#Temporary Death Experiences

[hauntingsofafuturespast]

An interview with Rosemary Thornton on her Temporary Death Experience and Healing

This is an interview done with Rosemary Thortnon, by Alex Ferrari, who died for 10 minutes and came back to life after having a very vivid Near Death/Temporary Death Experience.

2.17.24

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1302

The whole ‘limbo moment where the whumpee sees a dead loved one who tells them they have to stay alive etc’ is touching and all, but what if the loved one was more aggressive?

Whumpee: “Am I dead? [Loved One] it’s so good to see you - I’ve missed you so mu-“

Loved One: “What on earth do you think you’re playing at? Get the hell back down there!”

Whumpee: “But- but it’s so painful.”

Loved One: *slaps whumpee*

Whumpee: “The hell was that for?!”

Loved One: “And now it hurts up here. Get back down there, you idiot, you’ve got people waiting for you. I’ll still be here when your time comes.”

[kandicon]

Actually I can't stop thinking about Tim gaining a bit of weight during her time as Persephone and it's killing me now

[daylighteclipsed]

Posting my last tag rant because y’all had some great responses to it and I wanna continue this conversation.

Yes! I think it’s safe to say Vanitas has become his own person and has a heart of his own now, maybe. But that initial wanting to rejoin with Ventus is a good example of darkness wanting its light back — and I think this is something the novels touch on, the pain and confusion Vanitas feels when he’s first created/separated from Ventus.

It must be so… strange for the space you once made up in the universe to be filled by someone else. Vanitas can’t return to Ventus. Not only because Vanitas has become his own person but because Sora’s darkness became the new dark half to Ventus’ light half. Vanitas can’t return to his light. At least, not the way he used to. How… distressing. Painful. He has no choice but to develop his own light.

I think you can even compare this to Riku in KH1, his pain and distress at, in his eyes, being replaced by Sora’s new friends and lashing out at Sora when Riku really wants nothing more than to be with Sora again. Riku initially bases his identity heavily on his relationships to Sora and Kairi, and he has to readjust and redefine who he is as things (relationships, roles, people, desires) change.

Yeah, that reminds me of how all the humanoid bodies without hearts — the Nobodies — immediately sought a replacement after their heart was separated from their body. The body needs the heart. It’s incomplete without a heart. It’s the same as light and darkness.

You’re right, I don’t think they ever explain what happens to someone’s light when they become a heartless. I think light and darkness are like energy in that they can’t actually be created or destroyed. If I had to guess… maybe the light goes to the hearts of people the heartless is/was connected to.

Kind of like how when darkness overcomes the world’s light, the light persists in the hearts of children. And also like how Kairi’s heart of light camps out in Sora’s heart when it’s threatened by darkness. And also like how tracing the hearts of the guardians leads Sora to the pieces of Kairi’s heart of light. And also like how Riku’s light, represented by the Keyblade, goes to Sora when darkness is consuming Riku’s heart. Our light lives on in the people who love us.

Sora and Terra are the only examples of heartless getting their lights back, I think, and it seems to be because their lights are hanging out in the hearts of the people who love them. People who miss them as much as their light misses its darkness. So yeah, the light that a heartless once had retreats to the still complete hearts that heartless is connected to. If there are no connections, the light returns to the universe/enters the newest or nearest heart — which is maybe how you explain Ventus’ light connecting with Sora’s newborn heart? Final answer lol.

Sora’s heartless in Coded saying “Hearts to sate my hunger” literally haunts me wtf 😐 fucked up rage form Sora hungering for light, and thus hungering for hearts, because his own light is no longer enough. But the light from these other hearts is always fleeting. He can only hold onto the darkness in every heart he consumes. And losing the light just as soon as he starts to feel it, taste it, only carves a deeper, darker pit inside of him. Makes the hunger worse, the pain that much more unbearable. So he just keeps attacking and consuming, chasing this light he can’t have as his darkness grows stronger 😐

Anti/rage Sora consuming hearts like heartless do, like his own heartless tries to do in Coded, is such a cool concept. But it would wreck Sora. Even if the hearts he consumes are ultimately saved — which in a canon situation, they would absolutely have to be — the second he registers what he’s doing or has done… 😬. The image he has of himself would shatter. It would just go so against who he is expected to be and has tried to be and who he wanted to believe he was.

But it would be really, really cool.

[klance-dreams]

Omega Shield / Keith finds out Lance died while he was gone

How do i not have a dedicated little rec list for this this yet! wtf??? Also! I will not rec fics where lance stays dead / ( NO permanent major character death fics here, safe reading!) xoSee Also: Coda (Missing Scenes) all my love for the sweetness of his laughter // he is the tear that hangs inside my soul forever by: KaterinaRiley, Word Count: 7,157, Rating: Mature, Summary: The story of how…

[hauntingsofafuturespast]

Temporary death experiences.

Jeffrey Mishlove, PhD - A Lifetime of Studying the Paranormal

What is an NDE?

A near-death experience (NDE) is typically a profound, life changing, intensely emotional experience that usually occurs during a clinical crisis and has common characteristics and aftereffects. It is not a dream, hallucination, or mental illness (Greyson, 1983). There are no predictive variables to identify who will have an NDE. They happen to people of all ages, religions, socio-economic groups, cultures, educational backgrounds, and belief systems. They occur under a variety of circumstances such as accidents, near-drownings, illnesses, combat, surgical procedures, and childbirth. Following an NDE, experiencers (NDErs) often display some common aftereffects. Research has established a set of common NDE characteristics and long-term aftereffects. Theories used to explain near-death experiences in purely physical terms have been proven inadequate by NDE researchers and others.

[tjerra14]

textbook case of emotional blackmail: just what you need on a Monday

[lanayru-the-water-god]

Gifts of gratitude

In this fourth installment of “All for the maiden,” Lanayru returns to her best friend’s spring to reunite with Ivory.

Word count: 1471

Slowly and steadily, Lanayru’s footsteps echo against the shiny surface. In front of her is Nerin’s spring, which over the centuries has become her second home, and today she comes to receive a gift from the eternally grateful swan maiden.

The one she sacrificed her life once more to save.

Memories of her sacrifice dwindled away as she slept, leaving only tiny fragments of a blurry haze. But still she can see the fallen maiden, close to her final breath, the blood pooling against the tiles. She can feel the glow of her hands, and soon her entire body, overflowing with the healing magic as she thrust every last inch of it out—

And then…nothing.

Several days after her awakening, Lanayru is still slightly fatigued, but finally strong enough to travel to her best friend’s domain. Her heart flutters with a mixture of relief and excitement, eager to reach the sweet maiden.

As she makes her way around the quiet, serene spring with its pure waters and soft swan feathers, her eye catches on two figures close by. One of them is the Swan Goddess, her fluffy shawl wrapped around her body and loose white hair framing her face. And the other one…the dainty being is strikingly familiar—

Ivory.

“Lanayru!!” the swan maiden shrieks, bolting toward the Water Goddess and throwing her arms out. “Oh my gosh, hi!!”

Before she can respond, Ivory’s head is already resting against her chest, arms wrapped around her frail body in a tight squeeze. Lanayru grunts in surprise, chuckling as she glances up at Nerin. The Swan Goddess simply smiles.

“This one has not been patient, waterdrop.”

Lanayru runs gentle fingers through the maiden’s soft hair. “Are you alright, my dearest one? I know you’re still recovering.”

“What do you mean?” Ivory slowly loosens her grip on the Goddess, glancing up at her with a frown. “I’ve been good as new for a while now. You’ve just been out for-“ She pauses. “…a long time.”

“I know, my apologies. If only saving you hadn’t taken such a toll on me…but I digress. You’re doing well, sweetheart, and you have no idea how delighted that makes me.”

Ivory steps back, her smaller form glancing up at Lanayru. With her limited memories of the maiden, it’s as if she is meeting a stranger. But Ivory knows her now; so much more time has passed than she can grasp.

“You look so, uh…so…different!” The maiden’s cheeks flush pink as she speaks. “Like- your hair!”

The Water Goddess runs a finger through her short bob of blonde locks, cutting off above her shoulders. Days before, it had reached all the way down her back, having not been trimmed in several years.

“Yeah, it’s a little shorter, isn’t it?” she replies with a chuckle. “I was thinking of chopping it before I healed you, but I just never got around to it.”

“Well, it looks absolutely stunning.” Ivory fidgets with her white dress, seemingly a bit nervous. “So…Lanayru, are you feeling okay? Were you in pain at all?”

“Well, I don’t really remember…but it was painless, my dearest one. It felt almost like a nice, long nap.”

“Aw…thank goodness, I am so glad to hear that…I mean, I was there when—when you…”

Lanayru’s heart sinks. “When I—?”

…died?

“Yeah, when you lost consciousness…I saw it all…” Ivory mutters, breathless. “Oh, my heart couldn’t take it, Nerin was so devastated…she explained a bit to me, how you were gonna be gone for a while.”

That’s right. Nerin told her to keep the death a secret, worried that it would upset the troubled maiden even further.

The guilt still pangs in her chest, just as it has each day since awakening…Nerin knew. The Swan Goddess watched Lanayru fade out, and she knew. Soon her darling waterdrop would stop breathing, her body shutting down completely, anywhere from seconds to minutes of a lifeless form lying where the Water Goddess once stood…

“It was very hard for her, yes,” Lanayru confirms, careful to not let out the truth. “Ivory, I am so sorry…I never meant for you to go through that.”

“Why are you apologizing? You- you saved my life.” The maiden stares at her with pleading eyes. “I owe you everything, Miss Water Goddess, far more than I could ever offer.”

Lanayru sniffles. “Ivory, please—“

“Lady Nerin, give it to her,” Ivory turns toward the Swan Goddess, who grins with delight.

“You’re gonna like this one, waterdrop.” Nerin tells her with a smile. “A lot of thought went into it.”

To Lanayru’s confusion, Nerin takes off the fluffy shawl around her shoulders, stepping forward and holding it in outstretched hands.

“But…isn’t that yours, little one?”

“No, silly, it’s for you. Take it.”

The Water Goddess carefully obeys, gasping in awe as the large shawl drapes over her wrists and arms.

Oh my Goddesses.

The assortment of white and gray swan feathers, with even tinges of baby blue, blend together on a neatly cross-stitched base pattern, one that clearly took an immense amount of time and care.

“Ivory, this is…beautiful,” she gushes, eyes beginning to water. “Did you make this?”

“I sure did, my darling. That was the one good thing about you being unconscious for that long…I had time to really create something memorable.”

A pleasant warmth washes over Lanayru’s body, bringing her a sense of peace and calm…each one of the delicate feathers seems to have a life of its own, glowing in the daylight.

“Wh-what is this? Is it a shawl?”

“Not quite…it’s a blanket, made from my own thread and magical swan feathers. Each of us offered a few of our feathers and Nerin helped gather some too…when you sleep with it, a bit of our swan magic will come to you. I bet you’re even feeling it right now.”

Oh.

Oh my—

“I-I can’t accept this! Please- this is far more than I ever need—“

“You must, Lanayru.” the maiden interrupts, gently touching the blanket with her hand. “I know that someday, you’ll save an innocent soul once again. When you’ve slipped into a deep sleep, I will come to drape this across your body, and your… slumber, should I call it that, will be as peaceful as the waters you give us.”

Tears roll down Lanayru’s cheeks; as both her hands are occupied from holding the blanket, she is unable to wipe them away.

“This was far too sweet of you,” she states, sniffling again as she holds the blanket close. “I-I can’t believe you…you did this for me…”

“I wouldn’t be here right now if it wasn’t for you!” Ivory shouts. “Goddess, please, stop all this. You did the most selfless thing any of us could have imagined, something that I’m sure half of us wouldn’t have the guts to do—“

“What choice did I have? It was either to save you, or just stand there and watch you fucking die—“

“Lanayru!” Nerin’s firm voice startles her. “Don’t.”

“Oh…sorry,” she mutters. Her friend has never been too fond of her profanity. “It-it’s just that…I will never expect a reward for my actions. Always remember that.”

“I know.” Ivory reaches a hand out toward Lanayru’s tear-stained face. “Here, is this okay?”

The Water Goddess nods, letting the maiden’s cool, dainty hands wipe the tears from her cheeks.

Nerin steps closer to the two, beaming with delight. “Save your tears, waterdrop,” she explains. “This isn’t the only gift for you today.”

“H-huh?” Lanayru chokes out. There’s…more than one?

“The other maidens know everything, we couldn’t possibly hide it from them…Lanayru, I still don’t think you really understand how grateful we all are. Every one of our maidens is extremely special to us, and you care so much about our well-being.” The Swan Goddess gestures to the stunning front entrance of her residence. “Come inside with us, waterdrop.”

Ivory turns back to Lanayru, touching the blanket once more. “RuRu, why don’t you wear this around your shoulders?” The maiden pauses suddenly, brow furrowing. “Oh…is it okay if I call you that?”

“Of course,” she replies, nodding slowly. “You have my permission, darling.”

She has reserved the nickname RuRu only for those close to her, but for Ivory it just feels…right. And perhaps they can indeed become close friends as the months and years go by. She may have Nerin, and all the Dwellers…but she can always open her heart for another companion. With her devout kindness and joyful spirit, Ivory is a perfect one.

Lanayru wraps the soft blanket around her shoulders, just like how Nerin wears her feathery shawl, and begins to follow them along the path. Embracing the warmth of the swan magic from the blanket, she listens to their soft footsteps among the peaceful sounds of the spring.

[pigeonwhumps]

Gemma rescues Phoenix AU: Part 2

Immortal Cannon Fodder masterlist

Taglist: @extrabitterbrain @wolfeyedwitch

2.8k

CWs: temporary character death, hospital setting, immortal whumpee, presumed dead, accidental misgendering. Despite the nicknames kid/kiddo, Phoenix is 18

It feels like the ambulance takes hours to get to the hospital, hours to get inside, even though logically Gemma knows that the blue lights are on, and this is an urgent case. They try to stop her from waiting in the relatives' area, because she's not related to the kid, but she shows her Hero League ID and they let her through begrudgingly. She very rarely pulls stunts like that, she hates that people who work for the Hero League are automatically seen as trustworthy, they're really not, but for some reason she's become attached to the kid. She's not sure why, but she has, and she wants to know if they're okay.

It feels like forever in the waiting room. Her shirt and the fleece she's carrying are still covered in the kid's dried blood, but she barely notices. She has nothing to change into anyway, and she's not bothering the staff for something. She holds onto the ends of her sleeves, taking deep breaths. Okay. It's going to be okay.

She texts her boss about a family emergency, noticing the amount of missed calls, and then turns her phone off. She can't concentrate on anything else right about now.

The kid has to be okay. They're only young, they have to be.

She waits even longer as people enter and exit, crying and urgent and relieved and everything in between.

A nurse enters the relatives waiting area with a grave expression, and Gemma sits up straight, heart in her throat. She knows that expression, please don't let it be for her.

"Gemma Donovan?"

No. No no no, not that tone as well. She gets to her feet and crosses the room, the nurse leading her to a secluded area of the corridor.

"The kid?" Gemma asks, barely able to speak, and the nurse shakes her head.

"She was dying when we started the operation, and we have a healer on site who tried to fix things up enough that we could save her but it backfired. The patient appears to have her own healing factor which we couldn't pick up, and it reacted with our healer's powers. She doesn't have long. If you want to say goodbye..."

"I barely know them," Gemma whispers, but she follows the nurse anyway, willing her legs not to give out. It seems that all she can do is lose people, lately. "How's the healer?"

"He'll survive. Knocked him out but he wasn't already injured, so he'll be fine."

"Good."

They stop by the door to a private ward. "Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

She pushes the door open and swallows past the lump in her throat. The kid looks tiny under the blanket, attached to numerous wires and bleeping machines, face grimy and hair still matted. Their hand is clean when it reaches out – it must've been cleaned for the operation. They wouldn't have had time to do everything but clean wounds are important.

Or, they're usually important, anyway.

Gemma takes their hand and sits down beside the bed. They watch her warily.

"Hey kiddo," she murmurs.

"You saved me?" Their voice is raspy, disbelieving, and she nods. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. They don't think you'll survive."

"I will." It's either blind optimism or something else in their voice. Gemma desperately hopes it's the latter.

"Well, you need to. I haven't even met you properly yet. Yeah? You can come stay with me afterwards if you like, if you have nowhere safe to go. Just make sure you survive."

The kid coughs harshly. "Need y'r address then."

"I'll write it on your hand so you don't forget it."

"Mm." They watch, eyes glazing over, as she writes her address on their hand. She doesn't know why. Maybe there's just no harm in indulging a dying teenager. "'m tired."

"Go to sleep, kiddo. I'll be here when you wake."

"Promise?"

"Promise. If I'm not in here, I'll be just in the relatives waiting area."

The kid nods, and closes their eyes.

Gemma waits, as the beeping flatlines out and medical staff come rushing in. She flattens herself against the wall as they do their jobs. Only when one of them shakes their head, and the time of death is announced, does she burst into tears.

_

Phoenix wakes with a pounding headache. They open their eyes and slam them shut. It's too bright in here. They've spent the last... however long it was in the pitch dark with that dripping and the pain and this is far, far too much.

Except... for a bit. There was a woman, and softness, and someone holding their hand. They don't remember much though, it's mostly pain and darkness and rough wood and that damn dripping.

They push off the sheet and slide off the metal table, wincing at the stiffness in their hands and feet. Hopefully it'll improve. They need to get out of this room. It's too bright and clinical and it's definitely a morgue.

They hate morgues.

What did that woman say before they died? Something about... waiting? If she wasn't there she'd be in the... relatives waiting area? Well, they can find that. They've been there before.

Phoenix pulls the sheet around themself and staggers towards the door. Time to go. The corridors are bright and loud and nearly too much but they keep going, following the signs. They've been this way once before, and it wasn't pleasant, but... at least there aren't many people.

They take a deep breath and slump against the wall by the lift. Only one floor up, and mercifully, the lift is empty.

The doors to the relatives waiting area are heavy and take a few tries to push open. They scan the room on the other side. It's far, far too loud but– but–

They fall into the arms of a familiar woman with white and purple hair and a familiar warm smell.

Gemma breathes for what feels like the first time since the kid flatlined, clutching them tightly to her. Oh. Oh, god. She's so glad she stayed now. The room's humming with talk, all eyes on them because the kid's dirty and bloody and covered loosely in a sheet, but she doesn't care, half-dragging them to a secluded corner. They're freezing and she wraps the fleece around them. After a moment they pull it close around them, looking surprised, like they didn't expect it or maybe didn't even notice the cold.

_

After the flatlining of the machines comes lots of talking. Gemma doesn't understand any of it, it's a faded blur, the long, unending beep of the machines still echoing in her head.

The kid's dead. It's all she knows, and she can't make sense of it. How can they be dead? They're so young, she should've been able to do something for them. They shouldn't be dead.

The faces of Morfydd and Lian as teenagers, Kai when he first joined, flash through her mind. It's not right that this kid's dead. They should be alive, finding their place in the world, despite the restrictions even Morfydd and Lian got to do that, but instead they've been horribly tortured and are lying there dead.

How long were they being tortured for? How did nobody find them before they were too late to be saved?

She's not sure why she's gotten so attached to this kid, she's had victims die on her before, but this feels more... personal, somehow. Like she could've done something. They remind her of her charges, when they were younger and only had her to stand up for them. Maybe... maybe that's why.

No-one's paying attention to her and she stands, making her unsteady way out of the room, unable to stand the sight of the kid's pale, still form any longer. She promised the kid she'd be in the relatives' waiting area, and somehow it still feels important to do that, be there. No-one interrupts her as she stumbles along, and she ignores the stares of waiting relatives as she collapses into a chair.

The longer she stays, the more out of place she feels. Should she really be here? She has no-one to wait for, after all. But she promised the kid she'd wait, so she stays.

It's a long time later that there's a creak and she looks up. She almost doesn't bother, the door opens so frequently, but this sound is different. Like someone's trying to get in and can't quite manage it. It happens again, and maybe she should go and help but she just can't summon up the energy.

Then the door actually opens, a small, grimy figure slipping inside, and Gemma's on her feet before she knows what's happening. The figure sways slightly, looking around dazedly, and Gemma runs. They're only dressed in a sheet, body covered in blood and grime, but it doesn't matter, she catches them as they fall forward, right into her arms.

Someone will be up to examine the kid soon and she's not letting go until then. She's not sure she ever wants to.

"You're alive. Oh god, oh god you're alive. You can resurrect?"

The kid presses their head into her chest and closes their eyes, nodding slightly. "No-one's ever, um, found a way to kill me permanently."

That nonchalance is worrying. Maybe it's just post-resurrection exhaustion. She hopes so. "So, you're immortal, huh kiddo? What's your name?"

"Phoenix. They/them. 'nd I'm eighteen, 'm not actually a child." They pull away slightly, frowning. "If you, um, didn't know I was immortal, then you didn't know if I was useful. Why did you, um, save me?"

Gemma cups their face in her hands. "You don't need to be useful to be worth saving. You're a person, that's good enough for me."

The frown doesn't leave their face, but their eyes well with tears, and Gemma thinks that their life can't have been good up until now if just that is enough to make them cry.

[iamfrankie99]

The Way You Used To Do

by edema_ruh

670k 30ch

Summary: Izuku takes a hit for Katsuki while on patrol and he dies. Or so everyone thinks,m. In reality the villain’s quirk detaches his soul from his body and for some reason attaches it to Bakugo’s. That does gain them a bit of time to fina a solution, but more problems ensue, first of all the fact that Katsuki hates Deku and the two are stuck to each other for an undetermined amount of time. It would take a long time to mend their fucked up relationship, time they do not have because Deku is still dying and the villain is nowhere to be found. But who knows, maybe this fucked up situation will also help them understand each other more than ever before.

Frankie’s comment: This is literally the longest fic I’ve ever read. It took me weeks to finish it, and let me tell ya, this motherfucker is hella dramatic. Super deep and angsty and I cried multiple times a d I cursed at their inability to communicate for the other half of the time. I mean, first it’s Deku dying and the whole situation, then when it’s finally, finally, settled, it’s Katsuki’s turn to be stuck in the hospital after almost dying. Nice. No, jokes apart, I really loved the fic. As I said, it’s deep in a way short fics just don’t have the time and space to be. I don’t always agree with the notion the longer the better nor vice versa but this fic is really well written and deserves all of the hits and kudos it has.

READ HERE

[taegularities]

entertainer | jjk (m)

Summary: Growing singer Jeon Jungkook is as charismatic as he is self-absored – that is, until he meets you. Caught in a web of secrets, he finds a riddle in you he urges to solve; even ready to turn the spotlight towards you until nothing remains… but regret.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: strangers to lovers (or something); angst, bits of fluff, smut!! ➳ warnings: do not fall for this jk i repeat do not f– 🚨 he's kinda hot though; (not so) silent yearning, flirting, a shit ton of sexual tension, sexual fantasies, some jealousy from his side, he is very VERY attracted to her, mystery, oc is a big question mark, full jk pov!, difficult past(s), (mention of) sexual harassment, mentioned past death of a side character, crying, fear, manipulation, confrontation and fighting, aggression, cursing, cocky and selfish kook, overthinking, secrets and revelations, explicit sexual content: kissing, fingering, teasing, drunk shenanigans, sooo much lust, big dick jk, dom jk, oc is odd, oral (f. receiving), spit stuff, handjob, manhandling, orgasm delay, lip ring…, light choking, bit of hair pulling, a spank or two, coming on oc, some cum tasting mmmh, ass stuff, protected sex, rough sex, various positions, masturbation; as always THE ENDING!! lmk if i forgot something!! ➳ wc: 32.4k ➳ a/n: MHMMM, it's finally time!! i experimented with the trope a little; def not a professional when it comes to this genre, but i tried my best. both oc and jk are odd in this one, and you might be on either's side and hate either of them, i can't say :'D very curious tho, so come and drop a message to lmk what you think. let it aaaall out :P <3

➳ listen to the Entertainer playlist! 🖤   

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST | WIPs 

Jungkook has always wanted an audience to perceive him.

Not just to perceive him, in fact. To worship him.

Jungkook doesn’t consider himself a bad person. Spoiled, a little selfish, but not necessarily bad. He enjoys attention, no matter how temporary or who the giver of it. Feasts on it like an incubus.

What’s wrong with that? Nothing.

Or. 

Maybe there is. Maybe he’s coming on too strong.

Because you’re not part of his audience, sitting over there, middle row, middle spot, with your eyes lowered to the notebook. And when you do look up, there’s nothing but indifference in your eyes.

It irks him. Maybe he is a little narcissistic, and maybe he can’t quite deny it after all — but as part of his future team, you should at least fake a smile, right? Display a certain amount of enthusiasm, the joy of working with aspiring artists.

But no.

You’re occupied, scribbling into your notebook. Jungkook, cognisant of the fact that he hasn’t issued much of significance today, understands that you cannot be taking notes of his words. And he also understands that… if that is true…

You’re not granting him as much fascination as he’s used to.

General admiration thrown into the same bucket as his unwavering talent — that he’s well aware of — might just be the reason he climbed up so high in no time. Sometimes, gentle livestreams and vlogs do the trick — locals have found reasons to adore him already.

At times, a good song and strong vocals aren’t necessary to woo people.

Jungkook, however, is insatiable — that’s what keeps him pondering at times. That it’s just the locals, and on an international scale, there’s still much to achieve.

But he’s not a quitter, he’s a conqueror.

And he’ll reach that mind-boggling status of a well-known, global icon, name flowing as naturally through the seam of people’s lips as a still-lying, tranquil lake.

Jungkook knows it’s cocky of him to praise himself to the skies and to rely on his resolute hopes so much. He knows life backfires sometimes, and that endeavours don’t always pay off. He only started as an insignificant city boy, too.

Survived the cruelty of elementary and middle school; shared a room with his brother, relying on him until he grew and learned to finally rule over high school; every single soul at his beck and call. Then, trudged through college before any of where he’s standing even existed.

But he’s here now. And people acknowledge it.

Except you.

And it throws him off his balance. Which is probably why he shortens the end of his speech, close to slurring distracted syllables before he realises he’s forgotten a prepared sentence or two.

No matter; the relevant and main message should have been delivered by now.

So he leans back in a chair in the back, flashing a captivating smile and waits for the applause. Somewhat proud when the praise needs a moment to cease for his manager to reclaim the mic, freeing the metaphorical stage, much in the form of a simple pult, for the CEO of the company.

Taehyung is savvy of how to regain control over a stage; Jungkook doesn’t know whether he fucked up his final remarks, but Taehyung summarises his ideas well. But the clapping does say a lot.

And between those raising their hands to appreciate Jungkook’s speech, you were, too. He knows because he looked directly at you; still is. And when your eyes drift to his, the two of you hold each other’s gazes for at least a couple seconds longer than the others.

And your smile, while present, is somewhat tight-lipped, a bit awkward but confident, too. Odd, as well; hard to explain, but as though you know what you want. As though you have your priorities set straight and cannot be swayed by anything the world might throw at you.

He doesn’t have a word for it. Poised? Self-reliant? Fearless? Can a single look even say this much or is he being delusional?

But this can’t be true, honestly. Nobody is this unperturbed or passive. He’ll find out.

Your stare aligns with his a couple more times over the next minutes, staying there before continuing the journey over the crowd. Jungkook’s eyebrows twitch just a little whenever your eyes pierce into his, so tantalising and deep, big sweet ires, but so conniving at the same time.

He doesn’t know your name, but he’s sure that it defines intrigue. And maybe, just perhaps, it might serve as the synonym for drop fucking dead gorgeous, too.

When Taehyung leads you to Jungkook’s stuffy studio, the latter hears your voice through the open door several seconds before you come in. Or actually, it’s not quite his studio.

More like a collective office that a couple of the newcomers use. Jungkook has been part of this crew a little longer, but he needs the additional success, more prosperity; he’s been told to yield more results to earn his very own four walls. Carrying his signature flavour.

But it’s okay. For now, this suffices…

The stench of coffee and the sound of the AC. The pot and plants that always rest in some corner of the room, courtesy of Taehyung who insists on some colour in the grey-white, small room. Jungkook has gotten used to it all.

Which is why it’s strange, seeing your splendour enter the small space, delighted by whatever Taehyung might be explaining. Your grin is the widest Jungkook has seen since yesterday.

He didn’t get to meet you properly yet, so he can’t say where your humour lies. Nobody introduced you, despite your new position as his very own, personal work partner. A second manager, here to guide and aid him when Taehyung can’t; and apparently, you’ve found some charm in Taehyung that you didn’t see in Jungkook during the stupid meeting.

Not that Jungkook would ever dare to doubt his friend’s appeal, but you’ve stormed into his life like a present, and so silently, too; and he wanted to be the one to open it. To reveal it.

Not Taehyung. Even if it’s his job.

Okay. Calm down. Jungkook sighs. That again.

A motherly blanket of praises and fatherly pats of pride. That’s what’s gotten his head so riled up. He was coddled too much as a child. Made felt special. That’s over now, Jeon, you’re in an industry filled to the brim with competition.

Chill chill chill.

But now?

With that alluring smile staring up at Taehyung, only hints of it left when your eyes move to Jungkook. Fuck.

But Jungkook’s stance remains steadfast and self-assured when he greets, “Hi there. Welcome at last, huh?”

Jungkook notices when your mind snaps out of the conversation with Taehyung and into the one he started; a gentle hand frees your face off your hair to enable a proper view to it. The other is still dug deep in the pocket of your leather jacket, covering parts of the white top underneath.

Semi-long, silver earrings rest right below your ear, against your neck when you tilt your head a little; your expression so respectful and inviting when you smile. Jungkook inhales you in that one split moment, details stinging into the eye without much effort.

And perhaps he’d observe more, appreciate your stunning, obvious beauty and elegance further; but time passes as it does before you finally utter your very first sentence to him, “Hi. Didn’t think I’d ever be saying this, but… thank you for having me.”

That’s sweet.

Your words are reminiscent of the adoration his fans grant him, but your expression is as cool as a refreshing autumn wind. The perfect balance, possibly.

Jungkook gestures to a small couch in the back, right next to the door, but you raise a rejecting hand, claiming, “Been sitting all day observing Taehyung. Need to walk a bit.”

And you do. Deliver a last farewell nod to Taehyung who waves a little, gripping the handle and locking you in the room with the younger man nearly drooling over you.

The hand hidden in the jacket before has emerged, arms loosely folded as you take in the interior of the studio, allowing no more insight into your thoughts than, “Nice.”

Jungkook hums in distracted agreement, standing at the wall, watching you roam around the humble space in small steps. It’s odd, being in here with you; the atmosphere fizzles, a little less like electricity, just a bit more than carbonic acid.

But the moment was to arrive anyway; you’ll be a close link to Jungkook from now on. Of course you need to familiarise yourself with his space, too. So far, you seem to have an opinion on it already.

“Easy to trigger claustrophobia, but,” you walk through the open door to the darker recording room, tapping the mic for a moment, “cosy, too. Very cool equipment.”

“Yeah. I agree.” Pause, eyes dropping to your fingers grazing the stand of the mic. Then, “I would’ve come to you today… or yesterday for that matter, but things were so chaotic and—”

“Oh, don’t worry,” you assure, waving his concerns off, “I could see people rushing around and preparing the moment I got here. I’m probably not the main concern right now among everybody.”

“Nah, that’s not it. We have a great team here.” You step out again, hands folding behind your back until you’re leaning against the wall opposite of him, mirroring his stance. “I’m sorry you arrived at such a stressful time, though.”

“Not your fault. I decided so myself fully knowing you were in the middle of something.”

Ah. So you’ve seen his interviews, read the news. You came here with sufficient knowledge about him, alright.

“Really though,” you continue, blinking slowly, “I’m just glad to be here at all.”

Ah. Yes — about that.

“What brought you to our company anyway?” Jungkook asks, coating his voice in sugar to decrease the risk of unintentional and prying rudeness. “I mean — it’s been a while since somebody joined the main team, is all.”

“Oh. What brought me here…” You slide down the wall just a few inches, staring at your feet before you meet his eyes again. Something flashes in them for a miniscule second, albeit too brief to be caught and analysed. Then, you say, “Sentiments?”

Jungkook gathers words of confusion the moment you utter yours, a question already on his tongue. Has he been here long enough to evoke sentiments in his followers? Or do you veil a whole different connection to this company than he might understand?

Who knows. It doesn’t feel too deep, at least, when you speak again, elaborating when his eyes reveal his bedazzlement before he can, “I mean, I like your work.”

Okay. So much he interpreted; and he must admit — the feeling of pride is a thoroughly unique one.

“I think you’ve been deserving of your growth, and I just,” you speak, shrugging your shoulders, digging one heel into the solid ground, “I could never stop thinking of what I’d say or do if I was here or how I’d try to help, even though I’m not a true musical genius like you.”

This is so excitingly new.

How poised you remain as you talk about your fascination for him; how carefully you choose your words. He’s met fans before, but he doesn’t think any of them has ever practised such control over themselves.

And harbouring such emotions for a tiny little celebrity like him while simultaneously treating him like a human being is an art you’ve well mastered. Despite Jungkook’s urge to feel loved and worshipped to a dependent degree, you’re an incredibly attractive change in pace.

Ugh.

Dependent degree.

Although, he does wonder what you’d be like if you fawned over him.

Jungkook contains the fantasy; suppresses his sigh.

“So,” he starts, “you’re here because you’re a fan.”

“Mmmh. Kind of. My friends started it and then pulled me into this. Honestly, at first I couldn’t imagine ever getting into your stuff.”

Your gaze moved down to your trainers a mere moment ago; whether to hide your expression or give into a habit, Jungkook can’t say. But the honesty surprises him; even stings a little as he voices, “Oh?”

Your head shoots up, lips forming a circle before you imitate, “Oh. Wait. That was… pretty rude.” You seek confirmation or denial in Jungkook’s eyes, and when his slightly wrinkled forehead, tight-lipped smile reveals the answer, you immediately opt for an apology, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“How did you mean it then?”

“Just that.” You fiddle in your position, bringing your digits to waist level. Then, you laugh; a rhythmic sound. “Okay, don’t hate me, but. I was one to judge a book by its cover, and you had this young adult too-confident-too-sly something about you. But your music’s surprisingly sentimental.”

Jungkook halts for a moment, moving his head to side-eye you; producing a hoarse Uhhh before he admits, “I’m not sure whether you’re complimenting me or fully destroying me.”

Another lovely laugh. “I am complimenting you. To be fully transparent, I was probably, uh, biased? Because my friend. They have a knack for usually pulling very questionable men, so I probably just didn’t entirely trust their intuition.”

“Fair enough. I guess?” Jungkook matches the softness of your giggle, nodding towards you, “And now you do?”

“Mmmh, well, we’ll see.”

Jungkook must be stupid. Of course you won’t be able to deduce much from the first meeting yet; perhaps the flirting needs to slow down for just now. You seem the patient kind; much like now, letting the quick silence prevail without much struggle.

No sign of awkwardness surrounds your aura; only a hint of… suspicion? Flashing into your eyes when you let them move through the room again, freezing right next to Jungkook’s head. You’re not looking at him, but at something past him; but you don’t question nor voice anything.

Merely return to his stare with a smile, and he uses the moment to pour some courteous manners into the mix, asking, “Do you want something to drink? Coffee, water? A Red Bull?”

But you immediately raise a hand, shaking your head, “Oh, it’s okay. I’ve already got caffeine flowing there instead of blood,” you slide a finger along your arm, indicating a vein under your layers, “I just mainly came to say hi and to introduce myself. And to ask if I can help anyhow.”

“Ah… well, uh,” Jungkook halts mid-sentence, throwing a look around as though he’s searching for something to appear before he concludes, “don’t think so. I was in the middle of some production work, but don’t think I need much.”

“I see. Okay! Then I’ll leave yo—”

“But,” Jungkook intervenes immediately, adamant on keeping you around. Maybe he can wrap up work earlier today? Bring you home? Probably not — not on Taehyung’s watch. “Maybe you can tell me what you think once I’m done?

“Of course. It’d be my pleasure.”

“Would have an excuse for your company, too, then.”

The laugh that follows is so subtle that Jungkook barely hears it. It doesn’t leave your throat, stuck in there, just a tiny sound reminiscent of amused bafflement. 

Jungkook knows his way around words — understands what his utterances and implications usually apply. But somehow, not too many people have been the calmer ones in the room; aside from his superiors at work, not having the upper hand is new to him. 

So you set a fuse loose in him; destroy a nerve in his brain, changing up his communication habits. Because he certainly did not mean to say this out loud. And not in such a sense either.

He adds quickly, “I mean, it gets lonely here.”

“Right…” you concur, albeit weakly and with somewhat… entertained mystery in your eyes? He can’t say. It’s as though you’re wearing your face as a mask, undecipherable. “I get it. Even though your studio is cosy enough to enjoy your own company at times, right?”

“Not mine. But we’ll work on that.”

He cards his fingers through his hair, aware that he is probably more than an open book right now; his usual perfect poker face does not work with you.

Why? 

Weird.

“Got a couple things here that are mine, though. Yoongi and the others allowed me,” he adds.

“Ah… Like…”

Surprisingly enough, you take another look through the tiny room, possibly trying to detect something you didn’t see before. Regarding details. Then, you settle next to his head once again… and once Jungkook moves his eyes off you for the first time since you came in, he sees what you see.

Which is to say, nothing much out of the ordinary. In fact, the most trivial thing in the room.

“Like that?” you voice, pushing yourself off the wall to near his relaxed body. The scent of your perfume wafts through the room before you’re close enough; tenderly grazing his senses. “What’s that?”

Focus.

Your finger points to the object next to him, hanging at a nail at the wall; dark blue with white letters on it. Pretty mundane, pretty basic design.

“Just… a cap I bought back in college.”

You read out the name, pronouncing it perfectly, yet slowing down as if you’re learning a new foreign term. The sudden inquiry is strange, too: you don’t seem as truly curious about it as your question did; perhaps you’re playing for some time with him, too?

He wouldn’t hate it if you did.

“Do you know that one?” he questions.

You nod; a main hint as to why you wanted to know, yet indicating that the knowledge wasn’t of much significance. You say, “Isn’t it a popular one? I had a few friends who went there.”

“Hm… yeah, I mean. I guess it’s a known one. I got a degree there in broadcasting and entertainment like… four years ago.”

You exhale a barely audible puff of air before you whisper-murmur the most infinitesimal, petite, “Damn,” underscored with one indecipherable tilt of your head. He can’t see your eyes too well, so the reaction remains as transparent as you have been thus far.

Until he raises a thick eyebrow, confusion hidden in a somewhat relaxed yet awkward smile as he wonders, “What?”

“Hm? Oh, nothing, just. It’s impressive how much you��ve achieved in just four years, right?”

“…Well. If you say it like that, it does sound pretty neat.”

The bubble of pride expands alongside his ego; right beneath his chest. Somehow, the feeling changes his posture, makes him feel bigger. 

Perhaps you notice what your praise elicits; perhaps you’ve already fathomed his persona that he usually doesn’t dare to reveal this fast. But whatever he conceals with his fans, lies in front of you with an open access.

You make it easy to feel comfortable; he doesn’t need to know you too long to acknowledge this much.

“I graduated not too long ago, too. Three years?”

“Oh… then look at you,” Jungkook compliments, using the moment as an excuse to examine you further; head to toe and back. Your legs are crossed, upper body and face confident, but the position somehow delicate. Hm. “You’re quite awesome, too, don’t you think?”

“I mean— took a while to get here.”

“Right. So what have you been doing during this time since graduation?”

Whatever distraction you have found in the cap seems to break as you silently forage your brain for a response; possibly attempting not to divulge too much. And your answer is accordingly hesitant, though never dubious.

“Saving up? Preparing for life, I guess. And waiting for a good opportunity.”

For what? Do you usually keep your statements in fragments?

He prods, “To do what?”

“Well, to do,” you gesture to the wall in front of you, albeit clearly hinting to the situation, “this. Hoping to change everyone’s lives around here.”

You smile wide, the joke obvious as can be, but Jungkook can’t help but think that you might not be too far off. Unique minds alter brain chemistries; there’s something unforgettable and magnetising about them, and Jungkook steadfastly believes his intuition that you might just be one of them.

For the first time ever, he murmurs your name, delighted by how easily it melts on his tongue. It falls out breathier than he intended to, but when you tilt your head, the intrigue in your pupils inexplicably matches his tone.

He adds to your name, eyelids drooping just a bit, “So… you’ll turn out a long awaited surprise, huh?”

And you, against all expectations, lean in for just a minimal, not too inconsequential moment, hands back in your jacket. It’s a playful, harmless motion as you move back on your heels, then steady yourself again, bodies and faces still far away. You could’ve just as well given him a pat on his shoulder.

But there’s something in the way you look at him, tempted and ominous at the same time. He can’t say what you’re thinking because every feature in your face implies something different.

Even more so confusing what methods for success you came into this company with when you finally say, no pretext or further clarifications, “I really do hope so.”

“Do you come here a lot?”

Everywhere he goes, the lights are bright.

The white walls in the rooms of the company building reflect the sun in the summer and maintain a sense of optimism in the winter. They’re what Jungkook imagines waiting halls before Heaven to look like.

Then the fluorescent vibrancy in his apartment. And the sunlit sky, albeit cold in this winter, giving way to the planetary system’s star through the floating, parting clouds.

Even this modern art museum with its complex design, winding staircases, glass walls and high ceiling. It lets through an abundance of light, unaware of the balance Jungkook usually craves.

Dark and light — a healthy mix.

It’s why he cherishes the comfort of the recording studio so much. Its dim walls and the silence, so unlike the hallways outside of it. Or why he prefers his apartment unlit, often merely allowing the few lava lamps to illuminate his rooms.

But again… it’s only a balance he usually craves.

Today, he doesn’t mind the brilliance.

Because you’re part of it.

Clad in a beige long-sleeved cotton top, slight turtleneck included. It doesn’t fully cover your neck, still revealing a mole similar to his. It’s tucked into your light brown skirt; your legs are covered in sheer tights, crossed. A gentle hand holds the strap of your bag. Light academia at its finest; somewhat soothing, and somewhat radiant.

You look at him with an initially neutral expression, surprised that someone spoke to you, but more relaxed when you realise it’s him.

“Oh,” you voice; the faintest autumn-tinted smile tugs at your lips. “Hey! I, uh…” Your gaze flits to the painting in front of you, then back to him. “Not at all actually. Which… surprising.”

You gesture towards him before you grant him more of your silky voice, asking, “Do you? Come here much?”

Your eyes are indecipherable to him, cheeks dusted in natural make up. All the damn time, you sport this relaxed, unbreakable mask, and he can’t quite guess what you might be thinking about.

It’s so easy with anyone else. You’re like a scene from BBC’s Sherlock, embodying Irene Adler’s mystery.

But maybe your guard can be broken, too.

“Not really,” he admits, “only when pretty people are around.”

A weak attempt, but it makes your eyebrow cock in amusement. He knows you are, because the hint of mischief that scurries over your face resembles his own.

“Ah, and you happen to know when pretty people are around. Or did you follow me here?” you, however, ask.

It’s an obvious inquiry, but weirdly enough, he didn’t expect it. You exhibit the first sign of a proper, humane emotion. Delivering three quick blinks, voice quiet, suspicion swims in your eyes, slightly irritated.

Or even… scared?

You can’t truly be.

So he backtracks, slightly angling his head. He sighs — hiding how much his lungs crave a breath of air. He doesn’t want to scare you off just yet.

“No,” he defends, “of course not. I was just joking.”

“So… I’m not pretty?”

Oh. Oh?

Perhaps he misinterpreted your expression. Perhaps you’re merely a good actress; messing with him as he is with you. The smirk suggests this much, at least.

Perplexed, he holds his breath before letting out a choked laugh; the head tilt and click of his tongue carry a sliver of scolding before he admits, “That’s pretty frustrating, I won’t lie.”

“I’m just kidding, too. It’s a big exhibition. I expected a familiar face here.”

Why is there something so devilish about you?

He can’t say; maybe he doesn’t need to. Maybe it’s enough to join the game, to be just as cocky and see how you react. 

Perhaps he’s being selfish and too certain of himself, and in the worst case, he might just be imagining the tension buzzing between you like sparks off an electric fence. But does he have anything to lose, really?

Barely ever.

“Then,” he begins, “is it a good face?”

“All the art around us and you want me to admire you, huh?”

“…The art won’t be mad if you do.”

Jungkook is bold, he’ll admit. He hasn’t always been — he remembers a time spent in the back of classes, preferring to eat lunch alone. Did college tug him out of his shell? Was it senior year?

Then again — did that one kill the timidness in his heart or rather the last shred of humanity?

Maybe his cold matches yours, too. Is that why he feels so drawn to you?

Because you’re as bold as him; you don’t sugarcoat words and thoughts. And Jungkook appreciates the honesty, the ingredient to actual success — even if it’s achingly direct.

Like now.

You uncross your legs; your hips move in an elegant curve, and Jungkook attempts his best to keep his eyes off the arcs of your body. Focuses as you say, “You shouldn’t be flirting with a coworker, Mister Jeon.”

“Wait. I thought we were warming up to each other. Don’t demote me from Jungkook to Mister Jeon now.” You chuckle; that’s something, right? “Besides, I was just conversing. We need to spend all our time together now, so better get along, right?”

Right. Right; of course he’s right.

But… what is that?

It lingers for the faintest of moments, just a glimpse of an unspoken feeling, gone with the next blink. In this crowd of unsuspecting visitors you’re the closest to him physically, but your thoughts are miles and centuries away.

“Maybe you’re right,” you still say, as if whooshing away all unwelcome sentiments, “then I should not… dodge your conversation, right?”

“Sure.”

“Behave, though.”

He’s so confused — but not deep in this enough to question it. So he merely shrugs his shoulder before he responds, “I have been. I can converse, alright.”

“Right.”

“Like… first of all,” he steps closer, raising a hand, gesturing for you to walk on as new admirers of the modern piece approach, “tell me, have we met before? Feels like I’ve seen you somewhere.”

You halt in your steps, but immediately resume to the stroll when a stranger nearly bumps into you. “You’re doing it again.”

He’s honestly not. The aura surrounding you like an ominous fog is omnipresent and eerie, yet… you carry a sense of familiarity. But you’re a presence too distinct to ever forget.

Which doesn’t help his case.

“Yeah,” he still agrees before potentially embarrassing himself, kissing his teeth, “sorry. I’ll stop.”

“Why are you the textbook definition of a fuckboy, honestly.”

“Fuckbo—”

“Nevermind.”

If he wasn’t well acquainted with this little game, he would’ve missed your subtle, nearly veiled intent to tease. But he’s done this a million times before — hence, catches the faint twitch of your gorgeous lips immediately.

You’re enjoying this. So he should join… right?

Yet.

You’re not being entirely insincere. In fact, he hates how he picks up on the note of truth in your velvety voice.

Trimmed nails scratch the back of his head, and he barely notices when the two of you halt in front of another piece. Distracted, he doesn’t bear the art any mind, instead asking, “You really think of me that way?”

You shrug a shoulder. Nonchalance a constant feature, but so natural, even somewhat gentle, that he can’t help but feel drawn to you. “A little.”

“Well, shit.”

“Don’t overthink it. Enjoy the art.”

“Sure.”

Reluctantly, he glances to the canvas. It’s a mess of hues; a random arrangement of spontaneous emotions. Resembles the masterpieces he used to create in Microsoft Paint, back when his legs would still dangle off the chair.

“Then,” he starts, nodding towards the painting, “what do you see in this?”

You hesitate. Or maybe it’s not hesitation — more like… a thinking pause. Sometimes, when Jungkook notices a whirring mind, he sees a steaming brain through a skull. Working at full blast.

But somehow, he only sees a calm ocean as he observes you gather your thoughts. Everything about you is gentle, but wrapped in dark mystery. How much mental training does it require to become this inscrutable?

When you finally speak, you’re saying similarly strange things.

“I see… colours.” Right. Stating the obvious. Jungkook chuckles, delivering a head tilt. “And am wondering how the painter got to create this at all. I mean, this looks so meaningless at first, doesn’t it?”

“And it’s not, yeah?”

“We’re fast to think that. Most of the time, there must have been a trigger, or a thought about something, no matter how small. Something might have been bothering him. This is—” A soft hand gestures towards the painting. “Such a chaotic mind.”

Interesting…

“Is this what you usually think about all day?” Jungkook wonders.

You scoff. “I’m just a person, too. I think about a lot of random things.”

“Ohhh. Like what?”

“Like… seeing all the green in this exhibit made me realise how this colour makes me cry.”

Jungkook takes a haphazard look around. Now that you say it — there’s no hint of a nature theme, but the abundance of green is striking now. It’s as calm as you. No wonder you’d immerse yourself in a showcase such as this.

You continue, as if tracing and reading his mind like an open novel, “It’s soothing, right? And unique. These earthly things sometimes make me feel like not all of us are deserving of seeing such beauty. Like it should be reserved for those who earn it.”

Earn it? How? 

Jungkook can’t see your thoughts as clearly as you’re apparently capable of doing, but he has an inkling of what you might mean. Truly dazzling souls merit the stunning bloom of the world, right?

And then…

If that’s what it is.

He wonders — do you think he deserves to see the colour green? Or is it already over if he has to ask? Perhaps, should he be perceiving it as grey right now? He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know how you think of him — doesn’t know anything about you at all. You’re a tough nut to crack. 

“Hmm… that’s a way to think about it,” he says.

“Only because it’s the same for people. And I’ve had this thought about humans a lot… I…” You hesitate, blink, and then grant him your stare. “I knew someone who was the colour green. Not everyone deserved them, either.”

Poetic minds carry a certain pain in their eyes.

He’s been seeing it in yours. He just doesn’t know how to handle it. So he doesn’t.

Instead, he asks, “What else are you thinking about?”

“Uhmmm,” you voice, straightening your back a little, as if waking up from a dream — nightmare? “I’ve been thinking about trying that, too. Painting, I mean. It doesn’t have to mean anything or be good. Just a great way to capture something that resonates with what I feel.”

Every word you’ve uttered today was otherworldly. You didn’t talk like that when you were in his office, or at the meeting. Your soul is somewhat free-floating here, and he doesn’t understand why.

And it’s a behaviour he usually strays away from. The vulnerable ones can be dangerous.

But somehow… you’re too strong of a magnet.

One who shrugs all the mystery away — and he sighs in despair. Maybe it’s not time to find out what you feel just yet. What resonates with you — even though he’s dying to hear it.

He inquires, “Are you always this open?”

“No. Not at all.” Of course not. Rhetoric question — he knows this much. “But I like thinking out loud sometimes.”

“I’m glad to be a sounding board then.”

“Yeah. I was also thinking how I appreciate that I met you here.” Pause. Oh? What a surprise. Out of the blue, too. Strokes his ego, though. And then, unexpectedly again, “You wanna go to the museum restaurant?”

Jungkook has barely seen half of the exhibition yet. But just for today, he couldn’t care less.

Perhaps it’s enough for now, sitting in this overpriced restaurant, watching you from afar as you inspect your nails calmly. You’re not busy on your phone like the rest of the crowd — entertained by the same media that he’s part of.

Maybe he can be a bigger part of their lives one day — be the one flitting over their screens, the one they adore. The one they worship.

But you don’t seem to indulge in those mind-numbing devices for now. You might be an addition to his team, but privately, you float in your own world. Distracted by the thoughts you won’t disclose.

Your hands retreat, arms crossing on the table and lips curling into a smile once he strolls back to you. Satisfied, he informs you, “One cake with the coffee. As the lady suggested.”

“Oh,” you make, “don’t you want one?”

“I do.”

“So…” You stall, and he waits until it clicks, your head tilting in understanding. “Are we sharing?”

Jungkook lifts a thumb, pointing over his shoulder, back to the register, “Those chocolate cakes are sweet as heck. I’ve got a sweet tooth, but believe that it’ll be enough for the two of us.”

You laugh — a sweet, disarming chuckle before you breathe an, “Alright.”

Jungkook doesn’t know you well enough to feel any skip in his heart; yet, you stir something else in his mind. It’s always people like you who intrigue him the most — those who veil themselves in a coat of secrets.

He sighs.

“That was fast,” you note, eyes at a point behind him.

And he understands when the waitress arrives a couple moments later, two perfectly prepared lattes and a mouth-watering chocolate fudge slice. You thank her with a gentle smile, tuck a hair behind your ear, fingertips grazing the dangling earring.

And he watches.

Watches as you nod towards him, urging him, “Start then.”

Observes your smile as he signals you to start instead. And he gazes at you as your delicate digits reach for the fork, tearing off a piece, wrapping your lips around the utensil.

And then… God.

He feels his guts twist; hears all background noise fade; blood rushing away from his head, through his body as you slowly relish the sweetness and then drag your tongue over the fork. Licking away the leftover chocolate.

Jungkook swears it happens in slow motion. And witnessing your elegance at snail's pace… makes him sick.

When your eyelashes flutter, gape lifting to meet his, the sounds around him come alive again — as does he. He averts his stare from your mouth, covered in the same colour as the coffee, but you notice.

You see him looking. And it makes you… smile? Shit.

But you don’t boast your effect; only digress as you say, “Well… tastes as fancy as it looks. Try it.”

You’re as relaxed with him as you can be. But you always are; with everyone. He craves that bit that’s only reserved for him — then again, maybe he’s too zealous too fast. He hasn’t known you for long.

But making you smile must be an achievement. If only… you didn’t think of him like…

He nods, and then leans over the table ever-so-slightly. His knees brush against yours, a soft but deliberate move. He places an elbow on the table, grasping the fork, close to you. If he lifted his hand, he could touch your cheek.

He wishes he could.

His eyes meet yours through his bangs, the cake’s taste irrelevant to your presence. And when his ego doesn’t let him relax, he finally asks, almost as if insulted, “Do you actually perceive me as a fuckboy?”

The question catches you off guard. You hesitate, furrowing your eyebrows, and then giggle before questioning back, “Jungkook… it’s bothering you this much? Mmmh. How would you like to be perceived?”

“Just. As a decent guy who wants to get to know you. And I know you know.” You blink, but he doesn’t buy it. So he elaborates, “I’ve been trying to make clear that I find you lovely. And somewhat attractive.”

People usually display a flicker of glimmer in their eyes upon hearing such praise. But you don’t quite budge; in fact, your eyes remain the same, if not a little darker. Why?

Yet, you cock an eyebrow, sporting a teasing, playful tone, “Somewhat, hm?”

He shakes his head, clicks his tongue. “You’re pretty and I think you know,” he blurts, “and I don’t want to screw up right away.”

Is it the habit of never failing? The urge to solve an enigma? The chance to dive into you until you’re bared to him? Why are you so interesting to him?

You’re just a person.

Maybe it’s just the unsettling need to discover what you’re hiding — it won’t let him rest in peace. There’s something about you that screams to him to unravel. Makes him want you more.

He doesn’t know what it is. Doesn’t know if you’re even from the same world as him — even though you seem to have crossed his realm before. No matter what it is; Jungkook merely understands for now that he wants to take off your layers.

Wants to be the colour green for you. 

“Ah—” you voice.

“In fact, I’m not supposed to hang out here with you.”

“…How come?”

“I should be with Tae,” he admits. Maybe he’s revealing more to you than he should — maybe he should adjust to your level of secrecy and wait. But this is frustrating him. “He dragged me here, so I could get inspiration from all sides.”

You listen; perhaps not quite loving the idea of seeing him in such a way?

Fuck. Maybe it really was a mistake. No turning back now, though.

“He said artists find motivation in art, too, and I do like to paint, so…” He looks at his cup, still left to be tried from, and then stares up from the cream leaf that the barista formed in his coffee. “I didn’t wanna come here, though. I already have an idea of what I want to do.”

“And…” you start, still not addressing the issue on hand; choosing to talk about something else for now, “he doesn’t like what you’ve come up with?”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t know about it yet.”

You take a sip of your coffee, softly smacking your lips once to relish the taste. You’re living proof that subtle gestures can make a mind race. Then you say, “Maybe you should introduce it to him then.”

“I will. Just… mmh, need a better grasp on it.” He throws a nod towards you. “I can’t wait to show you either.”

Another sip of the seething liquid.

If the gentle hint of him being bent on your presence flatters you anyhow — stirs anything in you at all — you don’t let it show. Are you, by chance, used to being swarmed from all sides?

Are his advances kindergarten to you?

You don’t budge as he waits for you to respond, setting the cup back on your saucer before you inquire, “Where is Taehyung, anyway then?”

“Uh, I’m sure he’s going around admiring the art?” Jungkook guesses, head reflexively moving to the side, as if his friend and co-worker could materialise out of thin air. “He enjoys it even more than I do.”

“And you separated from him because…”

Because Jungkook ascended a spiral staircase. Because he turned right and halted in front of the second instead of the first room. Because he recognised the familiar curves and edges, as intriguing as ever, from this far distance.

And told Taehyung to continue without him; that Jungkook was going to explore a different corner of the museum.

He tilts his head; his left eyebrow raises just a twitch, fingertips tapping the hot surface of the coffee cup. And then, charisma gathered in the middle of his pupils, he tells you—

“Because I found you.”

There it is.

The slightest of reactions.

Your eyes widen barely an inch, but he sees it. How your lips part a bit, even though you should’ve expected his answer after the conversations hitherto shared. Hm…

“So you did follow me,” you say.

He can’t say if you’re joking or not. But all of a sudden, he wonders if he’s creeped you out. He opted for flirting so clearly, but… maybe you interpreted it vastly differently.

But he keeps himself relaxed; not faltering now when you aren’t either. Answers, “If you want to call it that. I call it finding you and then sticking with you. You’re interesting, Miss Manager.”

You smile.

Genuinely, thoroughly, wholeheartedly.

The beam reveals more than any word could’ve today — that humanity slumbers somewhere in the crevices of your heart. Your eyes suggest it as much as your stance on art did.

Whatever might have scarred you in life, behind all that ache, you hide a delicate soul.

Green, green, green.

And your cryptic worry, uttered a moment later, doesn’t bring him down from his sense of victory. No. Not now.

“Yeah?” You cross your legs, letting out a breathy sigh. “Then I sincerely hope that doesn’t change.”

[6:43PM] Jeon Jungkook: i’ve been thinking about something. and of you

For a bedroom as sparsely decorated and light-coloured as Jungkook’s, he should be surrounded by a brilliant glow. And usually, he is.

The windows occupy half of the wall, the bedsheets a perfect white; had he texted you a couple hours prior, he would’ve found himself in the gleam of a pale blue late winter sky. But if he’d tapped your name on his device earlier, he would’ve indulged in a whole different mood, too.

Wouldn’t have given into fatigued, delirious fantasies. Daydreaming about the curves of your lips and about the single strands of hair kissing your cheeks. Or the way you love exposing your neck, as if to taunt him.

It’s right there, but you can’t touch it, Jeon.

And…

And the mounds of your chest, slivers of it visible whenever you put on those heaven sent dresses. Their cuts are almost as deep as the ones damaging Jungkook’s brain. And not much for the sake of his sanity, the thirst isn’t quenched just yet.

Crossed legs badly hidden under your see-through tights. The movement of your hips when you walk into his studio, placing yet another gruesome schedule onto his desk. Your scent when you lean into him, pointing to another meeting he barely recalls.

You… you…

If Jungkook hadn’t already cleaned up the sloppy mess previously covering his knuckles, trickling down his thighs, he’d possibly give into the urge to sneak his fingers back to where he craves them to linger.

No, you made that mess.

Of his sheets, of him. And you never needed to be here in the first place.

Jungkook is no fool — unlike many of his friends, he doesn’t deny the way his body winds. He knows what he wants; and right now, he hungers for you. Wants you to eliminate the drought on his tongue; wants you to replace it with some taste instead.

“Fuuuuck.”

The word drags into the emptiness of the room, filling the silence that someone else should be lifting. But you’re not here, and you’re not answering. Not yet, at least. Has it been seconds or minutes?

Too long, is all he knows.

His digits are cleaned thoroughly, but he can’t shake the persisting feeling of sheer, dirty lust as they reach his phone again. Lighting up the screen, then curling inwards in frustration.

He repeats the desperate attempt of manifestation a couple times until he throws the device aside, nearly missing the mid-air vibrations, indicating the long-awaited message. Jungkook’s heart falls out of his ribcage and squeezes his guts; your name elicits far more than it should.

And he feels just a little guilty.

Because he doesn’t deny himself any pleasure — so he knows this isn’t love. This isn’t starving for emotionality. Not for sentiments. What you pull out might be his ugliest, beastliest side; his mind is filled with images of you that he shouldn’t be having.

You’re so respected. So tender and kind. Intriguing, a riddle, but inhabiting secrets probably far darker than his thoughts. So he feels odd about the wanton desire; feels guilty.

But just for a bit. Just a little.

The message you sent back is too humble, too innocent. Sometimes he reckons you’re aware of your power, and sometimes he assumes you think of yourself as… ordinary.

But you’re not. And he wants to show you.

Just one touch, please.

“Fuck, shut up, you creep,” Jungkook whispers to himself, scolding his treacherous mind before he reads again.

[6:52PM] You: Oh? Why would you be thinking about me? Of all people?

Should he wait? You did, too.

Or should he make as crystal clear as he can muster that he’s been waiting for you?

Screw it.

[6:53PM] Jeon Jungkook: what else should I be thinking of?

Your next response is immediate — you’re online. Waiting for him to answer.

Good.

[6:53PM] You: Your music?

[6:53PM] Jeon Jungkook: my music doesn’t talk to me as much as you do these days

He smirks. Keeps the beam plastered to his face until the waiting becomes a little too long. Message on read, you leave the chat room empty of you and full of a nervy Jungkook. He opts out of it the same second, keen on patience before it fades again, bit by bit.

Because then, the thoughts flood in.

Are you rolling your eyes? Throwing the phone into a corner of your couch? Has he fucked up before anything could start?

But it’s been going so well. You talk to him every single day. Ever since the museum, the two of you have been orbiting each other; partly due to work, partly because he’s caught you smiling, too.

Your words are too sickeningly often accompanied by a soft touch of yours against his shoulders; against his arms. Sometimes, you brush his back, his eyes wide awake, the smile timid yet crushingly losing against your confident gaze.

All this must mean something.

“Nah. Fuck it,” he mutters again, sighing over his own constant use of curses. “Come back.”

[6:55PM] Jeon Jungkook: actually… I did come up with one tune. It’s just a skeleton of a song tbh, but I need a sounding board.

It takes another one minute for you to come back, and Jungkook angles his legs, relying on the movements of his body to ease the impatience. But then—

[6:56PM] You: Oh, and? [6:56PM] You: Sorry, I had to step away for a sec

Sigh of relief. Even though embarrassment annoyingly adds itself to the mix, an uninvited guest.

[6:57PM] Jeon Jungkook: …do you wanna come to the studio?

[6:57PM] You: Right now? It’s like… [6:57PM] You: 7pm

Unconsciously, Jungkook shrugs his shoulders, unbothered to the bone, just craving, craving, craving…

[6:57PM] Jeon Jungkook: a true artist never rests. [6:57PM] Jeon Jungkook: and I’d rather die than stop hustling for my passion

As the next message appears at the bottom of the screen, Jungkook can’t help but bite into his lower lip with a certain pride. He nods as if he caught his prey, trapping it between his fangs.

[6:58PM] You: 😂LOL. now that, I admire, mister Jeon :) [6:58PM] You: I’ll finish my wine and be on my way

Oh.

Are you tipsy? Maybe he’s reading too much into it, but the emoji seems so unlike you; yet, you somehow manage to capture the core of what and who you are in the rest of the message. Six coherent words. That’s all it takes.

Goddamn.

You’re so thoroughly you.

[6:59PM] Jeon Jungkook: wait. really?

And that’s it. You disappear.

Perhaps you’re joking; perhaps you’re messing with him. The sun has already set; and he doesn’t think he’s ever stayed with you much longer than dusk before.

If he met you in the evening, or on other nights, would you make more sense than you usually do? Are you the type to unravel when the world quiets down? Or the one to blend with the darkness more, drawing back further?

If there’s pure truth in what you just said, devoid of all mockery you could revert to… he might find out. And it seems you’re in the right mood today, earnest with your intentions when he feels his phone vibrate against his thick thigh again, making him flinch.

[7:11PM] You: Yes? I’m already dressed. Get your ass up

Oh shit.

Despite your order, his limbs still shut down. His muscles and bones melt into the bed, a fleeting image of your sly smirk crossing his mind and an assured voice surrounding his eardrums.

And if he didn’t overthink each of your movements; didn’t fantasise about the possible rise and fall of your voice, he would’ve discarded his phone and gotten dressed a lot earlier.

How embarrassing.

The fact that his mind doesn’t want to categorise this as a crush, no matter how much he asks. That his body responds to you like that, superficial and intrigued.

Embarrassing. He should focus on more important things.

Yet, he can’t be bothered with the intruding sentiment, shame shoved aside and trampled under his feet as his car turns into a parking lot, perfectly in front of the building’s entrance. Your form is crystal clear in the dark; not even the shadows and lack of light can hide your silhouette.

The radar sensor beeps when he creeps too close to the hood of the car behind him, and he mumbles a curse, averting his eyes from your unmoving self to focus on proper parking. Letting the roaring engine die.

Your shoulders are slightly raised when he approaches you at the door. One hand is stuffed in the pocket of your thin, baby pink coat, the other curled into a fist, possibly resisting the urge to enter the building and combat the cold.

You could’ve waited inside, too. Unless…

Maybe you’re excited to see him, too.

You smile, lips reaching far up; he tries his hardest to believe he’s right. Takes the gesture as a good omen, and the hair pulled up in a loose bun as a sign of hurry. You look domestic, comfortable in your skin, no matter who’s around.

But somewhere between the comfort and the softness, there’s that everlingering intrigue, too. And… some timidness. Showing in the crossed legs his eyes drift over, up to the short skirt barely visible underneath the coat.

And your face… so natural. More than usual. Mascara only? He doesn’t know.

All he knows is that he needs to say something.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you throw back, tilting your head in tease, “where were you? Took you long enough to get here.”

He steps closer; fiddling with his jacket’s pocket, fishing for the keys. And his proximity changes something about you so subtly, a miniscule movement. Hand digging deeper into your coat.

You’re on guard for some reason. And he can’t help but admit he’s on guard with you, too, albeit in a less physical and more mental way. The unfathomable, dichotomous sensation of wanting you near, wanting you far is killing him.

What are you hiding?

If he could, he’d speak it out loud.

“I had to freshen up,” he finally responds, “I honestly didn’t expect you to say yes.”

Your body might be in protection mode, but your voice is as composed, even somewhat amused, as always, “Well.” You shrug your shoulders. “I don’t see why. But I’m here now, and honestly… a little cold?” Nodding towards the door, “Should we go inside?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

He sniffles, fishing for the chip to unlock the door. For an ephemeral second right before walking inside, your breath lingers incredibly close to his own, grazing his lip ring. “Don’t forget to dress warm this season.”

Near enough for his fingers to succumb to the impulse and sidle to you, skimming your thigh so featherlightly. He thinks he hears the sharp inhale you suck in. His skin tickles, the shiver icy on his body. He watches you smirk, lowering your head; his fingertips insist on the vicinity just for the tiniest seconds before he says,

“Okay. Let's go inside before you catch a cold, silly.”

But the bitter frost permeates the hallways of the company in the same ruthless manner. Perhaps somebody’s still lingering around in the daunting dark. Revising steps in the mirrored practice rooms or hovering above lyrics and tunes, neck bent and back tired.

But the building isn’t heated; and it shows in your rather quick steps, an arm wrapped around your chest to rub the layers above your arm. The guarded demeanour doesn’t match your usual confidence; aside from the hollow hallways, it seems that you’re scared of more than just the cold.

He doesn’t point it out. And he doesn’t stare for too long.

If he did, you might realise.

Instead, he saunters to the elevator with you in tow, delighted about the light that never changes in the small rectangular space. You let your hand drop to your purse, lazily toying with its zip, and turn your head to observe the closing doors.

And Jungkook observes you. 

The glow of your cheeks in the bright beam, half of your face devoid of the hair tucked behind your ear. As you breathe in, your lips split a fraction, and their gentle, soft curves mesmerise him for a moment too long.

It’s difficult and cruel, being around you. Haunting, agonising, aggravating.

And when your eyes align with his again, sparkling a little in line with your tender smile, Jungkook realises that he’s been holding his breath. Because it escapes between the seam of his mouth in a sudden push, his knees nearly buckling.

He resists the urge to bite into his fist, instead disguising his thoughts when he covers his mouth, teeth digging into his plump, lower lips.

“So,” he quickly adds, leaving no space for you to question his eccentricity, but you initiate another convo in the same tiny second, “It’s…”

You pause, withholding your statement in order to listen to his. But he shakes his head, lifting a hand to sign for you to continue. So you say, “It’s a little scary here at night.”

Okay. Not that tough of a topic.

“Right?” he confirms. “I always imagine getting here and hearing a hum that’s not really there.”

“Uh…” You blink in disbelief, lifting your eyebrows, but when he shrugs your confusion away, your hesitation marker turns into a chuckle. “Why the hell would you say that?”

“It’s just something I imagine. It’s terrifying, but my mind goes places, and I never ask it to.”

“Well, it’s a mean thing of your mind to do.” The ding of the elevator distracts you, and when you step out, your thoughts remain at an afar spot. Kept inside your pretty little head until you whisper, “And? Have you ever heard it, then?”

“Hm? The hum?” You nod, and he suppresses the snicker your curious, cocked eyebrow nearly elicits. “No. Only myself. Humming helps me control my breathing, so I do it to practise.”

“Weird. It’s so different from how I’d imagine you.”

Huh. Seems he’s not the only one sketching your entire being to keep himself awake at night.

“How would you?” he asks.

“As a rockstar?”

“Oh?” That’s new. “As a future RnB slash pop sensation I find this officially peculiar. Why a rockstar?”

You cock an eyebrow; either digesting the confident prophecy or pondering his question. The crooked smile matches his own signature smirk a little, and you puff out a breath before your sombre yet sparkling eyes wander an inch further down, right to his mouth.

Your eyelashes are endless, on their way to brush those delicate apples of your cheeks — in reality, it’s an impossible fantasy written in novels and poems, but it’s exactly how it looks. Exactly how much your curious gaze drops.

Only, the tingling sensation in his chest soon subsides, freeing a path to the realisation that he’s yet again misunderstanding. Because you’re not drawn by his lips, but rather considering a response.

He sighs in subtle disappointment when you point to the shiny metal encircling his lower lip, telling him, “Gotta be the piercing.”

“Ah. Ahhh. Well. First off, this is a very stereotypical assumption.” You shrug your shoulders in amusement, watching him cram for his chip until he halts in front of his studio, keeping you in his vision. “And secondly.”

The lock of the door clicks as he swipes the chip across the reader, defined knuckles paling a bit when he pushes the handle down. He raises his chin by a fraction, pulling out the most-assured smile, and asks, “Do you like it?”

And you, composed as ever, respond, “It suits you. I always wonder how comfortable these are, though.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, like. Do they have a metal taste? Do you ever get hyper aware of them and then get annoyed and want them off? Are they… cold?”

He laughs. There’s something endearing about how your voice quietens further the more your curiosity grows. You’re not quite looking at him, pupils focused on a random spot, hands expressive as you vocalise your thoughts.

“Let’s see,” he mutters, jacket thrown over a chair, “sometimes and, again, sometimes. It feels a bit cold right now because it’s cold outside. I mean…”

He rubs the chill off his tattooed arm, fingers diving under the short sleeves of his white, oversized t-shirt. Attempts never faltering, he leans into you in intrigue, parting his lips before running his tongue over the jewellery.

“Do you just. Wanna touch it and find out for yourself?”

You blink, frozen in place.

The room isn’t too spacious; Jungkook will get his very own studio, name tag and all once he reaches a clear peak. For once, he’s glad about the crowded room, girded by a guitar on the wall, chairs standing side by side, a little couch leaning against the back of the wall.

As ever, he can’t decipher your mood; as ever, you’re still quick to answer, “I… no. It’s okay.”

Why don’t you want him?

Goddamn it.

“Okay,” he simply utters, shrugging his vexation away. “Let’s get started then.”

The excitement in his tone dips, seemingly aloof, but as he walks into the dark square of silence, reaching for the headphones he placed right here mere hours ago, wordless curses dangle off the tip of his tongue.

He makes sure you don’t see the clench of his jaw or the fast and steady fall of his ego, but you’re shoving back the chair and adjusting anyway. Crossing tight-clad legs as you place your coat on your lap, throwing your mane to one side to free that damned neck.

It must be on purpose.

He waits for you to settle, the headphones on the table in front of you enveloping your head. They look way too big on you, and Jungkook can’t decide whether to tut at his anguish or swoon at your stellar being.

Jungkook uses his headphones to communicate through the glass, raising a thumb to ask, “Ready?” You nod, matching his gestures with your own. “Be honest, how professional do I look?”

Carding the fine hair back, he pushes a hand into the pocket of his pants, taking a stand in front of the boom microphone. He mimes a typical grimace of an immersed artist, letting out an immediate, sweet chuckle that you chime in joyfully.

You lean in, long earrings brushing your jaw, pressing down the button for the talkback mic to assure through the intercom, “You look like a born star.”

He rolls his eyes, playfully clicking his tongue, “Ahhh, that’s a nice yet basic thing to say, but. I’ll take it.”

“Why did you go in there anyway? Weren’t you just going to show me a song?”

“Adlibs, baby. I’m still missing those.” He adjusts the headphones again, clearing his throat, almost in position. “But I didn’t warm up my voice, so I’ll need to re-record them anyway.”

“And still you’re straining your voice because…?”

“We’re here to impress you, so let me.”

Your finger lifts off the button, but the movement of your lips suggests to him undoubtedly what your teasing self might be mumbling.

Oh damn. Sorry then, boss.

You raise your hands in defeat until you detect his beguiled smile, raising your eyebrows in a clear question that he answers with two words; a simple title of a song, not as glorious as the tune itself but hopefully as memorable.

Eyes scurrying across the now opened laptop screen, you search for the instrumental until you stumble upon it. 3:54 minutes of what Jungkook prays to be blasted everywhere in a couple week’s time before the big concert, chiming in his ears.

The initial guitar riff drowns the room in a mixture of intriguing anticipation and uncurbed sentiments immediately. Jungkook’s eyes dart to your face, attempting to decode a reaction. And when you notice, hands on the headphones, you nod approvingly.

Most of his vocals are already recorded to perfection; a silky voice laments about a lost time with purity. Jungkook largely listens in, searching for wonky bits or moments to be re-tackled. Of course, he will need to discuss the details with Taehyung tomorrow, but whenever the passion burns the hottest, he can’t help but add an adlib here and there.

As he sings, his eyes reflexively close, and for a couple dozen seconds, the melodic current pulls him towards a bigger ocean; the sense of freedom and possibility is astonishing. There’s a certain ardour he feels towards music that nothing will ever be able to elicit.

Do you feel the same?

As somebody spending day in, day out surrounded by musicians, does that phenomenon make your heart surge, too?

Maybe.

When he looks at you again, it’s at least something fervent he detects in your gaze. A bit like the longing he feels. Intense fondness, or perhaps, even zoning out — until you’re barely blinking anymore.

Your features relax a little more as the song proceeds, bit by bit, the calmest when the ending notes arrive. Jungkook observes you; freezes at his spot. The change from the built-up chorus to the suddenly calm ending, instruments dying, are as forgotten as the last touches… because you, behind the glass, are much more interesting.

Just staring. Looking at the screen, its brightness reflecting in your pupils. When you blink again, most of the preceding smile is gone, something indecipherable in your eyes.

He doesn’t know whether you actually enjoyed the entire thing or became consumed by memories he doesn’t know of. Some the song might have drawn out but shouldn’t have. There’s… a past in your stare.

He knows because much like the vast existing humanity, he’s been tending to faraway memories for years, too.

And he wants to know about yours.

Gently, Jungkook grasps the headphones covering his ears, the mane victim to the impact before his fingers fix it again. He frees his eyes off his strands, never directing them away from you, and when he opens the door to the small room you drifted off in, you look up.

Your emerging smile is unsuspecting and polite as always, and you deliver a tilt of your head. Jungkook could sign the previous oddness off as just this, or a sinking into arts just as he does sometimes.

But what’s enough is enough; brushing questions off his mind has become tedious.

So he rolls back the second chair next to you to take a seat, placing his arm on the one of the furniture before folding his fingers; leaning in, asking, “You okay?”

You react with a soft nod, a tender hum, “Yeah! I was listening.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

“You zoned out.”

“Which is a good thing, I promise.”

Jungkook looks for a moment. Waits for you to break or admit that the truth you display might not be as pure as you think; waits for his instinct to wind up correct.

But when you do nothing of that sort, eyes a resolute and solid statement, he sighs. Tongues at the lip ring for a moment before he clears his throat and questions, “Good thing, yeah? What else do you think?”

“It… goes deep,” you confess, an impressed declaration in your expressions, “what are you talking about in that one? I mean, I know, but… it sounds so personal.”

“More or less? I’ve spent most of the last few years dedicating myself to this job. The training, the late night sessions, the failure and lost time. I wanted to depict those hardships.” He nods, emphasising his points. “I want this song to help me look back one day…”

He shrugs his shoulders, thumbs slowly circling around each other, “And comfort my older self that despite the hectic life, things are okay.”

“I see.”

Your tone is neutral, but your chest rises and falls a little too slowly. Your sorrow is quiet. He closes the distance further, nudging your arm, “Hey. Did you not like it?”

“I did,” you defend, honesty and reassurance in your voice, “I do. You have an amazing voice, come on, what’s not to like. And the sound is incredible. Should you manage to release it, it will be celebrated a lot.”

“I will manage to release it,” he says with furrowed eyebrows, resisting the urge to touch your elbow again, but settling on simply calling your name instead, “you’re part of my team. Let’s be optimistic.”

“I am. Teamwork makes the dream work. Etcetera.”

“Right,” Jungkook breathes, word close to a yawn. He throws his body back in the cushioned chair, manspreading as much as the space allows; stretches his arms until his muscles crack. “Ahhh… I really want this to be good.”

His gaze falls to the darkening laptop, soon giving way to pitch darkness, potentially to some screensaver. The title of the song remains still in the opened audio file, and he smacks his lips, blinking only when you voice an approving, “Mhmmm.”

His head darts to you the moment you deliver a subtle nod towards the computer, deducting, “You really strive to be big.”

Well, yeah. That’s been the plan. Always, always.

“Shouldn’t I?” he argues. “It’s a dream.”

“It’s good to have dreams.”

“That’s right. Mine is to… Stand on a bigger stage. I think I’ve reached a solid group, but I think if I keep working hard and with the right team, I can make it?”

“This determined, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he responds with a hint of obvious self-evidence, slight confusion shadowing his mind — have you never wanted something so badly? “The audience’s eyes glued to me. Don’t you have a dream?”

Another deep inhale of air, chest working hard, as if you’re breathing out fatigue. He prepares for another vague answer that might leave him guessing; and albeit clearly seeing the usual curtain veiling your true thoughts, what you say next makes his ears perk up.

“Honestly. I’ll allow dreams again once I’ve moved on. That’s all I want.”

What?

Did you actually want to say that? Was it on purpose? A slip of the tongue?

Because it seems so unlike you. Reveals too much. He doesn’t think you’ve exposed your innermost thoughts like this before, even if still not quite transparent.

“…From what?” The previously relinquished distance dies when he inches closer again, digits sneaking close to your knee. A fingertip floats over your tights. “Hey. Is something bothering you?”

“Ugh,” you say; the sliver of sadness seamlessly transitions into an expression of nonchalance when you wave your concerns off so quickly. “Young adult stuff.”

Nevertheless, you speak on. The biggest development in this friendship between the two of you yet. “I once had a friend that moved away. We were pretty close, and now she’s far away. Which sucks.”

“I’m sorry.”

That’s it.

Jungkook offers to listen, but he doesn’t necessarily deem himself the most expressive guy when it comes to emotions like these; even if he so deeply wishes to read your thoughts. Music is different; speaking to an audience is, too. Articulating gratitude isn’t as difficult as extinguishing someone else’s grief.

And while not quite confronted with anguish, he houses demons that still haunt his nights; he can barely obliterate them.

Maybe he doesn’t need to.

Maybe he can comfort you in the only way he’s ever known. The stupid, selfish way; offering relief and distraction in the most sinful manner.

“Listen…” Jungkook starts, but in all honesty — there isn’t much to say.

Only to crave. To look.

At the curve of your lips. The distance between them. The bare wrist needing to be held, tired eyes wanting to replace the sorrow with something else.

Is he an asshole for wanting to annihilate your heavy breaths of dejection and replace them with sighs of his name instead?

He doesn’t know. He barely hears his thoughts. Only the blood rushing to his ears, and then away from his head, down his body.

Fuck.

The levitating finger drops an inch; you gasp almost inaudibly when the tip touches your knee, skin separated by the tights only. Jungkook loves fashion choices like these, but hates the hurdle right now.

His warm palm opens, placing right above your knee, approaching the meat of your thigh. He knows you’re not breathing because he can’t hear the exhales; and when his eyes, hooded and possibly insane, flit up to you, he recognises the change in your pupils.

You gulp; and then finally push out some air again. Your hand moves to his inked wrist, touching lightly, unsure what to do. But when you don’t resist, his other arm lifts, touch moving to your face, holding it.

The world spins, moving like an earthquake as his mouth draws nearer. You let out a miniscule sound that punches him in the guts; sweet and pure.

He wants to shatter and wreck you so bad; wants you to feel the same poison you’ve fed him. Irresistible, deadly.

But just as the metal of his jewellery grazes your lips, the softness and warmth radiating towards him, your breath shakes. Your face budges enough for his upper lip to feel a brush against yours, but that’s all he gets.

Because you retreat without giving in. And he doesn’t know why.

He clenches his jaw. God fucking hell. What’s your problem?

The sense of failure overwhelms him. Failure. Failure.

That’s not the term his mind should conjure. He knows the moral compass hides somewhere in his dark heart; he knows. Yet, he can never give into it. Is he a bad person? He doesn’t know.

Control was never his domain, after all.

But he keeps those intrusive thoughts inside, intending to not scare you off more than he already might have. So he accepts the dodging of the kiss, moving back, immediately leaving you safe from his touch.

And then, he says, “Uhm— I’m sorry.”

You don’t answer, still catching your breath, back to the heavy sighs that he was going to help shove back. Once again, he tries, “Honestly, I apologise, I just…”

“No, no. Please, don’t be sorry,” you reassure, slightly touching his shoulder. A wave of relief washes over him. “I’m just. Not in the right mindset for it yet. But I’m flattered, really.”

“Okay.” He nods. His eyes drop to his fingers; he still feels your heat on his skin, basks in it for a moment. But when the awkward silence lingers, he suggests, “Then. Let’s call it a night and I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sounds good. I’m definitely getting tired.”

“Me too.”

Jungkook rises from his seat, still unable to wrap his head around what happens — or almost happened. Maybe another time. Grabbing your coat from behind you, he helps you into it, avoiding your eyes, trying not to showcase his frustration.

Uncertain what to say, he reverts back to small talk, stating, “Thanks for still coming so late. You really do like the song, yeah?”

“Jungkook… it’s honestly very good.”

You smile; there’s something about your honesty. About the way you say his name. And how hopeful you truly seem for him. How much you seem to mean it when you say—

“If there’s anyone who can manage to wrap the world around their finger, it’ll be you, Jungkook.”

“Alright. I think I have an answer to your question now.”

You down the sip of red wine with a delicate smack of your lips, blinking at the change in topic. The evening has followed a pleasant pace so far, conversations well balanced; even though you still carry a sense of caution that Jungkook sees no reason behind.

Perhaps it’s the fact that after weeks of subtle, flirty undertones and advancing attempts you’ve taken the seat on his couch as he’s imagined for so long now. Maybe he still exudes something that screams for caution; maybe that’s just who you are.

Jungkook, for one, is just glad to receive any kind of recognition from you. But he’d be a fool to not insert all his effort into tonight, from the food to the type of drinks and conversations. He knows where he needs to be and he wants you to want it, too.

“What question?” you ask.

It’s just.

Despite the lightness with which you carry your talks, some of your movements feel off, detached from your body. Not quite matching the grace your face portrays; just that one hint. The one hiding in your fingers, tapping the dark screen of the phone resting on your thigh.

As if you’re waiting for a call or something to happen that Jungkook isn’t aware of. Who knows. Nothing has happened in the last hour, so this might be an unconscious gesture reasoned in nothing but an absent or distracted mind.

Yeah.

You’re probably not even aware of it and he’s just overthinking it.

He takes a breath, inhaling the aroma of the almost finished wine, “What I’d do if I could spend a day in a virtual reality.”

“Wait, does the Wembley Stadium doesn’t count anymore?”

Jungkook smirks, dismissing his own prior answer with a click of his tongue. “C’mon. Does it really? You can ask literally any artist ever and that’s what they’ll say.”

You ponder his response, pursing your lips in thought, and then shrug one shoulder. Nodding along, you acknowledge, “Right. So what is it then?”

“I’d just.” He sucks air through his teeth sharply, leaning back with a signature smack of his lips. “Get into a reality in which this damn song is already finished and mixed and ready to be released.”

This song referring to the concoction of sounds he showed you earlier, yet to be concretised and burnished to what he truly envisions. It’s the only song left that shackles him to the studio; at the upcoming concert, he’ll just sing the demo version as a sneak peak if needed. What a source of stress.

But you don’t see it as much of a struggle; you’ve told him a dozen times that hard work justifies a slip-up. That the progress on his album balances out the artist’s block.

Possibly why you laugh his worry off without mocking it, merely throwing back, “I’m disappointed.”

Oh?

“Why?”

“Just because — the Wembley answer was better.”

Unexpected and sudden — much like the snicker you elicit, throwing his head back just a little. Concurring, he sighs, “Okay, okay. What about you then?” He cocks an eyebrow. “You didn’t tell me what you’d do.”

“You didn’t ask,” you remind him, already slurring your speech a bit, though still remaining a stable and solid stance, “dunno. You want the sappy or the basic answer?”

“Is the sappy one a tear-jerker? Sounds like it.”

“For sure.”

“Then the basic one. Don’t dig being sad.”

“Thought so,” you answer, and Jungkook holds back from prodding again this time, despite wondering what image he gets across, “alright. I’d do things I’m unsure of in real life. Like bungee jumping.”

“Oh? Kinda did not expect this.”

“No?”

“Just having a hard time imagining somebody as calm as you jumping off a building. Or yelling.”

You roll your eyes. “Anyway. I’d love to go, but I’m too scared of the risks. Like, rope stuff. Don’t want to be jumping for the last time.”

“Okay, yeah, but,” Jungkook starts, hesitating, “I mean, you could say that about anything. You leave your apartment and get hit by a car and then you’d be going out for the last time.”

You begin shaking your head mid-sentence, already drawing a breath, ready to disagree. Then, “That’s a bad comparison. These things are a once in a lifetime experience.”

“I’m just saying! Why hold back from things that excite you.”

“…Maybe you’re right.”

Jungkook’s proud nod and hum are reciprocated with a soft smile, fleeting when you roll your eyes back to your phone briefly. Absent-mindedly, you drag a fingertip across the device’s side as Jungkook follows your movements.

Yet, unsure what you might be harbouring in this pretty head of yours, he doesn’t ponder but asks, “What was the sappy thing?”

It’s as if you live multiple lives, hiding them in your innermost parts; because once he finishes his question, your sparkle returns, and you smirk a little, suddenly leaning forward.

Wordlessly, you fish a tissue out of the square, wooden box, puzzling him for a second until he understands right before you clarify, “For the upcoming tears.”

His titter is immediate, a reflex. You might be relaxed as a calm river, but your humour does shine through among your other million traits. He shakes his head in rejection, smile still plastered to his lips, and watches you lean back again, clearing your throat.

“Mhh, I’d say,” you muse, “I’d try to get into a simulation of Heaven. Try to meet those I miss.”

“Oh… damn.”

“Yeah.”

“…I don’t know what to say.”

But despite the dumbstruck silence, his mind does conjure prompt associations. Like when the two of you sat in his studio just two weeks ago, you engrossed in his music yet somehow dissociated from reality.

You spoke about lost and faraway people back then, too. And he didn’t ask then, either.

In the depths of his mind, he wants to believe that you’re trying to lead him somewhere, fishing for his hand but never quite reaching it. Drawing back right before pleading for help; or perhaps wanting to make him understand a thought he can’t fathom in the way you form it.

The pattern is repetitive, loud — but he knows you’ll retract the moment he does lean into you, offering his ear to your worries and thoughts.

He can’t win.

“That’s okay,” you say, making up for his lack of proper empathy, and that’s where you leave it. Not hesitating, not indicating another hint to lead to your mind.

Yet, he clears his throat quietly, licking drying lips, and asks in attempt to grip the truth, your whatever-truth, “And, who’d be there? Do you want to talk about that?”

“Mmmmh,” you hum, pondering, before you treat him with the same disappointment he’s suffered throughout the last weeks, “no. I think I’m good.”

Unbelievable, and truthfully, frustrating.

Are you playing this side of yours? Is it an act? Are two sides of you fighting within you?

“Okay,” he simply responds, clearly agitated but unsure whether you notice. You’re looking at your phone again. He sighs. “And… Do you believe in that stuff? Heaven, Hell, stuff like that.”

You shrug a bare shoulder. “Dunno. I like to think there’s something, but then again I don’t.”

“How so?”

“The way I see it, it’s kinda simple,” you explain matter-of-factly, “some people are good enough to deserve a place in Heaven once they’re gone. And some people are terrible enough to burn for eternity.”

Coming from your sweet mouth, uttered in an equally soft tone, the sentence feels jarring. Jungkook has had these thoughts before; he’d be a hypocrite to judge you for yours, recalling moments when he wondered where he’s destined to land once he’s left this realm.

And somehow, it was never the prettier option.

Still, he utters, disguising his own past pondering, “Wow. That’s dark.”

“It’s true. There’s some serious crime in the world.”

Agreed. Perhaps, compared to the extreme sins, he can be forgiven. Right? Maybe…

“Yeah,” Jungkook accords, “then, why did you say that sometimes you don’t like believing in it?”

“I mean, if there’s actually something like Hell, and I happen to fuck up throughout life… I don’t wanna end up there.”

It’s like you’re mirroring his thoughts.

Even if he never quite thought about it to such an extent. Even though his idea of the afterlife built on what he’s already done, and not what he’s still going to do.

But your words give a subtle hope that redemption is possible. Who knows. Who really knows.

Perhaps it’s easiest to stray away from these thoughts and focus on you at this very moment. Even if it’s you triggering innermost fears; he doesn’t quite have a clue how you do it.

No matter. He’ll focus on you. Altruism might be the first step to vindication. Karma points. Karma points.

“Valid,” he says kindly, “can’t imagine you fucking up, though.”

“How would you know?”

“The company grapevine whispered a lil something about you.”

“Ahhh—”

“Good things! Other than that, I just think. Don’t know.” A small gap, well-hidden so far, grows in the back of his mind, tiptoeing to the very front of his mind. Before he’s thought it through, he blurts, “I’ll be honest with you.”

Your ears perk up, eyes suddenly wide.

What was that?

Okay. Whatever. Can’t stop his speech now, “Uhm, I’ll be honest and say that I’m not the best person I know. Like, I’m aware of that. It’s why sometimes, I don’t really understand how people can be as genuine as you.”

…Has he said too much? Or not enough? Because he could swear your face deflates, expression dimming, as if you expected something else.

And all you say is, “I understand.”

A flicker of slight panic creeps into his overthinking head, not usually a trademark of his personality. But you look dispirited, even if just for a second. He tries further.

“And from what I’ve seen, you go through life gently. The way you do anything is how you do everything, right?”

“Hmmm,” you voice again, pupils hidden until you look up. And when you do, he breathes a sigh of relief; deep and obvious, and he doesn’t care if you notice. Smiling sweetly, you tell him, “You said that really well.”

The way you say it is riddled with woe, but within a second, your eyebrows relax, mouth forming an authentic grin. Displaying real emotions suits you better than the mask of the frigid ice queen you keep plastered to your face; you look different right now.

Vulnerable.

And it makes him want you more.

Does it have something to do with the warm light he chose for this room? No. It doesn’t shine brightly enough to really illuminate your face that much. With the intensity lowered beforehand, some of your features hide in the dark when you lower your head a little.

And it’s not the decent amount of alcohol the two of you slurped.

It’s the usual, mysterious shimmer in your eyes, begging to take off more of your mental layers. The fragility behind the pretence of invincible strength. No doubt, you’re still a textbook definition of a femme fatale.

Still, there’s some sweet urge to surrender, visible in your stance. A fragrance luring him in. Warm skin close to his; calling for his fingers.

And he’s at your beck and call, ready and motivated; giving into your wanting eyes — or is that his own desire he’s confusing? — and leaning in. A little more with each tiny moment, advancing until the tips of your noses meet.

Your warmth consumes him; your breathing quickens, resulting in fitful exhales that he takes in with vigour, much drowning in his own head until you gasp and he realises—

“Sorry,” he mumbles, not yet retracting. His hand touches your knee, carefully but with intention. Waiting, he asks, “Is that okay for you?”

“…I’m not sure.”

Your answer takes a seat on his ego and weighs it down. Harsh, sudden, perhaps not unexpected but definitely breaking a string of patience within him. But consent is consent; he understands. He’s grown now.

Yet…

“Fuck,” he whispers under a faint sigh, dejected and confused.

And you hear it. Bambi-eyed, you ask, “What?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

He’d lie if he suppressed the disappointment. Working towards you for weeks was supposed to end in realising his fantasies into a palpable, actual feeling, with a side achievement of a deeper connection.

You don’t seem to want to provide it; he understands, but the agitation courses through him like a fire burning up a forest. The trees are his nerves; alight with different emotions. You’re fumbling with the soft cotton of your winter dress, and he averts his eyes.

Shutting them for a moment, he ponders his options; does he continue the awkward conversation? Or perhaps, ask you for your opinion straightforwardly? Maybe, after all this while, it wouldn’t be so stupid to swap a penny for your thoughts.

And his mouth opens, but it seems you’re faster. Crushing his questions and uncertainties when he hears you gulp, witness to another change of mind as your knee shifts forward. His eyes open rapidly, and when he looks at you again, you’ve moved closer.

Your leg touches his thigh; your eyelids half fallen, lips an inch apart and fingers hesitating, yet advancing towards him. Hope sparks and sparkles in him anew, and he suppresses the cheeky, triumphant smile.

He feels like an asshole. Oh, he feels so selfish — but he can’t be the only one. He cannot possibly be the first or last to give into deepest desires out of self-interest.

Carefully, he matches your pace, moving into your direction much like you are drawing into his. His hand lifts to your arm, and you suck in a breath as he touches your skin, your chest rising and falling deeply.

And his eyes observe. The motion drives him crazy. He wants to pilot his touch to this spot, wrap his palm around your mounds, desperate to feel your nipples perk up under his skin, your mouth fall wider.

Should he? Maybe, maybe—

Not yet.

Instead, he draws an invisible line with his fingertips, up your arm and to your shoulders until he reaches your neck. The sound you let out is so tiny he barely hears it, and you tilt your head to the other side, giving him free reign over your skin.

A spark lights up under his finger, as if he’s touched a defective bulb. He wonders if you feel the same flame when he charges for your jawline, tracing it for a moment before he moves to your seething hot cheek.

You’re burning up.

So he asks in a quiet, gravelly voice, somehow much lower than usual, “Are you okay?”

Your eyebrows are furrowed, and he starts to worry again; but maybe that’s just the same tension unleashing that he’s felt, too. The temptation runs deep; he could scream it out of his lungs and it wouldn’t be enough.

Relieved as you nod, he mimics the movement, whispering an, “Okay,” before he then dips forward, exhaling close to your neck hotly and… leaves a small kiss right there. He doesn’t know about you, but if you did that to him, he’d possibly faint.

One more kiss, and suddenly, your hand is on his knee. His head spins. Must be the alcohol. Must be you.

And you’re probably in no better state, judging the hot cheeks and the slight sway of your body. Must be the wine. Must be him.

And when his lips graze your jaw, your fingers curl in, clawing onto his knee, and his inner voice celebrates, “Jackpot.”

But not really. He’s going with the flow, exploring your preferences, but this needs to be the night of your life. His mind and ego want you to perceive it that way. So what should he do? What do you like?

Are you one to push him into the bed, holding his shoulders down? Straddling him keenly, pouncing on him, eyes rolled back?

Or do you give away all the power you usually emanate; hands bound with a tie, legs struggling between a rope, screams muffled under a gag? Do you wind and go crazy when somebody has their way with you, edging and then overstimulating, refusing a touch and then slapping your ass wound…

Should he let your siren eyes tempt him into submission or will you be the one drilled into his mattress with a hand around your neck and a trail of black mixed with tears under your eyes?

He doesn’t know. Because you’ve disguised all of you; hidden your mind behind a mask of absolute neutrality, hard to decipher. He can usually read women so easily. They lick their lower lips when they want him under them, and quiver when vice versa.

He’d oblige to either for you. So what does it matter in the end, anyway?

No, it doesn’t.

His tongue that lashes out, however, does matter. Tasting your skin as it drags over your chin and then to your mouth. Insane when he reaches your lower lip and you sigh, then back to your neck, blowing, teasing, still not kissing you… touching your thigh, moving inwards…

“What do you want me to do?” he asks.

And this time, while still a little quiet, you finally say, “More. You can do more.”

“Yeah?”

You nod as if starved, relieved when his hands leave your leg and venture further in. It’s hidden under your dress, but somehow, not seeing your full glory just yet, but observing your reactions to his movements, stirs his thoughts. If any were left, that is.

The touch to your panties is light, tender as he reaches the hem, driving a finger underneath it in exploration. You don’t say much, but he sees the zeal in your eyes, murmuring a little, “Mhm…”

And when he finally presses against the fabric slowly dampening, lightly as he rolls his digits right where your skin so incredibly softens… you moan. You moan.

It doesn’t sound the way he imagined. But it kind of does. He doesn’t remember what he imagined — doesn’t know much at all. Just that he wanted this sound to echo within his walls. For him to be the one to drag it out. Not for anybody else, but him.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Okay. What if he does… this…

Thought so.

Sometimes, human beings have a fantasy unmatched, don’t they? Able to form and reform expressions on people they know that they have never seen. For example, he can imagine what you look like when you cry. Or when you’re mad. Or…

He knew you’d press your lips together, along with your eyebrows, muffling your sound once he sought out your clit and pressed against it. And not because he’s seen other women contort their faces like this; no… it’s an entirely new sensation with you.

You don’t compare to anyone. Nobody compares to you. Nobody, ever.

Sick of watching the invisible movement under your dress, he lets his eyes wander to yours, and you notice, do as he does. Eyes hooded, staring at him as if drunk — possibly, probably drunk.

Just once, he gapes down again, trying to adjust without crushing your knees with his. Comes closer. Then looks back at you. Absolutely astonished by the coloured lips drying up. Seeing your tongue peak behind your upper teeth, pushing against them.

Then you’re blinking, several times, not rapidly, but enough to indicate that you’re losing yourself, too. And then there’s some melancholy behind your gaze; he can’t say where it derives from… you seem to be coming out of a room that you kept dark for long enough.

He can’t say whether he’s further dimming the light in that room or lightening it up — and as he advances, gauging your reactions, he inwardly hopes it’s the latter.

So inwardly. So desperately.

Patience only persists for a moment; Jungkook barely believes in it. People always break. And he does when you lean forward as he drags his finger between your pussy lips, still over the clothing. You balance your weight with your arms, holding yourself up.

And then…

You so tantalisingly, softly, quietly, whisper his name.

Okay.

The snap was expected. The sigh he lets out was expected. And the way his lips finally crash against yours, making you almost fall back onto the sofa was expected, too.

But your taste… Why did he know you’d be as sweet as a cliché, like a perfume made edible? Matches your mystery and your elegance.

And the mellow, yet wanting sounds fit every move he makes. Like the moan-sigh combination when his bold hand wraps around the bun you’ve arranged your hair into. How you breathe into the kiss when he tilts your head a little, and then proceeds to loosen up said bun.

Releases it. Lets your hair fall. Pulls you in, pausing the make-out in the process, and then diving back in with a greed he’s never been met with before.

And as he kisses you, his index finger still dips into the uncharted territory below, ruining your panties some more as he soaks them; fucking loving how you whimper as a result.

No… this is ruining him just as much.

So he draws back from your body, attempting and probably failing not to look at you like an animal glaring down at his prey, ready to devour. He’s never seen this expression himself, but one or two girls have uttered quiet, “Oh-oh,” in such moments before — do you see the danger, too?

Or is he being cocky? But it’s not his fault. You make him cocky because he can never fucking say what you think! Of course he’d need the mental praise to himself — your opinion on him is too difficult to decipher.

He’ll keep the energy up. Make you shrink in his hold.

Hands under your ass, he lifts your lower body a little, amused by your wide eyes and how you wonder, “What are you d—”

Silencing the moment he uses his palms’ position to grab the hem of your panties and pull them down your legs. Over them and then on the other side of the table. The two of you won’t need those tonight.

“What does it look like that I’m doing?” he teases, smirk effective and permanent.

He likes that about himself. Maybe you’ll do, too. If not, then you at least do like how his fingers, impatient, find their way back home again, not before lifting your dress to your hips until you’re bared to him the way he’s craved.

And he pauses.

Oh, this treasure…

“You…” he starts, moving two ring-clad fingers between your folds. Testing the waters. “I’m not letting you go anywhere tonight. You’re staying right here…” He leans forwards, body on body, whispering against your lips. “Trapped under me.”

You want to answer, he thinks. Your eyebrows relax for a second, an inebriated smile playing around your mouth. If he knows you well enough, he’d guess you’re urging to dive back into your witty remarks.

But none of it is possible just yet. Because when he caresses your pussy again, increasing the pace without being too unreasonably fast, you bite your lip. He urges you to release it with his tongue. And when you do, his finger plunges in; as deeply as it can. So easily, too.

He kisses your clavicles the moment your nails get ahold of his arms, wiggling underneath him, but still caged in. And he sees the built-up frustration; how you kept yourself at bay, but can barely do it now. How you yearn for just one or two more right touches here and there before…

But before he can, he stops. Immediately, unexpectedly for you. Once again, mean, but…

“You’ll thank me later,” he utters — and with those four measly words, something awakens in you that was hidden for just the last ten minutes.

“Oh? You… you’re confident like this.”

“Of course I am.”

“Jungkook…” you say in such frustration that he thinks you’ll beg some more. But you don’t. Instead, you shake your head and say. “Men rarely manage to…”

“This isn’t rare. I’m not giving you rare, ‘kay?”

“I…”

“How…” he readjusts your body, pulling you down the couch, shifting until his knee keeps your legs apart. “How fucking insulting.”

Do you hear any of this anymore? Because your eyes are closed again. Hands still holding on; and… and body winding in order for your cunt to shift closer to him, suddenly rubbing against his knee.

It’s all you can get at the moment since his hands are so far out of reach. And the satisfaction of knowing that you’ll strive for anything at all is cosmic.

“You’re ruining my jeans,” he mocks, clicking his tongue as if to reprimand.

“Then…” You hook a finger into one of his jeans’ loops, pulling and then releasing again. “Take them off, coward.”

You don’t have to tell him twice. They say that if you have waited for so long, what’s ten more minutes? But no more. Not another second.

So he obliges immediately as he mutters, “‘Kay,” offering a helping hand when you work on his shirt. Off and to the ground. Pants off and to the back of the couch. He already knows he’ll be finding them all scattered the next morning.

But that’s the problem of just that next-morning-self.

Boxers still on, he returns to give you another initial taste of what’s to explode. The dress moves up from your hip as he slides it over your skin, stopping right under the mounds he’s still so curious about.

He needs to keep this balanced. Rush as much as might be appropriate, but not too much to make things embarrassing. This… the way he leans down again, opening your legs, erection grinding against your pussy and offering the bare minimum… this is good enough for now…

Or maybe not. Because merely a couple seconds later, you halt mid-moan, letting out breathy words that he struggles to understand until you repeat, “Is that… all you’ll be doing tonight?”

“Hmmm, you want more?”

“I— I don’t know.” Pause, a gulp when he presses his clothed length between your cunt. “Are you going to tell me your secrets if I say yes?”

His secrets?

You must be kidding. He has been an open book to you, chasing you around; if anything, he needs to unravel your mind.

But for that, he needs to play along. So he feigns the same mystery you emanate, teasing, “What do you wanna know?”

And you don’t hesitate. “Everything.”

…Hmm…

You’ve never seemed as interested as you are now. Never dove into his thoughts and the dim heart like now. If he agreed now, would you blurt out something specific? Questions that you formed when he wasn’t paying attention?

No idea. Maybe that’s something to worry about later. Pillowtalk. The morning after talk. Just anything… just not now.

He removes the obstacles currently standing between the two of you. The cushion standing against the back of the couch, constantly falling into your face. He throws it on the ground, so you don’t have to keep swatting it away.

Then, the dress covering your body. He gives a sign of wanting to proceed, and you play along, lifting yourself, chasing his lips as your outfit follows the cushion. And then, the phone right underneath the small of your back, having snuck there, undetected until you yelp, “Oh!”

“What?”

“Cold. Don’t know how it got there.”

He fishes out the device, watching it light up, a notification at the top that he can’t decode and that he doesn’t pay any mind to. Puts it on the coffee table. Then… last but not least… the uncertain atmosphere.

He says, “You want to know everything? Then make a list. I’ll tell you if I feel like it… deal?”

“You’re so…”

“You gotta make me. No other way out, baby.”

An answer lies on your tongue, ready to disrupt the moment. He knows because you look distracted all of a sudden, possibly still thinking about the same thing you did before, dissociating as he sat next to you, wine in hand.

It’s probably about work. Or about Taehyung — God, nobody at work but Jungkook would know, but you mention that guy all the time.

But tonight is not the night to think of others. So he shakes your upcoming inquiries away, giving you no time to think about it further as he, thirsty and impatient, picks you up and off the couch.

Right into his lap. Right onto his cock.

Still a layer between the two of you, watching you grind immediately. For a moment, you put him under your spell, urging him to stay right there and not move away until he’s shot buckets of cum into his boxers.

But…

But he’d rather do it in you, with you, because of truly you.

So he wastes no second as he executes his former plan, large hands sprawling over your ass before he stands with willpower and strength. He throws you a couple inches into the air, making you adjust, and then moves.

Away from the couch, stepping onto the clothes on the floor, careful not to stumble and hurt the two of you. The way to the bedroom seems endless, and you so naked… so… so his for the night. Like what, he still needs to wait those couple square metres?

Fuck, how…

No. It must be a primal instinct that hankers him to give up already, having made it halfway through the room and almost to his bedroom when he suddenly stops. Pinning you against a random free spot at the wall, right under a silent clock.

“What are you…?”

Your voice is trembling, for some reason so incredibly small. For the first time since you lay beneath him on the couch, he sees your eyes properly, and they flit back to the couch as if you’re looking where you just departed from — and then back to him.

“What are you looking for?” he whispers. Tantalisingly, he brings his fingers to your chin, pinching it lightly as he raises your head. “Hm? I’m here. Do you want to go back? Missing the couch? Wall might not be as comfortable, huh…”

“No… that’s not a problem. I’m just… surprised by the change.”

You do look surprised. A little cheekier again as your tone rises, your head falling to the side, lips smiling as if to distract him from something bigger. As if there’s anything bigger in existence right now than you.

“It was just sudden,” you conclude.

“Is that bad?”

“Not at all. I’m just curious.”

He doesn’t need to ask what about. He sees it in this expecting gaze of yours that you want to read and decrypt his next steps. And you can have them.

Because he lets you go, making you fall silently on your feet, kissing you once before he falls to his knees. You groan when he grabs your leg, placing it on his shoulder, restless when his lips charge for your open folds.

He offers you, “Curious, huh? No need,” before kissing your clit, adding another, “Just indulge in it… no need to use your pretty brain today,” and then attaching his mouth and tongue to your dripping pussy.

Digging his large nose into you, tickling your nub, he swirls his tongue around, slurping you up like his favourite drink. Holy fuck, you taste good. He could eat you up, down you in one like a shot. Stay right here all night.

You get ahold of a patch of his hair, but don’t pull — somehow, he wishes you would. Instead, you seem to focus on your body, trying not to fall, keeping it upright. You’re winding, your leg moving, and he soon wraps an arm around your thigh to keep you from stirring too much.

And with the other, he targets your cunt, mouth moving up to make space for the digits to easily, effortlessly slide into you. You gasp, just a bit louder when the metal touches your hot sex, calling his name — and for possibly the first time, he hears you curse, “Fuck. Fuck, I’m— I’m going to pass out.”

Oh my God.

If he could lick you to unconsciousness, he’d feel shocked and proud at once. He wants to see you become weightless, wants to catch you in his arms, and then bring you to his bedroom, still delirious, and fuck your brain out of you.

He wants you so bad. He wants to fuck you so fucking badly. His cock aches, godfuckingdamn.

As he rolls his tongue, lips kissing yours, moving his head left and right as he makes out with your pussy, he almost pulls all the way through. Nearly gives into your body language, nose moving over your clit, fingers pumping in and out, breathing into your pussy hotly.

But he has other plans. He wants to see your damn tears; wants you to unleash all your desperation. So, just when your sounds change, less pauses between them, high-pitched, heavy breathing, he stops.

Draws back, watching you press your ass into the wall, head suddenly hanging low. You whisper, “No…” as he looks up in satisfaction, waiting for you to say more.

You’re out of breath, exhaling through half gritted teeth, a palm on his chest as he rises again. You declare, “I’m going to blueball you, too.”

But the adrenaline has poured buckets of confidence over Jungkook already, and he’s drenched in it as much as in your scent, cocking an eyebrow as he challenges, “You can try.”

“I’m gonna suck your dick so fucking slow.”

“Do it,” he keeps the mask up, wondering how much of the effect you saw upon gracing him with such a provocative image, “let’s see if you make it this far. Might just fuck you into space before that, you know?”

He lets out an unsteady breath, a strand of your hair swaying upon impact. His hand taps at your thigh, testing whether you’ve closed your legs again; and as he realises that you haven’t, much to his pleasure, he palms your pussy, heel of his hand pressing against your clit.

“You’re trying to set me off, because you know you can, right?” he questions, for a split moment distracted by the teeth gnawing at your lower lip. “Smart of you. You are truly smart, babe… but you’re also mine tonight. So don’t play games.”

A slap lands on your vulnerable pussy, and he understands your frustration as you open your mouth, the lower lip previously captive rolling back into place. Soft and gorgeous.

No matter the fading distance, there’s still something inexplicable in the air, as if he can’t really separate a dream from reality. As if he needs evidence that this isn’t yet another figment of his imagination; the ones he’s awoken from several times, underwear threatening to burst.

The hand just torturing your cunt wanders up your body and settles around your neck, like a chain or a necklace or a motherfucking leash. He feels home here, just like this. With your fingers on his wrist, gulping under his touch.

Pinned firmly against the wall, he looks down to where you’re dripping and he’s standing tall, gripping the ever-twitching length that is begging for more. Begging for relief. He’s doing this to himself — because his body is burning up, as if scorched by sun flares.

He’s doing this to the both of you.

The kiss underneath your ear as he leans in. And the still harmless yet sinful touch between his tip and your folds. How he holds the shaft firmly, leading the head between your pussy lips, teasing until just an inch intrudes your awaiting hole.

He moans the moment you do, moving, fucking just the first of the tip into you; scrambling his own thoughts as he says, “God, I could just slide in… you’re so, so wet.”

“What… why say this if you won’t do it?”

Guess you’ve figured him out well enough. Guess that’s the cockiness you implied when you called him a fuckboy in that stupid museum. Or how you kept a safe distance — because thinking about it, maybe Jungkook could be someone to break somebody’s heart.

No. He knows he is. But…

He shakes the thought off his brain, returning to this very moment where you’re waiting for his answer, a heart made of steel. You won’t let him hurt you; you know better than that. You could dodge him easily.

Mentally, at least. Physically, you’re under his mercy.

So he uses this weakness, muttering under his breath, “I will, I will… but not here. We can do better than here.”

Wasn’t this just a pit stop after all? What he’s seeking is still waiting in his bedroom, soft sheets spread over the cold mattress, waiting for a body to warm it up. Or two.

Already hot and bothered, Jungkook lets you go entirely; and the next minute happens in a blur, as though he’s struggling with recognising his own apartment. Suddenly self-conscious about everything and nothing at once.

With you in his grip, he walks along the dark, small corridor; then past the paintings, through the door, into a well-managed, tidy bedroom until he’s sat your ass down. It happens within the tiniest moment — he could narrate how you got here but he can barely recall it.

Dick at the same height as your mouth, he wraps his hand around it. You don’t initiate anything of what you promised, looking into his eyes with a question; he knows you want to avenge yourself and provide the same vanity, but you’d rather skip to the best part.

He wants to, too.

So he doesn’t ram his cock into your mouth, hitting the farthest spot until you gag. Instead, he relishes the image mentally and quietly, fantasising about the warmth of your spit, about the tongue swirling around.

And then… then he goes a step further and imagines the even extended pleasure if he dug into your pussy now, maximising whatever your mouth could make him feel.

Are his thoughts too straight-forward? If he spelled them out like this, one by one, would you find him weird? Too eager? Obsessed?

Maybe he should slow down. Just a bit.

Which is why he holds his shaft closer to you, still surprised when you don’t open up, hints of the past confusion alternating with your confident, mysterious, teasing self. It’s weird to witness. But your eyes are still hazy at least. You don’t seem to want to stop.

God. He can’t figure it out. Not figuring out is agitating even in this moment.

But… good energies. Good energies. All the pent-up frustration needs to be morphed into sheer craze. He can do that.

“Spit on it,” he orders.

You only hum. Something in your gaze changes again, eyelids fluttering, as if awoken from trance. But you’re willing. Immediately mimicking him as you bring a thumb to a mole on the protruding veins. Tracing them, all the way back to his balls until you touch them just lightly, but enough for him to nearly lose his shit.

“Fuck, I said,” he reprimands, though delighted by the sudden rapture, “spit on it.”

You nod as if carrying out a task given by your manager; perhaps used to the last days and weeks when he’d command you around. Ask for another meeting, or for your opinion on a song, or just to keep him company to keep him productive.

Or, to keep you close to him. Lost in thoughts. Many thoughts. And even though none of them became a reality in that room, none of the equipment shoved aside to sit you on the desk, this… this right here is more than enough.

You suck in your cheeks, collecting spit, and when you lean forward… you make such a mess. Spitting onto the tip, a string still connecting your lips and his dick, leftover saliva dripping down your chin and then on your tits.

The view is… worth diamonds.

Do you even know?

“Okay,” he utters, no real direction in his mind, no real sentence to utter. “Okay.”

But you’re equipped with ideas, immediately getting onto the trail you left, spreading the spit over his cock, down to the base. The tip and the slit glisten, traces of precum mixing with your drool, but it’s not enough to cover his length all over.

So he mutters a mental, “More,” to himself, tapping your lips until you open, sticking two of his fingers in and pressing against your tongue. Lubricating his digits, he rolls them over your tongue, far enough to nearly make you gag until he draws back.

Watching you work on him rolls a wave of satisfaction over him. He’s proud, enduring like this. Because judging from the creature you are, as if jumped out of dark mythology, he truly expected to give up way earlier.

But he remains steadfast; eager to not explode until he’s filled you up first. Drawn out your own highs.

“Sweetheart, aren’t you a good one?” Jungkook praises, helping you out with whatever his fingers gathered in your mouth. Then, grabs your wrist, pushing you away, hovering above you with a, “Turn around.”

You gulp again. Then shift back on his bed, sighing as you feel the soft silk underneath your skin, kissing and hugging your body. The sight is gorgeous, with you fleeing to the back of the mattress, obliging so easily. Prey.

And…

“Holy fuck.”

Holy fuck, how you look when you finally get into position. Ass up, upper body down. And the arms over your head? What in the world.

Okay… okay…

Wait. You’re saying something.

His knees dig into the mattress, hand unconsciously pumping his cock — he doesn’t even know when he started — as he moves closer, over your body. Kisses your shoulder, bringing his ear close to hear before, “Huh? What’d you say?”

“I’m already so spent.”

“Ah… do you want to stop?”

“No… you made me feel spent. But you’re not done, are you?”

Pause. Bright smirk. Then, “Of course not. Does it feel like it?” Another kiss to your shoulder, wet this time. “Condom or not?”

“Oh.” Seems you hadn’t even thought about this yet. Kind of nice. “I’m… I use an IUD. Have you… slept with many people lately?”

No answer yet. He thinks. Thinks back to the several weeks since he met you. Should he say it? Would you back away if he did? Years ago, there’d be no debate about it — he wouldn’t have told you. Kept it to himself.

Perhaps there’s still a part of him that’d dodge your question, but he somehow feels like you’d see through him. Hear the insincerity. 

Fuck, is that selfish? Maybe. Doesn’t he already know that he is? But he’s not bad; and people are selfish.

So a second later, he truthfully admits, “Once. Two or so weeks ago. Nothing special though, just dumb, drunk shit. Some girl from a club. And I tested after.”

As soon as the sentence finishes, he wonders if you deem yourself just another one of those. But… in all honesty. She was a one night stand whose sounds, name, dirty talk did nothing to him.

All he could imagine was you. Perhaps not out of loyalty, but surely out of curiosity.

He can’t fathom his thoughts into feelings yet; he still wouldn’t describe his attitude towards you as falling in love or anything. That’d be too far stretched. But he thought about it — that maybe he liked you too much.

Yet, his heart remained empty; but his body never did. He feels bad; and still, he won’t deny whatever his skin and mind whisper to him.

Other than that, he could probably declare with quite a firm certainty that you don’t feel any different about him. You can’t be.

So maybe this is good enough for now.

“But know what?” he says, voice lower, repeating his thoughts. “Could only imagine what it’d be like if it was you. This pussy,” strokes his cock along your cunt, “and this body,” touches the small of your back, “these thoughts got me going. And you’re so much better in reality.”

“Mmmh,” is all you utter, nearly hiding your face in the pillow before you say, “maybe… maybe we can still use a condom then.”

Shit. Expected it.

But okay. Okay.

Where are the condoms again… bedside table? No. He used the last one ages ago, before he knew you. He gets up; walks to the closet; somewhere near his socks, there must be a new pack. A moment to think.

For a second, he looks back at you. You’re still the same, only with the ass having dropped again, losing balance and energy. And maybe, you’re still drunk, too — probably, because even he still feels the world spin, careful not to close his eyes for too long.

Okay. One… no, two foils out. As he turns back to you, nearing you, his head is just a little calmer than a minute again, and he wonders… were all the thoughts his own? The past half an hour or however much passed, didn’t he spiral more and more?

Did you notice? He shakes his head. Who cares?

Not him, not right now. He keeps telling himself that with a goddess waiting in front of him on all fours, he probably doesn’t need to worry about anything unless there’s a reason to. You’ve been cooperative and the night has been successful, minus the strange gazes you keep throwing at him periodically.

“Alright, baby. Up you come,” he mumbles, bringing your ass back to his crotch. His hands are already trained and incredibly skilled; doing work on the condom doesn’t take him more than a couple seconds. “I should tell you now.”

You pause. Suck in some breath, as if expecting something in particular. You agree with an unmatched thirst for knowledge, “…Tell me.”

“I don’t tend to go easy. If you need me to be, you’ll have to tell me. ‘Kay?”

“I… I can take a lot more than you think.”

Fuck. He’ll wreck your shit. “Perfect. You’re honestly a good one, huh? Such a good girl for real, no— no, you’re the best.”

Is he just saying whatever now? Perhaps he should stop boring you and get to it. Right? Please, the goddamn, blood-filled tower down there is desperately imploring him to.

He collects spit like you did before, targeting your glinting pussy, one blob right onto it. Then, he brings his fingers back to where they love to be, distributing the filth between your folds. And then, two fingers into the tightening hole.

Right before moving north, between your ass cheeks, thumb rolling over your other clenching hole. 

And you tense immediately, without saying a word, taking it quietly. Then… then he finally starts.

Brings the annoying rubber to your soaked pussy, poking for a second before he gets serious and eventually dips in. The free hand raises your ass some more, and he shifts forwards, your butt backwards, helping him get in further.

He hears the reaction. Hears the almost-screech in a second, nails biting into the pillow over your head. You hold onto it for dear life as he slowly bottoms out, your sporadic breathing and high-pitched moans mingling with his own bursts of lust.

Deep creases appear between his eyebrows, lips bitten sore, and once his waist has finally connected with your ass, he takes a deep, long inhale. Watches your face disappear deeper into the pillow, sounds muffled.

Enjoys it for a moment before he starts moving slowly. Out, in. Concentrating before he might spill too early. Beads of sweat shimmer on his forehead, dampening the hanging strands of hair. You feel good. Too fucking good—

He wants to go off right away. But… focus.

“How’s that?” he asks.

“Stop… stop talking.”

Oh. Bold. But a good sign, isn’t it? If you wanted him to stop, you’d say it. So he keeps going… dares just a little more, courageous, encouraged by your cooperation. Explores your ass and what lies between the cheeks more, groaning before he says, “You stop that.”

His hand reaches for your wrists, keeping you from tearing his pillow and leading your fingers to where his touched your ass before. You keep your touch there, unmoving until he says, “Keep them apart.”

And you seem to understand. His thumb returns to your unoccupied hole as his cock impales your pussy whole, still going at a tormenting pace. Thick and soaked, he’s splitting you in two; maybe that’s why the slow plunges are such a plague. Because both of you know there could be more.

Pulling your ass cheeks apart, you remain with your face in the sheets, arms trembling as he circles your hole again. He doesn’t know if you’re into this; doesn’t know if you’ll protest. So far, he’s been pretty obvious with his intentions, and he’s sure you must understand this one, too.

And you’re not fearful; if something bothered you, you wouldn’t hesitate to voice your displeasure. So he spits one more time, right onto his thumb, using the lubrication to carefully, curiously dip the tip of his thumb into your ass.

You yelp immediately; as your hole tightens around the little bit of his thumb, your pussy narrows around his cock, too, and he nearly loses it. Nearly drools onto your back as his mouth drops open, blinking rapidly for a second.

God, your body reacts with such intensity. Still, he makes sure, “Too much?”

And you, candidly, reply, “I don’t know. I… think so.”

“Okay. Then I’ll sto—”

“No. No, wait… I want to— I want to know what it’s like.”

Thought so. He knew that underneath all the chic charade, you crave just as much as he does. And if it’s him that you long for, then what even stands between him and the rocket shooting his ego to the sky?

This feels good. Really good… not just physically. You lift his spirits.

Ready with an exhale, he dares his thumb deeper, letting more of it disappear in you. Out of all the women he’s ever been with, not more than a handful has been willing to venture into this part of sexual desire. Most of them can’t stand the discomfort, and some of them don’t feel any particular way about it.

But you lay open to him in every way possible. An open book for once; easy to read, as if calculating how you wind, planning how to sound, guiding him fearlessly.

Soon, he’s adjusting his thrusts to your moans, and you’re adjusting your moans to his thrusts. Synchronised, the two of you groan and cry out together, and he makes sure to keep you filled to the brim, reducing the pauses between the shoves bit by bit.

Until…

“Hey,” he whispers, waiting for you to react, but as he pumps into you, slowly yet balls-deep, you don’t do anything much but scream into the pillow. So he just continues, “How much do you think you can take, baby?”

“I… I’m—”

You’re attempting your best, but you’re tongue-tied. With each push, he catapults your body forwards, but your mind is long lost in the stratosphere. With gritted teeth and a rising, heavily breathing, golden chest, he leans in close to you, hand snaking under you and around your neck as he retries, “So?”

“I don’t know,” you blurt, and as you raise your head and look back at him, he sees a sight to behold — mascara underneath your eyes, lipstick smeared, a quivering chin. He’s fucking you so good; he must be, because you soon add, “Just do an—and I’ll let you know.”

“Good idea. Very good idea.”

He’s fucking you good. But it’s not all he’s got; not all he’s wanted for days and weeks.

No. If he unleashed all he’s been fabricating in his mind, he’d drench your cheeks in tears. And now that you permitted him to, he might just go ahead, right?

Right.

Which is why the next steps come easy to him, naturally, as if you pressed a button he’s been waiting to smash. A big, red one, like the ones in games urging you to not touch or you’d lose. But by God, right now, he’s not losing.

If he looked into his reflection in the dark window, he’d see a winner through and through.

A fiery rage courses through his burning veins. A face contorting when he lets you go, only to move his fingers back, wrapping them around the back of your neck. Shoving you into the mattress, ramming his cock into you, once more keeping the familiar pace and then—

And then he closes his eyes. Matches an expression to your yelps. Drives into your deepest core and picks up speed until, all of a sudden, it turns jarring.

Jungkook doesn’t get enough. He doesn’t know if he ever will; damn the approaching end of this. There shouldn’t be one; he should be capable of ruining you forever. Maybe he will be.

For now, he directs his thoughts fully on how you feel and how you sound, uncaring about the jagged breathing that burns up his chest. Leaning forward, he attempts twice until he catches your ears, nibbling at your earlobe.

At first, he doesn’t know if you register the touch, given that he’s occupying you with far crazier sensations. But then you reach out a hand, panting into the pillow, grabbing a patch of his hair. 

And he, fired up and insane, leans back, gripping your wrist, removing it from his mane and pinning it to your back instead. Your face moves to the side, not muffled by the pillow anymore, and you gasp for air before you beg, “Please, I’m about to—”

That’s all you get, because he soon interrupts with a cheeky, “You can hold on for a bit longer,” pausing on purpose. He wants to see you when you come. Wants to wipe more of your make up across your face. Wants to kiss the colour of your lipstick onto his own lips.

Letting your orgasm fade, he waits, just a couple seconds, allowing you to catch your breath until your eyebrows furrow. You blink repeatedly, then looking up into his eyes, and it’s all he needs to feel his patience dissipate again.

Jungkook gets into a new position, leaving one knee deep in the mattress while angling the other leg, planting its foot on the sheets. He keeps his cock from falling out, leading the tip and the shaft back in before he resumes to fuck you wound.

Your arm is still hostage to his grip, the nails of your other hand gripping the sheet for dear life. It’s gorgeous, the view from where Jungkook looks down at his meal. Crazy how you purr and whine when he leans in, touching your swollen clit, electrifying you. And he keeps looking at you.

At the upper body waving a white flag, too weak to keep yourself upright anymore. And then, the ass in the air staying firmly at its place, his dick aiding you, the flesh of your cheeks wobbling with each thrust, like an ocean wave. Whenever it collides with his hips, the slaps resound temptingly, and Jungkook soon mimics it by letting his hand fall hard on your ass.

You mewl, calling out his name twice, the second cry half uttered, half of the Jungkook omitted. And when you catch the tiniest of your breaths, still working with drying lungs, you say, “L-let me come, please—”

“Wait,” he says again, still sadistic, still masochistic, absolutely out of his mind before an idea lights up his mind. “This isn’t it yet.”

The finger working on your nub was an evil tactic, he’s got to admit. Perhaps he led you to believe something he’s not ready to give you yet, and once you seem to realise, you let out a sob.

And he’s positively delighted once he stops. Lowers his head to look at you. Sees the dark, smeared mascara on his pillow when he digs his fingers in your hair, pulling your head back as he says, “I know. You thought we were done, right? We’re not done, though.”

“Wha—”

He lets his body fall onto the mattress, right next to you, and pulls you in, back against his chest. Hand under your tits, pressing against them, moving them up and down before pinching your nipple once.

“I said,” he repeats, probably unnecessarily, because he doesn’t think you actually demand an answer, “I’m not done. Understand?”

And as expected, you don’t nod or answer. You only push your body further into his, and he reckons that’s a mighty sufficient implication already.

As you lay sideways with a breath as heavy as his, his exhales hot against your ear, you let out sounds reminiscent of marathon runners. You’re exhausted, sweaty, and so is he — but neither of you are finished, and he’d be damned if he permitted the night to end like this.

Diligently, he throws your quivering leg over his; your impish remarks have lessened since he took over, and in turn, his own insolent emotions are reigning supremely. He leads his submerged, rock-hard, twitching cock to your battered cunt, pushing in so easily he thinks he’s dreaming.

It’s like putting a key into its lock.

“Ahh, fuck.” It’s hard to fully bottom out in this position, but he can touch you so much better now. He lets his hands explore your bare body, fondling with your tits, kissing your ear and jaw. “Hold tight. You’re doing so good for me, sweetheart.”

It’s cruel, he knows; the gentle praises as he wreaks havoc down there. He crosses your wrists against your tummy, holding them tight, and you close to him. Fucks you dumb and stupid as you wail in his arms. Moves to your clit and gives it pleasant, gentle rubs, so opposite from the rest of his ministrations.

And the pressure builds. His balls, hard as steel, prepare to shoot their load into you, his cock impossibly stiff, but… but…

You haven’t come yet. And this position won’t do. Can’t do, won’t do, he needs to see you.

So he echoes, “Won’t do,” as he gets up again, keeping the previous position short lived. Doesn’t stay away for too long before he’s on his knees, pulling your legs apart, after the briefest interruptions deep inside again before he leans into you.

And then, everything happens crazy fast.

How he keeps you from wrapping your arms around him; instead, capturing your wrists once again, raising them next to your head. How he moves to kiss you for the first time after quite a while, intertwining your tongues, moaning hard as he feels his high approach.

The fast pace changes a little as he loses his mind and focus, one of the strokes stopping as he almost pulls out, and then plunges in again. Your fingers curl in, nails sharp enough to dig into the digits that hold you, and he cries out in delight, letting a breathy chuckle fall.

He says, “Alright, yeah. Next time… we’re tying you up. Love how you whine.” He lets one hand go, gripping your face again and you move your touch to his shoulder immediately, gasping. “You always p-play the mysterious girl, huh? But you’re so pathetic right now.”

The inhibitions are out the window. The overthinking, too. Whatever he thought might make you run away from him has long exited his mind, because he’s got you right here, under his control, nearing the end.

There’s no going back. No return to his yearning, because you’ve satisfied it so thoroughly.

Time to give it all back to you. One last time before he submerges himself in all his glorious egotism.

“There we go,” he says as he watches your expressions change. You open your mouth but don’t say anything. He doesn’t know what your orgasm feels like, but he knows you’re going through it. “Let it all out. Cream my cock, I fucking dare you.”

He’s saying whatever now, he knows. But he doesn’t have the capacity to think much as creases appear on your forehead and between your eyebrows, tongue mingling with his for a short moment when he goes in for another kiss, barely succeeding.

You’re trembling, lifting your hips as much as the weight above you allows, wanting more friction, more of a touch inside your pussy, on your clit, everywhere. And then, when you do come… when he brings the stars from the sky into your eyes…

Yours roll back into your head. Throwing it back, giving him access to your neck. Lips still apart, and he uses it to push a finger into your mouth, on top of your tongue. And fuck… how your pussy constricts. How it tightens so fucking much.

He’d be lying if he said it didn’t affect him.

So much so that his head spins; and as he feels himself getting dizzy, he buries his face in the pillow next to your head before moving it to kiss your shoulder. Barely looks at you anymore; doesn’t care, it’s his high now, he wants to fucking come, and that’s it.

Finally, finally he’s gotten to this point.

Will he hate himself for these thoughts later? Is this too over the top? He doesn’t know and he doesn’t care, doesn’t care.

His thoughts are occupied, alright, don’t need another string of questions to intervene. His attention remains resolutely on his movements, vigorous, rhythmic, your sounds perfectly matching each of his strokes.

And your hands, the poor little palms, unsure where to settle. This isn’t new; across this broad back of his, every girl’s touch wanders like this. Your nails scratch the small of his back, then up his spine, across the muscles of his shoulder blades.

The fact that you’re a goner as much as him, giving yourself to him is probably the last of reassurances he needs — as if any more were required. Because still panting into your skin, eyes shut tight, he works towards the peak of his sanity, exhausted but eager as he relishes the wet tightness of your pussy; surrounding him just right, still clenching, unclenching from your orgasm.

And then—

“Ohhh, fuck,” he whispers.

His voice is shaking uncontrollably; he barely recognises it. Which… must mean this is new, right? Experience be damned, apparently you spark off phenomena nobody has ever acquainted him with before.

And oh, how you make it worse once he finally emerges again, as if catching his breath after holding it underwater for too long. Your eyes are hooded as he gets on his knees over your body, caging your hips in between his legs. Gripping one of your tits, you nibble your lower lip for a second before letting out laboured breathing, nose flaring.

It’s all he needs. All that’s left when he rips off the condom and envelops his filthy cock with his veiny hand, stroking immediately and hard. Close to the end as he rushes to ask, “Where do you want it?”

You understand what he’s asking, and nod, back to yourself when you utter mysteriously, “Anywhere but inside…” Okay. No time to ask why not — but he wouldn’t have anyway. He obliges, giving his all, one more second left before you tell him just in time, “Here.”

Your palm rubs across your skin, moving over your tits and your stomach. So he’s quick to opt away from your face and redirect his aim to where you pointed, moaning out a couple last, broken vocals before he finally spills.

Milky white, multiple blotches scattered over your skin, like a modern art painting. He’d rather draw these all day than be stuck with you in a museum restaurant, staring from afar, wishing he could reach out under the goddamn public table.

Going until he’s empty, he senses a relief unknown to him thus far, mind suddenly vacant. Once again, the ocean; he feels like the ocean. Like the water as it stills and calms after a thunderous storm. You lifted the waves of his sea high above and have now turned him into a lazy, peaceful lake.

God, he should fuck you more often; you make him a poet.

Okay. Okay, where was he?

When did he unfocus? Dizzy all of a sudden. He puffs out a breath. Then takes another look at you. Watches as you spread the sticky substance over your mounds, touching your nipple, so indecently messy.

The smirk is unintentional but inevitable, reaching far as he shakes his head at you. You smile back wordlessly, and he lets his fingertip run over his cum, too, bringing it to your lips as he asks, “Taste?”

You don’t answer. Thinking for the barest second before you scoff, stretching out your tongue before he puts the finger on it; closing your eyes, sucking it clean. He groans at the feeling; luckily, he’ll be immobile for the foreseeable future, or he’d bend you over again.

“Okay. That should be enough for now,” he breathes, letting himself fall next to you. “I promise I’m a lot more energised on other days. But…” He turns towards you, pinching your chin, bringing your face close. “God, did you take me out there. I’m beat.”

He doesn’t kiss you; only drops back, still filling his lungs with new oxygen. Pity — he still wants you, but his muscles are aching. Eyes shutting.

Then opening again when he hears you laugh, right before you say, “You don’t need to prove your endurance to me. I’ve got a pretty good idea of it now. Besides— let’s be honest. I didn’t do much.”

“Oh, you did more than enough, sweetheart,” Jungkook retorts with a snicker, giving his eyes some relief. He sighs, and then adds, “Your existence did it for me already. Wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.”

He shoves his arm under his head, the other untidily covering the two of you with the blanket; whatever. He’ll wash it tomorrow. For now, the two of you should probably get some rest. Although—

Did you say you wanted to stay? He didn’t catch it if you did. Perhaps he’s also just inattentive; suddenly remembers that he still has a long way to go socially, remembering that permission is courtesy. Selfish, selfish, selfish.

“Uhm,” he starts; this is awkward. He doesn’t do this often — not many stay overnight anyway. Strangely, he didn’t question it with you; maybe because he wants you to. “Do you want me to bring you home?”

“In all honesty, I… I don’t think you can drive tonight. We’re both not sober yet, so I’ll just leave in the morning. Need to be in the office by noon.”

“Ah? Why?”

“Meeting with Tae. I forgot that he wanted to go through a few organisational things for the upcoming concert.”

Concert preparations. Organisational things. The company.

Jungkook forgot about it all. Responsibilities still exist. Of course, he needs to be in the office tomorrow afternoon, too. This is his dream, his goal, everybody’s eyes on him, the biggest source of entertainment in the country.

Feels so stupid, forgetting you’ll leave at some point. That he can’t flip you over again all day tomorrow, that you’ll be occupied somewhere else, with someone else. Jungkook grits his teeth.

“You wanna come over again tomorrow night?” he asks.

And all of a sudden, despite the last hour, you seem lost in thoughts again. Probably tired, but he can’t help but overthink. You don’t answer immediately, keeping him on the edge, and as he thinks you’ve fallen asleep, he looks over, seeing your eyes open when you say, “Don’t know. Might have a couple things to tend to.”

Ah… okay. Sure.

Where’s your mind right now, he wonders?

Maybe circling around work. Maybe your urge to go is as little as his? All these things, they don’t sound too delightful right now, do they?

Concert preparations. Organisational things. The company. Tae.

When did you start using his nickname like this? Weird. Didn’t know the two of you were so close. Then again, does it matter? No. He shakes his head.

Shakes it slowly, making sure you don’t notice, sighing again before he breaks into a smile. It’s okay. You’re next to him. Not next to Taehyung. His friend. You’re covered in him. So he doesn’t let another’s name fog his brain, instead seeking peace and succeeding until—

“Don’t worry, another time,” you say, following up with a goosebump-inducing, “I’ll stick around until my feet tingle.”

Somewhere… at some point in his life… under probably not the best circumstances— 

Wait.

THE FIC ISN'T OVER YET!! PLS READ 👇🏼

as always, tumblr hates content creators and has a 1k block limit. which is why you can read the rest of the story in this reblog hehe we're almost at the end <3

[vyva-melinkolya]

we all agree that the push towards short form, vertical video (tiktok/reels/shorts) is ruining fucking everything right? Tiktok has been useful for the dissemination of political information (e.g Gaza) i’ll give it that, but that feels moreso a result of meta and twitters algorithms being just a little *more*’evil and censor happy. And i want to make it very clear that my hatred for tiktok has nothing to do with the fact that it was a product of a Chinese company, because i see a lot of critiques relying on some sort of sinophobic conspiracy. On the contrary, it’s what tiktok has become in the vacuum of western popular culture and marketing that makes me fearful.

I know that every generation faces a new, polarizing technology and inevitably, there are those among said generation who will critique it. That is the nature of things. However, there is also something to be said about how, with the acceleration of technology (running parallel to the acceleration of capitalism, acceleration towards collapse etc), each coming generation faces an increasingly more malevolent “advancement”. TLDR, i’m going to talk my shit.

I’m going to speak on the aspect that is most relavent to me, as a musician. I am petrified by what short form video is doing to music and to musicians. I think that tiktok provides the illusion of making music and being a musician more “accessible” while actually pouring gasoline on the fire that the pop music machine had already started. Standards for what popular culture “expects” from music are being doubled and tripled. Let’s talk about song length. Success and marketability favoring shorter songs is not something new, it has been the trend for decades. But with short form video, it goes even further. You’re not just hearing the same song over and over on the radio, you’re hearing the same 15-30 seconds of the same song over and over again. This in-turn, starts to influence the way people write music, persuading people to make songs that *could* have that 15 second appeal. There is an art to pop music, there is an art to writing a catchy hook—this is something else. We weren’t meant to hear or understand music like that. There are so many songs from reels that i found annoying, until i heard them in their full context. It’s insidious. It makes everything feel like a fucking commercial, even if nothing is being advertised.

I’m going to pull directly from someone else’s experiences, someone who’s music seems to be everywhere on short form videos. The ambient musician My Head Is Empty has a hundred million streams on the song “i was only temporary”. Despite that exposure, they experience “never ending copywrite issues” and have “received death threats” by people who refuse to credit them when using their song. Pulling a quote here, from a comment on their own post

“vyva_melinkolya unfortunately it just gets worse. i saw a bot content page that steals pod cast footage and spams dozens of videos with my song stolen, comment on a "motivation" spam content , who actually made a post telling people the name of my song, and the previous page i mentioned, the pod cast spam commented on that video saying "Bro stop don't give out the sauce. this audio helps me pull numbers brooo" - so people are actively INTENTIONALLY stealing it and telling people to not credit me. like. u can't make this stuff up”

Beyond this, My Head Is Empty feels frustrated that despite all this exposure, the rest of their work (nine albums) as a musician remains under appreciated, and i think that frustration is 100% valid. People cannot fully appreciate music, or even understand it as a work of art created by another human, when it’s taken so far out of its context. Again, the soul being sucked out of art by “the machine” isn’t anything new but, this is a whole other level. Being a musician is more expensive than ever, streaming earns you fractions of a cent etc, it all feeds into itself.

When a song or a musician i love deeply finds its way on to tiktok (let’s use Duster’s “Stars Will Fall”, one of my favorite songs ever as an example)I am not upset that i cant “gatekeep” it anymore. I’m not upset by the idea of something I love and hold dearly finding a larger audience. I AM upset in the manner in which it is being disseminated. I’m upset with art I hold dear to me being chopped up and used as “trending audio”. When I saw Duster in concert recently, lStars Will Fall” was the song I was most looking forward to hearing. It was the last song they played, and it was the song seemly everyone chose to talk loudly over. The audience was mostly people my age and younger. This complaint might come off as petty or pretentious or cliche, i frankly do not give a shit.

Let’s talk about how musicians are expected to promote music on tiktok/reels. This is a matter of opinion, at the risk of sounding very pretentious: the “POV we are x band from x” “My label says i need x followers before x” “posting this video until c musician notices me”. I understand that some of it is in jest but, what the fuck? When did this become the norm? I do not blame anyone for promoting their music like this, but we should want more for ourselves. I’ve always said being a musician is deeply embarassing, inherently. If being a musician is inherently embarassing then what is this? I dont have a solution for this, and the music industry has always been ugly and bloodthirsty and seldom fruitful— but i feel like the very small amount of dignity we had as artists is now lost and I cant fucking stand it. Artists seem to promote the same single with dozens of reels over the course of months, hoping that something sticks. I dont want to sound like i’m shaming or, again, sound like i can provide a solution. I’m just very fucking sorry that it seems like this is “the way”. And personally, i’m scared that if i dont “get with the program”, im going to fail.

Again, all of this speaks to larger trends in entertainment industry and even larger trends in capitalism. But i’m just airing specifics right now because frankly? I cant take it anymore.

[jksprincess10]

His hand so calloused from his pistol softly traces hearts on my face || Joel Miller x reader

Summary: Tommy hires a new ranch hand behind Joel's back and he's not happy about it.

CW: jackson era, rancher!joel and helper!reader, mean!joel, perv!joel, unhinged and bold!reader, lots of banter, mentions of parent death, alcohol, masturbation, smut, dry humping, unprotected p in v, fingering, daddy kink, degradation kink, lots of pet names (baby, etc.), big cock joel miller, lots of dirty talk, some fluff and feelings, no y/n, multiple POVs. (2.8k words)

A/N: Special thanks to @fhatbhabiee for proofreading, @notjustjavierpena for the beautiful banner, @saradika-graphics for the dividers.

“The hell is this?!” Joel’s fists are closed against his hips, his head cocked to the side as he looks at what Tommy has brought into his home, another lost sheep.

“This is your new helper.” His younger brother gestures towards you and you look at the older man, an eyebrow raised in defiance. It wasn’t the warm welcome you had expected. “Maria’s about to pop out any day now, so I hired someone to take my place in the ranch.”

“You think a lil’ girl can help me?” Joel looks down at you, his steel gaze analyzing your reaction. But Tommy cuts you off before you can say anything.

“Don’t be a sexist ol’ prick. She has experience and took care of animals in her previous community.”

“And I’m not a little girl.” You add, detaching every syllable. “Shall we try that again? You must be Joel.” You tell him your name, and he takes your extended hand in his calloused palm, squeezing it stronger than necessary.

“Nice to meet you.” He grumbles.

“So, where’s my room?”

“Your… room?” Joel asks, his murderous gaze pinning Tommy down.

“Listen, she just got here. It’s temporary. Give ‘er a room, feed her and she’ll work for you for free.”

“I sure fuckin’ hope so.” Joel mutters.

How dare he bring this pretty young woman into his home without asking him before? The worst part is, you’re hard working. Every day, you get up at the crack of dawn to feed the cows and the sheep. You’re stronger than you look. And sometimes, you cook for him too, and he hates admitting that you’re good. You’re too fucking young, too fucking good looking and he shouldn’t be looking at you like that. He shouldn’t be fucking his fist every night since you arrived with your name dying on his chapped lips.

Joel joins you in the barn to see if you’re working well. You are, of course, milking one of the cows; your knees in the mud, pulling on the cow’s udders.

“When you’re done, put the milk into glass bottles and bring ‘em inside… We can trade ‘em.” Joel orders, then clears his throat. “D’ya… need anythin’?”

When Joel doesn’t bark out orders, he’s silent. It’s the first time in a week he’s shown any care for your well-being.

“Hm… clothes for the cold months coming would be nice.” You finish milking the cow and get up. You look at your ruined pants and sigh. “Yeah… clothes would be nice.”

“Sure thing, kiddo.”

You cringe at the nickname. “Thanks, Joel. But stop calling me that.” You can’t look at him, and you simply pet the giant, but soft beast who moos in response. You chuckle and turn to Joel. You pretend for his sake that you don’t hear him on the other side of the wall every night, wet noises mixed with heavy pants. You pretend you don’t do the same. “I’m closer to 30 than to 20.” You watch as he swallows heavily.

Still, 26 years is a big age gap, and Joel curses in his head as he hears you confirm your age.

“Right, but I’m 56. You’re jus’ a kid to me. I could be your dad.”

“I’m a woman. Treat me like one.” You respond firmly. He sees how worked up that gets you, how your body is facing him with your fists tight like you’re keeping yourself from hitting him.

Joel sighs and stays silent for too long, leaving with a last glance at you and another order. “Be ready in 10. We’re goin’ downtown to get you clothes. Be late, and I’ll go without ya.”

You’re fuming, and you want to curse the man’s ancestors, but you stay silent, obedient. You pack the milk harvest of the day: 3 good bottles, that would only need to be filtered before consumption. You go into your room to put on your only clean pair of jeans, and join Joel at the front, where he’s stoically waiting, big, stupid strong arms crossed against his chest, the sleeves of his flannel pulling against his muscles. You stomp to him with a box of milk in hands, and he chuckles, the asshole chuckles –

“Listen, asshole – ” You push the box into his arms, and he takes it effortlessly, an amused grin on his face. “I don’t know if you’re just sexually constipated or what, if so, please for the love of God, get fucking laid, but you don’t have to be mean to me all the time. Just because I’m young or because you don’t want me here or…. You know what? I had a dad, he’s fucking dead. You’re not my father, move on. Treat me like a fucking person.”

One of his eyebrows lift, and he looks at you for a few seconds, before asking: “You done?”

“No. Tell me you’ll stop being an ass or I’ll go find someone more annoying than me to replace me.”

“Fine. I’ll treat you like a woman and a person.”

“Thank you for the bare fucking minimum. Let’s go, cowboy.” You say between your teeth.

Your walk from the ranch to downtown Jackson calms you down. Everyone else is too nice for you to stay mad.

“S’here.” He points at the storefront with a sign that reads clothing and repair services. You go in with him, a soft bell announcing new guests. There are a few racks with seasonal clothing, a few different sections clearly identified: for children, women and men. Joel brings the milk up to the counter and the owner gives him five coupons in exchange.

“You can get five things.” Joel tells you as he hands you the coupons.

“But…. Don’t you need anything?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Okay…”

You look around while Joel waits at the counter. You find two sweaters your size, two pairs of pants and some underwear (that were on “sale” for 3 for 1 coupon). You give your coupons to the owner, she counts your items and tells you that you’re good to go.

Weeks pass, where Joel really tries to be nicer to you after your little meltdown. He doesn’t call you kiddo anymore – thank God – but you sometimes feel his gaze linger. You both try to stay away from each other – why would you fuck your new boss - because truth is, you find him very attractive despite his ill manners. But seeing Joel every day in the most domestic of settings lights something inside of you – a profound want and… affection.

In some rare occurrences, you have fun together. There are a few people in your backyard – Tommy, some townies you met through Joel, Ellie, Joel’s adoptive daughter who had moved away with her girlfriend. You’re settled around a bonfire to shield your bodies from the cold. Joel has a guitar on his lap, and his face has a pleasant glow from the beers you shared. You’re sitting between him and Tommy.

“Hope the old man’s treating you well.” Tommy jokes, a dig at his older brother.

“Surprisingly well. Well, after he stop treating me like a fucking kid.” You snort.

“Yeah, he tends to do that.” Ellie concedes.

“Stop talkin’ about me like I ain’t here.” Joel grumbles.

“You just had to be nicer.” You grimace.

“Had to see if you were a good worker ‘fore.”

“Am I?”

Your shoulders brush, and you smile innocently at him.

“Guess so.”

That’s the closest thing from a compliment you’d get.  You call it a night shortly after, but everyone seems determined to spend the night outside.

You wake up in the middle of the night to a door closing, so you decide to get up for a glass of water. You pad silently on the cold wooden floor, only wearing your panties and an oversized long-sleeved shirt. You almost jump out of your skin when you see Joel sat on his favorite chair in the living room, knees spread like he owned the world. He had a half empty beer in hand.

“Didn’t mean to wake you up, sweetheart.” His voice is rough. He looks up at you, eyes tracing your curves through your shirt, focusing on your bare legs, on your nipples peaking through your shirt. You self-consciously wrapped your arms around your torso.

“S’okay…” You go into the kitchen to get a glass of water. You could still feel Joel’s gaze on you, since the house was open-floored.  “Hm, Joel?”  You suddenly felt bold, maybe it was the remaining alcohol in your system.

“Yeah?”

“Why do you masturbate every night when I’m right here?” You sip on your water as you walk back calmly to where Joel sat. “Why don’t you fuck me, huh?”

Joel’s face burns with shame, and you smile when you realize you were right.

“You’re way too young and pretty for me, darlin’.” He leaves his bottle on the table next to him, and he pinches the bridge with a long sigh. “And you’re workin’ for me.”

“Let me be clear, Joel.” Your glass joins his bottle, and you lean towards him, your legs between his, your arms around his neck. “I like you. I want you. Please. Let me have you.”

Joel’s breath comes out shaky, and his rough hands grab onto your shirt. “Tried so hard to make you hate me, so this wouldn’t happen.”

“You succeeded for a while.” You smile sweetly, your fingers treading in the curls on the back of his neck.  “You’re very hot, Mr. Miller. I won’t beg again.” Your breath fans his dry lips.

“Okay. Okay.” Joel pulls you down even more, and you’re almost falling on his lap as his lips crash on yours. It’s hungry and angry, desperate. He’s angry at himself, you know it, but you don’t want his shame. The older man tastes like beer and smells like fire. Your teeth pull on his bottom lip.

“I do the same thing, Joel. I fuck my fingers every night while I imagine yours.” You whisper against his lips after a chaste kiss to his swollen bottom lip.

Joel groans and drags you down. You sit comfortably on his lap, feeling the rough tent in his jeans.

“Le’me see you.” He sounds more confident now as he pulls on your hem and lift your shirt over your head. You like his heavy gaze on your breasts, his calloused fingers pulling on your nipples to make them harder. You sigh happily and thrust your hips against his hard cock. He feels so big, but you’re confident you could take all of him.

“Y’wanna rut against my cock like a bitch in heat, huh? Go ahead, sweet girl. Make yourself wet for daddy.”

You didn’t think Joel had such a dirty mouth on him, but you obey. You rub your wet panties against the large bump in his jeans. The rough texture of the used fabric pleases you, but you need more. You clumsily remove your panties and abandon them on the floor. Joel, in a trance, admires your pussy. His fingers barely touch you, and you’re already panting.

“S’all fo’ me, huh? D’you need help?”

You nod enthusiastically.

“Words, baby.” He pressed, his free hand holding your chin up.

“Touch me, daddy. Please.”

“Suddenly so polite and sweet.”  Two of Joel’s fingers circle your clit as you keep desperately moving your heat against his jeans, your mouth falling open in a silent moan. Pleasure builds rapidly in your core, and you’re thrusting your hips even harder, until you come in a moan.

“That’s it, that’s it.” He soothes. “C’me here.” He holds you in his arms strengthened by years of manual labor and lifts you up as he gets up. You wrap your legs around him. “M’not done with you, but I want you to be comfortable.”

He brings you to his bedroom, which you had never seen fully. Only glimpses here and there. Somehow, it felt more intimate. He drops your body on his large bed.

“How are you still wearing clothes?” You complain, and he chuckles.

“So eager, aren’t ya?” Joel starts undressing, still on his feet by the bed. He only leaves his boxers on, and you try to see him in the dark. You decide to rely on your touch instead, when he takes the spot between your legs. Your fingers trace his strong back, finding scars here and there. You kiss him, softly this time.

“Need to get you ready fo’ me,”

“Yes, please.”

His calloused hands spread your legs more, before he inserts one of his thick fingers in. You tighten around him, it already feels like he’s stretching you out.

“Relax baby.”

You breathe, in and out, slowly relaxing your walls at the same time.

“That’s it, le’me in.” He thrusts it in and out a few times, before adding another finger. He uses his thumb to caress your clit, soothing the pain through another wave of pleasure.

“F-Fuck, Joel. That’s so much.”

“I know baby, you’re doin’ so well. Jus’ let go.”

He fucks you hard and fast with his fingers, pressing on your swollen clit with his thumb. You’re moaning and thrashing through your second orgasm of the night, and Joel’s looking at you intently, his free hand caressing the lump in his boxers.

“Need to fuck ya now. Can you take it?” His fingers leave you empty, and he soothes you with a kiss on your forehead.

“Yes. Give it to me, please.”

He pulls down his boxers and throws them away. You watch in awe as his girth jumps out. He holds the base and swirls the fat head against your wetness, making you jump a little, still sensitive.

“So wet fo’ me.”

He aligns the head of his cock with your hole and pushes in slowly. You let out a breath after the big tip has breached your entrance.

“That’s only the tip. More?”

You nod your head a few times. “I want everything.”  You’re so scared this will be the only time you can have him like this, bare and desperate.

He thrusts in, feeding you his cock as slow as he can bear. You hold on to him.

“You’re so big, Joel.” You whine.

“I know baby I know.” Joel kisses you lazily and sensually, stopping his movements when his hips are flush with yours. He waits until you move on your own, and he thrusts in and out with your help, still slow and careful. Your eyes roll in the back of your head, you had never felt better in your life.

“Faster.”

He listens, snapping his hips faster and harsher, but he can’t seem to be able to fuck you as hard as he wants in this angle. He suddenly leaves you empty and grabs your hips to turn you around, your ass in the air.

He thrusts in before you’re even ready, and the angle is perfect.  He fucks you hard and fast, the sound of his hips snapping against your ass and your pants fill his bedroom. The line between pleasure and pain is so thin, but you love the way he lets himself go. His big balls hit your clit a few times, and you’re crying of pleasure. You hold on to his silky sheets and to the solid, wooden headboard as he pounds into you.

“Gimme ‘nother one, c’mon.” He urges you through gritted teeth. “Come on my cock.”

He slows down to catch his breath, fucking you deep and hard, and one of his hand sneaks to the front of your body, teasing your tits with expert hands. Your pleasure builds in your tummy, before the pressure releases, and you come hard around his cock.

“Atta girl.” He praises, breath heavy. You feel him move away, and you turn around just in time to see him pumping his cock a few times, until he comes in any piece of fabric he can find – which ends up being his boxers.

You lay down on his bed, all members spread as you catch your breath with a dumb smile on your lips. You couldn’t believe you were just fucked by Joel Miller.

“I never came so much in my life, God.” You whisper in amazement, a hand against your sweaty forehead.

Joel chuckles and you hear his steps moving away from the room, but he isn’t gone for too long. He comes back with a warm, wet cloth, which he uses to soothe your swollen pussy, and clean himself up. He climbs into bed with you, and you hope he doesn’t ask you to go back to your room. Ever.

You’re both laying on your side, facing each other. Joel lifts the blanket over you and lays his palm against your warm cheek.

“M’glad Tommy hired you behind my back.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Stay. I like you.”  He adds after clearing his throat. You smile and bring his palm to your lips to kiss it.

“I like you too. I won’t leave, if you want me to stay.” You assure him.

“Good.” He says as he closes his eyes.  “Sleep, you’re workin’ early tomorrow.”

“You’re the worst.” You mumble as he chuckles weakly.

[thatdeadaquarius]

College be kicking my ass but we continue on like Scaramouche (alive and kicking, but still crabby about it all lmfao)

Random idea but what happens when the acolytes got hold of Creator that is able to squeeze into small places (like a cat would but less liquid) and knows how to escape? Think of sagau but instead of all the deaths, its just they got overexited and chased the Creator the moment they see them which scared them shitless seeing a mob just appear out of nowhere.

I mean who wouldn't after seeing your favourite person in your favourite game just appear right in front of you? (I apologize in advance to the poor unfortunate sucker)

Imagine a world-wide search that keeps getting them heart attacks. Venti just flying by with Dvalin ony to see you on top of the floating pillar above Dragonspine LEANING PRECARIOUSLY OH MY ARCHONS GET AWAY FROM THE EDGE---

Zhongli walking around trying to find peace and quiet only to sense your presence which led him towards Azhdaha's domain and nearly shouted in terror seeing you hanging by one of the limestones above the slumbering dragon your grace what and how the in the fucking name of teyvat did you---

Yae Miko screaming in surprise seeing you inside one of the cupboards of your grace's house (you made a small temporary one in each country in case u need more rest) that she and Ei found in one of the remote islands.

Nahida and the entire Forest Rangers having one of the most intense, frustrating and most challenging game of hide and seek in the entire freaking forest.

You hiding underneath the sand like a fricking snake everytime Cyno spots you from a disrance.

-Vine Boom 🧨

I am no longer apologizing for lateness simply bc atp its basically assumed Im terribly sorry 💀 /so gen

  

Content under -----------------✄

☆

Sun: Reader, (you/they/them)

Orbit: Headcanons-ish, Imposter SAGAU? Imposter SAGAU Reversed Ver? unclear (NOT DARK)

Stars: little here, little there

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: reader/you thinks everyone is hunting them down, dark sagau fake-baiting lmao, & Trigger Warnings: none known.

Please comment if I missed any. /gen

No but the traumatic experience of you cautiously wandering into Mondstadt after realizing ur in Genshin like, ✨👄✨

and every single street/alleyway you try to go down to even avoid it is just people all looking at you like: 👁️👄👁️ ???

and ur over here equally just like: 😃 tf u lookin at????

u get up near the cathedral and finally see a playable character, Barbara, and she just fully GASPS and POINTS at you like she’s getting paid to be an actor for this

shouting sm nonsense like: “My Creator??? King of All???? IS THAT YOU?????”

and after which a few nuns check the commotion, Rosaria and Barbara’s Visions are glowing, and all join in heckling you

Venti coming (literally) flying around a corner on a breeze, saying he was trying to catch up to you, and ohhh now ur Convinced:

None of these bitches must be happy to see you, you did forcefully control their bodies if by the sounds of it they knew you/they must’ve been aware during the game, aw damn looks like u gotta run for your life now

You just book it out of Mond, Venti/Barbara yelling after you to come back, and meanwhile you’re leaving a shell-shocked Jean/Diluc/Kaeya (with Visions glowing) in ur wake on the way out

Not one being, mortal or otherwise, convinces you to stay in Mond, and you finally get to Dragonspine- the only place u know they wont follow

(well maybe the pyro characters but ur betting if u can make it up the mountain theyre not committed to,, running you down? arresting you?? ur not sure)

u make it all the way up and luckily everythings all solved like u did in the game, the traveler must be well into teyvat by now, and u decide to say “for the already achieved achievement” and fuck around and find out near the nail

U thought as u finally got on it u heard a scream somewhere in the sky, and u spotted Dvalin carrying Venti/Barbatos, and once again book it out of town (damn u cant believe theyre so committed they got the dragon in on it…)

so u haul ass all the way down the mountain, traveling only at night, living like a vampire, holing up during the day when u see Mond citizens/knights/gods/etc. walking around presumably looking for you

but u make it, finally! sweet, sweet Liyue, ur 2nd home (besides Mondstadt)

Only to immediately, like right outside the fucking gates to Liyue Harbor, run into Zhongli.

and he’s standing there like this mf knew u were coming, and the first thing out his mouth is some BS like, “…Darnell, that you??”/ref LMAOO

but instead of laughing abt it u just scream and run for your life haha

oh jesus h christ- he’s sending the adepti after you fuck- how hated are you??

sure u maybe hate Celestia a little, and sympathize with the traveler, but this seems a little extreme?!

you go to the one place u know he/any other adeptus doesnt like to come often, Azdaha’s cave

and after a night (well, day bc ur sleeping during the day now) of Azdaha sleeping peacefully, he wakes up fully coherent and u actaully have a rlly pleasant conversation with him about Liyue food lol

he also kept mentioning some kind of god? but like in reference to you?? are u connected to them, u kinda know a lot of gods atp so ur not sure which he means, a god to rule them all??? Celestia?? yeah u guess u know those fucks-

Cue u looking down from ur perch in the stalagmites above, u found a ledge and Azdaha helped you,

only to see a very concerned and borderline nervous Zhongli down below, Azhdaha just greets him like nothing’s wrong, but as soon as he sees you’re uncomfortable, helps you escape (more like teleport) away

(the old geo archon was probably nervous just be around Azhdaha u assume)

and now ur on the islands of Inazuma

u know exactly what islands are all but abandoned, the ghost one, the electrocuting one, and the scary bird one, all great options 👍

Raiden and Yae Miko manage to find you on every single one, with Yae getting more and more exasperated, and Ei getting more and more concerened with every position they find you in

hanging out on the banks of the electro river that would kill you if it weren’t for the little electro trees fending it off (thank fuck u maxed that shit out while in game)

bc u assumed they’d hate to be around it, plus lots of ronin- nope Ei is almost… scolding you?? oh but she’s got her Musou no Hitotachi out fuCK-

(she was slaying ronins that were getting too close to you)

she also is constantly jumpscaring you on tsurumi island/ghost island bc while the ghosts are gone, the creepy atmosphere isn't, and it makes her all the more terrifying as The Raiden Shogun comes walking out of the fog into the cave you've hidden in, stuff of ur nightmares for weeks as u just bird box style try to be silent and stealth around the island to get to an abandoned boat,

literally her scary ass purple sword glowing silhouette wandering around in the fog as you paddle away 💀

getting to thunder bird island and Yae Miko is literally both running/teleporting as quickly as she can to you, as you jump from floating rock to floating rock to escape her, god its so unnerving to watch someone so lazy running after you

she keeps getting in this weird “praising the heavens pose” sometimes when you jump, oh shit she’s aiming hER ATTACKS AT YOU THATS WHY-

oh good- she missed and deflected some stray debris coming ur way, u gotta get to the bird area and see if you can glide away (u managed to get a glider at some point thank fuck)

the bird is luckily on ur side against all these mfs trying to hunt u down (for controlling their bodies u guess) and flies u back to mainland teyvat

sumeru u thought would have the most mercy on u tbh, maybe fontaine bc Neuvillette only rlly cares if u break “fontaine” laws, maybe he wouldn't care to chase down a mortal like u over this

and nahida bc shes just nice

which is somewhat true, as you are acting like tarzan swinging around on vines and shit to escape the forest rangers

but she does show up in ur dreams, but shes just all foggy or distorted, u guess bc ur not of this world or smth??

and so it just unnerves u more, and u try to make it out to the desert, where at least there's no gods to worry about

mf ur hunkered down in a pyramid and see the shadowy shape of Cyno walking thru a sandstorm at you 💀

U dont kno how u got out of that one tbh, smth abt “king deshret made a plan for this” and left it behind for ppl to use to escape underground, sweet

And while Nahida and other eremites, scholars like Alhaitham/Kaveh/Dehya were looking around the desert sands, u slip by them

And u make it to the oasis at the edge of the desert, and steal an old rowboat to cross to fontaine (if i had a nickel everytime u needed to escape a god via old rowboat, youd have 2 nickels- )

and getting to Fontaine is not much better.

U literally get to the clockwork tower, foggy, ominous, uninhabited except for treasure-seekers occasionally, its perfect

until Neuvillette himself just strolls in abt 3 nights of u making camp there

u nearly shit urself as he just fake-knocked on a wall, meanwhile ur like hanging from the ceiling (four limbs out suspending you type of fictional shit)

luckily, mostly bc u were trying to wait him out (which wasn't possible ur limbs hurt so bad) he was, finally, the first person around u long enough to be genuinely kind and patient and answer questions

(Neuvillette acc couldn't figure out where u were at first, and was very confused how u got ur voice to boom around this chamber of the tower, after a minute of talking u trusted him enough to tell him to look up lol)

just in time too, he was able to hide u from the archons a little longer bc u were nervous

(u were already intimidated enough by Neuvillette being irl himself, talking to you, let alone all the other gods/vision users, as u realized afterwards thinking abt all the ppl trying to “hunt u down”, that if they all counted as ppl actually wanting to see you, that was a rlly overwhelming amount, esp if their first instinct is to run at you??? what are you, a fan-abused/disrespected kpop idol????)

☆

trying to be fancy and schedule posts once i get enough free time to actually wrangle my adhd to actually partake in my favorite hobbies 💀

well as long as I'm not getting slammed with lots of shifts again

hope u guys had a great weekend and have a good week! Happy late Valentine’s Day :)

Safe Travels Vine Boom,

💀♒

If you wanna join a taglist, DM me what for! "Pspspsss, please tag me for [All SAGAU posts, Only SAGAU Language AUs, diff fandom, etc.]!"

(If you ever wanna drop, just DM me! "No more taglists/[specifically this AU/fandom] please!")

♡the Beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi / @fallen-starr / @areaderofbooks / @devilangel657 / @esthelily / @justinsomniachild / @nanithefuck / @questionotmystopit

@kiyomi-uchiha777

[simpxxstan]

HELLOOO!!! CONGRATS FOR THE 550 FOLLOWERS ON TUMBLR I HOPE U GET MORE FOLLOWERS BC UR WRITTING?? DELICIOUS 💗💗

But I would like to request seungcheol + dilfism ?? Like have u SEEN that man??

Thank you!! Have a good day!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY FAVOURITE MAN <333 thank you for sending this in! LOVED writing dilf cheol. i swear this man and his sexiness of 30s will be the death of me. inspired completely by his new glasses look at caratland 2024.

this is a part of my 550 followers event, but requests are now CLOSED.

genre: smut, enemies to lovers, age gap, dilf!seungcheol, lawyer au.

word count: 13k words.

warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+ nsfw content. 13 YEAR AGE GAP, mention of suicide, single dad!seungcheol, a ton of legal terms (not vouching to be accurate because i am neither a lawyer nor a law student nor is my research perfect), seungcheol is a bit selfish and toxic (but there's a redemption arc), ANGSTY angst, but A LOT OF FLUFF TO COMPENSATE. smut warnings: protected sex, oral receiving (f and m), mild dirty talk, implicit size kink, implicit spit kink.

"it's my first case!" you whine in surrender, slumping on the shoulder of your friend, as you both re-read the case file in front of you for the n-th time this morning. yoona pats your head, but she knows even she can say nothing to console you. it must be either sheer bad luck or some unknown person's vengeance, that you're against choi seungcheol in the very first case of your life.

y/l/n y/n: the lawyer of the plaintiff, hwang seola.

choi seungcheol: the lawyer of the defendant, KNT enterprises pvt. ltd.

nothing can save you from losing your first case in the worst way possible. not even the stellar letters of recommendation from your professors. not even your exceptional performance in the national lawyers examination process. not even your diligence during your interning years that's earned you the title of golden rookie. everyone expects you to make it big, including yourself- but that's clearly not going to happen if you lose the very first actual case you have to face in your life.

"at least no one will mock you for losing," yoona says in a meek voice. you scoff indignantly, "as if that's any comfort. still doesn't change the fact that i'm going to start off my career on the worst foot possible. why does my luck have to be so shitty?"

"hey, think about the positives. imagine how much of a learning experience it'll be. i know best how much you consider seungcheol as your idol."

you sigh. five years ago, when seungcheol had blown up across the country because of his historic debut in the court of corporate law, winning case after case and setting precedents that were welcomed with open arms, you'd looked up to him. five years ago, he'd walked into your college for an invited seminar during your first semester and blown your mind away. five years ago, you would cry in joy at the opportunity to even spend a minute in the same courtroom as seungcheol and see him in action. five years ago, he'd been the ideal man of your dreams- perfect in every damn way possible.

the only issue with that is that he's still the ideal man in your eyes. even if losing the case against him won't make your nervous, just being in close quarters with him for long hours will make you infinitely nervous.

"maybe i should recommend boss to let you take up the ca-" you tease yoona, and she squeals, whining protests instantly. "no thank you!" you laugh, hoping to lighten the tension of the moment. but the relief is only temporary, and the weight of the upcoming case lingers in your mind for hours later.

_

the first trial of the case is a week later. before that, you decide to change your mindset to a better thought process- even if you simply assume that you're going to lose this case, you're still going to give in your 100% so that you can step away with no regrets and only more knowledge gained. the first step to that, of course, is speak to your client personally, without the intermediation of the firm you work at.

mrs hwang turns out to be a woman just a few years older than you. the primary reason why she's suing the company her husband used to work at is because her husband had been driven to suicide by the constant pressure in his workplace to keep some illegal activities and fraud under the covers, which had not only harmed his mental health and morals but also affected the way his superiors judged his work performance. she may be young, but she's lost her husband merely three years after their marriage, and just one look at her face makes your heart ache in sympathy.

this isn't the first time you've seen such a case. during your years of study, you've studied plenty of cases involving companies ill-treating their workers and leading them to take up drastic steps in desperation. not only does this case come under a serious mistreatment of employees under labour laws, but also violates laws governing corporations which demand them to steer off illegal activities and maintain integrity. it's a very interesting case, and you're highly intrigued and instantly drawn into the case. there are several nuances that you know you may miss out by a hair's breadth if you're not careful. but you cannot take chances. if you have to even put up a fair fight against choi seungcheol, you're going to have to leave no stone unturned.

at the end of your discussions with mrs hwang, you're fully convinced that the company is indeed at fault here. however, you're going to have to prove it in court with the meagre evidence you have- which is low anyway, considering how big companies use their financial and social capital to turn such cases remarkably in their favour. the primary example of that being them getting seungcheol, the country's top corporate lawyer, to represent them, while mrs hwang can only hire you, a rookie lawyer at a lesser reputed firm.

however, as you walk into the courtroom, you convince yourself to not think about how the odds are against your favour from the first moment itself, to calm your nerves. you're here to debut with a bang, and you will fake it till you make it.

_

it doesn't work.

it doesn't work because the moment you enter the courtroom, you see choi seungcheol sitting next to the defendant's CEO on the other side of the room, dressed in the most immaculate suit, his glasses perched on his nose as he inspects the documents you've submitted in court prior to the trial as preliminary evidence. when you walk towards the bench you're going to sit at, he looks up at you.

it's a careful, measured glance. a glance of confidence, a glance of self-awareness. he knows he's going to win. and yet, he smiles at you indulgently.

moments later, he meets you halfway across the room.

"good morning. i'm seungcheol," he extends his hand for a shake, his nose upturned as he looks down at you with an aura that nearly blows you away. you wish that you hadn't worn heels tonight- because if he keeps looking at you like that, your knees are going to give up.

"of course, who wouldn't know you?" you steady your voice mustering a smile.

seungcheol's smile does not change. "it's nice to meet the golden rookie finally."

his words send shivers down your spine. there's just something about meeting your idol from so up-close that you want to submit instantly to his infinitely higher knowledge and experience to you. there's also something particular to him that's affecting your mind and body- because if seungcheol at thirty-one was handsome, he's absolutely godly at thirty-six. he's aged like fine wine- the rimless glasses sitting firmly on his nose, tiny wrinkles around his eyes, and a few graying hairs around his sideburns.

you don't get a chance to respond as the judge enters the court and you're pulled away to your bench, sitting next to a very nervous-looking mrs hwang. you forcefully drag your eyes away from seungcheol, who still has that tiny smile on his face as he talks to his client, and focus on your client, giving her much-needed confidence boosts (needed both by her and by you).

_

as anticipated, the first trial does not go well. it's just your fucking luck that the judge knows seungcheol already- but then, it was wrong of you to not consider that already, knowing how famous he is. on top of it all, mrs hwang breaks down in the middle of seungcheol's questioning, shaken completely by his straightforward questions and uncaring gaze, and the court gets adjourned, leaving you stranded without any proper progress against seungcheol's stronger case. the next trial is scheduled for a week later. you wish you could think that your work has been cut out for you, but it's far from that.

the second trial comes quickly- but it doesn't let you progress much further. seungcheol looks even more nonchalant on the second trial- dressed in another suit, he's less fierce today during his questioning. you don't notice it, because you're too flustered with your own work, but his eyes stray towards you more often. his eyes glaze over with something soft every time you make eye contact, and you immediately look away, like you've been caught in the act. but seungcheol doesn't let it slip- he keeps up his passive aggression when he's shaking hands with you before exiting the courtroom.

"tough luck, rookie. focus between the lines more."

his words make you even more nervous than before, but you put on a brave face for seola's sake. this motivates you to change your gameplan, and you decide to stop focusing on existing evidence, which is scarce, and use more verbal reports of other employees who have willingly stepped up to speak the truth after the suicide of their friend and colleague. by the time you're just three days before the third trial date, you have a solid set of verbal witnesses who will provide evidence on your side, but every time you feel slightly more confident than earlier, seungcheol's voice rings in your ears and you lose all hope.

on the morning of the fourth day, you receive an email from your boss.

y/n, please attend a lunch meeting on my behalf with some of our older clients (whose list i have attached below) today.

you jump to the opportunity- being provided a chance to interact with the old clients of the firm is a lucrative opportunity to impress those who've stayed with the firm from the beginning (and naturally, have graduated into stakeholders at the firm).

so it's safe to say you're in for a rude shock when you reach the lunch spot at a five-star restaurant along the banks of the han river, and find none of your clients but instead you find seungcheol waiting for you.

_

"close your mouth and stop drooling," jeonghan's voice somehow appears in his mind when he sees you enter the restaurant. "you make it obvious how hot you find women in suits."

but seungcheol cannot take his eyes off you. hasn't been able to for the last two times he's seen you. even if the courtroom is no place for indecency, he's had plenty of indecent thoughts whenever he's seen you, dressed in your suits and blazers, your curves prominent and your hair tied up in a practical ponytail. he should not think like this about you- he knows it. you both are set up at natural odds because of the case- but somehow, that makes him more interested in you. and seungcheol would not have it any other way. he looks forward to each trial of an otherwise boring case just to see you- the passion on your face whenever you're arguing your case, the way your mouth opens in shock whenever seungcheol casually dismisses a piece of information you've clearly worked hard on, the way you stare in exasperation at the witnesses when they speak against your stance, the hunger in your eyes whenever you're questioning his client, and the fire in you that burns you to work harder before each trial. seungcheol hasn't seen a lawyer as passionate as you in many years- most would have given up even before starting just due to his formidable reputation, but you're not even intimidated by his on-brand dead stare that works on everyone.

"i was told i'm here to meet clients of my firm. i didn't know you hired our firm for your personal needs," you cock an eyebrow as you stand in front of him, and seungcheol smirks. that attitude does nothing to filter his thoughts.

"would you have come if i'd invited you personally?"

you open your mouth to say something but he beats you to it. "have a seat, please. let's enjoy lunch."

you do so immediately. submissive. "but i still don't understand why i'm here." bratty.

he places a finger on his lips as the food he's pre-ordered arrives. the smell of the delicious food breaks your frigid attitude, it obviously helps that seungcheol's ordered your self-proclaimed favourite dish on your public instagram account. "i'm sure you must be hungry." seungcheol digs in himself, his eyes on yours as he carefully licks the spoon clean. your eyes flicker to his lips instantly before you're staring back into his eyes, defiance laced in your gaze. you pick up the spoon and start eating as well. seungcheol smiles.

i'm a dad to two daughters. i know how to tame brats.

after a few minutes, he finally speaks. "do you know the first step to winning a battle, rookie?"

you look up and tilt your head slightly in question.

"knowing your opponent."

"i already know you."

"that's what you think. that's why you're not going to win."

your eyes flash with anger. "are you just going to rub that into my face? is that why i'm here?"

"so what? you don't want to win? isn't the most loved story of human history the tale of the underdog?"

"frankly, my opponent isn't even you. it's your client, who isn't even here. so i don't understand the point of this meeting."

"so much can be learnt merely through observation, rookie. you can't know someone by looking at their annual reports and how much money they pay their employees."

"i don't need to know anything more than that! unlike you, i don't wish to meddle in people's personal lives to win cases. i don't need your brain games."

seungcheol chuckles. "the courtroom is nothing but brain games, rookie. think how far facts can take you, and then think how much further imagination can take you."

you gasp, pinching your nose. "i'm sorry, what? imagination? i'll win on evidence and evidence only. i used to admire you as an icon of law. but now, when i see you defend an obvious criminal with such blatant stubbornness, i'm having second thoughts."

"obvious criminal? are you telling me you've obtained the evidence you need to prove my client guilty in court?"

"and what if i do?"

seungcheol sits back, squaring his shoulders to his full stature. "you shouldn't tell me about it then, rookie."

"when you'd walked into my law school five years ago for a seminar, this wasn't the choi seungcheol i'd grown to love as an icon."

fuck. five years ago? just how young were you?

"i'd advise you not to get emotional about the case. the courtroom is no place for admiration or lov- or any other emotions."

"and yet, you have no desire to live up to the expectations of hundreds of law students like me who look up to you? you don't care about the youth you're letting down with this attitude?"

"why should i? i'm surviving just fine, aren't i?"

by this point, seungcheol can see the way your nails dig into your own palms in frustration. it's so amusing, how emotionally you're dealing with this. in a world of black and white, seeing you behave gray in every scenario makes seungcheol think he's lived thirty-six years of his life incorrectly.

finally when you cannot come up with any rebuttal, you stand up, dragging your chair on purpose to make noise. "there's absolutely nothing more for me to talk to you about. i hope you've learnt about me today, choi seungcheol. i've certainly learnt a lot too." and you walk away before he has the opportunity to say anything.

_

lunch with seungcheol leaves you shaken and stuttering. even as you open the door of the cab outside and ask the driver to take you to the office without a second thought, you spend the entire journey lost in your own thoughts. every little moment of the meeting lingers in your mind, unsettling your confidence. from the way he calls you rookie to his quiet arrogance and confidence, everything about him is so frustrating and yet... he draws you in. your perception about him has definitely changed after today, but even with the added understanding of just how selfish choi seungcheol can be, you can't ignore the sheer attraction you feel towards him.

it stays on your mind through the next three days. and on the morning of the third trial, you're stuck with two different thoughts plaguing your mind.

the first: a genuine concern about how the third trial is going to pan out. it's likely to be your last chance to even bring the judge's opinion to your side, because if you can't present good enough evidence today, there's no way to sway the jury to your side.

the second: choi seungcheol is a man who annoys you but you also have this innate craving to impress him. your respect for him hasn't changed, but your conversation with him has revealed to you just how cutthroat the world of law really is. and his suave attitude, the confidence with which he's so sure he's going to win, and his infinitely superior experience to you makes some part of you so desperate to seek his attention and impress him. show him that you can do well too. show him that you're not going to make beginner's mistakes. show him that you're more than a mere rookie.

but when you walk into the courtroom, seola next to you, your sunglasses perched on your head, you stare at the empty bench behind you. it was supposed to be full with the four witnesses you'd invited today and were relying on to sail through the the third trial. frantically, you ask your colleague who's assisting you in the trial, "where are the witnesses? are they running late? can you ple-"

"they're not going to come today, y/n."

seungcheol's icy voice cuts through the chaos and reaches you sharply. you spin around to find him dressed immaculately in a midnight blue turtleneck that shows off the stubble growing down his jaw.

"sorry, what?"

"you heard me the first time. none of them are going to come today."

"and how do you know?"

seungcheol smirks as he shrugs and takes a step closer towards you. "i have my ways, rookie."

you're fuming at this point, but you really can't speak your mind because seola breaks down in tears right next to you and you can't help but shift away your focus from seungcheol's dangerous eyes and take care of her.

it's honestly a miracle that after the complete sweep that seungcheol presents in the third trial, with no new evidence nor substantial evidence from your end, you still get another chance at a fourth trial, scheduled two weeks from now, in a pitiful announcement from the judge, imploring you to use this final chance to collect as much as evidence as you can.

_

when the trial ends, you ask seola to go home, and you lock yourself up in a bathroom stall in the court building, trying to come to terms with everything that's come to pass today. it's been an overwhelming morning and you're still shaken badly by it all. every moment you spend in this world with seungcheol, he seems to make it his personal mission to show you that there's no place for softness or emotions in this cut-throat world.

when you exit the washroom, you find seungcheol standing outside, an unlit cigarette between his lips.

"did you bribe them?"

he turns to look at you, his eyes clearly wide in surprise. "what are you saying?"

you take a step closer to him, your entire body shaking with fury. "did you bribe the fucking witnesses?"

"we're in public, woman, control your tongue."

"i'm not ashamed of anything i'm saying though, are you?"

seungcheol's lips twist in distaste and he drags you away from the public place to a quieter spot secluded near the parking lot. "i understand you're frustrated because of that no-show today, but you're speaking nonsense-"

"i'm speaking perfect sense, seungcheol! only you knew that i was going to bring in witnesses today."

"only me?"

"except two people at my firm, one of who is my best friend, and the other is a colleague who's assisting me in the case."

"who knows? maybe your friend's the snitch-"

you step closer to him, seething in anger. "don't you fucking make false allegations, choi seungcheol!"

"you're the one making false allegations here, really."

"you'll have to admit it, seungcheol. someday. if all your fame and reputation has been through such cheap tricks and under-the-table dirty business, you'll have to pay for it-"

"or what?" seungcheol puts back the cigarette between his lips, and lights it with a lighter. he takes in a big puff, and exhales right into your face. "or what, y/n? maybe you should take my advice instead. and stop making rookie mistakes."

as he walks away from you, you shout behind him, "i'm going to expose you, seungcheol!"

"empty threats, la la la." his voice trails back, sending shivers down your spine, as you're left alone in the dark parking lot, wallowing in your own pathetic helplessness.

_

your search for further evidence has led you to a complete dead-end. the most important thing that you need, the one that will clinch the case for you absolutely, is any - even one- document directly coming from KNT to seola's husband. unfortunately, you've gone through his emails and fax multiple times, but found nothing. nothing on his laptop, no hard drives, no soft drives, no external devices, nothing on his mobile phone or other such devices either. today you're searching all his belongings again and again, but it's still the dead-end. you realise that there's no point looking for more witnesses because seungcheol's just going to drive them away by whatever tricks he's using. and you're confident that seungcheol's thinking a step ahead of you- so any new evidence sources that you might come up with now might have already been dismissed by seungcheol through some back-up plan of his.

"seola, i need you to think once more, please. did he use any other device apart from the one at his office and the one at home? any laptop or any other mobile phone?"

"no... i can't remember anything else, really. we couldn't afford anything more too..."

you grimace. "i hope you don't get offended, but i'm sure he received quite a bit of money from whatever services he was providing KNT. enough to motivate him to keep quiet and hold on for so long. otherwise an honest man like him wouldn't want to get into this mess, would he?"

seola doesn't reply immediately, tears silently dropping down his cheeks.

you sigh and place a hand on her shoulders, rubbing softly as she breaks down into more tears. in the last few weeks, you've become surprisingly quite close. you've comforted her through her worst moments, feeling compassionate both as a woman and as a lawyer. and she, in turn, has helped you without any qualms, in not just the case but also lent a patient ear to you whenever you've wanted to rant, made ramen for you whenever you've worked till late, and let you stay over at her place whenever the rain outside's become too torrential for you to take the bus back home.

after a few long moments, seola is finally able to gain back her composure. "y/n.... he did mention something about an outstation office... towards the outskirts of the city. he used to go there twice a month. he told me it was for sending out packages to the other branches of the company... but maybe you could see there once?" your eyes light up with excitement as you hear seola's words. is this finally the breakthrough you'd been looking for through high and low? is this finally going to be your trump card to win the case? your rational side tells you to not become overjoyed immediately, but something in you is desperate to see that cockiness wiped off seungcheol's face, and bring him down to earth from whatever higher place his arrogance has placed himself at.

"seola, can you give me any tentative location for it? i'm going to go check it now."

"now? but the forecast is showing there's going to be thunderstorms tonight! there's so much thunder grumbling out there-"

"it doesn't matter, seola. i can't afford to lose any more time."

_

seungcheol's been stuck in traffic for almost an hour now, and the windshield wiper is absolutely useless in preventing the rain from cascading on his front window. the rain is relentless- just like the thoughts tormenting his heart. the reason he's returning home so late is because there had been a dinner party at the workplace cafeteria, hosted by his colleagues and closest friends, jeonghan, joshua, wonwoo and minghao. they're all lawyers with their own reputations, and the only friends they all have now. the point of the dinner? celebrating seungcheol's (upcoming) win in the KNT vs mrs hwang case. (and also to get seungcheol's mind off y/n, who's distracted him from his work all week, ever since their encounter at the parking lot of the courthouse.)

it'd been a mistake to stay out for so long. a sheer lapse of judgement, and seungcheol has not choice but to curse at himself right now. his daughters have called him already, their voices sleepy as they stay up for their father to return home to eat ice cream with them, before they fall into bed.

"and yet, you have no desire to live up to the expectations of hundreds of law students like me who look up to you? you don't care about the youth you're letting down with this attitude?"

y/n's words ring in his mind.

as the rain pours down cruelly, seungcheol's heart lets out silent cries.

he's a failure.

he's failed his family. thirteen years ago, when his parents had cast him out of their house after he'd failed to get a job at a good law firm.

that attitude's gonna get you nowhere, kid! stop running your mouth and focus on your work!

he's failed his first love. nine years ago, four years before he'd finally made his mark in the country's law scene, his wife had divorced him and left their children with him, because he'd not been able to earn enough for her.

stop being such a social activist, seungcheol! the world isn't soft like you. stop being so stuck up and emotional!

and now he's failing his daughters. day after day, they'd stay up late, waiting to spend some quality time with their father. night after night, they'd end up sleeping alone because seungcheol's insomnia didn't let him sleep with them. month after month, he'd promise to take them to their long-due vacation, but he was always too busy to take leave for two weeks at once. year after year, they'd wait for him to come to sports' day but seungcheol could never make it.

appa, if you can't take us to jeju... can we go for the school trip this year to jeju? all our friends are going to go for it...

all these painful thoughts triggered simply by one person- you. you're an unprecedented variable in his life, someone he couldn't even imagine to be a part of his life even a month ago. and yet, you've made him feel so many emotions, that had become dormant for years, in such a short span of time.

he's disappointing you too.

he doesn't know why it hurts what you think of him. seungcheol had thought that at thirty-six, he's finally ascended from these petty thoughts. but somehow your judgemental gaze, your innocent words and your fresh perspectives have shaken him to the core.

or perhaps he does know why, and he doesn't want to acknowledge it.

you remind him of himself.

but you're far better than he was. he'd been a coward, a loser, too quick to give up, and too hasty to drown in his own pity party. you're a fighter, a challenger, not accepting the cruelties of status quo, and too passionate to give up your sense of justice just to fit in with the cut-throat dirty reality.

you're 10 times the lawyer than he could ever be, and something about that makes him so inexplicably drawn to you.

because you're the person he's always wanted to idolised.

no wonder that when you'd told him that you'd looked up to him as an idol, he'd laughed at himself.

the traffic jam disperses slowly, and seungcheol breaks out of his daze. the clock shows 10.30 pm, and the rain shows no sign of stopping. thankfully, the traffic is now moving smoothly.

_

after almost half an hour of standing at the bus stop, waiting for something to pass by, there's finally a car with a very bright beam slowing down in front of you. it's a private car, but you hope it can give you a l-

"what are you doing here?!" the words escape your mouth as soon as you notice who's in the driver as the car window rolls down.

"get in, rookie."

you consider hesitating, but seungcheol's car looks warm... and safe. so you do get in, hating how there's water everywhere you're touching, spoiling the clearly expensive leather of the seats. but seungcheol doesn't say anything even as you shuffle in and finally settle on the passenger seat.

he thankfully doesn't ask you anything as he lets you take a breath and get warm enough. so about five minutes pass before he asks you, "what were you thinking, standing out there in this rain?" his voice is low, almost cracked, but laced with serious concern. you notice that he's still dressed in his typical suits. is he returning from work so late?

"i had work here," you say carefully avoiding the connection about the case.

"so late at night?"

"it was important."

"that it couldn't wait till the morning?"

"no."

you're aware by the way his jaw is clenched that he's getting annoyed by your short answers. but you have no option except to be as vague as possible- his mind works too fast for you.

"where's your home?"

you tell him the locality, and he sighs. "that's on the opposite side of town."

"i know, just... maybe you can drop me at a more crowded bus stop? the one where i was waiting was a bit remote, but a more crowded one will definitely have more frequent buses-"

"you're out of your mind."

"huh?"

"just because you're irresponsible doesn't mean i will be too. i cannot and will not leave you in the middle of the road in this rain so late at night."

"seungcheol, i don't want to barge-"

"you're not barging into anything. you'll come home with me, change into drier clothes and sleep in for the night so that you don't fall sick."

"y-your home?"

"yes. do you have a better idea?"

you gulp, his gaze stern. you don't have a better idea, in fact getting to change into warm clothes and get into someone's house sounds divine right now. the only problem is that it's.... seungcheol's home. if you can't handle him in his everyday suits, you wonder what thoughts seungcheol in his natural abode will spark in you.

"i'll always be grateful to you."

seungcheol nods, and the rest of the journey is silent.

_

seungcheol doesn't know yet if it's a good or a bad idea. he did it as an impulse- perhaps some part of him hopes he's still redeemable in your eyes, so he wants to do the right thing for once. but he won't know if it's the right think for everyone until he reaches home.

when he parks the car and takes you up to his flat, he can hear the television blaring harry potter from outside the flat, and he can see the way your eyebrows furrow at the sound. so he slowly unlocks the door, to reveal his two daughters sitting on the couch, undoubtedly watching their favourite harry potter movies again, wearing identical pyjamas specially designed for the identical twins.

he can hear you gasp as you step into the house, and the girls come into your view.

there's an awkward moment of silence and staring, before sol comes running to him and wraps herself around his waist. "appa! we're right at the last scene of prisoner of azkaban, your favourite part!"

seungcheol almost tears up. how can they welcome him so warmly every night even though he's come home so late?

he clears his throat. "sounds like you've been having fun, girls. but first, say hello to y/n unnie-"

"imo," you whisper next to him, your figure shrunk with the cold.

"no unnie," he whispers back. "this is choi sol, our maknae, and that's choi byul, my eldest." the girls wave and shyly say hello, their dimpled smiles flashing politely as they bow. you bow back, "hi sol and byul! sorry you're meeting unnie in this state~"

"are you also a lawyer?"

"did you get caught in the rain?"

"do you work with appa in his office?"

"do you want fresh clothes?"

you giggle at the contrasting questions from the two girls, their starkly different personalities evident. "yes, yes, no, and yes please, if you could be so kind," you smile back, your dainty lips curving into a pretty bow that takes his breath away. sollie shifts from where she'd been wrapped around seungcheol to take your hand gently. "do you think my clothes will fit you? i think byul's clothes will. she has a very warm nightdress..." and she drags you away to her room, welcoming you in without even a single moment's hesitation. byul is more reserved in her welcome, but still warm. she follows the two of you shortly, and seungcheol is left at his doorstep alone, but filled with such a flurry of emotions in his heart that leaves his soul warmed unlike he's felt in years.

about twenty minutes later, he comes out of his bathroom after a refreshing warm shower, his hair soft after the shampoo. he can hear voices from the kitchen, loud-pitched voices of his daughters and the softer, lower voice that he recognises as you.

"unnie, do you want to have ramen?" byul's voice rings out. "we were going to have ice cream but you might feel too cold for that." sol adds, "did you eat dinner, unnie? didn't appa eat dinner with you?" "no, w- we- he picked me on the way when he saw me stranded in the rain. we didn't have dinner... together."

seungcheol's heart breaks and heals a little at the same time. he's taken the right step for now... but seeing his little girls like this have generated images and thoughts in his mind that he had shelved away forever.

the idea of a family.

the idea of giving them a new mother figure.

as he walks towards the kitchen, he can see the way sol and byul cling to you although they've met you barely half an hour ago. perhaps it's because they don't have any cousins and you feel like a sister? perhaps it's because they like bossing over adults, especially since they boss over him so much? perhaps it's because they've already been charmed by your magnetic appeal- your softness and your innocence, mingled with an intelligence that lets you befriend everyone.

"are y'all annoying y/n already?" byul immediately faux pouts, and he can see your eyes light up. "seungcheol, she looks exactly like you," your voice whispers with the revelation. "yes, she's my daughter. kinda expected, don't you think?" he laughs. it's sarcastic of course, because sol and byul actually resemble him more than any other father-daughter pair he's seen in his life. it's almost like they haven't gotten any of their mother's genes. and seungcheol doesn't really regret it. it's been nine years, he's gotten over that pain. his only regret is to not be able to provide a second parent to his children, who'd grown up in spite of being cut off completely by their mother. and his busy life has left him with no space to date or even think of marriage...

except right now.

right now, when he sees you wearing byul's nightdress that barely reaches your knees, cooking ramen with sol sitting on the kitchen counter next to you, chatting away about harry potter, and byul carefully carving out ice cream into bowls for the four of them, seungcheol thinks maybe it's time.

maybe he's found the one.

and maybe, he's already fallen beyond scope to return.

_

you didn't get much chance to talk to seungcheol last night, but when you wake up on the guest bed the next morning, you can see him as soon as you open the door. he's sitting in the balcony, sipping a cup of tea, reading a newspaper, his glasses sitting prettily on his nose.

"morning," your voice is still raspy in spite of your sleep being perfectly fulfilling.

he turns to look at you, his gaze uncharacteristically soft, much different from how he sees you at court.

"hi. tea?"

you nod, and wobble over to sit next to him. the tea clears your throat a lot, and you can finally open your eyes wide enough to see the glorious view from his balcony. so you soak in the nature for some time, while seungcheol buries his nose into the newspaper again.

"i didn't know you were a father."

seungcheol hums. "did you like them? my girls? they liked you a lot."

"can't help but not like them. they balance each other so perfectly- as if they're your twin personas."

"that's deep."

"but it's true."

seungcheol chuckles and goes back to his newspaper. the morning air hits your face and you feel so much more alive than you'd normally do on a thursday morning. "when do you have to get to work?" he asks you.

"i still have about an hour and half left."

"will you go home and then-"

"yeah. the office is really close to my place, like a minute's walk. so i'll leave soon, don't worry-"

"you'll stay for breakfast." seungcheol says firmly. "the girls will want to see you before you leave."

and you can't turn that down. so you simply nod in agreement, carefully taking a look at the man sitting across you. seungcheol at home is so unimaginably different from seungcheol at court. if he's fire in the courtroom, then he's water at home. he's cold and practical in the real world, but with his daughters, he's the most gentle person you've met. something about the soft smile he gives when he indulges his girls. something about the way his eyes light up whenever they talk to him about anything, even if it's trivial. something about the way he's taken care of you since last night, not just giving you a shelter during a terrible night but also giving you so much warmth from his personal life. it's all made you see a completely different side to seungcheol than you'd met at the courtroom, and it's changed the way you've grown to see him completely.

now you know that seungcheol was not harsh to you that day at lunch, he was simply being realistic. his cockiness and arrogance is just self-confidence, it doesn't define who he is as a person. and he's still a man you can look up to and admit, without shame, to yourself that this is the ideal man in your eyes.

your phone pings right then, and you open it to see the mail that's arrived.

the cup of tea almost slips and falls from your hands as you jump up in your seat in joy. seungcheol looks up at you in alarm, "what happened?" your smile is bright, just like the sun this morning. "i have an emergency at work, i'll have to leave now! please say goodbye to sol and byul from my side!" and you rush into your room to change into your clothes from last night, still damp but at least cleaner, and you literally run out of the house, waving and thanking seungcheol again and again, leaving him very very confused indeed.

_

seungcheol feels incredibly at peace the next day when he walks into the courtroom. even though you'd disappeared suddenly like that without any explanation, he's quite sure that he's back in your good books. not that it matters much- because what really counts is how he's feeling about himself. and after many years, he's feeling good. the usual guilt that engulfs him as a whole every day as he wakes up to face a new morning, isn't bothering him. he feels like he's achieved something, he's done something right, and he's going to get better from now on.

but as soon as he pushes open the doors of the courtroom, he feels like he's missing something out. everyone on his side of the bench seems flustered as hell, papers rumpled and expressions distraught. but he doesn't get an opportunity to ask what's going on because you catch his attention first.

"seungcheol, can we talk for a second?"

"not right now, i have to talk to my team-"

"this is urgent. you'll want to hear this, i promise."

seungcheol lets out a long sigh as he takes in your words. there's a crisp confidence in your words today that intrigue him. "okay go ahead," he finally replies.

"in private, if you please." he follows you wordlessly out of the room, and you lead him out towards a small isolated office in the corner of the building, that's totally deserted. seungcheol leans back against the closed door, completely silent as he waits for you to settle your papers and finally look up at him.

"so what's this about? you wanna kiss me or someth-"

"you're going to lose the case today. i've found enough evidence to prove the absolute guilt of KNT, and the ceo will go to jail by the end of the court session today."

"you're bluffing me."

"i can show you the evidence, but i'd rather you'd see it in court."

"then why are you telling me this now? to pity me?" seungcheol's mouth fills with bile as a dread settles over him. the tables are turned- now he feels as rattled as he had seen you feel that day at lunch. what if you're being serious right now? what if you've actually found incriminating evidence? but he's gone through all potential sources of evidence with his client, left no stone unturned to hide all tracks-

"so that maybe you can step off the case in time. do you really want your daughters to find out you've been defending your client for so long knowing you're defending a criminal?"

seungcheol's heart skips a beat.

"do not bring them into this."

"i'm not bringing anyone into anything. this is just me being nice to you because i know what it feels like to be disappointed by someone you look up to."

"do you hear what you're saying, y/n?" he takes two steps closer to you. "this is borderline blackmail. i don't even know if you're bluffing or not, and you're already blackmailing me using my daughters. have you fallen to the same crude level i'm in? are you going to disappoint me like this?"

his words have the expected effect on you. he can see your cheeks flush pink. "seu-seungcheol, don't twist my words." you take a step back, your back straightening as he sees confidence seep back into your face.

"and maybe you should stop worrying about my morals and worry more about how badly you're going to lose the case. from next time, don't make rookie mistakes." your finals words, before you leave the room, ring in his ears and cause goosebumps to erupt all over his skin.

as soon as you're gone, seungcheol slams the desk in front of him, his brain running at a hundred miles an hour. what might have slipped from his sight? what might he have missed? he immediately calls the ceo of KNT enterprises.

"what have you been hiding from me?"

"oh? mr choi, what happened to greetings? good morning to yo-"

"nothing's good about today morning, mr kim. what have you been hiding from me? i'm not going to ask you again."

"nothing! i've bared my entire soul to you for the case."

"mr kim, there's a fresh piece of incriminating evidence that's been found, and i cannot do anything to stop mrs hwang's lawyer from submitting it to the court unless you tell me what it is exactly."

"mr choi, you're mistaken, there's nothing left to be wiped-"

"the first rule of a client and lawyer relationship," his voice is seething and snarky, volume rising with each word, "is that you should never lie to your lawyer." seungcheol knows if mr kim was in front of him right now, he'd be quaking in his shoes. he can imagine a similar situation on the other side of the phone too. he knows he's intimidating enough when he wants to be.

"i didn't think it would be important-"

"you're not the person to judge what's important and what's not, mr kim."

there's a sigh and the voice becomes shaky.

"there's an outstation branch..."

_

the case ends unceremoniously. there are no paparazzi waiting for you outside the courtroom, ready to capture your life's first win. there are no cameras flashing on you, no historic moments being documented, no crowds gathering to celebrate this win for the masses.

there's just seola's happy tears and a wildly beautiful feeling of victory in your heart as realisation ultimately sinks in for you. it's a clean win- the evidence showing unmatched proof of orders coming from KNT to mr hwang, detailing all sorts of illegal activities and even records of payments being made to mr hwang. it's really crazy how it's not been eradicated cleanly already by seungcheol. clearly, either he or his client had underestimated you.

but you'd proven them wrong.

yoona's the only who comes to see you outside the courtroom after the win. there's a bright smile on her face as she hugs you and congratulates you. seola promises that she's going to take you out on a treat right now. other colleagues from your workplace call you to congratulate you on the win.

and yet you feel empty.

seungcheol's gone. he hadn't come for the trial. he'd not been in the courtroom for the final statements, his aide quoting something about a family emergency. he'd run with his tail between his legs, ashamed of his failure and finally realising his stupidity. this thought should be giving you satisfaction, but surprisingly, it doesn't. it leaves you feeling empty, still wanting something even though you've won the case just now.

but there's no way to reach out to him. you don't even have his number for god's sake, and it would be awfully awkward to go to his house. and what would you say? that you missed seeing his sad face in court when the verdict was announced? that you wanted to see if he'd be proud of you for winning the case? that you wanted to impress him by beating him in the case cleanly without any dirty tricks? so you go to eat out with yoona and seola, and decide to stop thinking about seungcheol any further.

_

it's about seven in the evening when you make it back to your tiny flat in a shabby part of town, the house dark as you'd left it in the morning after rushing home from seungcheol's place. you smile to yourself when you unlock your home using the password on the door, thinking of how you'd been with seungcheol's adorable daughters last night, and how much fun you'd had with them.

your bag falls from your hand as you open the door.

"seungcheol?!" your voice is a shaky whisper, shocked to see him inside your house. "how the fuck did you get in?"

he's still wearing the suit he'd worn in the morning, and yet he looks divine in the dim reflection of lights from the world outside the window.

"your password's your birthday. got it on my first try."

"and how do you know my birthday?"

he takes a step closer, his body towering over yours. "shhh. it's called knowing your opponent."

there's something so oddly intimate about seeing him in your flat, in the shadows of your home. the street light illuminates one side of his face, and you can't breathe because of how gorgeous he looks.

"why do you know my birthday, seungcheol? really it's not going to help you in any way-"

"it did help me get into your house."

you lightly pick up the bag from on the floor next to you, and you walk past him. "which brings me back to the first question. why are you here?"

you're purposely avoiding his gaze, the intensity making you feel things. there's a plethora of emotions in your heart right now- finally the emptiness in your heart dissipates as you can feel yourself surrounded by seungcheol. you're taking off your blazer, untying your hair, walking over to the sink to wash your face... but you can't ignore the way you can feel seungcheol's eyes on your back. his heady scent clouds your senses, and you feel weak in your limbs. first he's intruding your house, and now your heart too?

"i have a question to ask you." he speaks after a long time, when you've finally cleaned up and taken out a cup of strawberry yoghurt from the refridgerator.

"you could've asked me on the phone." you lean back on a wall, putting yourself as far away from seungcheol as possible in your tiny flat. he's in the darkness, you're in the light, but you're still feeling small and vulnerable under his gaze.

"i couldn't. it's serious." he starts walking towards you.

"seungcheol, if this is about me trying to expose your shit, i'm not going t-" seungcheol puts his hand on your lips, pushing you against the wall.

"fuck that. this isn't about that."

you cock your eyebrow, mumbling against his hand, "then what is it about?"

seungcheol doesn't answer at once, his gaze continuing to pin you against the wall, and a hand comes around you to trap you between his bigger body and the wall. "seungcheol?"

"answer me honestly, okay?" his voice is raw, slightly wobbly, and you're getting more and more curious. you nod slowly, encouraging him to say whatever's on his mind. but he doesn't say anything. a few minutes pass just like that- or maybe an hour. his scent makes you dizzy, you can't think of anything but how his big figure is over you totally.

"when you said you looked up to me in college... i know i ruined that image. b- but... can you... fuck. wait. canyoueverforgiveme?"

"what?" you ask, confused at what he just said. he removes the hand from your mouth, standing even closer than before.

"can you ever forgive me? will you let me show you a better side of me? can i ever get in your good books again?"

your breath stops for a second. why does this matter for him? doesn't he already know the state he's left your heart in since last night- ever since he'd brought you into his car, he's already been promoted to your ideal man again.

"show me a better side of you? what do you mean, seungcheol?"

he sighs for a second, before straightening his posture, becoming impossibly even bigger.

"will you ever see me as a man, y/n?"

your knees almost give in. the fuck is his implying? are you dreaming this? is this a fever drea-

seungcheol leans in and kisses your cheek, close enough to your lips, his breath falling on your skin, and making your body tingle. "will you let me show you myself to you like this?" on instinct, you tilt your head away to give him more access, your body shivering with the intimacy. so he kisses your cheek again, closer yet to your lips, and you turn your head slightly to capture his lips, but he moves away.

"y/n, don't leave me hanging please. i know you might find this odd... but i've come to feel things for you that i didn't even know remained in me. you're an extraordinary woman, one of a kind. in all my life, i haven't met anyone like you. not even my ex-wife. you don't know this yet but you're the ideal image of perfection i've always thought of."

then he stops talking for a second, clearly expecting an answer from you. but your mind can't form words, not with the way you have tunnel vision on his face right now, your eyes drifting to his pretty cherry lips, to his long eyelashes, to the beautifully expressive eyes you've fantasised about since your college days.

"y/n, say something please." his voice is desperate, and you break out of your daze.

"you're my ideal man too, seungcheol. you have no idea for how long." there's a blush creeping on your cheeks, but in the dim yellow lighting, you can see an identical blush rise on his cheeks too. so you lean in and finally kiss his elusive lips, feeling the taste of his chapped but pretty lips on yours, feeling the way his body steps even closer to yours, one arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you to him, and your body melts as you feel the warmth from his body. the kisses slowly grow in pace, the momentum rising, as he kisses you more and more hungrily, his tongue entering your mouth too, as he begins to bite your lips and leaves you breathless and moaning just from a few kisses.

"god, rookie. you sure know how to kiss."

"i know how to do a lot of things, seungcheol." you know you're bad at dirty talk, you've never really succeeded at it during your few college experiences of sex. but somehow, seungcheol's eyes roll back at your words and you feel his heartbeat quicken up too. maybe it's working on him?

you try to test your hypothesis by gently wrapping your hands around his neck, slowly untying his tie, slipping it to the floor. once it's off, you rub your hands all over his chest, feeling the pure hard muscle flex under your muscles. his breathing is as hot and heavy as yours, and you slowly untuck his shirt from his pants, unbuttoning it carefully.

"must you torture me like this, y/n?" his eyes are glazed over, but you look up at him innocently. "what, seungcheol?" "fuck it, you're such a tease, princess." princess. he pushes you against the wall and kisses you again, one hand wrapped around your hair as he pulls you in, and another hand helping you unbutton his shirt and get it out of the way. seungcheol doesn't stop kissing you even when he begins to unbutton your own shirt, but his hands wander all over the skin he slowly unravels. it's like his own adventure mission, the gentle but urgent way he touches your skin, almost worshipping.

"you're so perfect, y/n." you whimper when he cups your breasts from over your simple black bra that does nothing to flaunt your tits, but somehow seungcheol's appreciating it all. are you really his perfect woman?

"do you mean it, seungcheol?" your voice is so weak, but it takes seungcheol aback. "what do you mean, y/n? you don't think i find you beautiful? is that why i've been dreaming about you every night these days? is that why you're always on my mind? is that why i died and came back from heaven last night when i saw you with my kids?" your breath hitches as he tilts your face to look at him. "you're the most perfect woman i've ever met, i told you. you've gotta believe me, y/n. or do i have to show you?"

"maybe, yes?"

he groans at your words, and his eyes become darker. "fuck, where's your bedroom, babe?"

_

seungcheol's touch is like moonlight caressing the ripples of a pond at midnight. a soft, gentle touch that lights up every inch of your skin that he touches. as the moonlight kisses the water and makes it ebb and flow with it, seungcheol's movements guide your body too. he's laying you out on a bed, his hands wandering all over your skin. as he takes in your figure, you let him, because he's making you feel so good. he kisses all over your body, your limbs tangling as you can't get enough of each other. seungcheol is all muscle, his hard planes flexing against your supple skin. he pins you against the headpost of your small double size bed, one hand wrapped around your waist, and the other caressing your breasts, making sure there's not even a single inch of your skin that's left untouched.

"did i tell you i think you're perfect?" his words are feverish, and leave you lost for words. so you can't reply to him, hoping he gets the way you feel about him too through your desperate whines and moans, pulling him closer if he puts even a hair's distance between your bodies. something about him being so big and engulfing your smaller stature is so hot, you can feel yourself getting aroused by the minute.

"seungcheol, i w- want to... touch you," you finally whisper out, and he pulls away from where he's been kissing your neck. "but you are?"

you shake your head and shove him lightly until he's on his back, and you're hovering above him. he's still wearing his pants while he's stripped you naked, so you do the honours for him. "what are you doing," his voice is strained. "want to touch you there," you focus on taking his trousers off until he's just in his underwear under you- his bulge quite obvious to you. if you weren't wet enough earlier, seeing the massive wet patch on his grey boxers leaves your own underwear soaked. is he this aroused because of you?

seungcheol seems to read your mind as he brings your face towards his own, whispering with hot breath, "do you see what you do to me, princess? got me wrecked and ruined." his confession is so raw, you lean in to kiss him again. as you do, your hand wraps around his clothed dick, and he groans into your mouth. "fuck fuck fuck," he curses as you begin to rub it softly. "i'm going to cum right now if you do that- babe, p-please!" he finally gets your hand off his dick, eyes large.

and then you giggle. something about seeing seungcheol so desperate triggers something off in you, makes you more determined to ruin him. so you pull off his boxers and take his erect, red cock straight into your mouth. seungcheol's body trembles with surprise, your name leaving his mouth in broken moans as he cannot take the pleasure of your mouth sucking him off in an excruciatingly slow speed. and you don't stop, even when his hand comes around the nape of your neck to keep you in place, even when you feel his entire body tense up with the imminent orgasm. you don't stop until he comes inside your mouth, spewing string after string of his hot seed, and you swallow it all. his breathing is laboured as he watches you lick off the last bits of the orgasm from his dick.

but your self-satisfaction of having the upper hand only lasts for so long. seungcheol's competitive side kicks in soon and he quickly flips over to pin you under him on the bed, his teeth nibbling at your chest, leaving pretty hickeys all over.

"let me return the favour, darling."

you don't know what he means right then by return the favour, but never in your wildest dreams, did you think it would include seungcheol burying his face into your cunt, his nose rubbing against your clit as his tongue laps up your wetness.

"fuck! no- seungcheol- pl-please, cheol!"

"do you want me to stop?" he asks you, his face barely moving up inches from your pussy to look into your eyes.

you hesitate before answering, so he softly kisses your stomach. "tell me, princess."

"i've never done this before..."

"what? sex?"

"no. oral. like no one's ever gone down on me before..."

and seungcheol doesn't waste another minute. he uses his teeth to push aside your panties and inserts his tongue right into your sloppy cunt, and you scream out his name. he doesn't go slow, and you don't want him to go slow. he's showing you all the stars in the sky, so you grab onto his hair to move his head back to a particularly good spot, and he moans incoherently when you tug at his locks. and within minutes, you're reaching your high, your screams getting stuck in your throat as you close your eyes and arch your back off the bed.

thankfully, seungcheol gets his face out of your cunt and hovers over you to take in your writhing figure under the impact of the orgasm.

"so how was your first experience?" he asks you when you finally open your eyes and look at him, his lips smeared with your essence and his body.

"heavenly," you whisper, before pulling him into you, and kissing him again. you can get drunk on his kisses. he's leaving your lips abused and raw, but when he's spitting into your mouth, you wrap your legs around his waist to pull him closer, feeling the toughness of his back muscles shift under your touch. this position ends up making his cock graze against your clit, and you jerk in overstimulation. but you can feel how hard he's getting with the kissing and the way your hands are tugging his hair. the heavy length rests on your stomach, and seungcheol pulls away.

"need to be inside you now, princess." his words have this rawness to them- long gone is the smooth-talker lawyer choi seungcheol. it takes several moments for you to process that you've caused him to descend to this desperation.

"do you have a condom?" he asks you.

"hmm, i do." you point towards the dresser next to your bed, and he casually bends away to take it out from the dresser. you're getting more turned on by his easy flexibility, and as soon as he's got the condom rolled on to his dick, you pull him for kisses again.

"patience, baby," he laughs, as he pulls away again after kissing you, to nudge the tip of his dick on your folds. "nooo, need you now. need your lips." "did my kisses break you?" "i think so," your voice is a whisper and he leans in to kiss you again, a beautiful smile showing off his dimples.

and then he's slowly pushing inside you, making you whine out his name as you feel him stretch you. it's not an easy fit, but his kisses make the pain easier to bear. when a tear escapes your eyes, he asks you, his eyebrows furrowed in concern, "is it very painful?" "not very but it's been a while." he leaves kisses on your hairline. "i'll be gentle, princess."

you grip his locks tighter, pulling his face away to make eye contact.

"you better not dare, choi seungcheol."

something breaks in him. his hips begin to move faster, as he pushes your hands above your head, holding them as if handcuffed, and he's biting hickeys all over your neck. he's thrusting harder now, and your second-hand bed is already making noises. but it seems to arouse you more for some reason. something about him shaking everything around you and moulding you and everything about you to him makes you want him more.

you can't stop moaning his name, as he whispers into your ear, "i can feel how close you are baby. can feel your cunt clenching around me." "pl-please, cheol. need you more, please!" "more? faster?" you nod feverishly, and he pulls away, biting his bottom lip in concentration, one hand gripping the bed, and the other your leg around his waist, as he fucks into you.

you take in his full form, towering over you like adonis. beads of sweat falling down his pecs and his hair falling into his eyes. the sight is so beautiful that you cum right then, even as seungcheol fucks you through the orgasm.

you can feel that he's close, his dick twitching inside you, as he's making your eyes roll back. even after one orgasm, he keeps fucking you. "give me one more, baby. cum with me." and then he shifts one hand to rub your clit, and you moan under the additional touch. the last straw is when you clench around him so hard that he lets out a strangled moan and reaches his climax too. you can feel the condom become warmer, and you tremble all over as you cum again because of that sensation.

when your eyes open again, seungcheol's pulled out from you, but he sneakily lets in a finger in between your folds and licks it clean.

"seungcheol?" your broken whisper makes him look up at you.

he smirks. "you taste like nectar, baby."

_

seungcheol's insomnia doesn't let him get a full night's sleep on most nights. if he's lucky, he'll sleep for four hours at once, dreamless rest that leaves him fully charged for the next day. on other days, he'll stare into the night sky for hours, sleep eluding him. some nights he'll go to his daughters' room, and watch them sleep, his heart filling up with a warmth that's comforting like chicken soup. on other nights, he'll open his laptop, put on his glasses and finish his case files.

everyone wonders how seungcheol is so efficient at his profession. only he knows why.

but ever since you've come into his life, everything's changed.

he can no longer focus on work. he's distracted, making silly typing errors and forgetting details. but he's sleeping the best ever in a long time. he doesn't remember when was the last time he'd slept this well. it must've been before the fights had started with his ex-wife.

today, seungcheol sleeps for eight hours straight.

and he knows why.

it's because he's wrapped around you, your body melting into his under the duvet. your head's resting on his arm, but his arm doesn't hurt at all. your hair shines with the sunlight streaming in through the gaps between the curtains, but you sleep through the slight pouring into your eyes. you look particularly angelic today morning, and he feels his entire being shiver with the new-found affection for you.

you're his.

finally.

well, hopefully.

jeonghan had told him yesterday when he'd told him about his feelings for you, you've not been turned down until you've been turned down. so shoot your shot.

and oh, he had shot his shot. shot it too fast in fact. the clarity of the morning makes him suddenly worry if going straight into your bed last night had been too quick and you'll think poorly of him now. then there's the worry about you going to sleep without eating dinner last night- what if you wake up angry? another worry crops in his head as he realises it's a saturday. he doesn't have to go to work today, but you might have to. what if you get upset at him for not waking you up on time? the warm, glorious light in seungcheol's heart dims slightly as he realises you have so many reasons to turn him down.

so he lightly shakes you, whispering your name in your ear, until he feels you whisper out a soft five minutes. it makes his heart melt again, but he's more worried about you missing a work day.

"wake up, princess, you're going to be late."

as if hearing a magic word, you jolt awake, staring right into his eyes.

"late?! what's the time? fuck, it's nine-thirty!"

"it's saturday though. do you have work today?"

and then you fall back on his arm with a huff.

"saturday! of course i don't have work today. why did you wake me up!" you whine and turn around so that you're now snuggled into seungcheol's bare chest, your hair only slightly tickling him. the warm light in his heart shines bright again as he feels you cling to him.

"i didn't know if you work on saturday or not." seungcheol leaves a kiss in your hair, and you let out a satisfied sigh.

"now you know. never forget, okay? never wake me up on weekends."

never forget.

"i won't." another kiss in your hair. another sigh that makes his chest buzz. another kiss. and then you open one eye to peer at him, and he smiles at your cuteness. so there's another kiss, and then another, and then-

"stop!" you move out of his arms, giggling, your eyes finally open.

"i can't. you're too cute."

"shhhh!" you lean in to kiss him on the mouth, a gentle peck, and seungcheol takes the opportunity to wrap you in his arms again. "don't go far away." he's more serious that his tone implies, but somehow you realise that too. so you snuggle in closer, your head almost on his chest now. "i won't."

after a few long minutes of you being still in his arms, and him smelling your scent through your hair, you finally shuffle and pull him down so that his head is now resting on the pillow and you're resting your head on your palm, perched on the pillow using your elbow as support, looking down at him with clear fondness in your eyes.

"you're very romantic today, mr choi."

"do you not like it?"

"no. on the contrary, i love it."

at your words, he smiles, and you let out a fake gasp. "the rabbit has dimples!" and you attack his face with kisses, leaving him giggly and blushing as you smother him with love.

when you're finally done, he pulls your face in for a kiss and then you go back to your position to look at him from above.

"come lie down next to me."

"no this view is prettier."

seungcheol scoffs, hiding the way his heart is racing with your words. it's been years since anything barely romantic- a few dates here and there. but this is teenage seungcheol again, falling head over heels for a girl with a pretty smile and a cute way of speaking her mind.

"this view is the prettiest," he says and he's rewarded with your pretty smile again. so he spends a minute staring at the view, taking in your beauty.

you've not been turned down until you've been turned down. so shoot your shot. somehow jeonghan's nagging voice comes up in his head again and makes him remember that he's yet to ask you properly.

so he counts to three and says it.

"i like you, y/n. a lot. as i told you last night."

a strawberry latte blush taints your cheeks.

"and as i told you last night, you're pretty much my dream man, seungcheol. i've been crushing on you since my freshman year."

well that was easy.

"that long?" seungcheol feels his confidence cruise back, a smirk on his lips.

"don't laugh at me."

"i'm not. it's just unbelievable that you liked me back then. i wasn't even well off back then."

"who even cares about that! you were confident, manly, intelligent and passionate about your work. and so, so handsome. how could anyone not like you?"

"am i not handsome now?"

"of course you are, silly. that's why i still like you." you roll your eyes, as if it's so obvious. "i couldn't even date guys for a long time because i kept comparing them to you in my mind."

seungcheol's eyes go wide. "wait, really? that's kinda sad."

you laugh. "maybe, but who cares? none of them were nice in the end. that's why i kept going back to crushing on you." you lean in to kiss the mole on his cheek.

"how long has it been since your last relationship?"

"hmmm, about seven months? broke up before i graduated."

"and sex?" he hopes you can't see the way he's holding back his breath as you answer. "about a year."

and then he lets out his breath.

"and you?" you ask him, running your fingers through his hair.

he hesitates before replying. "nine years," his voice is weak.

and then you do what he's been fearing for so long.

you laugh.

"wow. that's like... that is long." but your expression changes into a serious one soon. "but you haven't lost any of your technique yet. so it's a win in my books. i don't even have to be jealous of anyone else. who was your last lucky lady?"

"my ex-wife." seungcheol winces as he mentally prepares himself for all the reasons you might turn him down.

but you don't. your serious expression remains even as you're surprised. "you were married? is she the mother of sol and byul?"

"yeah."

you nod your head slowly, digesting the information. after a second you say, "i can't fathom why anyone would leave you and your two perfect little girls."

seungcheol's smile turns bitter. "she did. but it doesn't matter. she's found a better life now, after moving away to the US with her new husband. and i've found a better life too, moving away from her."

you nod again. "you're very brave, cheol." and you kiss his cheek again, and seungcheol's heart swells at how maturely you've handled this conversation. but there's yet more reasons for you to reject him.

when you pull away to look at him again, you softly ask him, "are your daughters okay with the idea of you dating again?" dating. there are tingles all over seungcheol's body as you finally quash all worries from his mind. "i haven't explicitly discussed this with them," he says with some hesitation. "that being said, i think they like you a lot. you made a very strong first impression. and trust me, for ten year olds as stubborn as mine, a first impression is all that matters."

"they're just like you," you giggle, your hand fondly cupping his cheek. "but seriously. they like me as a friend... as your colleague. what if they don't like me as your... girlfriend?"

girlfriend. seungcheol wants to flip you down on the bed and make love to you all over again, but he resists his urge. he settles for wrapping his hand around your hips and caressing them. "they'll love you, princess. they've longed for a mother figure for long enough." after a pause he says, "i'm worried they'll not see you as a mother figure but as a sister."

you burst out laughing. "what?!"

"i'm much older than you, y/n."

"so?"

"i'm thirty-six, y/n."

"that's not old. i'm twenty-three."

seungcheol chokes on his own words. "exactly. i'm literally old enough to be your father, y/n."

"well, you'd have to become a father really really early then," you say, laughing.

"y/n, be serious."

"i am being serious. i've met men who're twenty but act like they're forty. what really matters is what you've got here-" and you poke at his chest where his heart's supposed to be.

"i'm going to die thirteen years before you!"

"darling, i don't think that's how death works."

darling. seungcheol's heart hammers against his chest as he pulls you in for a deep kiss. and then you pull away from him. "you're a dilf, seungcheol. that's like 80% of why i'm attracted to you. bet i wouldn't be attracted to twenty-three year old you." there's a teasing glint in your eyes, but seungcheol still whines as he feels upset at your teasing words. "babyyyy!" you laugh at his deepening pout, and lean in to kiss his pout in a peck, before getting out of bed.

seungcheol's mouth falls open as he takes in your soft curves which look even more alluring in the daylight. something about the way your ass sways as you walk makes his dick twitch in interest, but seungcheol curses himself. he can't be thirty-six and this hormonal, for fucks' sake.

you open the closet door to pull out a loose t-shirt and shorts, wearing them without any underwear. "do you want to stay for breakfast?"

a lazy grin spreads on seungcheol's face as he stretches his body in bed, relishing the way you ogle his stretching biceps, and he casually pushes the blanket away from his hips to reveal his toned stomach to you too.

"i want to stay for the rest of my life, rookie."

he's left with no doubt of reciprocation of his feeling as he sees the blush on your face as you hide and run from him at his cheesy words.

[bamsara]

what are your most favorite tropes? :3c

IM SO GLAD YOU ASKED:

Near death experiences

Emotional revelations due to said near death experiences

Enemies to Friends to Lovers

Mutual Pining but they believe its unrequieted

"you're my worst enemy but you're so important to me"

Drunk chapter where at least One fist fight happens

Bridal carry after someone gets injured

Slow Burn...of course

"i got you this gift because it benefits me and im not telling you how" (the benefit is seeing the other person enjoy the gift)

Force Alliances or Temporary Truces

"I don't like killing but I'll do it for you"

"I prefer to kill my problems but I won't, for you."

Or: "This person has no idea how many people I've killed in order to protect or provide for them and I'm going to keep it that way."

Mean or Villian Character is actaully a really good Sibling/Parent/Child,ect and has someone they care about

Or better, Villian character adopts child AND is a good parent

Everyone knows the pairing likes each other except for the pairing

Temporary (or non-temp)Amnesia

"I learn your favorite things because I plan to use them against you one day" (proceeds to not do that) (proceeds to get them food or items that persons likes just because they like them)

Breaking and Entering. Literally.

Person A is in love, Person B says they're not but they're 10x times worse actaully

Slip-of-the-tongue/Accidental confessions. Doesn't have to be love confessions but just "whoops i was not supposed to say that"

Biting as a love language

One is feral and bloodthirsty but is put in the position of 'protecting an idiot' because the other is also feral and has no self-preservation. Both characters must be badass, just equally stupid

Kiss on the head/cheek while the other person is sleeping

Bloodstained kiss

Heat-of-battle confession about something

Protagonist refusing to become villian or repeat villian mistakes, not in a 'owo i cant do that its bad' and more like 'fuck you you dont get to see what you wanted to make of me'

Signifier of 'this is my friend/family/lover'. Could anything between a ring, a jacket over someone's shoudlers or scent marking, anything

"if im immortal, then you gotta be too or we both dyin"

Knight x Their Charge

Human x Non-Human

Sunshine x Grump

Character that looks sooooo cute. Oh he's a little fucked up actaully

"ahhaha he's such a freak haha. i need him carnally."

They are mortal enemies. They are also best friends.

Hostage / Rescued trope plus Hostage / Doesn't get to rescue because the hostage killed everyone already

Plot info that's missing that's vital to the story and it's revealed that One of the pairing or someone in the group knew the info the entire time

"I said mean things to you because I hate you, so why am I feeling guilty now"

There was only One Bed

Really competent and scary character is really GOOD at a harmless and charming small hobby completely uncharacteristic to their public persona

Nightmares. And then sleeping in the same bed because of nightmares

Cultural differences / Language Barrier

Character gets so surprised flustered they trip over something or break something and it topples and it starts a chain reaction like a cartoon

There are more but these are some of which I can remember off the top of my head. I've written many of these myself in several of my stories and will continue to do so until the end of time, esp my faves