed, pupils blown wide, beard and mustache drenched in your slick, so pussy-drunk and in love that he wants to do it again. "Sweetest fucking cunt, I swear. Just wanna curl up and live inside here, querida."

You offer to suck him off but he gestures embarrassingly down, where you turn to see a dark splotch on the belt-line of his pants where the tip of his spent cock peaks out, dribbling little white drops onto his lower belly, having cum untouched just from eating you out.

It gets to the point where you lock yourself in the bathroom when you take a shower just to have 10 minutes of peace. Your pussy is so puffy, clit so swollen from his constant assault day and night that you have to calm down and remind yourself what good its doing for him. He hasn't touched the white powder in weeks.

He's wondered where you've gone when he sees the bathroom light illuminate under the door. He knocks a few times, then raps harsher with his fists, calling out your name. You tell him you just need a minute. The makeshift locks on the bathroom door of Frankie's apartment isn't designed to keep an ex militant out, and he just pushes it forward with enough force that it gives way and he let's himself in. You go to cover yourself when he pulls the shower curtains away, but the same needy expression on his face as he narrows in to the slit between your legs has you aching once again. It's Pavlovian, the way he stares, practically drooling, hands twitching by his side, sending signals to your cunt to start dripping for his appetite. He spins you around so your cheek is smothered against tile, ass out towards him, not caring about the water drenching his baseball cap, grey shirt and pants as he kneels on the shower floor and puts his face between your legs. He moans when his lips start sucking on your nub, tongue thrusting in and out of your hole. He keeps you in your spread position with his arms holding your waist, making their way to spread your ass for him to dive further in, knees between your heels. You reach one arm back, knocking his cap off as you card your fingers through his damp hair, gripping it when you cum and grind yourself back on his scruffy face.

He's otherwise so gentle, so soft spoken, but when he gets between your legs, something primal takes over and you can hardly recognize him.

Sometime in the evening while you were watching a movie, you see his knee bouncing next to you. You has snapped at him earlier and refused his hunger when he peppered kisses all over your neck, down your back, then tried to yank your pants down while you were cooking dinner for the two of you, nearly burning your arm on the stove from such force.

You hated that you had outright refused him for the first time, but the truthfully the swollenness between your legs needed rest before he wrecked you again. He's biting his lip so hard, stealing glances at you before rubbing his hair and shifting his cap back on.

You instead take your top off, having gotten comfortable enough to go without a bra when it was just the two of you. Frankie is a bit shocked, only used to seeing you strip your pants first before anything else.

You crawl over to him before sitting in his lap, thighs spread over his. He swallows the lump in his throat, unable to take his eyes off of your tits right in front of him. His legs are still bouncing in agitation, the movement making your breasts jiggle right in front of him. He groans, licking his lips, breathing heavily.

"She needs a break, Fish," you said quietly, your soft and small hands seeking his big and callous ones, pulling them up over your waist before letting them settle on your cups.

He doesn't hesitate or ask further, head leaning forward and lips immediately latching on to your nipple. He moans, eyes closed as he sucks around the areola, tongue swirling your pebble as he kneads them in his hands.

You're trying so hard not to grind down on his cock, instead sitting upright on your knees so you're not fully resting your damp panty-covered crotch against the tent in his pants. The position is more head level with your tits, but he doesn't like that. He grips your hips to bring you flush against him, gasping out when you instinctually start rocking your hips steadily against his clothed length.

He noticed how heavily your chest is flexing, glaring up at you to see your brows furrowed, face tilted towards the ceiling trying not to cum on him. He cups his hands against your cheeks and brings you in for a sweet kiss, his lips slotting perfectly against yours as his hands return to palming your breasts. He presses his forehead against yours so your eyes meet, goosebumps wracking your whole body at the lust behind his eyes, and something more you couldn't place. "So good to me, querida. Perfect lips"—he gently pecks your lips—"perfect tits"—then a generous kiss to each of your breasts—"my perfect girl." You could smell the scent of your pussy on his lips, as if they'd be stained there now. Kissing your lips, your throat, collarbone, down the valley of your breasts, and erect nipples, and all the way back up again, was enough to keep his mouth busy and his craving subsided. And it worked almost as well, the two of you cumming sticky and wet against one another in your underwear with heavy sighs and sated eyes; you had calmed him down enough to get him to remove his clothes and put on a fresh pair of boxers before tucking him to his own bed with your favorite blanket.

As you tip toed into the bathroom to prep for a bath, you stared at your naked reflection: how swollen, and red your breasts were, covered in raised bite marks the shape of Frankie's jaws. Among your new scars are the faded scratches and bruises of Frankie's fingertips on your waist, stomach and lower back from how incessantly he devours you while his face is buried in your sopping pussy, like he had to sink his claws into you so you wouldn't slip away as he feasted. You look like you were attacked by a passionate lion.

His sweet nothings every time he stared into your eyes was what really turned you on. You tell yourself that it was just the withdrawal symptoms talking. That he was basically just high on a new drug.

-

To you, it must have looked like Frankie's craving were only getting worse with how increasingly frequent his lips found themselves attached to your body. In truth, his desire for coke steadily grew less, and it wasn't the replacement of the powder that he was seeking from you but rather the insaitability of finally having you that grew stronger.

The rest of boys noticed the effects you're having on Frankie too. They see it when he meets them for a drink every other Saturday, the way he anxiously taps his foot under the table, glancing around like he's unsure what to do, where to go, because he can't sit still. It's the signs of his cravings kicking back in, and they're all worried at first. But it's not until you up show later and slide into the booth next to him that they notice: Frankie casually drapes his arm around your shoulders like he always did—that part was normal. But what was new is how they could visibly see Frankie's heart rate slow, the way he slumped against the bench and completely calmed down from just your presence.

They also couldn't help but notice the way his eyes raked you with a mix of lust, love, and obsession, his dark gaze never once leaving the sight of you the entire night. All the while you laughed and chatted with them about your week, oblivious to the change in demeanor of your friend from just a few months ago.

You assured the boys that you two weren't fucking—and it was true, you hadn't slept with him once. albeit a few blow jobs, it was exclusively just Frankie eating you out or kissing. You were very hopeful that his cravings were going to go away soon since its the longest he's been off coke. You were even talking to your old landlord to see if your old apartment a few blocks away still had openings since you'd be moving out of Frankie's place soon. Santi couldn't help but see Frankie's dejection, his arm sliding away from you as he excused himself to get more beer.

By the end of the night, Frankie was drunk out of his mind. Will suggested he slow down so he wouldn't pass out before he could walk home. It sounded like a good plan, until Francisco glanced over to the bar and saw you sitting there and smiling at a guy who was flirting with you. Fish took a giant gulp of his beer, downing the entire jug before slamming it on the table and striding out of the booth towards you. He overheard the guy asking if you had a ride home tonight.

"She comes home with me. Every. Night," he slurred, his sweaty palm skimming possessively over your jean-clad thigh and snaking between your legs, face coming so close to you that your noses slide against each other. Frankie's eyes bore into yours with so much desire, it bordered on range. You knew those were his craving eyes. The pungent smell of alcohol on his breath made you flinch as he tried to pull you in for a kiss. You quickly tell the confused guy that he's your roommate and you need to get him home immediately. You could barely finish excusing yourself from the stranger before Frankie was dragging you out of the bar. You managed to wave to the others, making a drinking gesture and pointing to Frankie before being yanked into the street.

He was stumbling all over the place, breath uneven as you hoisted him up to lean against you, eventually making it through his apartment entrance and turning the key to unlock his unit.

With a renewed sense of urgency, Frankie slammed the door close behind him and pinned you up against it, his hands roaming your body as his mouth desperately sought yours. "Craving," he mumbled against your open lips. "Need"—tongue forcing its way into your mouth, he nipped at your lower lip, sucking on it before releasing with a pop— "need you," he panted.

"I know, I know—Jesus Fish. I'm—gonna help—gonna take care of you—" you breathed, ashamed of how quickly you could feel your panties dampen. It never bothered him though, and only encouraged his sweet tooth more. You weren't nearly as drunk as him, but your few margaritas made you extremely susceptible, even welcoming, to his touch.

You hummed into his shoulder when his hard bulge rubbed purposefully against your covered core. He bit your earlobe as he fisted your low-neck shirt before pulling it down roughly, the fabric tearing away. You gasped, ready to scold him but he pressed his mouth on you again, teeth clashing, his hands slotting down your body to pinch, grope, scratch at any bit of skin he could get.

"So—so good t'me. Always taking—such good care of me, cariño."

His fingers dip into your ass and hoist you up so he's carrying you, your arms and legs wrapped securely around him as he boldered through his apartment, kicking his door open before tossing you on the bed, watching you bounce. You never break eye contact as you unbutton your jeans at the same time Frankie pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it aside to unfasten his belt and zipper.

Clambering over you to reseal your lips, you breath in his scent, hands exploring his tone arms, down his chest and muscle middle all the way to the little pooch of tummy hanging. His hands gripped your jeans and pulled them along with you down the length of the bed, bringing you to the edge, his grip pushing up on the back of your thighs so your knees are digging against your rib cage, pulsing pussy exposed at his mercy. "I fuckin' love this pussy, querida," he growled before burying his face between you folds for the thounsandth time. "So fuckin' wet for me," he mumbled against your thigh, nipping at the skin.

He ate you out with precision, eyes hungry watching you, determined to make you fall apart quickly. He wasn't doing it for his own taste, but the sheer satisfaction of watching you writhe for him, knowing your body inside out as the only one who could get you like this. He's languidly thrusting two fingers in and out. You didn't even need to be stretched: he'd practically been prepping you for months now. You're crying out into the air as you cum, hips bucking against his nose with your heels digging into his shoulder blades. Frankie pulls away, kissing your stomach and up your tits before making you taste yourself on his lips.

The feeling of his cock nudging your entrance make your once dazed eyes go wide and alert. He pauses, suddenly worried. He can't read your expression, time dragging out too long and it scares the fuck out of him that he's taking it too far, that you didn't agree to this.

He had wanted to tell you everything right then: how he dreams of you riding him, or when he fists his cock in the shower when you're at work to the thought of what your tight walls would feel like wrapped around him when first violates you, how he automatically gets aroused now when he just sees you or smells your laundry, or admitting how many times he's actually cum in his pants without you noticing when he is buried between your legs, dying to have you cum around his cock instead of his tongue.

It's not until you sense his hesitation that you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him close, sharing the same breath of air, nodding as your calves hook over his ass and squeeze his hips, the tip of his flush cock slipping in to your wet heat.

You both sigh heavily into each other's mouth when he takes charge again and thrusts fully inside you. He scrunches his eyes closed, forehead dipping down to your breast bone to revel in the overwhelming feeling of the tight space inside you.

You warmly caress his hair to bring him back up to you, kissing him and whispering, lips trembling, "Don't—don't think about it. Just... just use me."

His heart sank: You probably just thought this was another hit for him.

He didn't want to think about the fact that you were everything he'd needed in that moment, the image of perfection beneath him beautifully laid out for his eyes, his touch, but not for his soul. He gritted his teeth, pulling out then slamming back in, jolting your whole body up the mattress. It was fast, rough, and not at all how he wanted your first time to be with him, but he couldn't control his urges. He was gasping loudly as he fucked you, your cunt gushing around his member, the obscene sound of slick and skin slapping skin echoing in his otherwise empty apartment.

He brought his thumb to rub messy circles on your clit, sending you into a spasm of praises and expletives, but the most satisfying sound was his name repeated over and over again.

He barely manages to pull out before jerking his cock only twice and creaming all over your folds and clit. Groaning in post orgasmic bliss, he watches you heaving and shaking, filthy pussy covered in his seed. Half of his mind is only working now as he slides back down to lap you clean with his mouth, his own saltiness filling his throat, fingers scissoring inside to get your juices flowing, obsessed with the sight in front of him: your back arched off the bed, heels digging into his lower back as his hands pinning your hips down flat so he can work his mouth over you. And then you're cumming again, so angelic on his tongue, your sweet moans going right to his dick, hardening once again as he ruts into the mattress. He nips your clit and sucks, reluctant to pull away as he lines up and splits you open. You scream out, and if it weren't for the way your barely-recovered battered walls kept sucking him back in, he'd be worried you're in pain. His hands hook under your lower back, lifting you off the bed as he plows into your squelching cunt over and over again.

Youre both covered in a thin layer of sweat, the pillows and comforter of his bed strewn haphazardly around the floor as he dominates you. The headboard slammed recklessly agains the wall, and neither of you cared about your neighbors trying to sleep at 1 in the morning. He ignores the oversensitivity of his cock and your clit, forcing you both into an unexpected climb of another orgasm like it was a primal need.

It was happening without warning; he should be asking for permission, but he knew you took the pill, and he's been dying to release inside you from the moment you first let him put his lips on you. You're cumming on his cock again, hips bucking and grinding against him without your clit being touched, and he was done for.

With a harsh cry, he climaxes again, his length flooding your womb with ribbons of white. His arm shoots in front of him, flat on the bed next to your ear to hold himself up so he didn't crash down on you as his hips jerked, pushing his seed deeper in to you.

He rested most of his weight on top of you, labored breaths combined into one. He kisses the top of your nose, whispering "thank you," unsticking your sweaty bodies as he rolls you two over to have you lying on top, your head next to his. He pats your hair over your ear, pebbling your forehead and eyelids in kisses. His cock twitched in your spent heat, cum leaking out and dripping down to his balls and on the bed.

"Glad I—could...help..." you mumbled, eyes already closed as you drifted into sleep.

His softening dick slipped from your pussy, warm hands wiping you with his shirt before settling you gently on a pillow. He watched the gentle rise and fall of your breaths, naked and fast alseep on his bed. He pulled his sheets higher to your shoulder, his heart beating faster at the way you snuggled further into his pillow.

Frankie stared at the ceiling for hours, hand on his forehead in anguish, wondering how the fuck he was supposed to tell you it wasn't cocaine he was craving last night.

- - - -

Part 2: Crash

Series masterlist

[megistusdiary]

wrio mains and lovers... kicking feet and giggling. this is so self-indulgent

size kink with wriothesley

dom!wriothesely x smaller sub!fem (anatomy/pronouns) reader

warnings: smut (mdni), size kink (dom>sub), blowjob (+ throat bulge), dacryphilia, a little grinding, obligatory manhandling, power play, fingering (sub receiving), a tiny bit of asphyxiation (mostly just his hand on your throat), missionary, doggy style, messy tbh, praise ♡

"what's the matter, sweetheart?" wriothesley smirks, thighs spread wide as your hands rest atop them. he seems unbothered even with your nails digging into his skin.

his hand trails from the top of your head down your face, stroking your cheek with his thumb. his other hand has occupied itself behind your head, keeping your mouth wide open around his cock.

"doing such a good job, baby." he coos, the hand on your cheek going to lightly touch the bulge he's made in your throat. "look so pretty trying to take all of me...is it too much?" he asks, knowing very well you can't talk with the way he holds you firmly on him.

your eyelids flutter shut from slight embarrassment at the way his eyes haven't left you. "hey, don't do that. look at me." he reminds you.

when you finally open your eyes you feel his thumbs gently swiping under your eyes to collect the tears. he allows you to pull away slightly, lips glossy with saliva and slick as you pant, catching your breath.

wriothesley groans at the image of you before him. "aren't you just gorgeous, huh? come here." he pats his lap, but he picks you up himself.

"hold on-" you try to protest, but he sets you down like you weigh nothing at all.

"cute, sweetheart, but i can handle it." he leans forward and kisses your cheek, then your lips, tasting himself on you as his tongue slides over your own.

he mumbles praises in between kisses, his larger hands splayed over your hips as he gently grinds you against his dick, your own wetness rubbing onto him. your hands come to wind themselves around his neck, leaning your head towards his shoulder as you whimper into his ear.

wriothesley sees fit to pick you up again, depositing you onto the bed with a soft thud as he leans over you. he distracts you with his lips on your own while his hand trails down your chest and stomach, gently rubbing your inner thigh, pushing your legs wider apart as he smiles into your mouth.

his fingers slide across your pussy, gathering your slick, teasingly dipping his fingertips in once they're wet enough, just to pull away again.

he slides them back up to swirl around your clit, coating it in wetness as you writhe beneath him while he captures your moans with his lips. he takes his time, sliding his fingers in, spreading your slick until it's across your pussy and onto your thighs.

wriothesley stretches you out, reminding you just how much of a stretch it'll be when you take him. "don't wanna hurt you, baby, just relax." he coos.

"i can take it, come on already!" you huff, but your frustration dissipates when his hand comes to lay over your throat, very lightly squeezing the sides. your moans turn into breathy little whines, gripping his wrist softly as he continues to stretch you open, easing three fingers in and out of you.

he insists it's all to prepare you, though you swear it feels more teasing, the way he crooks his fingers and swipes a thumb over your puffy clit.

when he finally deems you ready, he's gently pushing into you, giving you ample time to adjust. despite all that prep, you still find yourself gripping onto his locks, tugging gently at his hair, then switching to claw at his back.

his breath is warm as he leans down, softly panting against your shoulder, mumbling about how good you feel around him. your eyelids have long since fluttered shut as you grip onto him while he fucks you, legs wrapped around his back, heels digging in.

the noise that you make when he suddenly pulls out is downright pathetic, only to turn surprised when he maneuvers you instead on all fours. he's pushing your back down with one hand to force you into a pretty arch all for him. "so pretty for me." he smiles behind you, easing his tip through your folds teasingly before sliding back in.

he maintains the pressure on your back, sliding up to your head to keep your cheek pressed to the mattress. he watches the way you grip tightly onto the sheets in your fists, listening to every single noise he can draw out from you.

his own head tilts back, a groan escaping him when you tighten around him suddenly when he angles his hips just so, leaving you a whining and whimpering mess. he leans over you, bare chest pressing into your back, grunting lowly into your ear before kissing your neck and cheek over and over.

"so good for me, sweetheart, so good.."

[barcaatthemoon]

dirty dancing || leah williamson x reader ||

you and leah hook up in a club.

smut, minors dni 18+

you hated clubbing. it was loud, noisy, and all the bodies and dancing made you so sweaty. leah, however, absolutely loved it. she could have gone out every night if you'd let her. she was no stranger to going without you every so often, but tonight she had gotten you to promise her to have a good time.

what neither of you had prepared for was the amount of teasing your good time would entail. for leah, it started all the way back in your flat with your dress. it was a simple little black dress with some cut outs along the side to show off an ample amount of skin.

leah thought it was torturous having to dance with your body on display like that. she wanted to slide her fingers into the cut outs on your dress and touch your skin, but you didn't let her. each time she would get a little too handsy with you, a firm little slap to her hands would have them scrambling somewhere else.

"leah," you warned as she grabbed you by the hips and tugged you back against her. it was a sensation that you were all too familiar with. leah was obvious in her attempt to rile you up by grinding your ass against her. the slip of her thigh between yours as the two of you swayed to the beat didn't go unnoticed by you.

"i'm not doing anything," leah feigned innocence. she could only pretend that she was doing nothing for so long before you called it quits. you left leah on the dance floor for an extra song by herself as you went to get yourself a drink and cool off. usually, you had no issue sticking with shots or cocktails, but your water offered a bit of sobriety in your muddled brain.

"you should go back out there. i didn't even get to watch you dance. i let you watch me earlier," you teased. leah rolled her eyes as she slid into the booth next to you. she didn't say anything as her hand landed on your thigh, just waiting for the okay to slip beneath your dress. "are you sure that you want to try this here? it could be risky."

"that's part of the thrill, darling." leah let her accent really shine through. she leaned forward and let her lips ghost against yours. you closed the distance for the kiss as her fingers pushed forward to brush over your cunt through your underwear. "you're already wet. i think you wanted me here all night."

"don't be cocky, you've put in quite a bit of work," you told her. leah bit her lip as she continued to stroke her fingers back and forth, further helping to ruin your underwear. "don't act like it was all effortless."

"i thought you loved my confidence?" leah pouted. you leaned in to kiss the pout off of her lips. the kiss itself started innocently, but quickly turned when you felt leah's fingers finally push past your underwear. now, each kiss from leah was a deliberate attempt to muffle the sounds that you were making.

leah's dipped past your entrance and between your folds to spread your wetness. you could only sit there and hope that leah didn't tease you for too long or else you'd be leaving the club with your own arousal coating your thighs. that was sure to cause a stir if any of the paps got pictures of it.

"leah, please," you begged. you knew that you weren't far gone enough to be truly begging and pleading, but it was the quickest way for leah to make you cum. she'd do anything if you seemed like you wanted it badly enough. and just like you had hoped, leah shifted her body slightly to get a better angle to fuck you with in the booth.

there was no harsh slapping of skin against skin or clinging to each other's bodies, but it was still fulfilling. the thrill of potentially getting caught made your heart race as leah's fingers pumped in and out of you. each little break in the music had your head darting around on the lookout until leah pulled you back in for another kiss.

"that's it. take it all baby," leah cooed as she felt you start to spasm against her fingers. leah pushed her thumb a little harder against your clit, rubbing you over the edge as her fingers curled inside of you. the two motions together was just enough to coax a quick orgasm out of you. leah didn't linger for long, practically climbing over you to get out of the club.

"i thought you wanted a whole night. it's only 11." leah turned to glare at your little joke, knowing exactly where it was going. you didn't have a chance to tease her about being older than you at all, not when she was pushing you against a stranger's car to kiss you. "let's go lee, don't keep me waiting."

"that's more like it," leah mumbled to herself as she gave you a quick swat to the ass to keep you going forward.

[sunshine-and-kookies]

Venom

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷Summary-> With an impending hurricane tailing your city's shore, your despair to seek shelter elsewhere was off the charts.

Fortunately for you, your brother's best friend had ample amount of space for you in his abode.

Unfortunately for you, he has just as much leeway in his heart, prompting you to consider, maybe the hurricane was a safer choice in the first place.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷Pairing: Soft!Yandere Jeongguk x Reader

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷Genre: Angst, Fluff, Yandere

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷Warnings: Manipulation, Gas-lighting, stifling toxic relationship, dub con subtle touching, Jeongguk being a major red flag with no sense of boundaries , Jeongguk has a skewed moral compass.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷Word count: 1.7k

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷Disclaimer: This standalone piece delves into themes that may be triggering or dark in nature. It is important to note that the behaviors portrayed by Jungkook are purely fictional and do not reflect his real-life character. Reader discretion is advised. Minors are discouraged from engaging with this content. Remember, plagiarism is a serious offense.

“Copyright @sunshine-and-kookies 2024. All rights reserved. No translations permitted without explicit authorization.”

✺┅ ⑅ ┅✺✺┅ ⑅ ┅✺✺┅✺✺⑅ ┅┅ ⑅ ┅✺✺┅ ⑅ ┅✺✺┅ ⑅ ┅✺✺┅

Lugging your suitcase on the pristine white marble floor of the high-end complex, you briskly pace towards the elevator. Gingerly clicking the button to the topmost floor of the estate, you heave a sigh of relief. Navigating through the bustling streets of Seoul, especially on a busy Monday, has worn you out to the brink of exhaustion. The elevator dinged, prompting you to get inside.

The aftermath of the upheaval caused by the cyclone in your city forced you to abandon your dilapidated apartment building.

With a tear-stricken face and no roof over your head, you had to resort to calling your brother in the wee hours of dawn. 

Long story short, you were to house with a colleague of his, Jeon Jeongguk, temporarily until your apartment was refurbished.

Wringing your wrists together, you mull over how to introduce yourself.

Talking to people was never your forte, and sharing a roof with a man to whom you would be forever indebted had you conjuring up greetings to make a good first impression.

Scrambling through the elevator vault, you trudge towards the large mahogany door of the penthouse, rapping your knuckles on it.

You could discern light footsteps sauntering towards the door. 

With half a mind to turn around and beat a hasty retreat, your grip on the handle of the suitcase tightens. 

The door opens, and the first thing you see is a mop of curled, disheveled, black locks before a face pops out. 

Jeon Jeongguk was in a league of his own. 

With shimmering dark doe eyes that turned into crescent moons at the sight of you, a tall, well-defined nose that scrunched endearingly, a jawline sculpted by Adonis himself, and lips so cushiony, that had you biting yours to stifle lunging at his for a taste.

Gaping like a fish out of the sea, you thrust your hand towards him and mutter a meek, "I'm Y/N. It is a pleasure to meet you."

He chortles.

Smacking your outstretched hand and pulling you into his embrace.

He holds you for a moment before bellowing with a charming grin, "Ah, Y/N, the pleasure is all mine. But I would rather you drop the formalities. Your brother and I are great friends after all."

"Of course. I'm just very grateful that you're letting me stay at your place on such short notice. I'm sorry for inconveniencing you."

With a playful twinkle in his eye, he quips, "Inconvenience? Darling, having you here is anything but. Trust me, it's not an inconvenience in the slightest."

You bashfully nod and murmur, "I'll try to stay out of your way as much as possible."

His smile fades instantly, his expression hardening as he retorts with a clenched jaw. "You staying out of my way? That's not why you're here, Y/N. I want you to feel comfortable, not like you have to tiptoe around."

You offer him a sheepish quirk of your lips, distracting him from his ire as he glances at the curve of your plush lips. His eyes darken the longer he stares.

Perturbed by the sudden attention, you let out a light cough, breaking him out of his reverie.

His hand finds purchase on the small of your back as he grabs hold of your luggage. Opening the door wider, his smile widens as he motions for you to enter. "Shall we?" he asks with a charismatic grin, his demeanor back to inviting and reassuring.

Without waiting for your response, he ushers you inside, his hand still curled around your waist, almost possessively.

He closes the door behind him, his gaze lingering on you for a moment too long before he speaks, "Make yourself comfortable, second door to the right. I'll get you something to drink."

Once he leaves you to settle in, you try to shake off the feeling of his intense, almost palpable gaze by entering your temporary bedroom and taking in your grand surroundings.

The bedroom exudes opulence at every turn. The walls are draped in expensive silk wallpaper, a deep shade of burgundy that exudes richness and warmth. Swathes of velvet curtains drape elegantly around the bed. 

The bedding is a decadent ensemble of Egyptian cotton sheets, adorned with embroidered patterned motifs in gold thread, and a plush velvet duvet. A gleaming chandelier that hung from the ceiling added to the room's grandeur. The room was regal and lavish in every sense.

Unpacking the suitcase, you arrange your clothes in the walk-in wardrobe. Your hands unfurl your lace underwear, smoothing out the wrinkles left in their wake.

"What are you doing?"

A shriek escapes you as you hide your hands behind your back. 

"N-Nothing." 

"Y/n, I'm not going to repeat myself. You're living in my house now, and I'll have you know I will not appreciate you hiding anything from me."

Your lack of response prompts the irate man to grab your forearms before gripping whatever you were hiding from him.

He stills.

He clutches the offending item in his hand like his life depends on it.

You wanted the ground to swallow you instantly.

Mortified, you lurch towards him and take your panties back, eyeing him incredulously.

He quickly apologizes, cheeks flushing red. "I'm really sorry, Y/N," he says, his voice softening.

"I shouldn't have invaded your privacy like that." he says, though his tone lacks genuine remorse.

You accept the underwear with a wary look, your expression guarded. "Just... please don't do that again," you say, voice tinged with a mix of irritation and distrust.

He nods, feigning contrition as he tries to mask his growing arousal.

"Of course not," he assures you, biting back a grin, though a mischievous glint remains in his eyes.

"Anyways, freshen up, Y/N. I'm sure the travel must have been very taxing for you."

You nod hesitantly. "Sure, but please don't worry yourself preparing dinner. I'm already full."

"You don't get a choice, Y/N. What I say goes. No skipping meals under my watch."

You're about to protest, but he ushers you inside the washroom.

"Get in now. Don't forget your underwear this time." He jibes playfully.

The smile Jeongguk adorned slipped off the moment you closed the door.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵

Living with Jeongguk entailed a lot of things. 

He was as capricious as one could get.

He was sweet. Eliciting chuckles from you as you both do your laundry, feeding you strawberries as you sit on the kitchen counter watching him cook, and taking playful jibes at you as you both compete playing overwatch. He spoiled you, and you let him.

This was undoubtedly your first mistake.

What began as sweet gestures soon morphed into stifling control. He was overbearingly caring and fussy, ensuring you ate all your meals on time.

His overprotective nature was omnipresent as he made sure to drop and pick you up from college, glaring at anyone he deemed a threat to his "best friend's sister." 

With each passing day, his grip tightened, his possessiveness growing like a creeping vine, wrapping around your life and choking out your independence.

He monitored your every move, criticizing your outfit choices, isolating you from your friends, and slowly making you depend solely on him. For entertainment, for affection, for food, and for shelter. Until your resolve broke. 

You began to question, and push back against his control. But for every step you took towards freedom, he pulled you two steps back, manipulating your emotions with expert precision.

The sweetness of his gestures became tainted with manipulation, his spoiling ways a guise for his insidious intentions. You no longer wish to be the passive recipient of his spoiling ways.

"I'm not asking you for permission, Jeongguk. I'm telling you that I'm moving back to my place. It has been renovated, and there is no need for me to stay here anymore."

The weight of his gaze bore down on you as you hear him let out an indignant scoff. "That's cute."

You arch a brow, encouraging him to elaborate.

He grins. "It's cute you think you can leave whenever you please, baby." He hums contentedly, approaching you with a confident gait.

Your brow furrows at his dismissive response, a mixture of frustration and determination coursing through your veins. His words were like a slap in the face, a stark reminder of the power imbalance that had sullied your relationship.

But you refused to cower in the face of his arrogance, standing your ground as he closed the distance between you with a smug grin. His confidence radiated like a suffocating aura, but you refused to let it intimidate you.

Caught in his tight grasp, you struggled against his hold, feeling the pressure of his fingers like steel clamps on your arm.

"I won't let you go," he growled, his voice dripping with possessiveness as he tightened his grip, refusing to release you from his grasp.

"Don't you get it, Y/N? You came here on your own volition, but you only leave on mine."

Thrashing against him, you realize the extent of his obsession. The one that has sucked you into perilous doom.

"I've known you're mine since the day I saw you drop Tae's lunch in the office. How naive of him to think I'll befriend him without an axe to grind."

Your eyebrows furrow at that.

"People like him are just pawns in my world. Pawns without an ounce of dignity. Why do you think brother dearest asked you to live with a colleague of his rather than his own house, that too in the face of adversity?"

Your eyes widen with disbelief as you still in his hold. 

"Like I said baby, the only one you should rely on is me. I'll keep you safe."

He smirks as he sees the fight in you leave. A sense of resignation washing over you.

"Now be a good girl and kiss me."

Jeon Jeongguk was a lot of things.

He was charming, charismatic, and possessive to a fault.

But above all else, he was a master manipulator, skilled in the art of twisting words and emotions, tailored to suit his own desires.

You learned it the hard way. 

The hurricane you escaped was a safer, more viable option than residing with this monster.

..............................................................................................................................

“©© All rights reserved to @sunshine-and-kookies. No translations permitted without explicit authorization.”

[thebettybook]

The hunter who reached for the star

🏴‍☠️————————-💚-————————🏴‍☠️

Characters: OPLA (One Piece Live Action) Roronoa Zoro x Straw-Hat-Crew-Member!gn!reader. This fic is written in Zoro’s point of view

Summary: Reader gets an idea to draw portraits of the Straw Hat crew. While the other crew members make the portrait sessions fun and chaotic, Zoro takes it as a chance to spend more time with Reader

Warnings: Mild cursing from Zoro. Sanji cheekily references the “draw me like one of your French girls” line from Titanic for laughs. Other than that, all fluff

Strawbetty’s notes: Y’all were so sweet with my OPLA Zoro crush headcanons post so here’s a oneshot as my thanks :)🫶

🏴‍☠️————————-💚-————————🏴‍☠️

Zoro sat at the far right end of the tiny dining table in the Going Merry’s kitchen. Despite being surrounded by his fellow Straw Hats, Zoro had his eyes closed and his arms loosely crossed in front of his torso.

Like at most mealtimes, the other crew members were far too engaged in their lively chatter and harmless bickering to notice that Zoro was trying to sleep.

Instead of dozing off, Zoro could only think about the conversation he had with you last night—how the two of you, both unable to fall asleep, gazed up at the stars.

Every word, every sensation, replayed in his mind—from the midnight waves that lulled the ship to the way his name softly rolled off your tongue like a siren’s song—

“Zoro.”

He heard you call his name at the table, pulling him from his recollections. His thin, dark eyelashes fluttered, but he didn’t crack his eyes open. He was too tired to do so.

“Zoroooo!” Luffy stretched his neck from his seat at the head of the table to the end of the table where Zoro sat. The captain didn't hesitate to place his mouth right next to Zoro's left ear. “WAKE UP!”

Zoro’s eyebrows furrowed just a bit as Luffy’s voice pierced his ears. The stoic swordsman opened his eyes, his brown orbs glittering with annoyance. “I’m awake.”

Luffy cackled before snapping his head back in place and turning his attention back to his breakfast of potato bacon soup with a loaf of bread.

“Good morning, Zoro,” your smile, albeit sheepish, eased Zoro’s fatigue a bit. “We were talking about how it would be nice to have official portraits of ourselves, so I offered to draw everyone’s portraits after we all finish eating.”

“I’ll practice my poses!” Usopp chimed in, comically pursing his lips and sucking in his cheekbones to appear like a model. “You know what I always say, if I didn’t join this crew, I would’ve been a model by now.”

“Sure you would’ve,” Zoro couldn’t help but respond with his usual sarcasm, earning him an offended look amped up for dramatics from Usopp.

“Would you like to have your portrait drawn, too, Zoro?” You leaned forward with your elbows resting on the table, giving him a hopeful smile.

Even though Zoro didn’t really care for having his portrait done, and even though he would usually say “no” at any given chance to anyone concerning anything, there was no way Zoro could say “no” to you.

Plus, you drawing his portrait would mean the two of you would get to spend more quality time together. No way would Zoro pass up that chance.

“Mm,” Zoro answered, his voice rumbling an octave lower due to his drowsiness. “I’ll go last.”

Despite Zoro’s nonchalant attitude, his heartbeat quickened when he saw your smile widen.

— — — — —

The setting you chose was a blue-and-white-striped seating area between two rectangular ivory windows in the main room that provided the area with ample lighting from the sun outside.

Zoro watched you pull up a chair a few feet away in front of the seating area for you to sit on while you would draw your portraits. As you placed your drawing papers and pencils on the pool table next to you, Zoro made his way to the far corner of the room to rest on a cushioned bench underneath a circular window.

With one leg propped up, Zoro shifted to get comfortable on the bench and rested his left arm across his torso.

Finally. Zoro shut his eyes, but his ears couldn't shut out the voices of everyone around him.

The first person you drew was Luffy, who would ask you a fleet of questions like “What do you think we’re gonna see at the next island?” or “Wanna know about the craziest dream I had last night?”.

As much as Zoro was (endearingly) used to Luffy’s enthusiasm by now, Zoro contemplated leaving to get some peace and quiet in his own room. He was about to open his eyes and do so before he heard your laugh.

“Luffy! Stop changing your face!” You giggled at how Luffy stretched his mouth out a mile wide.

“What? I’m trying to give you the biggest smile I can!” Luffy’s words jumbled together with his mouth still wide open, only making you laugh more.

That melodic laugh of yours was one Zoro could listen to all day and night no matter how tired he was. He continued to sit on the bench, but his eyes were now open and fixed on you and the rest of the crew around you.

The next person you drew was Usopp, who kept twisting and turning his face and body in hopes of looking like a supermodel.

“Just relax, Usopp,” you chuckled, putting your pencil down.

“I can’t relax,” Usopp threw his head back dramatically. “I’m Usopp, Supermodel of the Seven Seas. Make sure to get both of my good sides.”

Pfft. Zoro let out an amused huff under his breath at the same time you rolled your eyes at Usopp, who simply shot you a cheesy grin.

After Usopp was Sanji, who took off his pink chef’s apron from making brunch to don his usual black suit blazer over a striped blue dress shirt and black pants.

The first thing Sanji did was lay sideways on the couch with his body facing towards you. He propped an elbow up and rested the side of his head on his palm.

“Draw me like one of your French girls,” the cheeky chef winked at you, snickering at his own playfulness that betrayed his flirty facade.

“If you say that again, I’m throwing you overboard with nothing to save you but a door to float on,” you threatened, but you couldn’t help but cackle.

Your portrait session with Sanji couldn’t end soon enough. Zoro felt his usual mild annoyance towards the cook grow as he watched you and Sanji exchange popular references like they were your and Sanji’s inside jokes.

Luckily for Zoro, in a matter of minutes, you finished Sanji’s portrait and began drawing Nami. The Straw Hat’s navigator sat straight with perfect posture, and donned a sincere smile that softened her usual serious expression.

While Luffy, Usopp, and Sanji already had their portraits done, they stayed to hang out. The three of them pulled up chairs to the pool table, each taking one of your extra drawing papers and pencils to draw something of their own.

Luffy and Usopp’s eyes were fixed on their papers. Zoro guessed with a small smile that Luffy was probably drawing something food-related while Usopp was probably drawing himself.

Sanji, on the other hand, had his gaze fixed on Nami. Sanji was skilled and swift with his pencil strokes as he was with a chef’s knife, and anyone who looked at him at that moment would see a smile of genuine admiration on his face as he studied Nami.

Zoro turned his attention from the others back to you. He noted the way your gaze would shift between your paper and Nami as you sketched her.

He also noticed the slight pout your lips formed when you were completely in your element, focused on capturing the subject onto your paper.

The six of you fell into comfortable silence, and Zoro chose not to make any large movements as he basked in the warmth of the afternoon sun that glimmered into the room through the windows.

It was a rare moment like this where the entire crew was together in one room, not laughing or bickering or talking, but simply enjoying each other’s presence.

— — — — —

Zoro didn’t hesitate to get off the bench and make his way over to you once you handed Nami her portrait. He rotated one of his arms, trying to get out any kinks from his shoulder blades.

Unfortunately for Zoro, Sanji was the first to notice him.

“Looks like someone didn’t get enough beauty sleep in time for his portrait,” Sanji teased, earning a mild glare from Zoro.

The rest of the crew chortled in good nature, and before Zoro could respond with a biting comeback, you blurted out, “Zoro always looks good, though.”

Zoro barely had time to register what you just said, even when you covered your mouth with your hand in embarrassment.

Sanji, Usopp, and Nami quickly displayed all-knowing smirks on their faces, while Luffy piped up, “Sanji, I’m hungry and I wanna eat a snack.”

Zoro subtly sucked in the inside of his right cheek to stop himself from smiling at your statement right then and there. If he smiled, he’d never hear the end of it from the others.

“Ok, everyone who’s had their portraits done, out,” you turned your back to the crew, fumbling with your pencils and papers on the pool table. “And yes, go eat snacks or something.”

“Ok!” Nami, Usopp, Sanji, and Luffy all saluted you at the same time. The first three shared a mischievous look before all four of them skedaddled out of the room.

Once they all left, Zoro’s lips eased into the smallest of soft smiles as he made his way to stand next to you.

Zoro couldn’t decide between saying “Hey” or “What’s up?” to sound cool now that the two of you were alone, so he bent down slightly, peering at the portraits you drew of Luffy, Usopp, and Sanji that they had forgotten to take with them.

Zoro didn’t know much about art, nor did he have much of an eye for it, but even he could tell you were good at it. His eyes followed the charcoal lines of the three crew members’ features—Luffy’s scar, Usopp’s dimples, and Sanji’s stubble—and how perfectly you captured them on paper.

“Nice,” Zoro murmured. His eyes moved up from the portraits to you, only to find your eyes already on him.

“Thanks,” you gave him a grateful smile, fiddling with the pencil between your fingers.

“Where do you want me to be?” Zoro straightened up, but his eyes never left yours.

“You can sit right there between the windows,” you broke his gaze and pointed to the spot.

Zoro nodded, going over to the seating area between the two windows. He removed his three swords from the leather strap at his hips to sit down.

Instead of placing his swords to the side or on the floor, Zoro wrapped his right arm around his swords, his bicep flexing as he did so.

In his natural sitting position, Zoro sat up straight, his posture perfect from years of training as a swordsman. However, he wanted to appear casual, so he rested his left leg over his right and put his left hand in his pant pocket.

“Can you draw my swords, too?” Zoro’s eyes flicked back to yours.

“Yeah, of course,” you smiled, plopping down onto your chair with a blank piece of paper and your pencil ready.

Zoro then noticed the charcoal pencil smudges that caked your fingertips. He realized that throughout all the portrait sessions, you never once took a break.

He cleared his throat. “You should take a break.”

“What for?” Your eyebrows lifted in confusion.

“Just noticed you haven’t taken a break since you began drawing us,” Zoro stated. His tone came out flat but the way his eyes softened at you conveyed his care. “Go drink some water, or wash your hands, or something.”

Zoro didn’t realize that he probably sounded more blunt than he meant to, but your eyes only flew down to your hands.

“I’m good, but thank you for thinking of me,” you cracked a huge smile. “Actually, wanna hear a fun fact about me?”

Zoro nodded. He found himself curious that you didn’t wipe away or wash off the pencil smudges on your hands yet.

“I like keeping pencil smudges on my fingers until I’m done with a drawing or an art project,” you gently rubbed one of your fingertips, but the charcoal smudges remained. “It’s like marks that show I put my best effort into what I drew.”

“I get it,” Zoro glanced down at his left palm, which had hardened over the years from calluses he gained from swordsman training. “That’s how I feel about my calluses.”

He couldn’t contain a chuckle when you leaned forward in your seat, your eyes widening with intrigue as he held out his left palm to you.

The skin of his palm was rough, battered with Zoro’s badges of honor that were his calluses. He never really looked at his calluses much, but the way you marveled at them like the stars you marveled at last night made Zoro’s chest puff up a bit with pride.

“Very cool,” you grinned, leaning back in your seat. “Are you ready to get your portrait drawn, Roronoa Zoro with the cool hand calluses?”

An easy laugh escaped Zoro’s lips as he sat up a bit and repositioned his hands to his former pose. “Yep.”

You turned your focus to your paper and pencil, and your head tilted downwards a bit as you brought your pencil down to the paper.

Before you could begin your sketching, Zoro racked his brain for anything witty or funny to say, not wanting to waste the opportunity of having this alone time with you.

“Don’t get my bad side,” Zoro joked, but his words accidentally came out as serious with the stoic expression he kept for his portrait pose.

“You don’t even have a bad side,” you murmured without hesitation, your eyes still fixed on the paper as you began drawing him.

Zoro’s lips broke into the widest grin he had on all day. He turned his head to the right in an effort to hide his flustered expression, but he couldn’t stop his eyes from turning upwards and his eyebrows from lifting.

“Shit,” Zoro mumbled as low as he could, but his growing smile and movements utterly betrayed him.

“Ack, Zoro! Don’t move!” You grumbled at him.

Zoro hid his face in his right shoulder. Both of his shoulders shook as he let out a hearty laugh.

“I’ll never get your portrait done at this rate,” you huffed.

“Good,” Zoro replied with nonchalant defiance. He turned his face back towards you, peeking at you from underneath his eyelashes as you turned your gaze back to your paper.

Zoro’s eyes first saw how the sunlight hit your face, how the gold flecks of light saturated your irises and illuminated every imperfection on your face he thought was perfect.

If Zoro could draw half as well as you could, he wouldn’t hesitate to draw you right then and there.

He wasn’t the artist, but here he was, studying you—taking in every upward quirk of your lips, every back-and-forth of your gaze from your paper to him, every movement you made—and trying his best to capture them all with the sharp pencil that was his memory.

It was only the two of you in the room, and you were only a few feet away in front of him, but Zoro couldn’t help but feel that you were so far away from him.

With the comfortable silence between you two, Zoro’s mind filled with the conversation he had with you last night.

— — — — —

“That’s Orion’s Belt,” you had pointed up to a constellation made of three stars last night. “Those three bright stars.”

Zoro turned his eyes up to follow your finger. “Who’s Orion?”

“Supposedly a demigod huntsman who passed and was placed up in the stars,” you hummed. “Wait, you’re kinda like Orion! With being a former pirate HUNTER and having THREE swords.”

Zoro brought his gaze back down from the stars to you.

“That’s a reach,” he scoffed. Zoro took a leisurely step back, the wooden floorboard of the Going Merry creaking a bit under the weight of his boots.

A crooked smirk glimmered on his face as he reached his hand up to the direction of Orion to humor you. “Literally.”

You chuckled, playfully nudging his shoulder. “Really? I thought there wasn’t anything Roronoa Zoro couldn’t do. Even reach for the stars.”

He wasn’t one to care for fluffy words or compliments, but your comment—and the way you spoke with such faith and confidence in him—sparked meteor showers in Zoro’s heart.

Zoro tried to avoid touching the back of his ears, which grew as hot as the stars. He shifted his body to rest his palms against the polished wooden railing of the Going Merry.

“Why do people like looking at things that are far away?” His eyebrows furrowed up at the stars in an attempt to change the subject.

“I think it’s because since the stars are so far away, all anyone can do is look at them and try to draw them,” you gazed up at the sky. “To capture that moment of seeing something that feels so far away from you but is so beautiful that you can’t help but want it near you.”

— — — — —

Zoro remembered not really understanding your words last night about people’s fascination with stars.

He didn’t get why people would yearn for something they couldn’t have.

Now, watching you as you drew him in daylight, Zoro understood what you meant.

You were physically near him a lot, bright and warm like a star he found himself wanting to get closer to, only to be reminded of the possibility that seemed as wide as a light-year that you might not feel the same.

He was lucky and he wasn’t. He could admire you up close but he had to keep his romantic feelings for you at bay.

Wait, scratch that.

Zoro was never one to believe in luck.

At his core, he was one to never back down from a challenge—to fight for what he wanted.

He didn’t know how you felt about him other than you regarded him as a close friend like he did with you, so there was a possibility he could get rejected.

Thus, Zoro’s pride from not wanting to get hurt prevented him from outright asking you right then and there if you liked him, too.

For now, Zoro would fight his pride with every chance he could get to spend more time with you—to build up his courage to confess his feelings to you someday.

To reach for the star.

And if that meant moving and messing up during this portrait session to lengthen his time with you, he’d do it again and again.

Zoro bided his time before he decided to part his lips.

“Beautiful,” he mumbled.

“What is?” You inquired, not stopping your hand with the pencil.

“A star,” Zoro didn’t hesitate to answer, knowing his reply was so bizarre it would get your attention.

And it did, as your eyebrows scrunched together and your head flew to the sides to look for a star outside the windows or one that miraculously appeared near you and Zoro somehow.

“Which one? And where?”

A genuine chuckle escaped from his lips, turning your eyes back to his. He hoped his next words would anchor your attention on him.

“The one right in front of me.”

🏴‍☠️————————-💚-————————🏴‍☠️

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🏴‍☠️————————-💚-————————🏴‍☠️

[tojisun]

I have a feeling gaz would sometimes, whilst face fucking you, hold your nose until tears pour down your face and he lets you go, you gasping for air head dizzy and hhhhhhh

I STARTED YELLING!!! OH MY GODDD!!!! absolutely. 100%. no lies detected; as far as i'm concerned (which is very because this is so personal to me) this is canon mhmm mhmm

he lets you start, his eyes crinkled in gentle delight when you slither between his legs, nosing over his crotch. you're already so whimper-y, breaths ragged as you stare up at him, pouting. kyle huffs a fond laugh and unbuckles his jeans for you.

you take his cock out with softness, your body thrumming with impatience—reeled in only by the fact that kyle's hand on top of your head is warm. heavy.

a warning.

you swallow him as far as you can, kitten-licks along his slit and over his veins, before choking when the bulbed head of his cock hits the back of your throat. with your gag reflex activated, you move to slip him out, only, you find that you can't.

it seemed that while you were lost in your euphoria, kyle's hand had slid from the top of your head to the base of it, cupping your skull with faux gentleness. mouth full, you stare up at him, the backs of your eyes prickling and your skin racked with goose bumps.

no—

kyle grins, dimples forming in his cheeks, then he pushes you down, forcing his cock into the passage of your throat. you squeak, mind blanking at the confusing tug of both pleasure and pain—"see? my pretty, masochist baby, y'are."—before tears finally trickle from the corners of your eyes.

"shh, love. shh," kyle croons, drumming his fingers against your scalp, his chest heaving with measured breaths. "y've got to learn how to hold me there, sweetheart. s'time f'r you to be good f'me, no?"

you can't even hear him from the sound of blood rushing into your ears, blocking everything of the world that isn't the weight of kyle's cock fucking into your throat, the organ pulsing with every of your choked-up swallow.

it's—

it's so good. so dizzying.

it's grounding, somehow.

you feel your body relaxing, your heaving chest finding its own beat as your breaths begin to pass through your nostrils with ease. your eyes, cloudy with tears, clear up and it is then that you see kyle gazing at you with such a reverent look, it makes you wriggle, shy. he smiles, gentle, and it fills you up with this creeping warmth until you're sagging onto him, comfortable. relaxed.

kyle chuckles, the rumbles of his laughter muffled. he pushes your hair away from your face, murmured coos passing through the fog in your mind, and you warble a response, unable to contain yourself at the weight of kyle's softness.

you want more. you want so much more. you want to show him that you can take whatever it is he'll give you; that you're ready for everything he asks of you. you want him to use you. to manhandle you. to fuck your throat until all you are is his toy. you want—

you want the pain.

kyle's eyes glint like he's got ahold of your dirty, twisted thoughts; gentle smile twisting into something mean. he doesn't even ask anymore, but he doesn't need to, and it makes you throb with such strong need when the hold he has on the back of your head gains strength.

he tugs you back from him, his cock easing out of your throat, leaving it so empty it feels wrong. the head slips until it lays on the flat of your tongue. you lick up, trying to get a taste of his pre, to savour it, but before you could kyle is already pushing your head back down again, smothering the ample amount of air in your lungs into nothingness as he fills you up again.

you squirm, choking, the gargled sounds of your words rumble from your chest, unable to actually be sounded out with how he has you stuffed. kyle huffs, overwhelmed himself as he repeats the action, chasing his orgasm from the press of your throat, his cock hitting depths that has you wailing, your eyes tearing up—

a heavy hand falls on your face, pinching your nose. instinctively, you try breathing in, mind overwhelmed at the sudden threat, but it only makes blood rush to your head, making you heady. making you feel more cornered than you really are.

no.

you’re thrashing, nails biting at his legs as you scramble for purchase. for air. for anything to save you.

you try to slack your jaw, stretching your lips until they go taut in hopes that it’d create a sliver passage way for oxygen, but it’s futile.

nonono—

you are sure hours passed before he removes his hand from your face, trilling praises that you couldn’t even digest. not even with his thumbs swiping just underneath your eyes, a mimicry of all of the times he’s done this to calm you down and comfort you.

but now, crying as you are while your trembling body is still poised for a threat, you see the way kyle is looking at you so adoringly. his eyes are narrowed in that way that lets you know how pleased he truly is, and you understand that this wasn’t a fluke nor a one-time thing.

“breathe, little star,” he murmurs, his palm sliding from your cheek to your throat. he rubs at the stretch of your skin softly, almost humming to himself as he feels the bulge of where his cock starts and where it disappears underneath your muscle and skin.

you sniffle.

“c’mon now,” kyle tuts. “i know you want this.”

you narrow your eyes at him. he just grins, so boyish all of a sudden.

“don’t worry,” he says, his hold around your neck tightening slightly. “i’ll be gentle.”

liar.

anon im staring at you with my mouth agape bc me next !!! (also im sorry its not written well 🥺 i was horny one moment [bc of this] n then angry n betrayed the next [bc of work]. im sorry if it was reflected on the work. i hope u still like this <33 mwah mwah thank u for gibing me it!! i adored it teehee)

[murdockparker]

Our Cottage

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: A first anniversary is nearly as important and memorable as the wedding day—if only she had remembered it. Or, at the very least, hoped her husband also forgot. Knowing her husband? Unlikely.

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: fluffy fluff!! cheesy as cheese gets I'm afraid, mentions and illusions of sex but no smut (sorry babes maybe next time)

A/N: Another self indulgent fic for me myself and I. You're welcome to read it if you want I guess—I have nothing else to say about it

__

The room was too fragrant. 

Maybe it was her sensitive sense of smell that had awoken her, but something about the near ten bouquets that adorned her bedchambers led her to believe that both could be true. 

“What in the world?”

“Good morning, ma’am,” Mrs. Crabtree said, knocking unceremoniously on the door. “I do hate to intrude on your beauty sleep, but I was instructed to beat the drapes and I’m afraid this is the last room I have left to do.”

“No, no,” (Y/N) groaned, sitting up in bed, “I bet it’s time for me to rise anyway. Can’t sleep the day away.”

“You’re much more forgiving than Mr. Bridgerton,” Mrs. Crabtree smiled, entering further into the bedchambers. “As much as I miss the young master’s presence here at the estate, if he found out that I awoke you early,” she laughed quietly, “I reckon the mister and I would be packing our bags before nightfall.”

“Oh please,” (Y/N) peeled the covers off of her body, stretching her legs, “Benedict loves you both dearly—”

“But he loves you more,” the woman points, making good work of taking the drapes off the wall. “Why, do you think Mr. Bridgerton would purchase the same amount of flowers for me?”

She looks closer at the bouquets—all full of a different variety of blooms. Most filled with her favorites, but a handful were a collection of his favorites as well. “Why did Benedict purchase all of these flowers, anyway? It seems excessive…”

Mrs. Crabtree’s smile seemed secretive at first, fading in realization after looking Mrs. Bridgerton in the eyes. “Oh, my dear, you’re serious.”

“Benedict is usually known for romantic gestures,” (Y/N) said indifferently, “I do not recall a time he did something quite like this, though.”

“Well, I can recall a time Mr. Crabtree and I had to clean up a shocking amount of paint and a few precarious handprints across his study…”

She wished she was still in bed, wanting nothing more than to pull the covers over her bright red face. It was one of the many nights of their honeymoon—Benedict had the bright idea to try and paint with their bodies instead of brushes. She thought he had the decency to clean it all up in the morning. She thought, anyhow.

“I-I’m sorry you had to clean up such a mess,” (Y/N) said, praying the apology could transcend lifetimes. “I will be sure to let Benedict know he needs to be more careful with his oils.”

“Oh, your love keeps me young, ma’am,” Mrs. Crabtree said. “But as I was saying—do you really not realize why your husband had purchased so many flowers?”

“Not a clue.”

“Perhaps it isn’t my place,” Mrs. Crabtree said slowly. “But you and the master have been married for a year now.”

“Yes, yes,” (Y/N) waved. “Nearly year of marital bliss—”

“A year ago, today.”

“Today is… surely not…”

Noticing a perfectly placed card in the bouquet on her nightstand, she grabbed it and quickly sped over the looping font.

~

Dearest,

I hope these blooms find you well, I instructed the Crabtrees to be extra careful in their delivery this morn. As exquisite as the flowers may be, and I insisted on their exquisiteness, they could never hold a candle to you. Light of my life and song of my heart, how pleasantly perfect the last year has been. 

Happy anniversary, my love.

Yours forever,

B

~

Their anniversary. Their first anniversary, and she had completely forgotten about it.

“Mr. Bridgerton is still visiting Kent until this evening,” Mrs. Crabtree explained, as if the young missus didn’t know. “I’m sure that provides ample time to prepare something for his arrival, at the very least twelve hours give or take.”

“How could I have forgotten?” (Y/N) was beside herself, forgetting her anniversary? Her first anniversary? Surely it wasn’t an omen of some kind. She was holding onto his note rather tightly. “What kind of a wife am I?”

“Not a terrible one,” Mrs. Crabtree said. “Why, I recall forgetting quite a few of my anniversaries as well.”

“Not your first one though, correct?”

“Well, no—”

“We need to go to town,” (Y/N) said determinedly, flinging her closet open, eyes scanning over every sensible dress she owned. “I need to figure out a way to top whatever spectacle my husband has planned for this evening.”

“I’ll call for a carriage,” Mrs. Crabtree sighed, knowing full well that the drapes will not get finished this afternoon.

_

“If we were in London, why, I’d have hundreds of choices on what to get Benedict,” (Y/N) said, skimming through the few booths at the market. Life out in the country was agreeable, favorable even, but it was moments like these that she truly missed the convenience of living in such a populated place. “I just do not see how I am to make a gift with anything here.”

“Perhaps, ma’am,” Mrs. Crabtree said, carrying a basket full of fresh fruit and veg—taking every opportunity of the market while they’re out, “perhaps you should try gifting something from the heart?”

“What to wives usually get their husbands for the first anniversary?” (Y/N) asked absentmindedly, fingers running over a healthy pile of apples.

“I find that most women in your place have the pleasure of gifting news of an heir right around or before the year mark,” Mrs. Crabtree said, a hint of a smile dancing on her lips. “I don’t suppose you can surprise Mr. Bridgerton with such news?”

Her face went red. “No. Decidedly not.”

“Shame,” Mrs. Crabtree clicked, “I was rather hoping to be doting on a babe sometime soon…”

“What did you give Mr. Crabtree for your anniversary?” (Y/N) tried to change the subject, ignoring the perfect thought of a little baby with Benedict’s eyes. Perhaps they would have her nose? Her smile?

“Well,” the older woman’s face lit up, “our Henry was the best kind of gift—for me or Mr. Crabtree. I wish I could be more help in that regard, dear.”

Defeated, (Y/N) threw a handful of apples into her basket. The apples weren’t even all that good this time of year. Perhaps she could convince Mrs. Crabtree to bake a pie. Either way, a snack for the horses and their hard work this morning.  

“Please forgive me for speaking out of turn, ma’am,” Mrs. Crabtree spoke quietly, “but your husband loves you dearly, I am quite sure he would be most content with any gift you give him.”

“Oh I am sure he would be well suited to accept anything I made or purchased,” (Y/N) agreed. “I rather think I could sneeze on a piece of parchment and he’d write to the National Gallery to induct it into their collection.”

“He would,” Mrs. Crabtree agreed, holding back a laugh.

“Why did I marry such a thoughtful man?” (Y/N) groaned, fist clenching tighter on her basket. “I am destined to be in this predicament every year until the day I perish, aren’t I?”

“To be in a happy marriage, ma’am?”

“To have to deal with my inadequacy for gifts,” she corrected. “We are but a competitive match, after all. Chess is a blood sport with us,” (Y/N) laughed, recalling the last time they had played the game. They both were of the same mind, irritating as it were, it was as if they were playing themselves. It usually ended well regardless, with one under the other in the bedroom. “He probably has been planning something since we were wed, I’m sure. How do I ever top such a thing?”

“Might I suggest the baby narrative again?”

“Mrs. Crabtree, I know you mean it in jest, but it really sounds like my only option at this point.”

“I cannot help my need to see perfect little Bridgerton babies around the estate,” Mrs. Crabtree said cleverly. “But I also know when that day comes and you and Mr. Bridgerton do end up having children, it will be the most welcome of presents. Just, not this year, hm?”

“No,” she sighed, “not this year.”

“Very well,” Mrs. Crabtree nodded. “Perhaps we should head back to the estate?”

“I suppose,” (Y/N) sighed again, kicking a stray rock off of the path. “No use in sulking at the market when I can sulk in the comfort of my own home and await my perfect husband’s arrival with his perfect present.”

“Chin up, dear,” Mrs. Crabtree laughed, putting the baskets away in the carriage. “It’s endearing that you care so deeply about Mr. Bridgerton's gift. I’m sure whatever you land on will be just perfect.” A tease of sarcasm, a tease at her young missus. 

“You’ve made your point,” (Y/N) grumbled, hopping into the cab. “Perhaps I should just accept defeat.”

“Oh, well now that won’t do,” Mrs. Crabtree admonished playfully, closing the door behind her. The carriage begun moving home. “You yourself said you were a competitive match, and I for one would like to see Mr. Bridgerton bested. All men need to be reminded that the wife is the true head of the house from time to time.”

(Y/N) snorted. How she cared so deeply for the staff here in the country, the Crabtrees were always a breath of fresh air. “He’s well aware.”

“Remind him anyway,” Mrs. Crabtree said absentmindedly.

As if struck by lightning, Mrs. Bridgerton knew exactly what she could gift her husband.

_

Benedict was exhausted. His family’s bad timing is never lost on him, needing his immediate attention at Aubrey Hall for one reason or another. His mother’s correspondence begged him to come urgently, a matter only meant to be discussed in person rather through letters. With a heavy heart he left his wife behind, knowing he’d only be gone for a handful of days anyway, even if he would be missing the majority of their anniversary day. 

Benedict grinned wickedly. They still had plenty of the night, however.

When he originally had purchased My Cottage, he never expected to share the less-than-humble estate with anyone else, but like it was meant to be—and he had a very good reason to believe it was—(Y/N) made it her own and took to the country as well as he thought. She had even made fast friends with the Crabtrees, who, by all regards, Benedict thought of as family. 

“Mr. Bridgerton,” Mr. Crabtree greeted, nodding to the young master exiting the carriage. Anthony had sent for him with a family transport—knowing Benedict would not want to leave (Y/N) without—all the more reason for his brother to agree to come to Aubrey Hall. “Welcome home, sir.”

“Crabtree,” Benedict nodded back, jumping down to the dirt path.

“How was your family, sir?”

“Dreadful,” Benedict groaned. “Made even more taxing by the two entire days of travel there and back. Do they not realize how far Wiltshire is to Kent?”

“I am sure the viscount is well aware,” Mr. Crabtree said, treading lightly. “I am also sure that they would not have called upon you for a small matter, either.”

“No,” Benedict sighed, rolling his shoulders. The trip had been a long one, his muscles ached. “It was a good reason for my visit, but it still pained me to be from my wife for so very long, especially today.”

“Ah, well, your missus has not been herself since you left,” Mr. Crabtree said. “I am quite sure that seeing you will be a happy reunion indeed.”

“Please ensure that you and your missus find your lodgings in the cabin, this eve,” Benedict said, as if the thought just occurred to him. Asking his staff to stay at the cabin by the pond became a regular occurance, especially after his marriage. “It is my anniversary, after all.”

Mr. Crabtree smiled. “Already done, sir.”

“Excellent,” Benedict said, trying his best not to grin from ear to ear. “Have a good night.”

“You as well, sir.”

Benedict knew that dinner would be waiting for him inside, Mrs. Crabtree probably having already made his favorites. After his day of travel, he was ravenous—more for food in this very moment than anything else, but he would settle for his wife, too.

“Darling,” Benedict called out, removing his boots by the front entryway. “Your fantastic husband has returned!”

Silence.

“Darling?” He called again, only to be met with the ticking of the grand clock in the foyer. “Playing hard to get, it seems…”

A shimmering of light caught his eye. Candlelight was emitting from his study, his studio, flickering from the crack under the door. 

Odd.

“(Y/N)…?”

He opened the door cautiously, only to find his wife hunched over an easel. She had a streak of blue paint on her right cheek, a smidge of green right across the bridge of her nose. Benedict couldn’t recall the last time he saw something so endearing. 

“Oh! Benedict!” (Y/N) said, nearly jumping five feet into the air. “You’re home!”

“I am,” he laughed, shutting the door to the study. “What’re you doing in here?”

“Cooking,” she deadpanned, posing with a hand on her hip, painters pallet in the other. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“After all my begging to get you to pick up a brush, you decide to do it whilst I’m away?” He pressed his hand to his chest. “I cannot decide if I am touched or hurt.”

“It was meant to be a surprise!” (Y/N) laughed, setting the pallet down. “A gift for you.”

“A gift?” Benedict mused, walking closer to his wife. “And what did I do to deserve such a gift?”

“You married me,” she said simply, wiping her hands of any wet paint. They were still covered in a kaleidoscope of colors, but all dried down and hardly worth the effort to clean at the present moment. “A year ago today, I gather.”

“Oh yes,” Benedict said knowingly. “That is today, isn’t it?” His wife grinned up at him, looking more beautiful than the day he met her, a day he could have sworn was burned into his mind forever. 

“So I’ve been told,” (Y/N) said. “I hate to admit, but I started on this later that I would have liked, only working on it for the last eight hours—” 

“You didn’t happen to forget our anniversary, did you?” Benedict crossed his arms, his voice teasing.

“Of course not!” She lied, keeping her voice even. “You are just an impossible person to make a gift for, that is all.”

“Ah,” Benedict clicked. He did not believe her, but forgave her all in the same breath. “I see.”

“So it is not yet finished—”

“May I see it?”

“No, not yet,” (Y/N) said, turning the easel away quickly. He couldn’t have possibly seen what it was from where he was standing, anyway.

“What if…” Benedict crossed the room, carefully opening the closet in the wall. “We showed them together?” He pulled a similar sized canvas from the contents of the closet, covered in a plain white sheet. Of course he painted her something, it seemed only right. She married an artist, after all.

“Yours is going to be much better than mine,” (Y/N) said, nearly melting into the floor. “I will feel inadequate comparing our work.”

“Nonsense,” Benedict scoffed, walking back towards his wife. “They were both made with the same amount of love, I’m sure of it.”

“Perhaps…”

“Come on,” he said, nudging her arm with the corner of his canvas lovingly. “On the count of three?”

She nodded. “One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

She spun the easel around just as Benedict removed the cover from the canvas in his hand. 

Laughter filled the room.

“Oh my darling, I could kiss you,” Benedict said, voice full of love, his eyes not straying from her canvas for a moment. “Granted, I have wanted nothing more than to kiss you since I arrived—”

“Out of everything we could have painted,” (Y/N) giggled, brushing hair out of her face. “We picked the same subject?”

On both canvases laid a landscape rendition of My Cottage, one obviously more well-done than the other. Benedict’s gave a sense of perfect imperfection, something worth hanging in a gallery or museum. (Y/N)’s, while being done by the hand of a novice in only a handful of hours, gave it the sense of home, the shared feeling the couple had every day at their estate.

“We share the same mind,” Benedict surmised, setting his work on a neighboring easel, putting both side-by-side. “What a stunning collaboration on our end.”

“You jest,” (Y/N) pushed Benedict playfully. “Yours is far superior to mine. A toddler could have done better work.”

“Nonsense!” Benedict said, pulling his wife into his side, kissing her temple. “You obviously put such care into it, no matter how lopsided the left side of our home may be—”  

“Benedict—”

“It’s brilliant, my love,” Benedict sang, turning (Y/N) to look directly at him. “I couldn’t have asked for a better gift.”

“Truly?”

“Well, I fear I am still waiting on my welcome kiss…” Benedict sighed.

“Needy, needy man,” (Y/N) bubbled, rocking on her toes to reach her husband’s face, all but happy to oblige. 

After a total of four days apart, the kiss was one that was worth waiting for. Saccharine sweet and slow, it was welcoming, it was home. Much like their first kiss, Benedict idly wondered if (Y/N)’s lips were always meant to be captured in his own—as if they were quite literally made for each other. 

“Oh dear,” (Y/N) giggled, pulling away from her husband’s embrace, thumb rubbing soothing circles on his jaw. He needed to shave.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” 

“Paint,” she said, swiping her thumb across his cheek. “Entirely my fault. I’m not even sure how I got it on my face to begin with…”

“Hardly the first time,” Benedict quipped, leaning back in to kiss her once more. 

“Do you really like it?” (Y/N) asked, resting her head on his shoulder—their attention somehow turned back to the canvases. “Or are you lying to me?”

“I would never lie to you,” Benedict said. She believed him. “But, I do suppose a few more hours would boast well to the quality…”

Another playful slap to his arm. 

“Where are we to hang yours?” Her hand grazed his masterpiece. He must have finished it ages ago, hiding it away for just the right moment. “The entryway gets too much sun—” 

“What about our bedchambers?” He offered. 

“No, I want our guests to admire your work of Our Cottage,” she hummed, focusing her attention to the beautiful wreath he lovingly added to the front door. She loved adorning their door with fresh flowers, a detail he surely could have overlooked, but still included anyway. “Perhaps in the drawing room?”

“Our Cottage…” Benedict mumbled happily. “I think it’s high time we changed the name to that, don’t you agree? Seeing as it is no longer ‘my’ anything, not with you here.”

“Considering it still is not a cottage in the slightest, I have a few disagreements on that alone,” she teased. Their estate was nearly the furthest thing from a cottage, nearly a small mansion. “But yes… Our Cottage seems fitting.”

“And where will we hang your masterpiece?” Benedict pulled her tighter into his side. “Shall we hang them side-by-side? Allow our guests to see just how talented the Bridgertons can be?”

“Oh I am quite alright with stowing this away until forever,” (Y/N) laughed. “No guest needs to see this poor attempt when the true artistry falls onto you.”

“Poppycock!” Benedict dismissed. “My wife worked very hard on this, I refuse to just ‘stow it away’.”

“Well, then where do you suggest we hang it?” She said, trying not to smile, his praise flooding her senses from her head to her toes. 

“I may have a few ideas…”

_

The wondrous scent of flowers filled their home once more, something that happened more and more frequently in the summer months, when flowers of all sorts were in season. Benedict made sure he outdid himself from last year, adorning each room in their home with at least two bouquets each, rather than just a load in their bedchambers. His reasoning? They only get the once to celebrate their second anniversary, might as well make it special.

“Should we move this one?” (Y/N) asked, holding a rather large assortment in her hand. “I would hate for her to be overwhelmed by the scent…”

“Darling, she’s fine,” Benedict said, grabbing the bouquet from his wife. “But, if you insist, I shall make an exception on this room.”

“She’s a baby,” (Y/N) giggled, watching her husband clumsily run across the hall to place the bouquet in their bedchambers. “I do not think she has the capacity to admire such a thing yet.”

“We want our daughter to be well versed, do we not?” Benedict said, returning to the nursery. “Best we start her on the language of flowers as soon as we can. An educated lady is a respected lady.”

“You’re impossible,” (Y/N) grinned.

“So I’ve been told.”

“God, she’s so perfect,” she said, looking over the crib with a look one could only describe as lovestruck. “How did we manage to make such a beautiful thing?”

“You did most of the work,” Benedict said, suddenly beside her. “I only showed up the once, if I recall.”

“Oh hush,” (Y/N) leaned up against him, feeling the warmth of his body touching her own. “A perfect anniversary present.”

“She’s been quite the gift the last few months, I’ll give you that,” Benedict hummed, his fingers lazily rubbing shapes on the top of her arm. “But I’m afraid that title still falls to the gift from last year.”

Framed perfectly atop the crib of their precious baby girl was the rendition of their home, the one (Y/N) had worked so hard on a year prior. While it had looked a bit more polished after Benedict offered his wife some very well needed advice, it was still lopsided and patchy, but very much full of love. He had hung it two weeks later, after it had completely dried and framed, causing his wife to sob tears of joy on the placement. 

Their daughter was born only nine months after.

“Our Cottage,” she sighed happily.

“Our Cottage,” Benedict kissed her temple, looking down at his daughter and back at his beautiful wife. “Happy anniversary, my love.”