#a tiny hint of jealousy

[sttoru]

⠀ 𝝑𝑒 ⠀⠀ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: your boyfriend comes to pick you after a long day at uni. sensing your jealousy about the attention he’s getting from your classmates, he makes it up to you in his own way.

tags. olderbf!gojo x female reader. fluff, tiny bit of angst, suggestive [make out sesh]. age gap — reader above 20, gojo early 30’s. jealousy. reader gets called ‘princess, baby, beautiful.’ not proof read !

satoru’s arrival, as per usual, serves as pure entertainment for many students. it’s not often that they get to see such a tall and handsome man around campus after all.

you patiently stand there, waiting for that said man to come and get you. the increase in giggles and whispers around you can only mean one thing: he’s nearby.

your boyfriend’s car comes to a stop in the distance. satoru steps out of the driver’s seat a second later, one of his hands running through his fluffy, snowy hair.

‘. . damn, he’s fucking hot,’ ‘yep. heard he’s in a relationship though. sucks,’ ‘girl— do i look like i care? need him so baaaaddd.’

it’s infuriating to hear those words while you - his girlfriend - are standing close to them. you decide not to give those girls any attention nor do you try to speak up. it’s not worth the effort.

satoru closes the car door behind him, his hands in the pockets of his slacks while he strolls up to where you’re standing. it’s as if he’s walking down a runway - graceful, confident, every step executed with perfect balance.

he can hear the murmurs from the students around, but he simply does not care. his steady gaze has been fixed on you the moment he spotted your figure from across campus.

“cute,” satoru mutters under his breath with a small smile, blue eyes taking in the sight of you standing there against a wall. the way you’re fiddling with the strap of your bag while pretending not to have noticed him is quite endearing.

you look down at the ground until a pair of black oxfords come into view, stopping right in front of yours. you slowly tilt your head back until you’re face to face with the man himself.

“hey, beautiful,” satoru greets, his voice smooth and slightly deep, a faint smirk playing on his lips. his knuckles brush against your cheek whilst he admires your every feature, acting as if he hasn’t seen you in days.

you nod in response, whispering a small ‘hi’ before your eyes dart around campus again. your bottom lip pushes forward just a tiny bit to form a small pout.

. . and there it is; satoru knows that look in your eyes like the back of his hand. he’s seen that same pout before, along with the hint of jealousy lurking behind your gaze that you try so hard to hide.

he understands why you’re feeling that way.

the other girls on campus, the way they ogle him and whisper, it would make any woman insecure. but to him, there was no need for that. satoru is yours, and he’s made that known to every single soul around you a million times before.

perhaps they need to be reminded once more.

satoru wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close, his touch gentle and possessive. he can see how you’re trying to act normal, though he knows you way better than that.

the pad of his thumb rubs small circles into your hip as your lover leans in and speaks in a low yet intimate voice that only you get to hear, “oh? look at you, acting all tough with your little pout.”

“tell me. what’s up, princess?” satoru whispers, his breath warm against your ticklish skin. he lowers his head to your face and plants a small kiss on your nose, gaining a mix of delighted yet irritated whispers of the people around you.

“usually you jump right into my arms after seeing me— y’know, like a lil’ bunny,” the white-haired man starts sulking as well, pressing your body flush against his. “where’s my cute ‘n clingy babyyyy?”

satoru’s over-exaggerated whine makes your nose scrunch up, though you can’t deny the truth. he knows you better than you know yourself. he can see right through your attempt to disguise your jealousy, yet you’re still too stubborn to admit anything.

“whatever. come on,” you roll your eyes before grabbing his arm and tugging him forward. you want nothing more than to escape your surroundings. you’re getting tired of the continuous and unwanted attention satoru is getting.

it’s irksome. you know satoru doesn’t give them the attention they so desire - he never will - yet you still feel this pang in your chest whenever you see those girls shamelessly ogling your boyfriend.

satoru, being naturally observant, notices your sudden eagerness to leave campus. he can tell that your jealousy is growing worse because of the other students that keep on eyeing him. while he is used to the attention, he hates seeing it affect you.

the whispers and giggles from the other women are like white noise, insignificant background fodder that barely warranted his notice. you’re all he sees and listens to— no matter what.

your presence, your voice, your body, your soul. . . you’re the only one he cares about. he just wishes you’d realise that.

satoru wordlessly allows himself to be dragged off. his gaze is fixated on the back of your head, a mixture of amusement and worry glinting in those blue eyes of his. he can’t help but feel guilty. even if he didn’t really do anything wrong.

he wants to make it up to you, somehow.

once you reach the car, satoru gently shoos your hand away from the door handle the moment he catches you try to get in yourself. he reaches around you and pulls it open with a soft ‘click’.

satoru then surprises you by kissing your forehead— his free hand coming up to cup the back of your head. his fingers bury themselves in your hair. a subtle smirk tugs at his glossy lips as he senses the envious glares from the other, irrelevant onlookers.

that’s exactly what he’s trying to accomplish. to make it known to the world that he’s your man. he’ll gladly do it over and over again, until all of them finally take the hint.

“ladies first,” satoru gestures, his voice gentle and loving. he pulls back and smiles at you with his dimples showing. you’re slightly taken aback by the smooth gesture before thanking him in a small murmur.

“thank you.”

it’s silent for a good couple seconds after satoru gets into the driver’s seat. he settles his keys into the ignition switch, though doesn’t turn them. instead, he faces you with a small sigh.

your lover already recognises what’s up. you probably won’t talk to him until the jealousy subsides. but that isn’t how he wants to fix this situation— he wants you to communicate with him.

“hey,” satoru tries to get you to look at him. your body is slightly turned away, your eyes looking out of the car window. it’s painfully obvious that you’re upset with him, even when it isn’t specifically his fault.

“don’t hide from me, c’mon,” he chuckles and tries to make you feel better by bringing your hand up to his lips. satoru leaves small kisses on your palm, eyes peering over the rims of his sunglasses to gauge your reaction.

you still don’t turn to face him. you’re too caught up in your own feelings— too stubborn to talk about the jealousy and insecurities that are bugging you. you know it’s unfair to your partner, but you currently can’t fix your own emotions.

sensing your insistent reluctance to face him, satoru places his hand gently under your chin. his fingers curl around your jaw and gently guide your gaze to meet his. the sight of your downcast expression - plagued with insecurity - tugs on his heartstrings.

“oh, my sweet little baby,” the white-haired man sighs once more.

without another word, the gap between you quickly closes as satoru leans in, his lips meeting yours in a firm but soft kiss. a soft gasp escapes your lips at the suddenness of his kiss, but the tension in your shoulders slowly starts to dissappear as you melt into his embrace.

the touch of his calloused fingers on your jaw is a wordless command you cannot resist. the kiss is a silent form of reassurance, a way for him to remind you of his feelings for you.

his want and need for you.

satoru can nearly taste the jealousy etched into your initial resistance, which he seeks to silence with his touch. thus, he deepens the kiss with renewed vigor. his free hand cups the back of your head and gently tilts it upwards to gain a better angle.

“mh. sweet,” satoru’s tongue swipes over your bottom lip. he eagerly swallows the faint taste of candy that you had eaten earlier. his tongue delves into your mouth the moment your lips make way, memorising every part of it.

he doesn’t let go of you until you’re both breathless. the sorcerer pulls back, though keeps the distance between your lips at a minimum. his cheeks are painted a soft pink, eyes half lidded and lips even glossier with your saliva now coating them.

“haah— fuck,” satoru catches his breath while his free hand rubs up and down your waist. he resists the urge to pull you into his lap and ravage you right then and there. he’ll leave that for when you’re home.

his gaze is on your parted lips once more. he simply cannot hold himself back from leaning in. his body moves closer to yours, caging you in between him and the passenger seat.

“i’m all yours,” satoru murmurs against your soft lips. he cups your face as he places a quick peck on your mouth. “only yours,” another chaste kiss causes your smile to find its way back onto your face. “don’t you forget,” and a third kiss finally makes you giggle.

your lover hums in satisfaction. he nuzzles his nose against yours, grinning widely as he successfully managed to coax the jealousy away— to gain his beautiful, happy girlfriend back. “there she is,” satoru coos and squeezes your cheeks together.

you huff at the feeling of your lips forced into a deformed ‘o’ shape, yet the bright smile tugging at your lips doesn’t disappear. “sorry for acting so childish,” you apologise for your own behavior. if it wasn’t for satoru taking the initiative to make it up to you, you would have given him the silent treatment.

the white-haired man shakes his head. he ruffles your hair affectionately while his lips settle on your cheek. he tenderly nibbles on the plush flesh, “no need to apologise. ‘t was cute,” he replies in a muffled voice.

satoru pulls back and his thumb brushes over the subtle mark that his teeth left on your skin. “besides,” he pinches your cheek before cocking his head to the right. your eyes follow the direction he’s looking at— which is your car window.

“i think everyone finally realised that y’re the one ‘n only girl for me.”

your heart drops as you only then remember that satoru’s car windows aren’t tinted. that means that everyone on campus probably has seen the little make out session you had with your boyfriend just now.

your eyes quickly dart around the crowded area. the way your fellow students are glancing at you - some with envy and others with embarrassment - tells you more than enough. . .

you clear your throat and try to hide your face with the sleeves of your top. you don’t know how you’re going back to university after today without facing the humiliating consequences of your (satoru’s) actions.

your shameless boyfriend sits there and grins from ear to ear, proud of his accomplishment and oblivious to your embarrassed state until you speak up again;

“. . satoru, please drive away as fast as you can.”

[areislol]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤhow they react to a child wooing you

pairings. various (hsr + genshin impact) x gn! reader

warnings. fluff, mentions of jealousy, established relationship

a/n. i find men getting jealous over a little kid so funny, never fails to crack me up.

wordcount. 2.4k

synopsis. how they react to seeing you getting wooed by a child

you’re casually minding your business when a bold little kid struts up to you with a flower they picked from who-knows-where. "you’re the most beautiful person i’ve ever seen!" they declare, face as bright as their words.

"awww, thank you sweetie!"

"...."

the jealous one (despite their big age)

the moment the child runs up to you with wide eyes and a flower clutched in their tiny hand, you can practically feel the temperature shift around you.

whether he's subtle about it or blatantly obvious, as they watch this scene unfold, he is most definitely NOT thrilled. he can not believe his eyes right now.

he doesn’t mean to react the way he does—it’s not like a child could ever be serious competition—but something about the moment sends a spark of possessiveness through him. his entire demeanor changes. his arms cross over his chest, his jaw tightens, and his eyes narrow slightly as he watches the scene unfold.

just what in tarnation is this stupid kid doing?!!?!?

he’s not angry at the child, but the audacity of it throws him off. really? even kids are lining up now? he thinks to himself, feeling his pride take an unexpected hit. as you crouch down to accept the flower with that sweet smile of yours, he can’t help but bristle. there’s a tug at the corner of his mouth that he tries to suppress, but the faint scowl is hard to miss

he crosses his arms, as if the whole situation is beneath their concern, but his sharp eyes never leave the child. he visibly stiffen, his body going tense as they quietly seethe.

when the child boldly proclaims their affection for you, offering their flower with the confidence only a child could muster, you suddenly hear a quiet scoff under his breath, muttering something like, “ridiculous,” before he speaks up, eyes trained on the poor child.

“a bold move, kid, but maybe aim for someone your own size next time.” his tone is teasing (is it really??), but there’s an unmistakable edge to his words, his presence looming protectively by your side.

after the child scurries off, his chest puffed up with pride at his bravery, the jealous one steps in almost immediately, closing the distance between you as if to reclaim his territory.

“so,” he starts, his tone casual but laced with pointed sarcasm, “should i be worried? do i need to watch my back now?” his eyes search yours, and though he’s trying to play it cool, there’s a hint of vulnerability in his gaze—a silent plea for reassurance.

if you laugh and tease him about being jealous, his cheeks darken slightly, and he huffs, looking away. “i’m not jealous,” he insists, though the way his arms cross tighter over his chest says otherwise.

“it’s just… what kind of guy lets someone else give his girl flowers without saying something?” his voice trails off, grumbly and defensive, but you can tell he’s mostly embarrassed by his own reaction.

later, he finds ways to reassert his place by your side, subtle but deliberate. maybe it’s the way he holds your hand a little tighter or slings an arm around your shoulders when you’re out together. he doesn’t need to say it outright, but his actions make it clear: you’re mine.

there’s a faint air of possessiveness to their actions, whether it’s the way they guide you away from the scene with a hand on the small of your back or the way they glance over their shoulder to make sure the child is gone.

if you call him out on their jealousy, the reactions are just as varied. he will deny it outright, scoffing, “jealous? of a kid? don’t flatter yourself.” but their lingering glances and subtle protectiveness give them away.

he simply shrugs, his calm voices betraying none of his innerturmoil: “it’s only natural. beauty like yours is bound to attract attention, even if it’s… unconventional.”

for the rest of the day, you’ll notice small shifts in his behaviour. he'll stand closer, touch you more often—whether it’s a hand on your arm, your waist, or your shoulder—and find little ways to remind you of their presence.

his jealousy, as amusing as it is, only serves to highlight one thing: he want you to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he's the only one who deserves your attention.

— CHILDE, SAMPO, WANDERER, BLADE, aventurine, MOZE, DR. RATIO, jiaoqiu, gorou, lyney, XIAO

the (soft) supporter

when the child shyly approaches you, clutching a flower with trembling hands and nervously stammering out a confession, his reaction is immediate but far from possessive. instead of jealousy or annoyance, he watches with a warm smile, his eyes softening as he takes in the innocence of the moment.

his first thought isn’t to interrupt or overshadow but to appreciate the sincerity of the child’s feelings and your gentle response to it.

he watches the scene unfold with quiet amusement, his heart swelling as he takes in the sweetness of the moment. he doesn’t see the child as a rival or a nuisance—far from it. instead, he’s struck by how earnest and brave the little boy is for approaching you with such sincerity.

he knows how kind and patient you are, and seeing you respond with such gentle affection only reminds him of why he adores you.

as you crouch down to accept the flower, thanking the child with a kind smile, he can’t help but admire you even more. there’s a tenderness in the way you interact with the child that makes his heart ache in the best way possible.

he doesn’t feel threatened by the situation—in fact, he finds it endearing. if anything, it reminds him of how natural it is for people to be drawn to you, no matter their age.

standing just a step behind you, he chuckles softly to himself, murmuring under his breath, “well, that’s brave of him.” his voice carries a note of amused admiration, but he doesn’t feel the need to insert himself into the moment.

instead, he stands by as a quiet presence, ready to step in if the child needs a little encouragement but content to let you handle it.

if the child looks nervous or unsure, he might step closer and kneel down to meet the boy’s eye level, his tone kind and reassuring. “that’s a beautiful flower you’ve got there,” he’d say with a small smile. “you chose well.” he has no intention of stealing the spotlight or intimidating the child; he just wants to make the situation feel a little easier for everyone.

his gentle demeanor leaves no room for misunderstanding—he’s here to support you, not compete for attention.

after the child scampers off, cheeks flushed with pride and excitement, he turns to you with a soft laugh. “you’ve got quite the admirer,” he says, his tone light and teasing but laced with genuine affection. there’s no jealousy in his voice, just quiet amusement and warmth.

he even suggests preserving the flower as a keepsake, offering to press it in a book or find a small vase for it later. to him, it’s a sweet moment worth cherishing.

you thank him for being so calm about the situation, he simply shrugs, his smile soft and unassuming. “he’s just a kid,” he says, his voice full of understanding. “and honestly, it’s sweet. how could anyone not fall for you?” the sincerity in his words is undeniable, and the way his gaze lingers on you for just a second too long tells you everything you need to know about how he feels.

later, he might bring it up again in passing, unable to resist a little playful teasing. “so, should i be worried?” he asks with a grin, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. “seems like you’ve got admirers lining up these days.”

despite the joke, his actions remain steady and reassuring—he never leaves your side for long and finds subtle ways to remind you of how much you mean to him. whether it’s brushing his hand against yours, standing a little closer than usual, or simply looking at you with that soft, adoring expression, his quiet support is unwavering.

for him, the moment wasn’t about competition or insecurity. it was just another reminder of how incredible you are, and how lucky he feels to be the one by your side.

— KAZUHA, ZHONGLI, WELT, GEPARD, ARGENTI, LUKA, SUNDAY, LUOCHA, JING YUAN, tighnari, THOMA, DILUC, BAIZHU

the dramatic ones

when the child approaches you, holding out a flower with all the sincerity in the world, the dramatic one immediately acts as if the universe itself has betrayed him. his eyes widen in exaggerated shock, a hand flying to his chest as if struck by an invisible arrow.

“oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!” he exclaims, his voice dripping with mock offense. he takes a step back, looking between you and the child with theatrical disbelief, as though he’s stumbled into the climax of some tragic love story.

as the child nervously stammers out his confession, the dramatic one groans, running a hand through his hair as if trying to collect himself. “really? really? even kids now?” he mutters under his breath, though loud enough for you to hear. his tone is less genuine frustration and more exaggerated exasperation, the kind that begs for your attention.

when you smile at the child and crouch down to accept the flower, his reaction shifts into full-blown melodrama. “a flower? oh no, not a flower!” he gasps, pretending to stagger backward as if this tiny gesture has dealt him a mortal wound.

“this is how it starts! next thing i know, he’ll be writing you love letters and stealing your heart!” he places a hand on his forehead, tilting his head back with a long-suffering sigh, as though the betrayal is simply too much to bear.

if the child dares to glance his way, he leans in slightly, crossing his arms with a mock-serious expression. “you’re bold, kid. i’ll give you that,” he says, narrowing his eyes playfully. “but do you have what it takes to keep them happy? hmm? flowers are just the beginning, you know.” despite his words, there’s no real malice—he’s just playing up the moment, reveling in the absurdity of the situation.

when the child finally scampers off, proud of his bravery, the dramatic one steps closer to you, shaking his head with a heavy sigh. “unbelievable. i leave you alone for one second, and this is what happens?” he grumbles, though the grin tugging at his lips betrays his amusement. “what’s next? a line of admirers waiting around the corner?”

if you laugh at his antics, it only fuels his performance. “don’t laugh! this is serious!” he says, though his voice is far from convincing. he leans in closer, his tone dropping to a mock whisper. “tell me the truth—did he win you over? do i have competition now? should i be worried?” his eyes glimmer with playful mischief, his entire demeanor practically begging you to reassure him.

later, he won’t let you forget it. “do you remember earlier? that kid? yeah, i’m still recovering,” he teases, his voice full of faux indignation. “i mean, who does that? confessing right in front of me? bold move, i’ll give him that.” he’ll recount the story to anyone willing to listen, embellishing every detail to make it sound even more dramatic.

“i had to stand there and watch my partner get swept off their feet by a four-foot-tall rival. you have no idea the pain i endured.”

despite all the dramatics, his actions make it clear that it’s all in good fun. he doesn’t actually feel threatened—in fact, he enjoys watching you smile and laugh at his antics. the entire situation only gives him another excuse to shower you with playful affection and remind you in his own ridiculous way just how much you mean to him.

— KAVEH, SAMPO, venti, luka, BOOTHILL, JING YUAN, ITTO, CYNO, kaeya, lyney, BAIZHU, MR. RECA, wriothesley

the quiet ones

when the child approaches you, holding out a flower with trembling hands and a nervous confession, he is instantly at a loss. his breath catches, and he freezes in place, wide-eyed as he tries to process what’s happening. for a moment, he just stands there, completely still, as though moving might draw attention to himself. his hands awkwardly hover near his sides, unsure whether to intervene or stay back.

his gaze darts between you and the child, his face rapidly turning pink as he realizes how sweetly you’re smiling at the little boy. the warmth and gentleness in your voice as you thank the child make his heart ache in the best way possible. he swallows hard, suddenly hyperaware of how soft and kind you are, and it only makes his cheeks burn hotter.

as you crouch down to accept the flower, he glances away, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve or brushing through his hair in a nervous attempt to compose himself. it’s not that he’s jealous—no, he wouldn’t even know how to be jealous in this situation—it’s just that seeing someone else, even a child, shower you with admiration leaves him tongue-tied and painfully aware of his own feelings.

he mumbles something under his breath, barely audible, like, “that’s… bold of him.” but the moment the words leave his mouth, he cringes internally, wondering why he couldn’t come up with something better. instead of saying more, he stays rooted in place, trying to appear calm even as the tips of his ears betray him with their deep blush.

when the child looks at him, perhaps seeking approval, he manages a small, awkward smile and a quiet, “good choice.” his voice is soft, almost shy, and there’s a hesitant nod to go along with it. he wants to be encouraging after all, this is a child.

still, he’s not upset—he’s impressed by the child’s courage and, more than anything, endeared by how naturally you handle the situation.

after the child runs off, proud of his brave confession, the flustered quiet one exhales a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging slightly as he finally allows himself to relax. he hesitates before speaking, his voice low and slightly uneven. “that was… something,” he murmurs, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he dares to meet your eyes.

if you tease him, his blush deepens, and he looks away, rubbing the back of his neck. “i’m not flustered,” he insists, though his tone is far from convincing. he might even add, “it’s just… surprising, that’s all.” his attempt to downplay his reaction only makes him seem more endearing, his bashful demeanor a clear giveaway of how much the moment affected him.

for the rest of the day, he’s quieter than usual, replaying the scene in his mind and feeling his heart skip all over again. when he finally gathers the courage to bring it up, it’s in the form of a shy, almost hesitant comment.

“he was pretty brave, you know,” he says softly, his gaze flickering to you before quickly looking away. “but, uh… i hope you know that… well, i admire you too. a lot.”

his words are sincere, even if his voice is barely above a whisper. while he may not be as bold as the child who approached you, his quiet admiration and the way he lingers close to you for the rest of the day speak volumes.

— CAELUS, IMBIBITOR LUNAE/DAN HENG, gallagher, GEPARD, XIAO, DILUC, DAINSLEIF, ALBEDO, ALHAITHAM, NEUVILLETTE

note: got hit w baby fever sadly

taglist: @tomansimp @one-offmind @miitchiji @dainsleif-when-playable @momoewn @stygianoir @irethepotato @v4an @imetsk @fiannee @sunnyf4lls if im missing anyone please tell me because i have an inkling feeling i missed a few..

liking + following + reblogs are very much appreciated!!!

another note: not proof read so if you found any spelling/grammar mistakes PLEASE tell me

[oneofreid]

a maternal wish (18+)

summary: in which she wants to be a mother and spencer reid is willing to make that wish come true.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

warnings: (NSFW) slow burn smut i promise it’s worth it, talks about pregnancy and possible infertility, slight spanking, explicit language, unprotected (p in v) sex, oral sex (m!receiving AND f!receiving), hints of breeding kink if you squint

a/n: i didn’t realize how long i made this. atp i just let my mind do the work while i type. is this cannon? no. will i still post it? yea. masterlist

When you were younger, you always knew you wanted to be a mother. The idea of bringing another life into this world and being able to call them ‘yours’ creating a warm and familiar feeling. One that set off your own maternal instinct. Yearning to love and protect a child of your own as you watched them grow into their own individual person. Teaching them everything that you know, telling them stories of your own childhood, creating countless memories that you can look back on, celebrating their highs and comforting them during their lows. But most of all, the one you craved the most, the bond you would have with your own mini me as you saw the love and magic through their eyes.

Not to mention the many compliments you have received whenever you babysat your nieces and nephews, their mothers telling you how much of an amazing mother you would make someday.

Someday.

That word echoed in your mind as you walked past the countless of mothers in New York. A pang of sadness and jealousy always striking you as you envied them. The happiness in their faces while they walked with their child whether it was one or two maybe even three or four. An ache in your chest grew as you wondered what it would be like to nurture a child. One that you could give the life that you never got to learn.

Everybody knew how badly you wanted to be a mother. Spending countless hours beaming about babies and all things surrounding pregnancy, your teammates — and best friends, JJ, Emily, and Penelope always being the ones first hand to experience this side of you.

Constantly having to drag you away from the baby sections in stores, or listen to you gush about how cute a baby was that you passed.

‘Look how cute and chubby their tiny hands are! I would give anything to squeeze them.’

They could never get enough of your constant daydreams as you talked about motherhood. Envisioning what your life would look like taking care of a mini you. Only praying that one day that dream of yours would come true.

It was a slow day at the BAU, all of you doing your own thing as you sprawled out on the couch. Your feet laying on JJ’s lap while Penelope was on the opposite end, dully scrolling through the channels on the TV in your breakroom. All of you sat in silence until a photo of your cousin with her newborn baby girl popped up on your phone. The familiar ache in your chest appeared as you showed all three of the girls.

“Look how tiny she is,” you exclaimed. Adoring how precious the bundle of joy looked in her tiny hat and little fists balled up. All of them joining you in gushing about how adorable the petite newborn was.

“I just want one so bad,” you sighed. Shutting off your phone as you pressed your eyes shut. The weight of your longing to have a child of your own was heavy on your mind.

“You could always get a sperm donor, you know? I know you said you hated the idea and wanted the baby to grow up with both parental figures. But maybe look more into it, your baby would have an amazing group of uncles and aunts to love and protect them,” JJ assured you, giving you a knowing smile that even if you did decide to raise a baby alone. You and the baby would have plenty of support from the BAU, and the few family members who stuck around once you left your hometown & past life behind.

“Not to mention, you would make the best mommy ever to her! Or him…they would have the best mommy ever. And oh my gosh, how could I forget, pregnancy would look absolutely stunning on you. Kissed by the pregnancy Gods with that glow,” Penelope gushed. JJ and Emily agreeing with her on the fact that a growing baby bump would suit you well.

“I don’t know guys…I’m about to turn 36 years old. My time to have a baby of my own is practically gone. I should just forget it and stay being the cool, rich, secret spy aunt.” You sighed, sitting up from your position on the couch to run a stressed hand through your hair.

“That’s not actually true,” all of you turned your attention towards the tall figure who stood in the doorway, “I mean yes, the number of eggs a woman has in her ovaries does decline as she ages. However, it’s not totally impossible to have a child at your age. 20% of woman usually end up having kids after the after of 35. Erramatti Mangayamma, a woman living in India, was 73 when she gave birth to her child through IVF.”

The four of you stared at Spencer Reid, for what felt like longer than a minute before you spoke up, “I’m just tired of waiting for the right person to have a kid with. That’s what’s holding me back,” you blinked away a few tears that threatened to spill out, “I want the perfect family. Two loving parents. One solid household. Something I never got myself,” you continued.

The room grew quiet again. Nobody knowing what exactly to say as everyone gave you a sympathetic look, JJ offering you gentle squeeze on your shoulder. Spencer awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to another as he began to ponder in his mind.

He wanted a baby too. He just wasn’t sure if he was the perfect fit, your ideal father figure for yours.

Emily jumped up. Her phone going off, “Sorry to interrupt guys but we’ve got a case. Hotch wants us in the briefing room now.”

Everyone standing up to leave. Just before you could follow the others, Spencer lightly grabbed your arm. Stopping you completely in your tracks. His warm eyes already filled with some form of hesitation.

“Hey, after we’re done. Let’s meet at my apartment, our usual time. Okay?,” he whispered. Making sure no one else around you could hear. His tone slightly different and his demeanor more on edge, nervous, than before.

“Of course, is everything alright?,” you questioned.

Spencer gulped, offering you a small smile. “Yea, yea everything is perfect. I just…I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Spence,” you smiled. Leaning forward to place a quick kiss on his temple before heading towards the briefing room. Leaving him alone with his thoughts as he followed slowly behind you.

His stomach suddenly tying itself together in knots as the idea of having a kid together, with you ran through his mind.

Spencer always wanted to have a child of his own. Although life had a different plan for him, he was always still open to the idea of one day settling down and starting a family with someone. As time passed by and he got older, just like you, the dream that he once had seemed to be fading away.

That was until he began exploring his relationship. Although you two kept it strictly sexual, friends with benefits at most, the idea of you two getting married and becoming something more always lingered in the back of his mind.

Yet, for some odd reason, neither of you ever had the courage to finally make that move. Afraid that you’d ruin what you already have seeing as you two both had complicated love life’s. So you just stuck to being co-workers that happened friends who liked to fuck sometimes. Okay, more like any chance you got.

Or as it was actually called, friends with benefits.

Fumbling with the material of your shirt, you found yourself at the foot of Spencer’s door later that night. The place you always found yourself at where you indulged in cheesy rom-coms, read your weekly novels together, learned a new recipe, or talked about different wide world phenomenons and conspiracy theories. A space where you were welcomed to let your wildest sexual fantasies come true as Spencer made love to you in endless ways.

Your heart began to race as you contemplated actually knocking or turning around to leave. A feeling in the pit of your stomach telling you that tonight would be different.

Not having any time to second guess and change your mind, Spencer’s door flew open. His brown eyes staring right at you, your body already growing hot and bothered at the thoughts of the countless positions he will put you in.

“Hey,” Spencer spoke, a grin already making its way onto his face.

Your heart fluttered even though you had just seen him a few hours prior when you had landed back from yesterday’s case, “Hey.”

“Uhm. Hey, Come on in,” he moved out of the way. Leaning against his door, extending an arm out in a gesture that said ‘this way please.’

You offered him a small smile as you walked past him, admiring his apartment. Still in the same condition it was when you had left it a couple days prior. Hearing the click of the door closing itself shut when a pair of strong arms wrapped their way around your waist, turning you around.

Spencer looked down at you, the same look he had given you earlier being written all over his face again.

“What’s wrong?,” you asked. Genuinely concerned that Spencer was having second thoughts about to tonight.

“Can we sit down? Talk for a second?”

Fuck. He doesn’t want to have sex with me anymore.

Did I say something that offended him?

Is he going to tell me that he just wants to be strictly friends now?

A lump grew in your throat as your mind began to race, the many questions and doubts that flooded your mind about what possibly Spencer needed to sit down to tell you. Allowing him to guide you to the brown leather sofa that sat in his living room. Sitting down beside him as you looked everywhere besides at him.

You took a deep breathe, picking at the skin of your nails before finding the courage to speak, “Is everything alright?”

“Yes. Uhm. Everything is already. I just…what I would really like is,” Spencer paused for a moment before blurting it out, “I want to have a baby with you.”

Your eyes widened. Your heart felt like it was going to fall out of your chest. The air suddenly being knocked from your lungs while your mouth got super dry.

“Spencer…,” you began.

“I’m serious. I want a baby with you. And I know, this is out of the blue. Our situation is nowhere ideal for the typical upbringing of a children. Hell, we’re not even in an official relationship yet,” Spencer rambled.

“Where is this even coming from, Spence?,” you asked. Unsure of what prompted him to even think of having a baby with you, you, of all people.

He sighed, “Back in the breakroom before we left for the case, I heard you talking to Garcia, JJ, and Emily about how badly you wanted kids. How you wanted your own to raise and love. Anytime that a baby is around you, you are always eager to hold them and your eyes light up.”

You nodded, listening intently to what he had to say as you followed along, “It got me thinking. We’re both in our late 30s. Our relationship is progressing and heading in the right direction. We both want the same thing. To have our own kid, raise them in a stable home with two loving parents. Something we both never had.”

“But what if this, I mean us, doesn’t work. Having and raising a kid isn’t something to take lightly, Spencer.” You pointed out, not knowing if he was actually serious about having a child with you. Or if he was just jumping at the opportunity.

“It’s not something to take lightly. However, I want this and more importantly, I want you. All of it. All of you. Our future. Raising our child or if willing, children, together and growing old. Drinking our coffee, reading our books, watching those horrible reality tv shows that you weirdly seem to love. I never thought I would see myself like that with anyone…,” he grabbed your hand, his warm eyes still completely locked and focused on you, “but I want this life with you.”

Before he could get in another word in, you pulled him up from the sofa. Closing the gap between you two, you crashed your lips onto his. The kiss so rushed yet passionate on both of your ends. You began to moan, melting into him as his large hands roamed your body.

Your own hands finding their way to tug at his hair, pulling him even close to you until there was no room for air. Tugging and gripping at his brown locks while moans left his lips, still hungrily kissing yours. Guiding you towards his bed as the back of your legs hit the soft mattress, sending you both on top.

The kiss you exchanged completely heated, both of you desperate to touch each other properly. Breaking apart from the kiss, Spencer looked down at you with lust-filled eyes. A softness clouding over them as his fingers grazed the collar of your shirt. His shirt. The metallica one that he had let you borrow the one morning you left his apartment after one of your ‘sleepovers.’

“Can I?” Spencer asked, delicately tugging at the loose fabric that covered you, his eyes searched yours for any uncertainty.

Grabbing his wrist delicately, you reassured him. “Spencer, I trust you.” Putting his mind at ease. Allowing him to pull your clothes off of you before he did the same. Pealing his clothing off until the two of you were completely bare. His eyes only growing more infatuated at the sight of you naked and ready for him on the layout of his bed.

Knowing this time would be different than the others you two have had sex.

Spencer slowly took his time to kiss every inch of your body. His lips making their way from your collar bone to the inside of your thigh, sucking on the skin to leave bruises. Marking you officially as his.

“About to make you feel so good, baby,” he mumbled.

“Spencer…I-Ohhh” you moaned, his fingers dipping slightly to graze you only to attach his lips to your folds. Head nuzzled between your soft thighs as he kneeled in front of you, your core pulsing at the sight of him devouring you like you were his last meal.

Watching him suck the bundle of nerves, the arousal in your heat pooling. The sight of him flicking his tongue while he swirled that silver tongue of his on your area driving you feral. Your hands gripping his hair while you pushed his head further, feeling your stomach tighten.

His moans vibrating against your cunt, sending you even further into your climax. Still violently flicking and licking your fingers with every swish of his delicious tongue. You panted heavily, the pace of his swirling and sucking quickly increasing until you came hard.

Humming in approval, Spencer looked up at you. His eyes clouded with hunger and lust while he licked his lips. Collecting the remnants of your cum before swiping his tongue on the inside of your thighs.

“Sweet, you taste like heaven, my love,” he praised. A smirk being sent your way while you eyed him, the bulge more than evident as his cock restrained against his boxers.

“Do you trust me?” You asked, eyes looking up at his brown ones. Still needing the reassurance that he was comfortable with you pleasing him. A boundary you two have respected since the day you first hooked up with each other.

Reid’s eyes softened again, still not used to someone caring for him that much during their most intimate times. A small smile on his face, he grabbed your hand before giving it a squeeze.

“I trust you.”

His eyes softening again, still not used to someone asking for his consent. A small smile on his face, he grabbed your hand before giving it a squeeze.

Giving him a quick kiss, you tugged his boxers down. Your eyes now leveled with his hardened length as his tip glared at you red and angry. Slowly pumping his cock, you ran your hands up and down his shaft. Feeling him tense under your touch, you began to work your mouth on his tip.

Swirling your tongue around his tip, collecting a few drops of pre-cum. Loving the taste of him on your tongue. Arousal soaking your folds again while you thought about him filling you, putting a baby, his baby inside of you.

“You’re so beautiful, Spence,” you cooed. Stroking his cock in your hand, slowly rubbing your hand up and down it. His tip red and aching due to how hard he was for you.

A blush crept on his cheeks at your compliment, muttering a small ‘thank you’ and ‘you’re so pretty’ before peppering kisses down to your collar bone.

Catching Spencer completely by surprise. You grabbed his length by the shaft, forcing it down your throat. Till his tip hit the back causing you to hold back a gag as you choked due to his size. Your saliva coating his cock as you began to hollow your cheeks in and out. Creating a sucking motion as you slid his cock up and down, Reid’s moans filling your ears sending you in a spiral. His fingers knotting through your hair to shove your head further down his cock.

“J-Just like that, honey,” he moaned. The pet name he has only ever used for you falling from his swollen lips.

His moans filled the silent room, continuing to fist your hair while he face fucked you. Tears running down your cheeks with every thrust of his cock hitting the back of your throat. Grabbing the back of his muscled thighs to get a better grip for stability.

“Fuck, you feel-“

In a swift motion, Spencer flipped you on your stomach with your ass on full display for him. Hearing the rustling of his sheets behind you, he climbed on the mattress. Grabbing his still achingly hard dick before running the tip teasingly up and down your wet folds.

A moan leaving your lips while you withered beneath his touch, growing desperate to feel him inside of you again.

“Use your words, baby. What do you want me to do you?” He nipped at the skin of your ears, sucking lightly.

“I….want you,” your breathe hitched as the tip of his cock filled your entrance, shutting your eyes tightly.

“What was that, sweetheart? I need your words. Where’s my please?” He halted, stilling his movements. Your core ached, begging for more of his cock to fill its velvet walls.

Little shit. You rolled your eyes, growing impatient by the second. Debating on just taking his dick into your own hands so that he would finally fuck you. His hands grasping your arse before smacking one cheek. Hard.

“Ohh. Fuck. Spencer, I want….I need you to fuck me. Please, pretty please baby. Fill me with all of your cum until it’s dripping out of me. Till I’m pregnant with your baby. Want to make you a daddy so bad-“

A strangled moan left your lips as Spencer finally thrusted into you, hard and fast. Leaving you no room to breathe while you struggled to catch your breathe. The wind knocked out of you as he continued to thrust into you from behind.

“Yes. Spence, baby, harder. I know you can fuck me harder,” you panted. Ready for him to completely stretch you to your limit.

Feeling completely feral as the bed rocked beneath you. Spencer’s movements harsh and rough, gaining more momentum with every thrust, railing into you from behind. His hand gently wrapped around your throat while he pounded into you underneath. The tip of his cock hitting your g-spot sending moan after moan to leave your body.

His grunts and lewd moans in your ear while he held you flushed against his chest, leaning your head to fall back onto his shoulder. Sweat dripping down both of your bodies as the room grew thick with heat and arousal.

“I can’t wait to fill you with my cum….Watch it drip outside of you. Having you wish that I could fuck you this good every single night while your pregnant with our child, right baby? Isn’t that what you want,” Spencer breathed, his own pants in your ear, moaning louder than you have ever done before.

Roughly pulling out his cock before flipping you over. Your back hitting the mattress while you lifted your legs up, wrapping them around his waist. His hand grabbing to support you up. Spencer thrusting back into you like he never pulled out, both of you keeping eye contact while tears threatened to spill from your eyes.

“Need to see you…you’re so beautiful, my love. Just look at you. Might have to put a ring on your finger too,” Spencer whispered in your ear. Moaning in your ear as your pussy clenched at his promising words.

The coil growing in your stomach as you peaked in your high. Thrust after thrust, Spencer added more momentum, quickening before finding another steady rhythm. An ache growing between your legs, a definite sign that you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.

Your nails dragging along his back only to pull him in for another kiss. Not having enough to taste of him, you moaned into his mouth. His thrusts never faltering as his cock twitched inside of you. Clenching your walls around his thick shaft, pushing him to release as hot spurts of his come filled you. Your own release mixing with his while he slowly thrusted inside of you. His lips still entangled with yours, nipping at your bottom lip while your tongues swirled. Tasting every bit of each other.

Breaking away from the kiss, Spencer brushed his thumb under your eye. A few tears had fallen from the intensity and roughness of his handling. Both of you silently knowing that you could handle it and that you trusted each other.

He slowly pulled out of you, massaging the inside of your thighs before placing a delicate kiss on them. Leaving to get a wet towel as he gently cleaned your folds. A hiss leaving at your soreness and the harsh sensitivity of your nerves.

“Sorry, angel, I know you hate this part,” Spencer apologized.

You always loved how attentive and loving he was after sex. He always took care of you even if you wanted to rush out, he still made sure that you were okay after being so vulnerable.

“You don’t have to apologize, Spence, I appreciate you taking care of me after this” You smiled, still feeling on cloud nine from the work of his cock and tongue on you.

“I’ll be taking care of you nonstop for nine months then a little mini version of us for a lifetime,” he joked.

Your heart fluttered, still in awe of the fact that someone would want to have a child with you. Let alone someone like Spencer Reid.

“Do you think I’ll make a great…dad?” Spencer stammered. The word, and his soon-to-be new name, still so foreign to him.

His hand nervously playing with yours while he let it silently dawn upon him that he was actually to be one.

“The best. Spence….you are not like your father, you will never be like him. You will make an amazing dad, a caring one who will give his child the best upbringing and life possible that is full of nothing but love.”

Spencers eyes welled up with tears. getting choked up by your words. Knowing that you truly mean them. Already picturing your bump, all the milestones you’d celebrate together, and the life you would soon bring into this world.

He always dreamt of being a father. And now, that dream was become true all because of you.

[maskedbyghost]

jealous!Simon is on my mind 24/7

even better if the two of you are secretly fucking bc he is scared of feelings, commitment, relationships, and blah blah blah…

and simon wasn’t used to feeling jealous. he had trained his emotions out of him long ago, or so he thought. but as he stood in the doorway, watching you stroll across the shared kitchen on the base, your back turned to him, the name "mactavish" boldly displayed on the long-sleeved shirt you wore, something twisted in his chest.

the sight of you wearing his shirt, so casually, stung in a way simon hadn’t expected. he cleared his throat, trying to sound indifferent, but the edge in his voice betrayed him. "that’s johnny’s shirt."

"i know." was the only thing you said, smirking since he couldn't see your face. you knew exactly what you were doing, but in that moment, you didn’t care.

"why is johnny's shirt on you?" simon asked, his voice low but tight with tension. he tried to keep his tone neutral, but the undercurrent of jealousy and frustration was hard to hide. seeing you in johnny’s shirt stirred something uncomfortable deep inside him, a mix of possessiveness and insecurity that he wasn't used to feeling. he hated how something so simple made his chest tighten, how the sight of you in someone else’s name made him feel like he was losing control of the one thing he was afraid to admit he cared about.

"oh, he gave it to me because i was cold," you said, pouting slightly as you turned around to face the only man you ever wanted "he is such a nice guy."

simon managed a slight nod, his mind blanking from the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside him. everything felt too much, too fast. meanwhile, you casually turned your back to him again, giving him another clear view of soap's name stretched across your shoulders as you began making your tea. the tiny grumble that escaped simon’s lips didn’t go unnoticed—it sent a wave of satisfaction through you, a small victory that made your day. you loved torturing him. and, after all, he did deserved it.

frustrated, he walked over to the sink, grabbing a glass of water, hoping it would cool the fire raging inside. but as he turned, his grip slipped, and the water splashed across your front. simon froze, watching the water drip down your shirt, half-shocked and half-relieved for the excuse to make the shirt disappear.

simon froze, his eyes glued to the water dripping down your shirt. after a beat of silence, he muttered, "well, guess you’ll need to take that off now. what a shame."

shocked, you watched as he put the glass down and left the room, still feeling the cold water seeping through the fabric. did he seriously just accidentally splash you and then walk out like nothing happened? that bitch.

*

later, as you slept in your bed, wearing your shirt this time, you stirred slightly at the feeling of someone’s arms wrapping around you. you didn’t even need to open your eyes or turn around—you already knew who it was. that familiar warmth could only belong to simon.

"simon?" you muttered groggily, barely able to make out the shape of him in the dim light. "what are you doing here?"

"shh, just sleep, pretty girl," he whispered softly, his breath warm against your ear. "i just wanted to apologize for how i acted earlier."

"i'm listening," you murmured, your voice barely more than a whisper.

simon’s arms tightened around you as he spoke. “i’m sorry for earlier. i know i’ve been pushin' you away and acting like an idiot. seein' you in johnny’s shirt... it just brought out this jealousy i didn’t want to admit i had. i hate feelin' like i’m not enough, or that someone else might have a piece of you. the truth is, i want you to be only mine. i can’t stand the thought of you being with anyone else. i just wanted you to know that, even if i messed everythin' up.”

“well, isn’t this a surprise? i didn’t realize it took me wearing johnny's shirt for you to admit your feelings.” you said with a hint of a smile, turning around to kiss him softly. simon sighed into the kiss, his arms wrapping around you with a sense of relief and affection.

simon pulled back slightly, his eyes intense as he rested his forehead on yours “i mean it, you know. you’re mine—only mine. no one else gets to touch what’s mine.” his voice was firm, yet tender, which made his words more meaningful.

"did you have a similar conversation with soap?" you asked, raising an eyebrow playfully.

simon grinned, leaning in even closer. “yep, told him to keep his wardrobe to himself unless he wanted a 'property of simon' label slapped on everything he owns.” he sealed his words with a gentle, lingering kiss, his lips tenderly brushing against yours as if to mark his claim in the most intimate way.

*

soap: so, i guess it worked?

y/n: your shirt got wet, but i got what i wanted. thanks, bestie.  

soap: i think i got worse treatment from simon than the shirt did, but anything for my two lovebirds.

[mephisto-reporting]

Silk, Satin and Sensual

Premise: Headcanons on his preferences for lingerie and his reaction when he sees you in them. Based on this request. Pairing: Reader x Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb (Seperate) Note: Reader and the men are in a relationship. This is suggestive. Please do not interact if you are a minor. Caleb version is out!!. If you wanted to be added to my taglist, please DM, ask or comment :D Content warning: Suggestive. MNDI.

XAVIER

Xavier has a thing for soft, celestial tones like white, cream, silvers and muted golds. He’s drawn to fabrics that shimmer faintly, almost like starlight against your skin. He has a thing for delicate patterns, like lacework.

Sheer materials like mesh and chiffon drive him wild, especially if they reveal just enough to leave him craving more. He prefers the balance of teasing and revealing, where the fabric hints at your curves without fully exposing them.

He’s absolutely obsessed with your thighs and prefers lingerie that accentuates them. Garter belts, thigh-high stockings, and intricate lace shorts are his kryptonite.

If you have small celestial accents like tiny golden stars or moon charms hanging from the garters… good fucking luck. You are not walking the next day.

He has an unapologetic habit of tearing your lingerie when he loses control, so he’s constantly replacing your wardrobe. His explanation? “It’s not my fault they’re made so fragile. I’ll get you something sturdier—next time.”

Once the damage is done and your new lingerie is in shreds, Xavier looks annoyingly unbothered. He’ll casually toss the ruined piece aside and murmur, “Guess I’ll have to buy you another.”

He’ll commission a lingerie set made of delicate ivory lace with gold threads woven into it, shaped to mimic constellations. He’ll surprise you with thigh-high stockings that have faint, shimmering patterns running up the sides. These are always paired with garter belts because he loves tugging on them when he is intimate with you.

He’ll leave the box on your bed, wrapped in soft cream paper with a gold ribbon. Inside, there’s always a handwritten note in his steady handwriting. “For you. You’re too beautiful not to be dressed like the stars themselves.”

His reactions:

The moment he sees you in lingerie, his carefully composed demeanor melts away, replaced by an intense, almost predatory focus. His eyes lock onto your thighs, and his voice becomes a low murmur laced with want. He is the definition of: his eyes darkened.

Xavier likes the idea that these pieces are chosen specifically for his eyes. If anyone else saw you in them, even accidentally, it would ignite a streak of jealousy.

If you walk past him too many times, deliberately flaunting the look, he’ll finally snap. One moment, you’re teasing him; the next, you’re backed against the wall with his hands tracing the garter straps. “Do you want me to tear this off?” he’ll ask, his voice soft but carrying that dangerous edge. Spoiler: He’s already decided the answer.

ZAYNE

Zayne prefers earthy tones—rich browns, deep greens, warm ambers, and muted burgundies. These hues remind him of natural beauty, grounding yet alluring. He loves subtle details like lace trim, delicate straps that crisscross your back, or a ribbon that ties just above your hips—small elements that add to the allure.

Zayne is drawn to pieces that accentuate your waist. Corset-style lingerie, high-waisted panties, or teddies with cinched designs are his favorites. He admires the way they create an hourglass effect, appreciating your silhouette.

He has a thing for materials that feel good to the touch: silky satins, fine lace, and soft mesh. The tactile experience is as important to him as the visual.

Zayne has impeccable taste, selecting pieces that balance seduction with sophistication. Think satin teddies with plunging necklines or lace bodysuits with subtle, sheer paneling. He gravitates toward lingerie sets that emphasize your natural beauty rather than overwhelming it—clean lines, elegant accents, and designs that celebrate your form.

When Zayne gifts you lingerie, he makes it an intimate experience. He’ll lay the gift on the bed, wrapped in tissue paper with a single dried flower,something earthy and subtle, like a sprig of lavender or rosemary. His note is direct: “For when you’re ready to let me admire you properly.”

Zayne picks quality over quantity. He’d rather gift you one stunning, well-made piece than several forgettable ones. His selections are designed to last—not that he always gives them the chance to.

His gaze never wavers. When you wear lingerie, Zayne’s eyes lock on yours before slowly traveling down your body, making you feel like the most captivating thing in the world.

There’s no ripping it off, but it won’t take long before he’s slipping the fabric off. He’s not gentle, but he’s not reckless either. There’s a certain hunger in how he undresses you.

His Reaction:

When you walk into the room wearing one of his carefully chosen pieces, Zayne’s reaction is immediate. His calm is replaced by a sharp intake of breath, his eyes trailing over you with an intensity that makes the air feel heavier.

Zayne’s fingers brush over the fabric with deliberate slowness, his palms lingering against the soft satin at your hips. “Feels even better than I imagined,” he murmurs, his lips quirking into a heated smirk. “But I think it’d feel better on the floor.”

If you tease him, letting a strap fall off your shoulder or adjusting the lace just so—Zayne’s control begins to crack. His hands are on you instantly, his voice dropping to a growl. “You like testing me, don’t you? Keep it up, and you’ll see what happens.”

RAFAYEL

Rafayel is drawn to soft, pastel shade like gentle blues, lavender, and delicate purples. He prefers lingerie that’s sweet and soft, evoking a sense of innocence while still being sensual.

He gravitates towards cuter lingerie like bralette sets with flowing chiffon accents, babydolls with sheer overlays, or high-waisted lingerie shorts. He likes pieces that don’t reveal too much but are so alluring that he cannot keep his eyes off you.

Rafayel is obsessed with fine details such as silver waistbands that drape lightly like jewelry, chokers that gleam with tiny pearls, delicate chain straps on your bra, tiny dangling gemstones, or trims that sparkle subtly in the light.

Sheer robes, flowing fabrics, and fluttering hems draw his gaze as they cling to your skin over your lingerie like water waves. If you are wearing a lingerie, fresh out of the shower with your hair still wet, it is game over for this man.

Rafayel treats every moment with you in lingerie as sacred. He doesn’t rush; instead, he takes his time, savoring every detail like an artist admiring their finest work

Rafayel is the kind of person who doesn’t just buy off the shelf. He’ll have something specially commissioned for you, likely a set of lingerie that reflects your personality and his artistic sensibilities. His commission might even include small charms that are Lemuria inspired.

Rafayel, though loving, is bashful when it comes to gifting lingerie. He would likely have the lingerie sent to you without a grand reveal, perhaps bundled with other gifts like chocolates, perfume, scarves that might distract from his true intentions. His note will be brief, almost casual: “Some pieces I thought you'd appreciate, seeing as you're always so fashionable.”

His Reaction:

The first time you step out wearing one of his custom sets, a soft lavender bralette with delicate gold chain accents and a matching choker—Rafayel freezes. Rafayel can’t stop staring, though he tries to look away, his hand rising to cover his mouth as his blush deepens. “I-I didn’t think it would suit you this perfectly…” he stammers, his gaze flicking back to you despite himself.

“I… I didn’t mean for it to be so… um… revealing,” he stammers, eyes lingering on the intricate lace and the subtle gleam of the small jewels. “But… you look… divine.” When Rafayel touches the fabric, his fingers tremble against your skin. He’s so gentle, almost reverently so, as though touching you in this way is an act of worship.

"It’s like you’re wearing my art… and I can’t stop admiring it." His gaze will flicker between your face and the lingerie, doing his best to hold himself together. “Why are you doing this to me?” he’ll murmur with desire. “I just want to keep you here... like this... for as long as possible.” he whispers, voice barely audible, as though if he spoke louder, he might break the spell.

SYLUS

Sylus gravitates toward bold, classic colors like deep blacks, rich reds, and occasionally luxurious whites, midnight blues or dark emerald greens. These colors resonate with him. He appreciates the elegance of these shades, as they exude sophistication and bold sensuality.

He’s a silk and satin man through and through. These fabrics are smooth, luxurious, and irresistible to his touch. He loves how they glide over your skin and how they feel beneath his fingertips.

He loves classic, timeless lingerie: lacy bras with garter belts, high-cut panties that highlight your legs, and elegant teddies that hug every curve. Think luxury brands and couture pieces that scream sensuality.

Occasionally, Sylus surprises you with bolder, risqué styles: Cage-style bras with open backs, strappy bodysuits that playfully expose just enough skin, lingerie with sheer panels, leaving little to the imagination.

He doesn’t tear or rush; instead, he carefully folds each piece, placing it aside after everything is said and done. “I’ll want to see this on you again.” he explains with a sly smirk

Sylus doesn’t stop at gifting you a single set. Every outfit in your closet has a matching pair of lingerie. You’ll find lingerie for every occasion. Sylus alwayssurprise you with a box containing lingerie hidden among other extravagant gifts—fine jewelry, luxurious robes, or even a custom-made vanity to store your collection: “Maybe my luck is not be so bad if I am the only man who gets to see you in these, sweetie.”

For Sylus, lingerie isn’t just for the bedroom. He loves seeing you lounge in one of his tailored sets, reclining on his sofa as you read or listen to music together. Sylus is content to let his hands roam over the satin, enjoying the feel of it warmed by your skin. “Stay like this,” he’ll say softly, his voice a mix of command and yearning. “I want to keep you close.”

True to his nature, Sylus has a habit of keeping little trophies. He has a drawer in one of his private residences dedicated to these keepsakes  as a reminder of your shared moments. If you ever catch him in the act of placing something there, he’ll simply shrug with a sly grin. “Can you blame me? I keep what’s mine.”

His Reaction:

When you step into the room wearing something he’s chosen for you, Sylus’ composed exterior falters, just slightly. His gaze darkens, and his lips curl into a small, satisfied smirk. He’ll take a slow step toward you, one hand tucked casually in his pocket, the other reaching out to trail a finger down the silk, letting it rest against your hip.

Without hesitation, he’ll scoop you into his arms, carrying you effortlessly to where he wants you—be it the bedroom, his grand leather chair in the study, or even the chaise lounge in front of the fireplace. “I’m not letting you out of my sight when you like this.”

Sylus never tears your lingerie—he unwraps you like the most precious gift, his hands moving with reverent care. “You deserve to be savored, not rushed.” he whispers, his gaze locked on you. He’ll seat you on his lap or lay you down, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate movements along the fabric. The lingerie is not just for his pleasure, it is for yours as well.  

CALEB

Caleb prefers lingerie that’s just for him—sexy yet teasing, revealing enough to drive him mad but covering just enough to make him desperate.

Caleb gravitates toward sleek, understated sensuality. He favors deep, alluring colors like navy, black, and dark burgundy, shades that hint at elegance but still feel undeniably intimate. However, he has a soft spot for delicate lilacs and soft purples, especially when they complement your skin.

Minimal but devastatingly effective designs have him on edge. Thin straps barely holding everything together, high-cut panties that accentuate your legs, delicate bralettes that are more about aesthetics than practicality. He loves when the details like lace appliques or ribbon ties demand his attention. Anything he can tug, unravel, or ruin.

Let’s be real. Caleb is not a man who delicately undresses you. He’s been patient his entire life, watching, waiting, restraining himself. The moment you’re finally his? He’s not taking his time. “You knew what would happen when you put this on, didn’t you?” His voice is low, rough—before the sound of tearing lace fills the room.

If you ever wonder why pieces of your lingerie mysteriously disappear, don’t. Caleb takes them when you’re not looking, slipping them into his uniform pockets or luggage when he’s preparing for deployment. He’s possessive, obsessive, and when he’s away on fleet missions, he wants something of yours to keep with him. A delicate lace garter? A silk chemise you once wore to bed? He’ll tuck them away like trophies, running his fingers over them late at night, mind filled with thoughts of you.

He’s a man who gives gifts with purpose. He knows exactly what you want, and he knows what he wants. If he’s getting you that plushie you mentioned offhandedly, or the book you’ve been dying to read, you will find a carefully wrapped lingerie set alongside it. Every gift is a two-for-one deal—his way of spoiling you while satisfying his own desires. Tucked inside, there’s always a note with cheeky messages: "Making dinner tonight. But if you wear this, you'll be the dessert."

Caleb is the picture of patience in public. He knows what you’re wearing underneath your dress—he saw you put it on, watched every slow movement in the mirror. But he doesn’t let it show. Not a single twitch of his lips, not a single shift in his stance. He leans down, lips brushing your ear, his voice impossibly calm: “You’re going to regret this later.”

There is one thing that drives him past the point of no return— his clothes on you. Seeing you in his oversized shirt is one thing, but if he catches you lounging in his boxers? He’s done. His fingers dig into the waistband, his voice a rough whisper against your ear. “You must really like testing me, huh?” His breath is hot against your neck, his hands already tugging the waistband lower. Any plans you had for the day? Gone.

His Reaction:

When you step into the room, wearing something meant just for him, his expression darkens immediately. There’s a brief flicker of something feral in his purple eyes—desire, possessiveness, raw hunger. He doesn’t say a word at first, just stands there, his breath held. “You expect me to behave after this?” His patience is frayed, and it's clear he’s barely holding onto his composure.

Try to tease him, make him work for it and he’ll let you, for a moment. He enjoys the chase, the way you think you’re in control. But the moment he decides he’s had enough? You’re done for. One second, he’s watching you with quiet intensity, and the next, you’re beneath him, your wrists pinned, your breath stolen by the sheer force of his presence.

When he touches you, it’s as if he can’t get enough—his fingers move with purpose, reverence, but there’s an undeniable urgency. “You’re mine. Always.” And with that, his lips crash against yours, taking what’s his. There’s no gentle teasing here—this is pure, unfiltered desire. It’s clear there’s no going back now. You’ve pushed him past the point of no return. The soft, teasing lace may have been your choice—but now everything that happens from there is his.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

taglist: @cordidy

[stunie]

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁ KABEDON W TOKYO REVENGERS

TOKREV BOYS CAGING YOU AGAINST A WALL. ft. izana kurokawa, takashi mitsuya, & shuji hanma x f!reader

sfw. 1K wc. i’ve been sooo excited to write for izana !! & my head’s been buzzing w so many ideas after seeing a bunch of maid-sama edits back on my fyp <3

IZANA KUROKAWA. mild jealousy & possessiveness

You wonder if Izana can hear the rapid thumping of your heart as his arm comes to rest against the doorframe, his eyes looking intently into yours.

“Who was that guy you were talking to?” His voice breaks the silence, tone laced with the faintest hint of curiosity that sends a shiver down your spine.

You swallow hard, trying to compose yourself even though the proximity has heat rising all the way to the tips of your ears. “I don't know,” you mumble, your voice barely above a whisper. “He just asked for my number. And i said no.”

There's a moment of silence as izana processes your words, his gaze never leaving yours. You hold your breath, waiting for his reaction, unsure if you should add that you mentioned you have a boyfriend too.

“That’s all?” Izana finally speaks, his voice low and steady, but there's something in his eyes that betrays his calm exterior.

You nod. “That’s all.”

He exhales deeply, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he moves closer to you. His fingers brush against your cheek, lingering on your jaw for a brief moment before gently tilting your head to the side. “Izana?”

“Mhm,” he hums softly, his breath warm against your skin as he presses gentle kisses along your collarbone. “That sounds right.”

His lips move with a deliberate slowness to cover every inch of your skin, and you can’t help but melt into his touch as his lips ghost down your neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses along your skin. His arms wrap around you, pulling you closer to him, and you sigh. “That’s good.” He repeats to himself.

“Don’t pay them any attention.” Izana reminds you, his voice dropping to a soft murmur against your skin. “You’re mine.”

HANMA SHUJI. recreation of that !! scene from maid sama (he gives u a hickey on your back), reader wearing a backless dress, ‘pretty thing,’ ‘princess’

“That’s a tiny dress you got on.” Hanma muses, long arm resting just above your head as he cages you against the wall, his face coming to hover mere inches in front of yours.

“Where’s a pretty thing like you headed tonight?”

“Well, yeah,” you pout, adjusting the thin strap of your dress. “I’m going to my friend’s birthday party tonight.”

You struggle to read the expression on his face, amused eyes lingering on the simple design of your dress, ignoring the way you huff impatiently.

“Backless?”

“Yeah, backless. I’m leaving now.” With a quick tilt of your head, you try to gauge his reaction again, a part of you skeptical to whether or not he’s planning something this time.

He only responds with a slow hum, chuckling a bit when you rudely swat his arm off the wall, gaze following the natural sway of your hips as you mumble something in annoyance and walk away.

Backless…he thinks.

That’s right— backless.

An idea pops into his head, his lips curling into a mischievous grin. Without a second thought, he reaches out to roughly tug at one of your wrists, pulling you back towards him in one swift motion.

“The hell are you doing-” you snap, your voice trailing off into a sharp intake of breath when you feel his lips press against the middle of your back. “S-shuji!” You protest, heart racing as you feel the warmth of his lips press against your skin.

There’s a pop when he pulls back slightly to look up at you, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips.

“Oh? You’re going? With that hickey on your back?” His voice comes out low, tinged with too much amusement for your liking.

“Hope you have fun, princess.”

TAKASHI MITSUYA. he takes care of you when you’re feverish

“You shouldn’t be out of bed right now.” Mitsuya’s voice breaks the silence, and you stop dead in your tracks.

There’s an exasperated groan from you, your hand coming to rub at your temples. Of course he would be awake— you really thought you had waited long enough before trying to sneak downstairs.

“I want cake, Mitsuya.” You whine, arms folding over your chest. “‘M not sick anymore. The fever’s gone down.”

“Is that so?” Mitsuya’s tone sounds both amused and skeptical as he steps closer, watching the way you start to fidget with the sleeves of your shirt. You give him a quick and desperate nod to confirm, and it’s all a little too suspicious for his liking.

But before you can protest further, his arms come around you, caging you against the wall, and you suck in a sharp breath as he scans you up and down. His gaze is focused and intentional— and you feel your heart rate pick up.

“Interesting,” he whispers, warm breath grazing your skin. It sends a violent shiver down your spine. “Let me check.”

“W-wait you shouldn’t—” your protests are halted as he leans even closer, until his face is just an inch in front of yours. He thinks it’s cute the way your eyes slam shut involuntarily, your heart pounding against your chest at the proximity. His forehead presses gently against yours, and you can feel the subtle warmth of his skin.

“Liar.” He murmurs softly, his lips brushing against yours so gently you almost miss it. “You’re burning up.”

[mellowyellow236]

How would the TWST boys act when they’re jealous?

This is Heartslabyul and the Misc Characters section- Links are all here: Savanaclaw/Octovinelle, Scarabia/Pomfiore/Ignihyde, and Diasomnia. All characters are meant to be interpreted as romantic. The reader is gender-neutral. There may be mild spoilers as to who overblots and other facts. Some of them might have Yandere tendencies, though nothing graphic or descriptive and always very mild, they’ll be marked with a ‘Y’ if they do. Mainly because sometimes the boys are calm and talk through their feelings… And sometimes they go down possessive insecurity-included spirals. If anyone has anything to add or any questions, please leave a reblog or comment! Requests are open if anyone wants.

Heartslabyul:  

Riddle Rosehearts - Y (For pre-overblot section only) 

Pre-overblot, Riddle manages to fit a lot of jealousy inside his tiny body. 

Talking with someone he doesn’t like? He’s declaring that it’s off with their head because they broke a rule. Someone else is flirting with you? Oh no, the hedgehogs aren’t in order, he needs you to come help him fix them. Is someone doing anything in your presence that he dislikes? THE RULES STATE THAT ONE MUST NEVER TAKE THE KING AWAY FROM THE QUEEN! 

He’s willing to make up new rules just to keep you there with him. He’s lost so many friends because of his mother, but this is a feeling just for him. You understand, don’t you? You know what he feels and you’re willing to stand by his side? Forever? You’re the only one who can. You need to promise you’ll be his king, you’ll never leave him. 

Post-overblot and he’s much more calm. At least, he’s calm by his standards. He’s still… A bit over the top at times. He wants to make sure that you actually love him, that you’re not going to leave. 

But more than that, he’s worried that he’s too clingy. Are you tired of him focusing on you? Are you thinking secretly that he needs to grow up? Do you think he’s sidetracked, as his mother does? Do you think that he needs to change again? Is he too lax this time, is he boring? Is it a chore to entertain him? Are you planning on leaving? 

Just reassure your poor redhead. He wants to be the best he can be, and he wants to be that with you. He just needs to be told that you really do love him and want to be around him. Maybe give him some kind of signal so he can tell you how he feels without needing to outright say it and listen to his concerns whenever he comes to you. 

Trey Clover - 

Trey wouldn’t get jealous under normal circumstances. He trusts you, assuming he’d like to or is dating you, and that’s that. He’d only get jealous if someone was genuinely hitting on you, and you just… Didn’t notice or care. 

While he prides himself on his ability to keep a cool and level head, the moment he sees you with someone else, watching them touch you on your arm and compliment you the same way he does. No, he compliments you even better! 

“You’re so pretty…” He can call you beautiful, jaw-dropping, stunning, or awe-inspiring! “My dear,” You’re his sweetheart, his life, his heart and head, his darling cookie! “I think we should go somewhere more private…” Okay, maybe he’s too much of a gentleman to tell you that- he believes you should take the relationship st your own time and he’s never said that to you around others where you could be pressured- but he could at least say it with more class! 

Trey’s annoying, maybe even seething. But still, tell the person you’re uninterested and take a step back. Even punch him in the face, if you’re that pissed! Trey would do it if he weren’t vice-housewarden! Just don’t tell Riddle and it’s all good! 

If that doesn’t work, or if you don’t do anything, he’ll easily swoop in to ‘save you’. He’ll hand the guy a treat, wrap his arms around you, and pull you off to the kitchen with him to “help with some baking.” He will even use his unique magic on the guy if he doesn’t get the hint- Well, on the treat he gave them. No one likes gross-tasting foods, especially ones catered to the thing you hate the taste of the most. 

Cater Diamond - 

Outwardly, he’ll come up to you and chat. Who’re you with? Hey, Cay-cay’s got a quick Magicam post to take, could ya come over here real quick? Just take the photo, you don’t have to be in it or anything! Unless you wanted to! 

He’s calm and collected and barely bothered. Why would he be? He’s got nothing to worry about and he knows you like him and that you’d never do anything to cheat or be with anyone else! At all! 

Internally he’s curled into a ball and crying. Is he not good enough? He can be. He promises! He’ll be whatever you need, whatever you have to get! Please, just stay with him! Don’t leave! 

He needs some reassurance. Don’t let him sweep it under the rug, no matter how hard he tries. Please, just tell him it was all a misunderstanding. Thank him for being there with you. Please. 

Cater’s terrified you’ll leave him. Is it slightly unhealthy? Yes. Maybe. Totally. He’s been begging for crumbs of your attention every chance he gets, in his own way. But if you find it in yourself to be charitable… Please, just put up with him? 

Ace Trapolla - 

If nothing else, Ace is a brat, in every sense of the word. He’s a bit rude, obnoxious, and naive to certain social cues. He doesn’t follow rules and he’s not interested in learning them. He’s selfish, too. But especially selfish with your time. 

Ace will try to call you away at any time if you’re with someone else. What do you mean, Jamil needs some help preparing dinner? You’re going to need some help getting out if things go like they did last time! So, you better invite him along, too. He’ll be a great help! Besides, Jamil’s in the basket with him, they’re wonderful friends! There’s no way that you two will get kicked out with Ace here, considering how you’re a major klutz with anything sharp and would get totally sent away without him. 

He’ll come up behind you if you’re talking to someone. Snaking an arm around your midsection, dipping his hands to clutch your hips, and watching the person who was once talking to you. He might be laughing, but he’s also squeezing you and subtly insulting them. Or, he thinks his being subtle, but if you weren’t being held by him, the other guy would have punched him by now. 

His fingers dig into the skin around your hips as he pulls you away from them, the smirk on his face slightly darker than the lighthearted boy you normally know. Once you’re all alone, he stuffs his face into your neck, taking a deep breath. No matter what you tell him, he only savors you for a second, before giving you a little push and telling you to thank him for saving you from such a jerk. 

But if you were to pull him back in and thank him… Maybe he’ll tell you what’s bothering him- If you’re lucky. Maybe. Or you’ll just get an extra long and tight hug. 

Deuce Spade - Y 

Duece is a sweetheart who tries his best not to get jealous. Really, he tries! He’s on track to be an honor student, and honor students can calmly talk about their feelings with the person they like. So, that is what he will do… After he roughs up the perpetrator a bit. 

Just a little! Or a lot… Or just until you stop him, or Riddle’s nearby… Don’t worry, he wouldn’t hit someone just for flirting! They were trying to touch you… They had a hand on your waist, and were pulling you closer… It looked like they were even trying to kiss you! What was Duece supposed to do? Let them? He couldn’t bear it if anyone did anything to you! 

Deuce is protective. You can handle yourself, he knows that! But he used to fight a lot, so he could do it better. Besides, you’re new to this world! You might not even be able to tell when someone’s flirting with you until it’s too late! He has to be there to protect you, or else what could happen? Could you be hurt? Emotionally or physically harmed? He can’t bear to think about it! 

He’ll pull you away, much like Ace, if he can’t control himself most of the time. But the moment you’re touched? He’ll fight whoever does it. Tell him not to and he’ll tone it down, yes, but the glare from a former delinquent is still enough to send most people back with their tails between their legs. Of course, when you’re looking, he’s all smiles and rainbows. He’s your guard dog, don’t worry about it! He’s just making sure no trash gets close to you! 

Besides, you have him, and all of your friends! Like Ace, Deuce, Trey, Cater, and maybe even Riddle! You two share a friend group, isn’t that great? If anyone ever bothers you, he’ll always be there to stop them! No one will take advantage of you while he’s here! 

RSA+NBC: 

Neige Leblanche - 

It all starts when Neige sees you at a shared event. He’s been so excited to see you, but before he gets there, he finds Vil’s there with you. He bites his ruby lips and his hands are shaking as he watches the other man wrap his arms around your waist and pull you close enough to whisper something in your ear. Normally, when you laugh he’s so happy, but now it feels like there’s something yucky about it. 

It takes a while before Neige even knows what he’s feeling. It’s like something is slithering around his insides, pitting at the bottom of his stomach and sometimes threatening to come out his throat. Even when he goes up to talk to you, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

It isn’t until you pull away from Vil to hug you himself that he realizes it’s jealousy. Only once it’s away does he know that your affections were its only cure, and its cause was always when what he so desperately wanted was flung off to be given to someone else. 

He stays very close to you for the rest of the night. He tries to make sure those feelings that he knows but doesn’t yet understand how to tame don’t come back. He gets your number and whatever social media you’re willing to give over, and he’s overjoyed from it. It’s his own little prize, his own little gift from the world now sitting in his pocket. 

He doesn’t get jealous often after that- After all, he knows that you’ll take care of him if he needs it. He can trust you, after all, you’re his one true love. The royal he was always looking for, the person to rescue him like a knight in shining armor, riding in on a snow-white horse. He can trust you, right? 

Rollo Flamme - Y

Rollo gets jealous very, very easily. He’s seething, filled with rage and misplaced care, attempting to tie you down or up or any other way. Trying to tie you to him, no matter how much you kick and scream. 

You know that he needs you, don’t you? Well, he does. Honest to the god he worships, he does. He’d swear on his name faster than yours, if only because his honor means nothing while yours is a pure as mountain snow. He’d write you name into his skin if only you let him, he’d steal every inch of you away and keep it all pure, forever and ever. 

So when he sees you with a mage, he can’t help but get jealous. How could he not? You’re wondrous. Illuminatingly stunning, bursting his heart as fireworks do in the sky, filled with beautiful, burning passion. And he is merely a magic user. He is no more worthy of you than they are, but for them to think otherwise… He will not turn a blind eye to those who desire to do something horrid to his darling.

[pandapetals]

Mrs. Howlett

You get jealous of a student's mom trying to flirt with Logan.

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - married couple, cute, fluff, banter, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor, jealously

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

divider credit: @enchanthings

You hated to admit it, but you could get a little jealous. Not that you ever had a real reason to be—Logan didn’t give other women a second glance, and he made it clear you were the only one he wanted. Most of the time, when someone flirted with him, you’d brush it off, secure in the knowledge that he was yours. Logan was usually too gruff, too uninterested, for anyone to make much headway with him anyway.

But today was different.

You were heading to his classroom to drop off some papers when you spotted him leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, a faint smirk on his face as he talked to a woman you didn’t recognize. She looked young—probably a little too young than some of the other student’s parents, with sleek hair and an outfit that was more stylish than practical. Beside her stood a teenage boy, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, clearly embarrassed.

But she? She was smiling up at Logan like he’d just hung the moon. Her hand even touched his arm briefly, a little too familiar, and you felt a flash of something hot and prickly ignite in your chest.

You tried to brush it off. It wasn’t a big deal. Logan didn’t even seem particularly invested in the conversation—just nodding along, probably humoring her because he had to be polite. And yet, the way she looked at him, hanging on his every word, had your jaw clenching before you realized it.

You took a breath, schooling your expression, but when you caught Logan’s eye over her shoulder, his smirk deepened, his gaze flicking to you with that glint of amusement he always got when he knew he had your attention. Oh, he’d noticed. Of course, he had.

Clearing your throat, you approached with an air of casual calm, though the jealousy simmering beneath the surface was anything but subtle.

“Oh, there you are, Logan,” you said, slipping your hand onto his arm with a bit more possessiveness than you’d planned. Your fingers tightened slightly, grounding yourself in the solid warmth of his bicep. “I was looking for you.”

The woman’s bright smile faltered for just a second, her gaze flicking down to your hand on his arm. She took a tiny step back, trying to recover her polite expression but with a hint of something else lurking in her eyes. “Oh, I didn’t realize… are you Miss… I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name?”

You felt Logan tense slightly, but you just smiled, leaning a little closer to him. “I’m Mrs. Howlett, actually.” Your voice was warm, but you let the words sink in, feeling a small thrill of satisfaction as you watched her face register the correction. Your fingers brushed up and down Logan’s arm in a slow, familiar rhythm, letting her know exactly where you stood. “And you are?”

She cleared her throat, glancing down at the teenage boy beside her. “I’m Liam’s mom,” she said, resting a hand on the boy’s shoulder as if to keep herself anchored. “Logan—Mr. Howlett—was just telling me about the upcoming history project. I thought it would be good to get a sense of what Liam would be working on.”

Logan’s smirk widened as he looked down at you, clearly enjoying the subtle show of jealousy you rarely let slip. His arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer in a way that made his claim on you unmistakable.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he drawled, voice a low, amused rumble that you felt through his chest. “She was just askin’ about the assignment.”

You looked up at him, arching an eyebrow as you played along. “Of course. Well, Liam’s a very brilliant student,” you said sweetly, turning to the woman with a smile that held just a hint of a challenge. “Logan says he’s a natural at history. Must be quite a proud mom moment for you.”

The woman’s smile became a bit too tight, her expression polite but strained. She straightened, giving a brisk nod. “Of course. Well, I think I have all the information I need for now. Come along, Liam.”

As she ushered her son down the hallway, Logan’s quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest, his arm still snugly wrapped around your waist. He waited until she was out of earshot before he leaned down, his lips brushing close to your ear.

“Didn’t know you could be the jealous type,” he murmured, his voice dripping with amusement. “Should I be flattered?”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t quite keep the blush from creeping up your cheeks. “I’m not jealous,” you replied, feigning nonchalance. “I just didn’t appreciate her… forgetting my name. I mean, it’s Mrs. Howlett, after all.”

Logan chuckled, his warm breath grazing your skin as his fingers traced lazy circles along your hip. “I gotta say, darlin’… I kinda liked seein’ you all protective and possessive. Not somethin’ I get to see often.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t quite keep the grin off your face. “Oh, don’t let it go to your head,” you shot back, trying to sound nonchalant. “But I guess I might get a little territorial when some random woman decides to ignore the fact that you’re taken.”

His smile softened, and he leaned down to press a kiss to your temple, lingering just long enough for his warmth to seep into you. “Relax, gorgeous,” he murmured, his voice low and fond. “You know you’re the only one I’d ever put up with.”

“Oh, really?” you challenged, raising an eyebrow with a playful spark in your eyes. “Maybe I’ll keep you on your toes more often, then. Just to see that little possessive streak of yours come out.”

Logan’s laugh rumbled through his chest, his hand drifting lower to give your hip a slow, teasing squeeze. “Be my guest,” he drawled, his lips curving into a smirk. “I don’t mind remindin’ everyone who I belong to.”

You tilted your head, your fingers tracing along his arm savoring the solid warmth beneath your touch. “Good,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper, “because I don’t plan on sharing.”

Logan leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss. His mouth was warm and unhurried, lingering as if he wanted to make sure you felt every word he hadn’t spoken. When he finally pulled back, you were left breathless, a soft heat blooming in your cheeks.

He looked down at you, the playful gleam in his eyes softening. His forehead rested against yours, and whispered, his voice rough but gentle, “You don’t have to, sweetheart. I’m all yours. Always have been, always will be.”

[writingbuckets]

𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧-𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫

paige bueckers x reader

wc: 6.8k

synopsis: Y/N and Paige Bueckers are caught in a tense moment after Paige’s jealousy and neglect come to a head. With emotions running high, both struggle to navigate their complicated feelings, forcing them to confront the future of their relationship.

warnings: angst, jealousy, explicit sexual content, slight manipulation, possessiveness, dom/sub dynamics, slight violence (physical restraint)

a/n: i present to you... jealous paige bc this is one of my favorite tropes literally ever! this was 16 pages on google docs so i apologize for that, gonna go through all my posts and add warnings to them so i shall see you later <3

You’re sprawled out on your bed, limbs heavy against the soft blanket, phone clutched in one hand. The screen casts a faint glow in the dim room, illuminating the furrow of frustration etched into your brow. Your thumb idly scrolls through your message thread with Paige—a barren wasteland of unanswered texts. Each message feels like a tiny stone dropped into the pit of your stomach, adding to the growing weight.

Monday

Hey, how’d practice go? You alive?

Wednesday

I know you’re busy, but can we talk soon? Paige?

Friday

Cool. Guess I’ll take the hint.

You sigh heavily, locking your phone and tossing it onto the bed beside you. The device bounces slightly before settling face down, but your mind refuses to let it go. A sharp buzz suddenly cuts through the silence, jolting your heart into a sprint. For a fleeting moment, hope flickers. You snatch up the phone, only for disappointment to flood in when Jasmine’s name lights up the screen instead.

You swipe to answer, switching to speaker and tossing it back on the bed. “What’s up, Jas?” you say, your tone flat and lacking its usual warmth.

“Clearly not you,” Jasmine replies, her voice teasing but tinged with concern. “You sound like someone kicked your puppy. Is this about Paige again?”

You pause, chewing on your bottom lip, the weight of your emotions threatening to spill over.

“She’s been ghosting me all week,” you finally admit, bitterness seeping into your voice like a slow drip. “I get that basketball keeps her busy, but is it really that hard to send one text? Like, ‘Hey, sorry, can’t talk right now’? That’s all I’m asking. It’s not rocket science.”

Jasmine’s incredulous tone comes through loud and clear. “Wait. She hasn’t responded at all? Not even a quick ‘Hey, I’m swamped’?”

“Not a word,” you reply, the edge in your voice sharpening. “Meanwhile, she’s out here talking about how much she likes me and how she wants to make things work. For what? So I can sit here, feeling like a damn afterthought, while she… I don’t even know what she’s doing anymore.”

“You deserve so much better,” Jasmine says firmly, her voice a grounding presence.

“Tell me about it,” you mutter, picking up your phone again despite yourself. It’s a reflex, a bad habit you can’t seem to break. You open Instagram, swiping through stories without purpose, when something stops you cold.

KK’s latest post dominates the screen. It’s a picture of the team crammed into a booth at Ted’s, smiles wide and carefree. Paige is smack in the middle, holding up Dirty Shirley, her grin so effortless it’s like she hasn’t ignored a single text in her life. She looks happy. Relaxed. Completely unbothered.

The caption reads: “Dubs only, baby! Turnt up with the squad 🏀.”

Your grip on the phone tightens as heat rises to your cheeks. Your jaw clenches involuntarily. So, she has time for this? Time to party, to hang out with her team, to go to Ted’s of all places—your spot—but can’t find two seconds to acknowledge you?

“Unbelievable,” you mutter under your breath, the words simmering with anger.

“What happened?” Jasmine’s voice snaps you back to reality.

“She’s at Ted’s,” you say through gritted teeth. “With the team. Laughing, drinking, looking like life is perfect while I’m over here wondering if she fell off the face of the Earth.”

“Oh, hell no,” Jasmine says, her indignation matching your own. “She thinks she can ignore you and get away with it? Nope. Get up, put on your hottest outfit, and remind her who the hell you are.”

You sit up, heart pounding as the idea takes root. Your glare is fixed on KK’s post, as if staring at it hard enough might erase the image entirely. Locking your phone, you toss it onto the bed before swinging your legs over the side.

“You know what?” you say, your voice steady and laced with resolve. “Maybe I will.”

The moment you’ve had enough, something shifts inside you—like a fire being reignited. The frustration that’s been simmering all evening finally boils over, and you grab your phone with newfound determination. Sitting upright on your bed, you unlock the screen, your fingers flying across the keyboard with practiced ease.

Y’all down for Ted’s tonight? Need backup.

The message is direct, no frills. This isn’t just a night out—it’s a mission.

Jasmine’s reply comes almost instantly, as if she’s been waiting for an excuse to hit the town. Say less. On my way in 20. Her energy is palpable even through a text.

Seconds later, Veronica chimes in: I’m in. Let’s cause some trouble. Her signature wink emoji follows, and you can’t help but smirk.

Finally, Serena’s response lights up your screen with a single word: Bet. Short, sweet, and packed with confidence.

With your friends locked in, you toss your phone onto the bed and head straight to your closet. It’s time to make a statement—one that’s impossible to ignore. You stand in front of your wardrobe, fingers brushing over hangers as you mentally critique each option. Too casual. Too plain. Too predictable.

After what feels like an eternity, your hand lands on the one. It’s bold, sleek, and undeniably sexy—a figure-hugging dress that accentuates all the right places and practically demands attention. You pull it off the hanger, holding it up in front of the mirror. The deep color complements your skin perfectly, and the hem does the absolute minimum in covering the bottom of your ass.

You slip into it carefully, smoothing the fabric over your body and adjusting it until it fits like a second skin. Taking a step back, you examine yourself in the mirror, tilting your head as a small smile plays on your lips. You look good. No—scratch that. You look amazing. But tonight, looking amazing isn’t enough. You want to turn heads. You want Paige to feel it.

Not done yet, you move to your vanity, flipping on the lights. Your makeup bag sits waiting, and you dive in with practiced precision. First, a flawless base, smooth and glowing, like your skin was kissed by the perfect Instagram filter. You follow with a contour that defines your features, giving you a sharp, sculpted look. Then comes the winged liner, bold and dramatic, with a flick so precise it could cut glass. Smokey eyeshadow enhances the look, making your gaze impossible to ignore, and a high-shine gloss adds the perfect finishing touch to your lips.

You lean back, giving yourself a final once-over in the mirror. Every detail is on point, down to the faint shimmer of highlighter catching the light on your cheekbones. It’s flawless, if you do say so yourself.

As you’re spritzing on your favorite perfume—a scent both intoxicating and unforgettable—your phone buzzes again. Jasmine’s text reads: Outside. Let’s do this.

You slip on your favorite pair of chunky, heeled boots, the ones that make you feel like you own every room you walk into, and grab your bag. The rhythmic click of your heels on the pavement mirrors your determination as you stride out to Jasmine’s car.

Sliding into the passenger seat, you’re met with a low whistle from Jasmine. “Damn, girl,” she says, giving you an approving once-over. “Are you trying to destroy someone tonight?”

You smirk as you buckle your seatbelt, tossing your bag onto your lap. “Not destroy. Just remind a certain someone what she’s about to lose.”

Jasmine’s laugh fills the car as she reaches over for a fist bump. “Now that is the energy I needed. She won’t know what hit her.”

The ride to Ted’s feels electric. The bass of the music pulses through the car, a perfect soundtrack to your rising confidence. Jasmine keeps hyping you up the whole way, stealing glances at you every so often.

“You look so good, you’re probably going to start a fight,” she teases with a grin.

You meet her eyes with a smirk, adjusting a strand of hair in the mirror. “Good,” you say, your voice dripping with confidence. “Let her be mad. She’s got it coming.”

Jasmine’s laughter rings out, blending with the music as the two of you pull into the crowded parking lot. The neon sign for Ted’s glows against the night sky, and the hum of voices and laughter spills out into the cool evening air.

You step out of the car with purpose, adjusting your outfit one last time as your heels click against the asphalt. One final glance in the car’s side mirror confirms what you already know: you’re a vision, and tonight, you’re a force to be reckoned with.

Ted’s won’t know what hit it. And neither will Paige.

The low buzz of voices and the faint clinking of glasses hit you the moment you step into Ted’s. The warm glow of string lights overhead bathes the packed bar in a golden hue, and the energy in the room is palpable—loud laughter, animated conversations, and the occasional cheer erupting from the direction of the pool table. Your heels click against the floor as you make your way in with Jasmine, Veronica, and Serena flanking you like a well-coordinated squad. 

It doesn’t take long to spot her. Paige is exactly where you expected, seated in a large booth near the back with Azzi, KK, Ice, and Jana. She’s dressed casually, black denim shorts, a black crop top, and an unbuttoned, white shirt, but she might as well be wearing a neon sign with the way she draws attention. She’s laughing, leaning back with her arm draped casually over the seat, completely at ease. You can see the sparkle in her eyes from here, even as she remains blissfully unaware of your presence.

The sight makes your stomach twist, but you shake it off. Tonight isn’t about Paige. At least that’s what you tell yourself.

“Let’s hit the bar,” you say, keeping your voice steady as you lead your friends in the opposite direction, deliberately ignoring the booth and the person in it.

The bartender greets you with a smile, and you order a couple rounds of shots for your group, letting Jasmine and the others hype you up as you throw them back the second they’re placed in front of you. Once you feel enough of a buzz to quell your anxiety, you decide to settle for a mixed drink to sip on for the remainder of the night. It isn’t long before you notice someone approaching, a tall, athletic-looking girl with broad shoulders and an easy grin. She’s wearing a fitted T-shirt and jeans, and the confidence in her stride is unmistakable.

“Hey,” she says, leaning against the bar. Her voice is low, smooth. “You look like you’re having more fun than anyone else here.”

You flash her a smile, tilting your head slightly. “You could say that.”

Her grin widens, and she introduces herself, launching into a conversation that you quickly match. Her compliments come freely—your outfit, your laugh, even the way you carry yourself—and you don’t hold back, laughing a little louder than usual and letting your fingers brush against her arm as you talk.

Across the booth, KK nudges Paige, a look of concern flickering across her face. “Uh, hey, isn’t that Y/N?” she says, nodding toward the bar.

Paige’s head snaps toward KK, her expression darkening as she follows her teammate’s line of sight. Her brows knit together as she takes in the scene—your effortless smile, the way you lean into the girl’s space, her hand resting on the bar just a little too close to yours. She recognizes the look in your eyes, it’s the same look she was on the receiving end of the first night you met.

“Yeah,” Paige says shortly, her voice clipped. She sets her drink down with more force than necessary, her grip tightening around the glass before she looks away.

Meanwhile, you pretend not to notice the silent storm brewing across the room. You keep your focus on the girl in front of you, leaning in just enough to keep the conversation flowing, though you can feel the heat of Paige’s jealousy from where you stand. It sends a thrill through you, equal parts satisfaction and spite.

As the girl laughs at something you’ve said, you turn your head to the side slightly, trying to catch a glance at the booth where Paige sits. Out of the corner of your eye, you see her tense, her hand balling into a fist on the table as she murmurs something to Azzi.

You can feel it in the air, Paige is reaching her breaking point. And that’s exactly what you wanted.

Paige sits stiffly in the booth, her grip on her drink tightening as her knuckles blanch. Her jaw works furiously, muscles twitching as if she’s holding back an eruption. The sound of your laugh, airy and effortless, cuts through the din of the bar, and Paige’s eyes flicker with barely concealed rage. Her teammates exchange uneasy glances, sensing the storm brewing beside them.

Azzi nudges KK and leans in. “Uh, is she okay?”

KK shrugs, her voice low. “I don’t think so.”

Paige suddenly stands, her movements sharp and deliberate. The scrape of her chair against the floor draws their attention.

“Where are you going?” Azzi asks, concern softening her voice.

Paige doesn’t look at her, her gaze fixed like a laser on you across the room. “I’ll be back,” she mutters, her voice clipped.

She doesn’t wait for a response, weaving through the crowd with purpose. Her steps are quick, her shoulders tight, and her eyes never leave you. You’re at the bar, leaning casually against the counter, completely absorbed in your conversation with the tall, athletic-looking girl beside you. The girl leans in close, her hand grazing your arm as she says something that makes you throw your head back with a laugh.

Paige’s chest tightens, and the corners of her vision blur with the heat of her jealousy. Each second feels like an eternity as she closes the distance, her blood boiling at the sight of the stranger getting a little too comfortable with you.

When she reaches you, she doesn’t pause to think. Her arm snakes around your waist in one swift motion, pulling you firmly against her side. The sudden contact makes you gasp, your conversation abruptly cut off. The flirty girl takes a step back, startled and clearly intimidated by Paige’s possessive presence.

“We’re leaving,” Paige says, her tone low and commanding. Her words are sharp enough to slice through the tension in the air.

You turn your head sharply, blinking in surprise as your eyes meet hers. The fire in her gaze burns so brightly it could scorch you, but you’re too stubborn to back down. “Now you have time to talk to me?” you ask, drawing the sentence out with deliberate sarcasm. “I think I’m fine right here.”

Paige’s jaw ticks, but she doesn’t respond. Instead, her arm tightens around your waist, her fingers pressing firmly into your side. It’s a silent warning, one you choose to ignore as you plant your feet against her attempts to steer you toward the door.

“Paige, what the hell?” you protest, your voice rising with irritation.

“Not here,” she snaps, her tone cold and final. Her grip remains unrelenting as she continues to lead you away from the bar.

Your friends notice the commotion, Jasmine standing halfway out of her seat. “Y/N, are you good?” she calls, her brows furrowed with concern.

You twist in Paige’s hold just enough to look back at them, throwing a hand up in a dismissive wave. “I’ll text you!” you shout over your shoulder, your voice dripping with frustration.

Paige doesn’t slow her pace until the two of you are outside, the cool night air biting at your skin. She releases you near her car, and you immediately step back, glaring at her.

“Seriously, Paige?” you snap, your voice sharp as you cross your arms over your chest. “You think you can just show up, ruin my night, and drag me out like this?”

Paige’s nostrils flare as she turns to face you fully, her expression thunderous. “I think I just did.”

Eventually you arrive at her apartment, and she has to practically pull you out of her car by your arm. The second you step into Paige’s entryway, you rip your arm out of her grip with enough force to make her stumble slightly. You spin around to face her, your chest heaving with frustration. The door slams shut behind you, echoing through the space like a gunshot.

“What the hell is your problem, Paige?” you shout, your voice cutting through the silence like a blade. Your words are sharp, fueled by anger that’s been simmering for days.

Paige whirls around to face you, her face already twisted in fury. “My problem?” she fires back, her voice rising to match yours, letting out a humorless chuckle. “You’re out there all over some random girl, and you’re asking me what my problem is?”

You take a step closer, refusing to back down. “Yeah, I am! Because you ignore me all week, and the second I talk to someone else, you suddenly care? Make it make sense, Paige!”

She runs both hands through her hair, pacing in jerky, frustrated strides between the door and the counter. “Do you know how insane it made me to see you with her?” she snaps, her words laced with raw, unfiltered emotion. “Laughing, touching her, looking like you were having the time of your life? Like I didn’t even exist?”

You laugh bitterly, the sound sharp and humorless as you cross your arms over your chest. “That’s rich, Paige. At least she actually talked to me, which is more than I’ve gotten from you in weeks.”

The room feels charged, every word hanging heavy in the air, but Paige isn’t done. She steps forward again, her voice low and rough with frustration. “You think I don’t care? You think I don’t want to talk to you? You’re all over her, touching her like it doesn’t matter, and it’s driving me crazy—"

“Gee, sounds like you finally get it,” you fire back, your words sharp with bitterness. “But hey, don’t worry, I’ll stop talking to people if it’ll make you feel better. Maybe next time, I’ll just sit in the corner and wait for you to remember I’m here, like some sad little backup plan.”

You turn your head, preparing to walk out, but before you can take a single step, Paige’s hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist with a force that stops you in your tracks. Your heart pounds in your chest as you turn to face her, ready to throw another snarky remark her way.

But before you can speak, she’s there, bringing her hands to grab both sides of your face, her lips crashing into yours with an intensity that takes you by surprise. You freeze for a split second, then instinct kicks in. You try to pull away, pushing against her chest with as much force as you can muster.

But she doesn’t let up. Her kiss deepens, her hand sliding to the back of your neck, keeping you in place. The anger you’ve been carrying fades, replaced with confusion and something else you can’t quite name. You can feel her tension, her frustration, her need for something—maybe an answer, maybe redemption.

She slides one of her hands down to anchor around the front of your throat, her other hand drifting to grab at your hip through the thin material of your dress. She slowly starts to back you towards her kitchen, not stopping until the top of your ass is pressing against the island counter. She brings both hands to your hips, tapping the side of your ass with one hand, encouraging you to jump, and roughly squeezing your hip with the other.

A soft gasp escapes your lips as she lifts you effortlessly onto the cool marble countertop. Her hands slide possessively up your thighs, pushing the hem of your dress higher. She steps forward, wedging herself between your parted legs.

"You look so fucking good in this dress," she says, her voice low and thick with desire. One hand slips under the fabric to caress the bare skin of your hip while the other tangles in your hair, tugging your head back to expose the column of your throat.

She dips her head, warm breath ghosting over your sensitive skin before her lips press against your racing pulse. Your back arches as she nips at the delicate skin, soothing the pinch with her tongue and surely leaving a mark. A breathy moan fills the air and it takes you a moment to realize it came from you. 

Her lips trail lower, peppering hot, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone. You shiver as her tongue flicks out to taste your skin. The hand on your hip slides inward, fingertips skimming teasingly along the inside of your thigh. 

You wrap your legs around her waist, pulling her in closer, desperate for more contact. She chuckles darkly against your throat, the vibrations sending sparks of pleasure racing down your spine. "I love it when you get like this," she murmurs approvingly. "All desperate and needy."

To punctuate her point, she rolls her hips, grinding against your center. The pressure and friction draw a keening whimper from your lips. Your hands fly up to grip her strong shoulders, nails digging into taut muscle through her shirt. 

Her lips glide over your skin, a delicate yet fervent touch, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. As she moves up from your jawline, each kiss ignites a spark, and her breath, hot and teasing, touches your neck, sending shivers racing down your spine. "I've been thinking about having you like this all night," she murmurs.

You whimper as her hands skim higher, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts through the thin fabric. She captures your lips in a searing kiss, tongue delving deep to claim your mouth, leaving you breathless and aching for more. 

She reaches up to pull your dress down, revealing your bare breasts. Her lips immediately latch onto one of your nipples, sucking and biting it gently. You arch into her touch, a moan escaping your parted lips as she places full attention on the sensitive bud. Her tongue flicks and swirls, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. 

Her other hand palms your neglected breast, kneading the supple flesh. She rolls the pebbled nipple between her fingers, pinching and tugging in time with the ministrations of her mouth, each pull sending another rush of heat flooding your body.

"So pretty, baby," she says, the words vibrating against your skin. She gives your nipple one last hard suck before trailing her lips across your chest to the other breast, circling her tongue around the straining peak. Her mouth is relentless, her tongue swirling and flicking over your nipple until it’s aching, her teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp. Her free hand slides down your stomach, fingers tracing the curve of your hip before slipping between your thighs. You’re already wet, your panties soaked through, and she groans against your skin as her fingers brush over the damp fabric.

Your head falls back as you cry out, hands fisting in her silky hair to hold her close. She smirks against your skin, clearly enjoying the reactions she's pulling from your trembling body. Your back arches involuntarily, pressing your body closer to hers as you desperately seek more of her touch, the sound of her soft chuckle making you shudder with pleasure.

"Patience," she whispers, the word barely audible as her fingers trace lazy circles around your clit through the lace of your underwear. The sensation is frustrating, and you can't help but whimper, your hips bucking involuntarily in search of more contact.

You can feel the wetness pooling between your legs, your body responding to her touch in ways you never thought possible. You already know she's jealous, you saw the way she looked at you earlier when you were talking to that other girl. But you can't help but feel thrilled at the way she's touching you now, as if she's trying to claim you as her own.

You lean back on your hands, your eyes locked on Paige's as she continues to tease you. Her gaze is intense, fiery, and you can see the possessiveness in her eyes. It sends a thrill down your spine, making you even more turned on. 

"You're mine," Paige murmurs, her voice low and husky, filled with an undeniable possessiveness. The words send a thrill throughout your body, making your heart race with excitement. “Say it.”

"I'm yours," you whisper back, your voice barely audible as the tension builds within you. You can feel the pressure growing more and more intense, your body aching for release. 

Paige's fingers finally slip under the waistband of your underwear, making contact with your sensitive skin. The feeling is electrifying, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. You cry out, your hips bucking wildly as she begins to stroke you. Her touch is firm and confident, her fingers expertly finding your most sensitive spots.

You feel yourself teetering on the edge of orgasm, your body trembling with anticipation. Paige's gaze is locked on yours, her eyes filled with a fierce intensity that makes you feel both vulnerable and powerful at the same time.

She leans in, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispers, "Come for me, baby."

And with those words, you finally let go, your body convulsing with pleasure as you cry out her name. Paige holds you close, her fingers still moving rhythmically as you ride out your orgasm. As the waves of your orgasm begin to subside, Paige pulls her fingers away from your clit. 

Before you can fully catch your breath, Paige is on you again. She moves with a speed and agility that takes you by surprise, pushing your back onto the counter with a force that leaves you momentarily stunned.

Your body splayed out beneath her, you feel a thrill of excitement run through you. You're completely at her mercy, and the thought is intoxicating. Paige's hand makes its way back to your throat, her grip firm and unyielding. She pins you to the counter by your throat, her body pressing against yours as she holds you in place.

You gasp at the sudden change in position, your heart racing with a combination of fear and excitement. The feeling of being completely dominated by Paige is both terrifying and exhilarating, sending a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins. 

Paige's other hand slides back between your legs, her fingers finding your entrance with ease. You can feel yourself growing wetter with each passing moment, your body responding instinctually to her touch. She finds your g-spot easily, her fingers curling and pressing against it with just the right amount of pressure. You moan softly, your hips bucking as she begins to stroke you, her movements slow and deliberate at first, before building up to a feverish pace. 

But she’s not content with just bringing you to orgasm. She wants to claim you, to mark you as hers in every way possible. And as she continues to finger you, her grip on your throat tightening ever so slightly, you know that you're completely and utterly hers.

Paige's movements become more insistent, her fingers moving faster and harder as she brings you closer and closer to the edge. You can feel yourself teetering on the brink of another orgasm, your body writhing and bucking beneath her touch. Your breath comes in short, ragged gasps as she continues, her movements growing more frantic as she feels your body starting to give in to the pleasure. “Paige, I can’t… it’s too much.”

“Nah, baby, I’ve been so mean to you this week, I just wanna make it up to you.” You moan louder now, your voice echoing through the room as Paige brings you to new heights of pleasure. Your body feels like it's on fire, every nerve ending sparking with pleasure. “C’mon, I know you can take it.”

And then, with one final stroke, you reach the peak of your orgasm, your body convulsing and shaking as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you. Paige's fingers continue to move inside you, prolonging your orgasm and sending you spiraling into new heights of ecstasy. When it's all over, you collapse back onto the counter, your body spent and satisfied. Paige pulls her fingers away, a satisfied smirk on her face as she looks down at you, bringing her fingers to her mouth to suck at the remnants of your orgasm.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you snap, your voice sharper than you intended, though the heat in your cheeks betrays your embarrassment. You quickly move to fix your dress, suddenly feeling self-conscious now that the moment is over.

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” Paige replies, her voice steady but softer than usual. Still, her gaze doesn’t waver, her blue eyes fixed on you.

The silence in the apartment feels suffocating, filled with the weight of everything unspoken. The distant hum of the refrigerator is the only sound, an almost mocking contrast to the charged tension between you. Sitting on the edge of the kitchen counter, you swing your legs idly, trying to feign a casualness you don’t feel. The cool surface beneath you does little to soothe the heat creeping up your neck as Paige stands in front of you, close enough that her presence seems to fill the room.

When you finally look at her, expecting that same smug, self-satisfied smirk she’s perfected, you’re caught off guard. Her expression isn’t cocky; it’s something else entirely. The spark of amusement is gone, replaced by something heavier, something raw. Her blue eyes hold yours, steady and searching, as if she’s trying to find the words buried somewhere between you.

Paige shifts slightly, her hands resting on the counter on either side of your thighs. She takes a breath, her chest rising and falling in a way that betrays the steady confidence she usually exudes. For a split second, it feels like the world narrows down to just this moment, just the two of you.

Her voice finally breaks the silence, low and uncharacteristically serious. “You know we need to talk about everything.”

The words hang between you, heavy and undeniable. Her tone is firm but carries a vulnerability that makes your stomach twist. She’s not brushing this off or dancing around it like you half-expected. No teasing grin, no playful deflection—just a directness that makes it impossible to pretend this is something you can both walk away from unscathed.

Paige shifts her weight slightly, standing even closer now, the space between your legs shrinking until there’s barely any left. The warmth of her body radiates against you, and you suddenly feel hyper aware of every inch of space she occupies. Her eyes don’t leave yours, and you can tell she’s waiting, giving you the chance to push her away—or pull her closer.

But the way she looks at you, so open and unguarded, makes it hard to do either. It’s a stark contrast to the Paige who had been ignoring your texts all week, and yet, it feels so achingly familiar. You’re torn between wanting to stay guarded and giving in to the pull of the moment. Finally, you arch an eyebrow, your voice steady despite the swirl of emotions threatening to surface.

“Okay,” you say, your tone more challenging than you intended. “Start talking.”

Paige’s shoulders stiffen, and for a second, you think she might retreat into that wall of stoicism she hides behind so well. But then her jaw tightens, and she steps even closer, her closeness making your nervousness spike, but you don’t flinch, meeting her gaze head-on.

“I can’t stand seeing you with someone else,” she says, her words thick with frustration. “I don’t want you flirting, laughing, or even looking at anyone but me. I want you, Y/N. Only you. I want us to be exclusive. I’ll do better. Just… don’t ever do that again.”

Your breath catches, and you almost flinch at how accurately her words cut to the truth. Still, you say nothing, giving her the space to continue.

“I messed up,” she begins, her voice quiet but deliberate. “I know I’ve been distant. I know I’ve made you feel like you’re not important to me, like basketball or… anything else in my life comes before you.”

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest as you try to maintain your composure, the snarky defense you’ve built up around yourself threatening to crack. You cross your arms, fighting to keep the sarcasm in your voice, even though your insides are a tangled mess of emotions.

“Exclusive, huh?” you challenge, your voice sharp, almost taunting, as you raise an eyebrow. Your arms are crossed tightly over your chest, creating a barrier between you and the vulnerability she’s suddenly laying at your feet. “And what happens when basketball gets in the way again? When I’m just another item on your to-do list?”

Paige flinches, just barely, but you catch it. The slight crack in her usually unshakable confidence stirs something in you—satisfaction, maybe, or guilt. You can’t quite tell. Her jaw tightens, the muscles working as if she’s biting back the first response that comes to mind. Instead, her gaze shifts, no longer carrying the frustration or defensiveness you’ve grown used to. Instead, there’s something softer, rawer, in the way she looks at you now. The intensity of her eyes locks you in place, her expression quietly pleading yet resolute.

“I’m not going to let that happen again,” Paige says, her voice low and steady. “I know I’ve screwed up before. I’ve made you feel like you’re not a priority, like you’re just… there, waiting for me to fit you in.” She pauses, the weight of her own admission hanging heavily between you. “But that’s not how I see you. That’s not what I want us to be.”

Her words hit you harder than you expected. There’s no rehearsed apology, no empty promises. Just a raw honesty that feels like she’s peeling back the layers she’s kept hidden from everyone else. Your heart twists, torn between holding onto your frustration and the pull of what she’s offering.

You narrow your eyes, unwilling to let her off the hook so easily. “And how do I know this isn’t just another one of your moments? That it won’t be the same cycle all over again?”

Paige exhales, her shoulders rising and falling with the weight of your skepticism. “Because I don’t want to lose you,” she says simply, her tone almost breaking. “Because when I saw you with her tonight, it felt like the ground was being ripped out from under me. I don’t want to feel that again, Y/N. I don’t want you to ever feel like you’re not enough, or that you’re not worth my time.”

You’re still sitting on the counter, and the height difference gives you a brief sense of power, though it doesn’t last long under the intensity of her gaze.

“You’re not some item on a list,” she continues, her voice softening as she tilts her head to meet your eyes. “You’re the list, Y/N. You’re the one thing that matters more than all of it. And if that means I have to rearrange my life, show up differently, or prove it to you every single day, then that’s what I’ll do.”

The vulnerability in her words catches you off guard. For a moment, all the anger and bitterness you’ve been clinging to starts to loosen its grip. Still, you’re not ready to let her win that easily. You raise an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly as if to study her, daring her to flinch under your scrutiny.

“You’re really laying it on thick, Bueckers,” you quip, though the usual sharpness in your tone is softened by the faintest hint of a smirk.

Paige’s lips twitch upward, a flicker of her usual confidence returning. “That’s because I mean it,” she counters, her voice steady. “I’m not going to let you walk away from this—not without fighting for you.”

You’re quiet for a moment, the air between you charged with unspoken feelings and the lingering tension of everything that’s gone unsaid for far too long.

“So, you’re telling me I’m the priority now?” you ask, your voice quieter this time, a little softer, though you keep your arms crossed in a weak attempt to shield yourself. There’s hesitation in your tone, an uncertainty you can’t quite hide, but the words still slip past your lips. “Not basketball, not your schedule, not the team?”

Paige doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t waver. Her blue eyes hold yours with an intensity that pins you in place, her conviction written all over her face. “Yes,” she says, her voice steady, as though the truth of it is something she’s carried for a long time. “You. Only you, Y/N.”

You look down at where her hands rest, then back up to meet her eyes—those piercing blue eyes that seem to hold nothing but honesty and a hint of fear, as if she’s bracing for your rejection. Your defenses falter. The weight of her confession, the raw emotion in her voice, the way she’s standing there, so vulnerable—it all seeps into the cracks of your resolve. Slowly, your arms drop to your sides, the tension in your shoulders easing as you exhale a shaky breath.

“Paige,” you murmur, your voice quieter now, fueled with something more forgiving. “If you screw this up—”

“I won’t,” she interrupts, her voice firm but not forceful. Her hands slide up slightly, resting on your hips now, anchoring herself to you. “I swear to you, Y/N. I won’t.”

You hold her gaze for another long moment, searching her face for any sign of doubt. But all you see is determination—determination and something deeper, something so achingly familiar it makes your heart clench.

“Okay,” you whisper, the word barely audible, but it’s enough. Enough to make Paige’s expression soften, her shoulders relax, and a spark of hope flicker in her eyes.

Her grip on your hips tightens slightly as she steps closer, standing between your legs, her face just inches from yours now. “Okay?” she repeats, as if she can’t quite believe it.

“Okay,” you say again, your voice steadier this time. You tilt your head slightly, a small, almost teasing smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “But you’d better back it up, Bueckers. I’m not making this easy for you.”

Paige chuckles softly, a sound filled with relief and affection. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Before you can respond, she leans in, her hands sliding up to cup your face gently, her thumbs brushing against your cheeks. She hesitates for the briefest moment, giving you a chance to pull away, but when you don’t, she closes the distance.

The kiss is slow at first, almost tentative, as if she’s trying to convey everything she can’t put into words. But it doesn’t take long for the intensity to build, for her to pour every ounce of her emotions into the connection. Her lips move against yours with a mix of passion and desperation, and you can feel her heartbeat pounding in sync with your own.

Your hands find their way to her shoulders, then slide up to thread through her hair, pulling her closer as you kiss her back with just as much fervor. The tension, the anger, the frustration of the past week melts away, replaced by a warmth that spreads through your chest like wildfire.

When she finally pulls back, both of you are breathing hard, foreheads resting together. Paige’s eyes search yours, her lips curling into a small, almost shy smile. “I’ll make it up to you, Y/N. Every day. You’ll see.”

You can’t help but smile back, your fingers still tangled in her hair. “You’d better,” you reply, your tone soft but teasing. “Because I’m holding you to it.”

Paige grins, and for the first time in what feels like forever, it feels like everything is falling into place.

[flux1563]

Truth Or Dare ft Eunbi and Minju pt 1

Tags : squirting, creampie

Words : 7k

Minju stumbled upon a forgotten corner of the city park, her heart racing from the excitement of the day. Her latest play had just wrapped up, and the applause still echoed in her ears. The air was crisp with the scent of blooming flowers, a stark contrast to the stuffy theatre she had left behind. She needed a moment to breathe, to absorb the success that had just become a reality.

Her thoughts drifted to Mr. Y/N, her ever-supportive manager. He had worked tirelessly behind the scenes, ensuring every detail was perfect. His guidance had been the backbone of the play, and she knew she couldn't have done it without him. A small smile played on her lips as she thought of his stoic face, which she had caught breaking into a proud grin when she took her final bow.

Eunbi, her best friend, was another person who came to mind. They had shared countless dreams and tears together, and now, Minju's dreams were coming true. She knew Eunbi would be over the moon about the play's success. But there was something else, a tiny secret Minju held close to her heart—Eunbi's hidden feelings for Mr. Y/N. It was an unspoken tension that had woven its way into their friendship, a thread of jealousy Minju tried not to acknowledge.

As she sat on the bench, her phone buzzed with a message from Mr. Y/N. He suggested a small celebration, just the two of them. A quiet drink to toast to the play's success. It was a perfect idea, but Minju's mind wandered to Eunbi, who was probably at home, waiting to hear all about it. A pang of guilt hit her. How could she leave her best friend out of this moment?

Minju's fingers hovered over the keyboard, typing out a reply. "How about we invite Eunbi?" she wrote. "It's only fair she joins us. She's been there through everything." She hit send and took a deep breath, watching as the message vanished into the digital abyss. The thought of the three of them together made her stomach flutter, but she knew it was the right thing to do.

Mr. Y/N's response was swift. "Great idea," he texted back. "Let's make it a party of three."

Minju felt a rush of relief. It was decided. They would celebrate together. She quickly called Eunbi, who squealed with excitement upon hearing the news. "I'll be right there!" she said, her voice bubbly over the line.

When they arrived at Mr. Y/N's apartment, it was as elegant and well-kept as he was. The lights were dim, casting a warm glow that danced across the sleek, modern furniture. Soft jazz music played in the background, setting a relaxed and intimate atmosphere. A bottle of champagne chilled in an ice bucket on the counter, and three flutes were already arranged, ready to be filled.

Mr. Y/N popped the cork with a flourish, the sound echoing in the quiet apartment like a miniature firework. The golden liquid bubbled and foamed, filling the air with the sweet scent of victory and celebration. They clinked their glasses together, the sound ringing out like a toast to their shared success. The first sip was cold and bubbly on Minju's tongue, the taste of triumph in every fizz.

The music grew louder, and Minju couldn't resist the rhythm anymore. She set her glass down and began to dance, her body moving freely to the smooth melody. Eunbi joined her, her laughter infectious as they spun around the room. Mr. Y/N watched them for a moment, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, before he set the bottle aside and took the dance floor too. They moved together, their bodies in sync with the music and their spirits soaring.

As the night went on, the drinks flowed freely, and the conversation grew louder. The tension between Minju and Eunbi dissipated with every laugh and shared glance. They were three friends, celebrating a shared victory, the air thick with joy and camaraderie. The champagne loosened their inhibitions, and the dance floor grew crowded with their laughter and spilled drinks. The music wove through them, binding them together in a moment that felt suspended in time.

Mr. Y/N's living room was a whirlwind of movement and sound. They danced to songs that spanned decades, each tune bringing back a flood of memories and emotions. Eunbi's eyes sparkled as she spun around, her hair flying in every direction. Minju felt a warmth spread through her chest, watching her friend so happy and carefree.

The night grew late, and their laughter grew softer. The music played on, a gentle backdrop to their conversation as they sat down, their glasses refilled and their cheeks flushed. They talked about the play, about the future, and about their friendship. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated happiness, a celebration of not just the play's success, but of the bond they had built over the years.

And as they sipped their champagne, the unspoken tension between Eunbi and Mr. Y/N grew stronger, like a bassline that had been playing under the surface all along. Minju could feel it, but she chose to ignore it, focusing instead on the joy of the moment. After all, it was a night to remember, a night where dreams had come true and friendships had been tested and proven strong.

The three of them sat there, the music a gentle hum in the background, the bubbles of champagne tickling their noses, and the weight of their secrets floating just out of reach. For now, they were just friends, basking in the glow of success. But Minju couldn't shake the feeling that the next act of their lives was just about to begin, and it would be one filled with twists and turns she could never have predicted.

On a whim, she spoke up, "What about we play truth or dare together?"

Mr. Y/N's eyebrows shot up, a glint of surprise in his eyes. "Truth or dare?" he echoed.

"Why not?" Minju said with a mischievous smile. "It's a great way to end the night!"

Mr. Y/N shrugged, his expression a mix of amusement and wariness. "Alright, I'll start," Eunbi said, her eyes shining with excitement. She pointed at Minju. "Truth or dare?"

Minju took a deep breath and decided to go with truth. She had always been the more cautious one, preferring to keep her feelings close to her chest. "Truth," she said firmly.

Eunbi leaned in, her eyes glinting with mischief. "When was the last time you had sex?"

Minju's cheeks flushed a deep shade of red, and she stuttered out, "One week ago," feeling the heat of the question even as she said it. She took a gulp of her champagne, hoping to dull the mortification that washed over her.

Mr. Y/N's gaze remained unwaveringly on Eunbi, his eyes questioning. "Truth or dare?" he asked, his tone even.

Eunbi's cheeks flushed a delicate pink, but she held his gaze without faltering. "Truth," she said, her voice steady.

Mr. Y/N leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving hers. "Who's the person you fantasize about having sex with the most?"

The room grew quieter, the music fading into the background. Eunbi's cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink, and she took a moment before looking directly at Mr. Y/N. "You, Mr. Y/N," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. The words hung in the air like a confession, a secret laid bare.

Mr. Y/N's smile froze on his face, his eyes widening slightly before he composed himself. He took a sip of his champagne, his gaze never leaving Eunbi's. "Well," he said after a pause, his voice a little rougher than usual, "now that's quite the truth to share."

The air grew thick with unspoken feelings, and Minju felt a knot form in her stomach. She had hoped to ease the tension with a harmless game, but now it felt like she had thrown a grenade into the room. Eunbi's confession hung in the air, unexploded, but the fuse was burning fast.

Mr. Y/N cleared his throat, the silence stretching taut. "Truth," he said finally, his eyes meeting Minju's.

Eunbi felt a jolt of surprise at his choice. "Who was the last person you had sex with?" she asked, her voice barely audible.

Minju's eyes widened, and she felt her heart drop. She had never thought the game would go this far, but here they were, their deepest secrets laid bare.

"Minju," Mr. Y/N said, his voice softer than she had ever heard it. She felt his gaze on her, but she couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. Instead, she took another sip of her champagne, the bubbles feeling sharp and bitter as they went down her throat.

Eunbi's laugh was forced, a nervous giggle that didn't quite mask the tension in the room. "So, beside her manager, you were her...?" she trailed off, her voice cracking.

Minju's cheeks flamed, and she downed her champagne in one go. The alcohol hit her harder than she expected, making her words tumble out in a rush. "It was amazing!" she exclaimed, her voice carrying a little too loudly. "He was so...so good, I couldn't believe it!"

Eunbi's eyes grew wide, and she took a big gulp of her drink, trying to keep up with the sudden shift in the atmosphere. "You guys are serious?" she managed to ask, her voice a mix of shock and excitement.

Mr. Y/N cleared his throat, his cheeks coloring slightly. "It was a one-time thing, a mistake," he said, his voice firm but not unkind. "We both agreed to keep it professional."

The room was silent for a moment, the music seemingly too loud for the quiet that had settled over them. Then, Minju leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "But oh my god, he made me squirt for so long!" she said, her eyes wide with wonder. "It was like nothing I've ever felt before!"

Eunbi's eyes darted between them, her own glass of champagne trembling in her hand. She had never heard Minju talk about sex so openly, especially about someone she was supposed to just be friends with. The room spun slightly, the alcohol making her feel both light-headed and strangely invigorated.

"Alright, Eunbi," Minju said with a playful grin, "you chose dare. Time to get wild!"

Eunbi took a deep breath, trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. She had always been the more shy and reserved one of the two, but she didn't want to be outdone. "Okay," she whispered, "I'm ready."

Minju leaned in closer, her voice a seductive purr. "I dare you to strip down until you have nothing left to hide," she said, her eyes gleaming with excitement. Eunbi's heart skipped a beat. She had never done anything like this before, but she knew she had to go through with it.

With shaking hands, Eunbi set her glass aside and began to unbutton her shirt, one button at a time. The fabric slipped away, revealing the lacy bra beneath. She felt Mr. Y/N's eyes on her, but she couldn't bring herself to look at him. Instead, she focused on Minju, whose smile grew wider with every piece of clothing that hit the floor.

Finally, she was down to her underwear, her body exposed and vulnerable. She looked up, her cheeks aflame, and met Mr. Y/N's gaze. His expression was unreadable, his eyes dark and intense. She knew he could see her heart racing, could feel the heat radiating from her skin.

"Keep going," Minju urged, her voice thick with excitement. Eunbi took a deep breath and unclasped her bra, letting it fall to the floor. Her breasts, larger than Minju's, bounced slightly from the sudden release, the cool air of the apartment making her nipples tighten. She felt Mr. Y/N's eyes on her, his gaze unyielding, and she couldn't tell if he was appalled or aroused.

With trembling hands, she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her underwear, pushing it down over her hips. She stepped out of it, leaving herself completely bare before them. She had never felt so exposed, so...wanted. Her eyes searched Mr. Y/N's, looking for any sign of what he was thinking, but all she found was a heated intensity that sent shivers down her spine.

The room was silent except for the soft jazz playing in the background, each note seeming to amplify the tension. The air was charged with something electric, something she hadn't felt before. She looked at Minju, who was watching her with a look that was half excitement, half concern, and realized that she had gone too far.

Minju's words echoed in her head. "How about you feel Mr. Y/N's skill in sex?" The proposal hung in the air like a question that had no right to be asked, but she found herself unable to look away.

Eunbi's legs parted, almost involuntarily, as she stood before them. She felt a rush of heat between her thighs, her body responding to the intensity in Mr. Y/N's gaze. She didn't say a word, didn't need to. Her actions spoke louder than any confession she could have made. The fabric of the room seemed to stretch tight with the unspoken understanding that this was a pivotal moment, a line that could not be uncrossed.

Without breaking eye contact, Mr. Y/N reached out and cupped her left breast, his thumb brushing over the hardened peak. His touch was firm, sure, and it sent a jolt of electricity through Eunbi's body, making her gasp. She could feel the heat of his hand through her skin, the pressure of his thumb as he teased her. It was a sensation that she had dreamed of for so long, but now that it was real, it was so much more than she had ever imagined.

Minju's voice was a soft whisper from somewhere to her left, "His touch is magic, right?" Eunbi's eyes flickered to her friend, who was watching them with a strange mix of excitement and something else, something that looked suspiciously like hunger. She nodded, unable to form coherent words as Mr. Y/N's other hand joined the first, both now playing with her breasts, kneading and pinching until she was panting with need.

Mr. Y/N leaned in, his breath hot against Eunbi's skin as he whispered, "How was her tits, Minju?" The question hung in the air, a silent challenge. Minju's eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned back in her chair, her own hand sliding up her dress to cup her breast. "Perfect," she said, her voice a sultry purr. "Just the right size to fit in your mouth."

Without missing a beat, Mr. Y/N lowered his head and took Eunbi's right nipple between his lips, sucking gently. The sensation was unlike anything Eunbi had ever felt, and she gasped, her body arching into the touch. His tongue swirled around the sensitive peak, teasing and flicking, while his other hand continued to play with her left breast. The wetness between her thighs grew, soaking the fabric of her dress. She could feel her body betraying her, responding to his touch in a way that was undeniably carnally.

Minju's voice was a soft encouragement beside her. "Look how wet she's getting," she said, her own hand sliding down her body to mimic Mr. Y/N's actions on Eunbi. "Her pussy is begging for you, Mr. Y/N. She's a better squirter than me, I'm sure of it."

Mr. Y/N's eyes shot to Minju, a flash of something unreadable crossing his face. He released Eunbi's nipple with a pop, leaving it glistening with his saliva. "Is that so?" he murmured, his eyes dark with desire.

Minju nodded eagerly. "Oh yes," she said, her hand sliding between her own legs. "You've got to see it. It's like a fountain."

Mr. Y/N's eyes remained on Eunbi, his hand drifting down to the apex of her thighs. With a gentle touch, he slid his fingers along her slit, feeling the slickness of her arousal. Eunbi's legs quivered as he found her clit, his touch sending a wave of pleasure through her body. She threw her head back, moaning uncontrollably as he began to tease her, his movements slow and deliberate.

Minju watched, her eyes glued to the scene before her. She had never seen Eunbi like this, so open and wanton, and it was a powerful aphrodisiac. She could feel her own arousal growing, her panties dampening as she watched Mr. Y/N's hand work its magic on her friend. The sound of Eunbi's moans filled the room, mingling with the music and their own breathless whispers.

Eunbi's eyes fluttered closed, her breath coming in short gasps as Mr. Y/N's fingers danced over her clit. She could feel the pressure building, the tension in her body growing tighter and tighter. With every stroke, she grew wetter, her body begging for release.

"Please keep going, I need to cum," she said, her voice a desperate whisper. Mr. Y/N's eyes never left hers, his own desire clear in their depths. He increased his pace, his thumb rubbing her clit in firm circles that made her hips buck and her legs shake. The pleasure was intense, almost painful in its intensity, but she didn't want it to stop.

Minju watched, her own hand slipping under her dress to mimic his movements. She was so turned on by the sight of her friend's pleasure that she couldn't help but join in, her own breath coming in pants as she touched herself. "You're so close," she murmured, her voice a mix of envy and excitement. "Let it go, Eunbi."

Mr. Y/N's eyes never left Eunbi's, his fingers moving faster, pressing harder against her swollen clit. She whimpered, her body tightening around him as she approached the edge. "Ahh, ahh, I'm going to—" she gasped, her voice trailing off as the orgasm hit her like a wave, crashing over her with a force that made her legs give out.

Her juices spurted out, a geyser of passion that soaked Mr. Y/N's hand and arm, spraying onto Minju's dress in an explosion of pure ecstasy. Minju's eyes widened in shock, and then a wicked grin spread across her face as she took in the sight. Eunbi's body convulsed, her orgasm so powerful that she couldn't help but squirt, her fluids painting a pattern on the floor as she rode the waves of pleasure.

"I told you, she is a better squirter," Minju said, her voice filled with a mix of pride and satisfaction. Mr. Y/N looked up at her, his hand still buried in Eunbi's pussy, his fingers coated in her cum. He couldn't help but laugh, the sound deep and rumbling, the tension in the room finally breaking.

Minju took the moment to stand, her own dress feeling uncomfortably wet against her skin. She reached behind her, unzipping the fabric with an ease that came from years of performing. The dress pooled around her feet, leaving her in nothing but her damp lingerie. She stepped out of the material, her eyes never leaving Eunbi's face, watching the aftershocks of pleasure ripple through her.

"Looks like Eunbi had a little accident," Mr. Y/N said with a smirk, gesturing to Minju's soaked underwear.

Minju giggled, feeling the warmth of her friend's cum seep through the fabric and onto her skin. "Guess it's only fair," she said, her voice playful as she began to strip. She slid her panties down her legs, stepping out of them with a dramatic flair. She was now as bare as Eunbi, their friendship stripped down to its rawest form.

"Now, Mr. Y/N," Minju said, her voice husky with anticipation, "I dare you to show Eunbi how skilled your mouth truly is."

Mr. Y/N took a moment to set his champagne flute aside, the clink of the glass punctuating the heavy silence. He looked at Eunbi, who was still recovering from her powerful orgasm, her cheeks flushed and eyes half-lidded with pleasure. She nodded, her voice a soft whimper of consent. He stood up, his movements deliberate and predatory as he approached her.

Minju watched with rapt attention, her own breath hitching as she anticipated the moment. She knew what was coming, had seen it in her own encounters with him. She reached down and began to stroke her own clit, eager to feel the echoes of her friend's pleasure.

Mr. Y/N knelt before Eunbi, her trembling legs parted wide to accommodate him. He leaned in, his breath hot against her skin as he whispered, "You're so beautiful, Eunbi."

The words sent a shiver down her spine, and she gasped as he licked along her slit, savoring the taste of her. Her hips bucked upward, seeking more of his mouth. "Ahh, Y/N," she moaned, her voice a desperate plea. "More, please."

Minju's eyes were glued to the sight, her own hand working faster between her legs as she watched. The way his tongue moved, the way he sucked on her clit—it was mesmerizing. She had never seen anyone enjoy themselves so thoroughly, so unabashedly, and it was turning her on more than she had ever been. She felt a strange kinship with Eunbi in that moment, a bond formed by shared desire and the thrill of the forbidden.

Eunbi's moans grew louder, filling the room with the sweet sound of pleasure. Her body was a canvas of sensation, every nerve ending alight with the strokes and licks of Mr. Y/N's mouth. "Ahh, Y/N," she cried out, her voice ragged and desperate. "Don't stop, don't ever stop."

Mr. Y/N's eyes flicked up to Minju, the challenge in them unmistakable. With a wicked smile, he pulled away from Eunbi's pussy, her squirt spraying up and outwards like a geyser of lust. It arced through the air, landing on Minju's thighs, chest, and even her face. The sight was obscene and thrilling, and Minju couldn't help but let out a soft gasp of arousal.

Eunbi's eyes grew wide as she watched Minju's reaction, the reality of the situation setting in. But before she could say anything, Minju's own orgasm washed over her. She threw her head back, her body convulsing as her juices spurted out, mirroring Eunbi's earlier climax. The room was a symphony of wet sounds, a testament to the intensity of their shared desire.

Mr. Y/N took this moment to pull out his phone, the screen lighting up his face as he began to record. The sight of the two women, both trembling and breathless, their bodies slick with desire, was one he knew he'd want to savor later. The act was almost voyeuristic, but the way they were looking at each other—with a mix of friendship, love, and lust—was too compelling to ignore.

"Record us, Y/N," Minju said, her voice still breathless from her own orgasm. She spread her legs wider, her clenched pussy glistening in the dim light of the room. Eunbi followed suit, her own pussy quivering with anticipation.

Mr. Y/N didn't need to be told twice. He aimed his phone at them, the camera capturing every detail of their bodies as they began to pleasure themselves. "Ahh, yes," Minju moaned, her hand moving in slow circles over her clit. Eunbi watched, her eyes wide and hungry, as Minju's fingers dipped inside herself, coating her digits in her own juices.

The sound of their wetness filled the air, a symphony of desire that grew louder as their movements grew more frantic. "Ahh, Eunbi, look at me," Minju gasped, her eyes locking with hers. "I want to watch you cum again."

Eunbi's cheeks flushed, but she didn't look away. Instead, she spread her legs wider, her own hand joining Minju's in the intimate dance. They touched themselves in unison, their moans growing louder as they watched each other. It was a display of raw, unfiltered passion that neither of them had ever shared with anyone before.

Mr. Y/N's own arousal was clear as he recorded, his voice low and gruff. "So fucking sexy," he murmured, his eyes flicking between the two of them. "Keep going, don't stop."

Their hands moved faster, their breath coming in ragged pants as they approached the edge once more. "Ahh, ahh, I'm going to cum," Eunbi whimpered, her eyes never leaving Minju's. "I'm going to squirt again."

Minju nodded, her own orgasm building. "Do it," she urged, her voice strained. "I want to feel it."

And with that, they both let go. Their bodies tensed, their muscles tightening as they reached their peak. Eunbi's cum shot out, a thick stream that hit Mr. Y/N's chest and face. He grunted, the surprise only adding to his excitement as he continued to film.

Minju watched, her eyes wide, as Eunbi's pussy spasmed and her fluids painted Mr. Y/N. She felt her own orgasm crest, her pussy clenching around her fingers. "Ahh, Eunbi, I'm coming," she screamed, her cum joining Eunbi's in the mess on the floor.

The room was a blur of pleasure, the scent of sex heavy in the air. They came together, their bodies shaking with the force of their climaxes. And through it all, Mr. Y/N's camera never stopped rolling, capturing every moment of their shared ecstasy.

As their breathing began to slow, Mr. Y/N lowered the phone, his own arousal clear as he wiped Eunbi's cum from his cheek. "Well, that was... unexpected," he said, his voice a mix of amusement and lust.

Minju and Eunbi looked at each other, the tension in the room now a tangible thing. They had crossed a line, and there was no going back. But as they sat there, naked and spent, something had changed between them. The silent rivalry was gone, replaced by a newfound understanding—a bond that was now as sexual as it was friendship.

They shared a look that spoke volumes, a look that said, "We've shared something incredible, and nothing will ever be the same." And with that, the night took a turn that none of them could have ever predicted, as Mr. Y/N set the phone aside and joined them, his own desire too great to ignore any longer.

"Stand up, Eunbi," he said, his voice gruff with need. He gently took her by the hand, helping her to her unsteady feet. Her legs trembled as she rose, the aftershocks of her orgasm still pulsing through her. She was naked and exposed, but she didn't feel vulnerable—instead, she felt powerful, like she was on the brink of something incredible.

Eunbi stood in front of Minju, her pussy facing Minju's face. Y/n started undressing himself and stood in front of Eunbi. His penis was right at her entrance, ready to enter.

"Just watch her pussy and tell me what do you see," Y/N ordered, his eyes never leaving Minju's.

Minju leaned in, her nose almost touching Eunbi's sensitive flesh. "It's so wet," she murmured, her eyes wide with fascination. "And it's opening up for you, Y/N. It's like it's begging for you."

Eunbi moaned, the sound deep and guttural. She couldn't believe she was doing this—letting Mr. Y/N fuck her in front of her best friend. But the alcohol and the heat of the moment had loosened her inhibitions, and she found herself craving more of his touch.

Mr. Y/N's cock slid into Eunbi, filling her completely. She gasped, her eyes rolling back in her head as the sensation overwhelmed her. "It's tightening around you," Minju said, her voice a breathy whisper. "It's like a velvet vice, isn't it?"

Y/N groaned in agreement, his hips moving in a slow, steady rhythm. He watched as Minju leaned in closer, her tongue darting out to lick the juices that coated Eunbi's inner thighs.

Eunbi's eyes fluttered open, and she looked down at her friend. There was something in Minju's gaze that was both hungry and reassuring. It was as if she was giving her permission to let go, to fully embrace the moment. And so she did, her moans growing louder as Y/N's thrusts grew deeper.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, punctuated by Eunbi's cries of pleasure. "Her pussy is getting wetter," Minju said, her voice thick with desire. "It's gripping you so tight, Y/N. You're going to make her squirt again."

Y/N picked up his pace, his movements becoming more urgent as he chased Eunbi's next orgasm. She threw her head back, her long hair cascading down her back, her body a picture of absolute surrender to the pleasure he was giving her.

"Look at her, Y/N," Minju said, her voice filled with awe. "Look how much she's enjoying this."

Y/N met Minju's eyes, and for a brief moment, it was as if they were the only two people in the room. The connection between them was palpable, a silent understanding that this was more than just a celebration—it was a declaration of their desires, a revelation of the depth of their bond.

He leaned in, his mouth claiming Eunbi's in a deep, passionate kiss as he continued to fuck her. Her body responded immediately, her pussy tightening around his cock as she moaned into his mouth.

"Squirt for me, Eunbi," Y/N growled, his voice thick with desire. "I want to feel you let go all over Minju's face."

Eunbi's eyes went wide with surprise, but she felt a thrill at his command. She had never felt so alive, so wanted. She nodded, her breath coming in short gasps as she focused on the sensation building inside her.

With a final, powerful thrust, Y/N pulled out, his cock glistening with her cum. Eunbi's body quivered, her pussy clenching as she tried to hold back the flood of pleasure that was about to be unleashed.

"Now," he said, his voice low and authoritative.

Eunbi closed her eyes and let go, her pussy spasming as she squirted, the force of her climax propelling her fluids through the air. Minju leaned back, her eyes wide as she watched the arc of Eunbi's cum, a perfect line aimed straight at her face.

The warm liquid hit her cheeks and nose, the scent of it filling her nostrils as it slid down her chin. She couldn't help but open her mouth, her tongue darting out to catch a droplet. It was salty and sweet, a taste she had never experienced before.

"Ahh, so good," Eunbi murmured when her squirting finally stopped, her legs trembling as she leaned against Y/N for support. She felt alive, more alive than she had ever felt before.

Minju sat there, her face and chest now a canvas of Eunbi's passion. She licked her lips, savoring the taste of her friend's desire. "Wow," she said, her voice filled with wonder. "That was incredible."

Y/N looked down at Eunbi, his eyes searching hers. "What do you want, Eunbi?" he asked, his voice gruff with need. "What do you truly desire?"

Eunbi's breath hitched, the words she was about to say feeling both thrilling and terrifying. But there was no turning back now. "Make me squirt again," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. "And put your seed in me."

Y/N's eyes darkened, his desire for her clear. He didn't hesitate, guiding her down to the floor, her body sinking into the plush carpet. She lay there, legs spread wide, her body open and exposed, as he positioned himself between her thighs.

"Put your pussy in her mouth, Minju," he said, his voice a command that sent a shiver down Minju's spine. She looked up at Eunbi, her eyes questioning. But Eunbi's gaze was filled with a hunger that Minju had never seen before. She nodded, and without another word, she leaned down and pressed her pussy against Eunbi's eager mouth.

The moment their lips met, the room seemed to spin. Minju felt a rush of pleasure that was both new and familiar as Eunbi's tongue slid between her folds. She moaned, her hips bucking involuntarily as her friend tasted her for the first time. Eunbi's eyes were closed, her expression one of pure bliss as she licked and sucked, exploring every inch of Minju's pussy.

Meanwhile, Y/N positioned himself behind Eunbi, his cock pressing against her entrance. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and full of lust. "Ready?" he asked, his voice a low growl.

"Yes," she moaned, her eyes never leaving Minju's. "Do it."

With one powerful thrust, he was inside her, filling her up completely. Eunbi's moan was muffled by Minju's pussy, but the vibrations sent waves of pleasure through both women. They were a tangle of limbs and desire, their bodies moving in perfect harmony as they gave and received pleasure.

Minju could feel every stroke of Y/N's cock inside Eunbi, the way her muscles tightened and released around him. It was as if she was experiencing the sensation herself, a strange and erotic echo of their shared intimacy.

"Oh, fuck," she shouted, her voice bouncing off the walls. "It feels like heaven in Eunbi's mouth!"

Eunbi's eyes fluttered closed, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked harder on Minju's clit. She could feel her own orgasm building again, the sensation of Y/N's cock pounding into her from behind only making it more intense.

Y/N watched them, his own climax approaching. He reached down, grabbing Eunbi's hips as he drove into her, his eyes never leaving Minju's. "You like watching me fuck her?" he asked, his voice a dark whisper.

Minju nodded, her own hand sliding down to her clit. "Yes," she gasped. "It's so hot."

Y/N's grip on Eunbi's hips tightened, his strokes growing faster. "And what about when I cum inside her?" he asked, his eyes challenging.

Minju's eyes went wide, but she didn't protest. Instead, she nodded again, her breath coming in shallow pants. "Do it," she said. "Make her scream."

The words were like a trigger, and with one final, powerful thrust, Y/N reached his peak. He roared as he filled Eunbi's pussy with his cum, the sensation sending her over the edge as well. Her body convulsed around him, her mouth releasing Minju's clit with a pop.

Minju's eyes rolled back in her head as she felt the orgasm build within her. "Oh, Eunbi," she moaned, her voice tight with pleasure. "It's going to happen, I'm going to squirt."

Eunbi's mouth remained firmly on her pussy, her tongue working in earnest to bring Minju to the brink. She could feel the tension in her best friend's body, the way her muscles tightened and her hips bucked against her face. It was an intoxicating power, one she had never experienced before.

"It's coming," Minju panted, her hand gripping Eunbi's hair. "It's like...like a dam breaking. So much pressure and then—ahh!"

Her body spasmed, and with a gush of wetness, she squirted into Eunbi's eager mouth. The sensation was indescribable—like a warm, wet explosion of pure ecstasy that flooded through her. She watched as Eunbi's cheeks bulged, her eyes watering from the sheer force of it.

"It's so intense," Minju murmured, her voice strained. "It's like my body is releasing all this pent-up pleasure in one go."

Eunbi swallowed, her own desire spiking at the sight. She had never seen Minju like this, so raw and uninhibited. It was beautiful and erotic in a way she had never imagined.

"Keep going," Y/N urged, his own arousal evident in his voice. "I want to feel you both come together."

Minju leaned down, her mouth finding Eunbi's as they kissed, sharing the taste of each other's pleasure. Their bodies were slick with sweat and cum, their hearts racing in tandem as they approached their next climax.

Y/N's cock was still hard, still demanding release. He positioned himself behind Minju, his hand guiding his shaft to her tight entrance. "I'm going to fill you up," he growled, his eyes on hers.

Minju nodded, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "Do it," she whispered. "I want to feel you in me while Eunbi's mouth is full of me."

With one swift motion, he slammed into her, making her cry out against Eunbi's lips. The feeling was overwhelming—his cock stretching her, Eunbi's tongue still teasing her clit, and the warmth of her own cum coating her skin.

Their bodies moved together in a dance of lust, their moans and gasps echoing through the apartment. The air was thick with the scent of sex, a potent reminder of their shared desire.

Y/N began to fuck Eunbi with a fervor that was both fierce and tender. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she moaned uncontrollably, her tongue never leaving Minju's pussy. Minju watched in awe, her voice a breathy stream of consciousness. "Look at you," she whispered, her voice a mix of amazement and arousal. "Your pussy is taking him in so beautifully, Eunbi."

Eunbi's hips rocked back to meet his thrusts, her body moving in perfect sync with his. Her tongue continued to swirl and dart, exploring every inch of Minju's sensitive flesh. "Ahh, oh my god," Minju moaned, her eyes half-closed. "You're so good at this."

Eunbi's moans grew louder as she felt Y/N's cock hit her g-spot with each thrust. The pressure was building again, her orgasm threatening to consume her. "Minju, I'm gonna...I'm gonna..." she managed to gasp out, her eyes pleading.

Minju, still riding the wave of her own pleasure, nodded understandingly. She pulled away from Eunbi's mouth, the connection between them breaking with a wet pop. They watched each other, panting and trembling, their bodies coated in a sheen of sweat and arousal. "Do it," Minju urged, her voice thick with desire. "Cum with me."

And as if on cue, their bodies responded. Eunbi's pussy tightened around Y/N's cock, her muscles contracting in a delicious spasm. Minju's own climax began to build again, her clit pulsing with need. Y/N's eyes never left hers as he quickened his pace, pushing them both to the brink.

With a final, guttural moan, Eunbi let go. Her pussy clenched around him, her juices spurting into the air like a fountain. At the same time, Minju's orgasm crested, her cum spraying out in an arc that mirrored Eunbi's. The room was bathed in their shared ecstasy, the scent of sex and desire heavy in the air.

The sight was too much for Y/N to bear, and with a roar, he reached his own climax. He pulled out, his cock pulsing as he painted their bodies with his cum, adding to the mess they had already created.

For a moment, they just lay there, tangled together on the floor. The only sound was their ragged breathing, the only sensation the sticky warmth that covered their skin. They had crossed a line, but in that moment, nothing had ever felt more right.

But the night was far from over. Before Eunbi could even begin to process the intensity of what had just happened, she felt Mr. Y/N's cock hardening against her backside. She looked up at Minju, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and excitement.

"Again," Y/N murmured, his hand sliding down her body to her still-throbbing pussy. "I want to feel you come apart on me one more time."

Without a word, Eunbi nodded, her body already responding to his touch. He positioned himself behind her, his cock pressing against her entrance as he leaned in to whisper in her ear. "You're mine now, Eunbi. Every part of you."

Minju watched, her own desire rekindling as she saw the raw need in her manager's eyes. She reached out, her hand sliding over Eunbi's stomach as Y/N pushed inside her again. The sensation was intense, the feeling of his cock filling her up anew making Eunbi whimper with pleasure.

His strokes were deep and purposeful, his hips driving into her with a force that was almost brutal. She could feel every inch of him, his length sliding along her g-spot with a precision that had her seeing stars. "Ahh, yes," she moaned, her voice high and needy. "Y/N, harder."

Y/N complied, his grip on her hips tightening as he claimed her body once more. His eyes were locked on Minju's, the silent communication between them only adding to the eroticism of the moment. "Look at her," he growled, his voice thick with lust. "Look how much she wants it."

Minju's hand slid lower, her fingers finding Eunbi's clit as she began to rub in time with Y/N's thrusts. "Come for us," she whispered, her voice a seductive purr. "Let us feel you squirt again."

The pressure was building, a storm of pleasure that was threatening to consume Eunbi. She threw her head back, her eyes squeezed shut as she gave in to the sensation. "Ahh, fuck, I'm going to..."

With one final, powerful thrust, Y/N spilled his seed into her womb. Eunbi's body tightened around him, her pussy pulsing with her own orgasm as he filled her up. It was a moment of pure, unbridled ecstasy that seemed to go on forever.

As they lay there, their bodies entwined and their hearts racing, Minju leaned in and kissed Eunbi softly. "You were amazing," she murmured, her voice full of affection and desire.

Eunbi's eyes fluttered open, her gaze meeting Minju's. "So were you," she whispered back, a small smile playing on her lips.

Their bodies lay spent on the floor, a tangled mess of limbs and discarded clothing. The room was still, the only sound the soft, heavy breaths they shared. Minju's hand was resting on Eunbi's stomach, feeling the gentle rise and fall with each inhale and exhale. The stickiness between her thighs was a reminder of the intense moments that had just passed, a sensation that was both foreign and incredibly erotic.

Suddenly, something stirred within her, a new desire unfurling its petals. She pushed herself up, her muscles protesting slightly from the exertion of the night. Her eyes locked onto Eunbi's pussy, still glistening and swollen from the relentless pleasure it had been given. Without a word, she moved on all fours, her body graceful and feline as she approached her friend's exposed flesh.

"Wow," she murmured, her voice thick with wonder. "Y/N's seed is so much, it's flooding." She leaned closer, her nose touching the sticky mess that coated Eunbi's inner thighs. The scent of their mingled arousal was intoxicating, a heady aroma that seemed to fill every corner of the room.

Y/N chuckled, his chest heaving from his recent exertion. He positioned himself behind Minju, his cock still semi-hard from the intense fucking he had just given Eunbi. "Ready?" he asked, his voice low and gruff.

"Yes," Minju said, her voice steady despite the racing of her heart. She turned to Eunbi, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "Let's keep going.”

[rottenfyre]

𝐒𝐀𝐘 𝐌𝐘 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄: 𝘈𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦.

Aegon was sitting cross-legged on the floor with his baby sister in front of him. She was propped up on a small cushion, her chubby hands grasping at the air as she babbled away happily, her violet eyes sparkling.

“Come on,” Aegon coaxed, his voice filled with determination as he leaned closer to her. “Say my name, alright? Say ‘Aegon.’ Aeeegon.”

The baby girl looked up at him, her expression curious. She blinked slowly, her little mouth forming a small “O” as she tried to mimic him. Aegon’s heart swelled with anticipation.

“Go on,” he encouraged, his smile widening. “Aeeegon.”

She opened her mouth and made a sound—a tiny, excited babble that was nowhere close to his name. “Da-da!” she exclaimed proudly, her face lighting up with a giggle.

Aegon’s smile faltered, and he sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “No, not ‘da-da,’” he said, trying to keep his patience. “Aegon. Aaaeeeegon.”

But his sister only responded with more giggles, clearly finding her own attempts at speech much more amusing than her brother’s frustration. She clapped her hands together, delighted by the sound she’d made, and Aegon could only groan in response.

“Why won’t you say my name?” he muttered, more to himself than to her. He tried again, leaning in closer. “Aegon. Aaaeeegon.”

“Da-da!” she squealed again, this time louder, as if she were very pleased with herself.

Aegon’s frustration was starting to build, and he was about to try again when the door to the nursery creaked open. He glanced up to see Aemond standing there, his silver hair slightly tousled from whatever adventure he’d been on earlier. Aemond tilted his head, his one good eye curious as he took in the scene before him.

“What are you doing?” Aemond asked, his voice soft as he walked into the room.

Aegon quickly straightened up, a hint of embarrassment in his expression. “Nothing,” he said, trying to sound casual. “Just… trying to teach her something.”

Aemond raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. Instead, he walked over and sat down in front of their sister, smiling at her with that rare, gentle look he only ever seemed to have around her. She immediately reached out to him, her chubby arms waving excitedly.

“Hello, little one,” Aemond said softly, his voice filled with warmth.

And then, to Aegon’s utter shock, their sister opened her mouth and made a sound—“Amon!” It wasn’t perfect, but it was unmistakably his name, in her own very baby way. She grinned widely, as if proud of herself.

Aemond’s eye widened in surprise, a look of pride spreading across his face as he turned to Aegon. “Did you hear that? She said my name!” he said, unable to hide the delight in his voice.

Aegon’s mouth fell open, disbelief written all over his face. “She said your name?” he repeated, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. He had been trying for ages, and here Aemond comes in and she says his name just like that?

Aemond nodded, a small, smug smile on his lips. “Looks like she likes me better,” he teased lightly.

Aegon’s initial shock quickly gave way to a pang of jealousy. Determined not to be outdone, he gently lifted his sister into his lap, turning her to face him directly. “Alright, now it’s my turn,” he said with renewed determination. “Say my name. Aegon. Aaaeeegon.”

But instead of trying to repeat him, she just looked up at him with wide eyes, and then—she burst into a fit of giggles. Aemond, still sitting beside them, joined in, chuckling at the whole situation.

Aegon’s shoulders slumped again, this time in defeat. He looked down, his earlier excitement draining away. “Why won’t you say my name?” he asked softly, his voice tinged with sadness. “I’m your brother too…”

Just as he was about to give up, he felt a tiny, soft hand patting his head. He looked up, and there she was, her little face full of concentration as she tried to mimic his name once more. “Ae—” she began, her voice tiny and halting. “Ae…gon.”

Aegon’s eyes lit up, a wide grin spreading across his face as joy and pride flooded his chest. “You did it!” he exclaimed, his earlier sadness completely forgotten. “You said my name!”

Aemond watched the scene unfold, a gentle smile on his lips as he saw the happiness on Aegon’s face. He wasn’t jealous—he was just glad that their sister had finally said Aegon’s name, even if it took a little longer.

Their sister, clearly pleased with herself, clapped her hands again, giggling at the reaction she got from her brothers. Aegon, still beaming, looked at Aemond, and for a moment, they both just smiled at each other, all traces of their earlier rivalry gone.

In that moment, the three of them were just happy and content in each other’s company. The sound of their sister’s giggles filled the room, her tiny voice echoing with the names of her two big brothers—names.

Part 1 ♡ Part 3

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[taegularities]

colour me in: palette | jjk (m)

Summary: Breezy mountaintops and turquoise oceans are even more enchanting with Jungkook by your side. Yet, throughout your vacation, you realise — even once you've left the lofty peaks and liberating waves behind, you'll still elevate each other to new heights every day.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; tiny hints of angst, crazy much fluff, smut ➳ warnings: okayyy. a shit ton of fluff. vacation with their friends!!!, kissing, singing, sexual tension, slippery soccer lolll, bit of acrophobia, someone flirts with oc, bit of jealousy, lots of taeun and yoonmin moments, new dynamics!!!, mountains and beaches, jimin/jk moments :'), deep talks, some insecurities, bunk beeeeds lol, mention of homophobia, small arguments, anger, talk about passing of time; explicit sexual content: hotel room sex :O, light spanking/ass stuff, kissing and making out, teasing, neck kisses!!, jk never gets enough, bit of manhandling, pussy slapping, big dick!jk, soft dom!jk, oc is soaked, they're both wearing their shirts/naked downstairs tho (impatience sigh), oral (f. & m. receiving), bit of mouthfucking, soft and rough sex, mention of sex toys, slapping with his dick ig, masturbation, spit, edging?, choking, he likes her bewbs and a$$, squirting, they ruin the hotel room bed lol, showering together; the ending 🥺 ➳ word count: 32.6k ➳ a/n: gosh, it's been mooonths. did y'all miss them as much as i did :') the distance really brought me closer to them. some more of my soul in this chapter <3 there'll be angst ahead, so enjoy this one thoroughly and with all your heart. thank you for all the support, too <3 i can't wait to hear what you guys think 🤍 ➳ listen to: can't help falling in love by haley reinhart (alt. version) | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

DAY 1

“Bunk beds… Fu. Cking. Bunk. Beds.”

Jimin scarcely seems impressed with the change in plans that the hostel is forcing your group into. You haven’t quite yet deciphered what’s going on; you’ve been waiting in the lobby with pursed lips and tired eyes, Jimin at the front desk, discussing details that he’s now groaning about.

“Wait… what?” Eun asks, eyes scanning the group members, all equally confused.

Jimin, as agitated as you haven’t seen him in a while, plumps into one of the lobby’s upholstered sofa chairs, massaging his forehead, seemingly preparing to narrate a tale without a happy ending. He sighs, raising his hand as if to teach calculation to a child, and starts explaining.

“We’d booked three rooms, right? But one of them has a leak.” Short pause; Taehyung clicks his tongue. “So now they offered to keep one with the queen size bed and then get another room with two bunk beds. We’d pay less. Or. We keep the other two rooms with the beds, and still pay for the bunk bed room since one couple will still need it.”

“Same price?” Yoongi inquires, aside from Jungkook, the calmest in the room.

“Oh my god,” Eun whispers, matching Jimin’s drama-loving freak, “this is… we’re being robbed.”

“So,” Yoongi tries again, a deep voice interrupting your best friends’ growing hysteria, “we just pay less and get the bunk bed room for four people, no?”

Eun and Jimin stare at the man as if he’s uttered sheer nonsense; Eun’s eyes squint, questioning how he’d dare separate her from her boyfriend. And Jimin, his expression equal to Eun’s, directs the disbelief between his eyebrows directly at his lover speaking.

But as the options start to waver, Eun sighs, leaning back in defeat as she mumbles, “I guess…”

“Yeah, and then, who’s getting the queen sized bed?” you ask carefully, likely initiating another feud; but what else can you do? You need to resolve the issue on hand and you’re dog tired; you need to nap for an hour at least. “How do we decide that?”

“That’s the question,” Jimin declares, rubbing his hands before he announces, “I think we’ll have to fight for it, folks.”

“…How?”

Multiple pairs of eyes drift to the ceiling in thought, attempting to come up with a fair idea or some game. But their schemes are probably too intricate, building scenarios that aren’t feasible in this very situation; you can already tell.

That is, until Taehyung speaks up, slapping his thigh as he finally answers, “We’ll just go the easiest way we know.”

The fact that Jungkook and Yoongi puff out a breath of air is understandable; as Kim Taehyung’s closest pals, they’re bound to know which thought lit up his brain. But by now, even you understand the man’s tactics well enough, and before you can verbalise them, Yoongi does.

“…Wait. You want to rock paper scissors this out?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“We just pull names? Or spin the wheel? There are plenty of sites on the Internet.”

“No,” Jimin again, “I don’t trust any of you to not manipulate this.”

Voices soon mingle, offended by Jimin’s distrust, retorts flying around such as, “Oh, thanks for this,” or “Why would we manipula—”

“Come on!” Jimin defends, cutting through the cacophony of arguments. “We’re all a bunch of newlyweds! Nobody wants to sleep without the other.”

Well… maybe he’s not wrong there. Over the last several weeks, you’ve grown accustomed to your boyfriend’s warmth next to you; under your head; beneath your palm. His breath against your cheeks and the chin in your mane.

Which is why you tilt your head in slight, approaching worry, leaning into Jungkook’s embrace, his arm over your shoulders. You look at him until he stares back, telling him as the others argue, “This is terrible. I just got used to sleeping with you and…”

But he shakes his head in reassurance, blinking slowly. Gently grabs your hand off his chest and intertwines your fingers, promising that, “It’s okay, babe. Whatever game they want to play, we’ve got this.”

If he says it, you must believe it. Losing would be counterproductive for this trip; you required this time-out with him for the sake of your sanity, considering the weight of the past months.

And thinking about it, you’ve gotten used to his presence too much to sleep without it. You reminisce about the nights he hit the gym late, barely finding time throughout the day as he worked on his exhibit pieces, permanent smudged hues colouring the sides of his hands.

And you, exhausted from work, grazed the other side of the bed with a half sleeping, half restless mind, waking up time and time again to find the mattress empty. Whenever he did come back, sliding into the sheets, you’d notice.

Notice everything.

How he’d kiss your forehead or your temple, whispering your name or a soft, “Hi, angel,” without really expecting a response back. He’d pull you half on top of his body, chest rising with your head atop as he sighed and then, eventually, drifted off.

You think that once or twice, you even heard him breathe a nearly inaudible confession, starting with your new favourite letter L.

But…

It seems that today, luck isn’t quite on your side; different from what he foretold, you haven’t got this. Because mere five minutes later, you’re staring into a group of shaking heads and devastated faces.

Jimin and Yoongi have lost already; and when it’s time to decide between the remaining of you four, it’s not you who breaks into cheerful laughter but the couple you’ve decided to regard with a pout for the rest of the trip.

Unnecessary to mention that Tae and Eun dash into their room once they’ve received the key, quick enough for their suitcases to collide with their soles as they roll behind them. The two remaining duos, among them a sighing Jungkook and a disappointed you, trudge to the bunk bed room without any rush.

Jimin and you sulk your way through the hallways, but Yoongi and Jungkook, you soon notice, remain familiarly posed. You don’t get it; aren’t they upset about the separation?

Your boyfriend at least is still sporting an encouraging smile when you open the door to the frustratingly compact room. The two pairs of bunk beds have a sufficient distance between them, but the beds themselves barely fit a person. You’ve been played so bad.

“And what if we do take the second double room and let fate decide between us?” Jimin suddenly suggests, and you nearly buckle, ready to get into position and lift your fist for another game.

But Yoongi pushes between the two of you, clicking his tongue, “Nah. It’s just two nights, we’ll be moving on after that anyway. Besides,” he sets his suitcase against the left bunk bed, claiming it, and ruffles through his long, dark hair, “we can’t leave the last couple all alone here.”

You smirk in mock, tilting your head, “Ha-ha. You’re way too sure of victory. You wanna try right now, Min—”

“Come on,” Jungkook tries, two heavy hands settling on your shoulders before he moves them down and rubs your shoulders in affection, “solidarity, baby. It’ll be fun.” He moves in, close to your face, kisses your cheek and then whispers into your ear, “We’ll have our room at the beach. And then a whole week just for us, remember?”

Oh, as if you could forget.

Jungkook’s hometown will be the third and last stop of your vacation, a wedding and a childhood bedroom awaiting you. You can’t predict what those days in the countryside will bring, but you refuse to think about them; not because you’re reluctant to go, but because you want the place to surprise you.

Nevermind that the thoughts still seep through all the time; the pure elation.

Your face warms at the thought; you’ve communicated it a million times and will say it a billion times more — you don’t think you’ve ever been this pumped in your life.

No — do not think about it. Let it come to you… carpe diem and all that.

You jump back into the moment, right into the banter, placing your suitcase on the floor and opening it to rummage for today’s outfit. As you shamelessly lay open your entire wardrobe, including some of your best lingerie, you tease, “Okay. I’ll save up my energy. More tonight, boys.”

Jimin blows a raspberry at you; Yoongi waves you off with a grin; and Jungkook barely reacts to you. You assume he’s tired from all the driving, requiring rest more than you, eyes half-lidded.

But if you were in his head, you’d know that he’s long dissociated from the conversation, blending out words, movements, reactions; rather, he merely observes your smile. The playful crease between your eyebrows. The curve of your lips as you speak.

Blinking slowly; lucky for the force of nature wafting into his life like a brisk autumn wind.

Lucky, knowing that somebody could actually care so much.

The pullover doesn’t feel as soft and smooth between your fingertips as it looked from afar. You don’t think you’ll take it. But the beige cardigan felt like a shawl made of accumulated feathers against your body; and Jungkook approved of it, too.

You’re liking the village; maybe it’s the overall dreamy and magical vibe it emanates. It’s redolent of cosy nights spent in front of a fireplace, a hot tea cup warming your palms as you study the view out of a small window, the far-reaching blankets of snow.

And the scent of wooden houses and cinnamon travels through this place — you can’t describe it, but you urge to take all the earthy colours with you.

The pink dress, however, hugging your body like second skin, is bright, the opposite of the cardigan you’ve already settled on buying. It’s a fall dress, comfortable and adaptable to any situation.

You turn in front of the mirror, inspecting your ass, your curves, checking the length and the material for possible flaws. And once you’ve convinced yourself, you push the curtain aside, seeking a second opinion from the man patiently sitting in front of the changing room.

Upon seeing you, his eyes brighten the way they did the last couple of times. Even when he didn’t quite like the item you chose, he seemed happy to just see you. But this time, his pupils flit from button to top, the sparkle in them already obvious as he says, “Damn.”

“I take it you like it as much as I do.”

“Do one of your three sixty spins.”

He loves those. Enjoys it when you present yourself with that treacly smile of yours, arms angled and slightly in the air. And when you come to a stand again, the dress still sways, your eyes questioning, sweet, pure. Jungkook finds joy in this; he could look at you doing this all day.

You keep asking, “Are you bored? Wanna go somewhere else?”

And he always responds, “No. Show me another one of the dresses.”

But no matter how boundless his enthusiasm, he can’t control his occasionally occurring ticks — you know they’re a sign of a nervous mind, watching his fidgety self card through his hair or move his leg or cross and uncross his arms.

So you ask, “You okay?”

“Hm? Yeah. Yeah, I think I’m just tired,” he explains, “driving all day made me drowsy.”

Well, okay, that could be a reason. He does get restless when he craves his bed. Kudos to him for still enduring your slow ass at shopping. You hum before you remind him, “I told you to let me drive.”

“Yes, but…. I like driving,” he shrugs his shoulders, pouting a little, “and you were having fun.”

Honestly—

Fun is a way to call it. You pluck at the hem of the fall dress, recalling the morning with a fond but slightly guilty smile.

“Okay. Lean back now.”

The road was challenging, Jungkook’s voice too quiet to prevail over the music, and you too reckless. Despite the chaos, his grin was telling — though the crinkles and dimples disappeared when half your body turned towards the backseat; right when the car approached a sharp curve.

A harsh hand pushed your beaming self back into your seat, and he spat a single warning, “Angel!”

You’d separated the large group — Jimin was driving the other car, alternating with Taehyung. The journey wasn’t awfully long, but you still went the fair route and split your circle in three versus three, Yoongi residing in the back of your car.

Your car because you’d be driving on to the wedding anyway, and Yoongi would then proceed the vacation in Taehyung’s vehicle. But while your excitement for Jungkook’s hometown didn’t dim a single bit, you were a little sad that you’d be leaving earlier, not getting more time with Yoongi.

Because he vibed. With the right people, you heard, and now witnessed, he vibed.

He sang along with the music in confidence, flashing gummy smirks, DJ-ing with you. Sharing the same taste in music as you, the moments were never dull, 80s classics chiming before modern hip hop took their place. Yoongi likes J. Cole particularly.

The two of you were exhausting, but you did pamper the driver enough to not let your annoying self become too obvious. As in, feeding Jungkook snacks whenever you could, indulging in his favourite music when your tracks ended, offering to drive.

Jungkook remained in a good mood most of the way, but nearing the end, he got edgy, tired, even disregarding Yoongi’s sarcastic suggestion to drive wordlessly.

It took you a moment to understand — Yoongi isn’t a bad driver at all, as you’ve been told by himself, but he’s still not fully healed yet. None of you would make him and he wouldn’t risk it.

Mad respect to Jungkook for suffering through your shenanigans and then still being your anchor as the trouble about the rooms began at the hostel.

You’re a handful — but he has confessed a hundred times before that he’d rather have that than an empty palm.

“No wonder you’re tired,” you tell him, flattening the already crinkle-free dress before you add, “Poor Jimin and Yoongi. Were separated in the cars and now in the hostel, too.”

“I mean,” Jungkook starts, “they both seemed to have a good time on the way, though. Other than that, have they even made stuff official yet?”

Good question. Barely occurred to you yet. You think back to the last couple of weeks, to each of the weekend meetings that you’d summon everybody to in order to discuss the trip. Nothing was said then. Nothing has been said since this morning, either.

So you say, “Kind of by just being with each other the way they are, right? To be honest, I didn’t even think about it. For me, it was already official… didn’t think it’d need an announcement.”

“Maybe you’re right? It’s as much of a secret as we are.”

You break into a grin. “Right?” And then, you straighten your stance, once more turning to show off your ass, too, just for good measure. “What do you think?”

“Oh, you should buy it.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, it’d be good to look at and then fun to rip off.”

You roll your eyes so hard, they nearly disappear from his sight; partly to hide the effect his words practise on you — face hot, chest tight, legs crossed to ease the physical feeling that emerges.

And then, partly to remind him of where he’s sitting right now — not far from an elderly lady who’s currently side-eying you. Weird; just a minute ago she was smiling at you. Ah, decency.

“Ugh, can you only think about that?” you joke, right before wiggling a finger. “This one’s expensive. You’re not ripping off shit.”

“Hey, don’t scold me. You’re just as bad!”

“I’m not! In case you don’t remember, I totally resisted when you offered to come into the changing room with me.”

“Ah, ahhh,” he teases, cocking an eyebrow, “in case you don’t remember, only very reluctantly.” You can’t suppress the laugh, and he joins, familiar creases around his stellar eyes. “But seriously, you look gorgeous.”

“Right! I’ll wear it to your next exhibition, okay? Or the party you’ll definitely host once you’ve established yourself as the nation’s biggest artist.”

And that’s when he finally gets up, groaning a tiny bit before he slaps your ass and rubs it, delighted at your yelp. Challenges you, “Decide whether you want to be cute or sexy. I can’t handle both.”

“But you do every day,” you say, sulking. But your expression returns to normal when he pinches your butt, and you click your tongue, “Okay, okay. We’ll see what you can handle once we get to our next destination.”

Where you’ll finally have your own bedrooms. Your peace. Your mattress to be demolished.

Excited doesn’t do this feeling justice.

Jungkook must be thinking something similar; at least that’s what you ascertain from the way he tongues his inner cheek, shaking his head. You don’t provoke him further — only blow a kiss before you saunter back into the changing room.

You purchase the dress, stepping into the fall air, and move your head left and right in search of the rest of you. You ask, “Have you seen the others? I think we lost them at the souvenir shop, but they might be nearby.”

“Yeah, they went into another souvenir sho— wait, that’s Eun, isn’t it?”

You squint into the distance.

God, this place is like a Christmas market straight from 90s movies. Traditional and homely, domestic and gentle. Oozes some type of warmth that defeats the slightly chill breeze by miles.

And you’re so loving the shops. They’re small, their owners as hospitable as you haven’t met in ages. They talk to you, treat you like one of their own, never attempting awkward conversation and always providing their honest opinion. The lady you just bought the dress from even told you to visit again.

Shit, and the stalls! They’re popular spots; the backbone of the tourism in this area. Sell all kinds of snacks — candied fruits, hot drinks, gingerbread. October hasn’t ended yet, but you crave your golden Christmas lights.

Somewhere not too far, you finally recognise Eun and Yoongi, too, standing at the punch stall, ordering. Thinking about it, it’s been a while since you ate or drank — and just imagining the fruity flavour, you can’t help but suggest, “Ohhh, I should get some, too. Wanna come?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer right away. Your suspicion from before somewhat returns; his thoughts don’t seem to align with yours right now. In fact, you guess them far away, pondering about anything but punch.

You’re moved to ask again, but before you can utter a word, he answers, “Hmm, no, I think I’ll get a coffee a bit later. I’ll go find Jimin and Taehyung in the meantime, though? You go get your punch.”

You blink at him, not sure if you should try again. But when you can’t find a reason for any deviation in mood, you give him the free space he might need, telling him, “Okay. You know where to find us if you need to.”

“Got it,” he says, leaning in to kiss your forehead, and then walks away when you do.

Just once more, you turn, gaping over your shoulder in confusion; but he seems okay. Occupied by the view, craning his neck to look at the mountain nearby, at the very peak you’ll reach tomorrow.

So you turn away, only for him to regard you a moment later.

Jungkook watches as you reach your friend, Eun’s arm cheerfully wrapping around your shoulders, welcoming you in. You give the stall owner a knockout smile, and once distracted enough, Jungkook directly charges for the shop the two of you walked past earlier.

It’s still mostly empty when he reaches it. One young man, much like him, is standing inside, discussing an object lying on the pult between him and the seller. Jungkook glances through the store window, spying the object of his desire, and then walks in.

Enduringly, he waits for the other man to finish. Seems he is a customer, too, buying his grandmother a gift for her birthday. And it looks like he’s more or less firm on his decision, because not even two minutes later, he has thanked the woman behind the counter and left.

Jungkook, equally determined, points to the purchase he’d like to make, making small-talk with the woman now and then before she disappears in a small room at the back and packs the object.

And Jungkook waits… waits calmly until a voice breathes a, “What you doing?” into his ears, scaring him to death. The woman leans back, peeking, alarmed as she asks in an accent, “Everything good?”

Jungkook waves her concerns off. Lets her work. Turns to Jimin as he says, “Goddamn, dude. Don’t do that.”

“You look like you saw a ghost. Are you hiding something?” he asks, right before the lady walks out and presents the pretty packaging and small bag to Jungkook. “Oh! Is this for me?”

Jungkook pays with a scoff, carefully placing it in his bag and then laughs, “C’mon.” And once the rucksack is back on his shoulders, he bids his goodbyes to the seller, leading Jimin outside and whispering as if you could hear, “Alright. It’s for her. I’ll give it to her at the wedding.”

“Damn, a little present for the date at a wedding? You’re down bad.”

“How did you guess that?” Jimin chuckles, patting Jungkook’s back as the younger one smirtles. Soon telling Jimin, “Not a word to her, though. Or anyone. Okay?”

“My lips are sealed.”

That’s it. At least for a while. Both pairs of hands pushing into their jeans’ pockets at once, they trek side by side in silence, head moving left, right, up and down. It’s awkward until it isn’t — until Jimin collects some courage and then spits, “Listen.”

Another pause. Just for a moment. Enough for Jungkook’s tremendous eyes to look up, a finger scratching his temple as he hears Jimin articulate words he never expected, “I know I said my piece that night already, but…” A grimace, kissing his lips, then, “I’m really sorry for doubting you so much at first. I should’ve given you a chance much sooner.”

Well, fuck. 

For weeks and months, Jimin refused to trust him with a steadfast resolution. Didn’t waver even when you attempted to convince him otherwise. There was a prickly dislike in the man’s eyes that irked Jungkook, and frankly, saddened him a little.

But the night you drunk-called him, begging to come back, minutes before he chauffeured all of you home, something shifted. Jimin’s stance towards Jungkook had seemed to change, at least. Actually a grateful occurrence to think back to, considering how much Jungkook fucked up at that time…

“But you have given me a chance now,” Jungkook defends, Jimin nodding, “and I appreciate that just as much.”

“You remember what I said to you back then?”

Of course… he might remember each detail of that night forever.

“Of course,” Jungkook echoes, “you said you were growing fond of me. Trusted me.”

“And I meant it.”

“She said you said it because you knew she was fond of me.”

Jimin chuckles, the sound high-pitched and pleasant, melodic. “Well, I guess that’s true to some extent. But it’s definitely not just that.” He reviews his thoughts; then, “It’s more so the fact that you came back.”

That he came back.

Jimin doesn’t mention that he came back because you called. Because somewhere within, he must know as well as the man beside him that Jungkook was going to come back anyway.

Nobody here doubts his feelings for you. And in some way, this is a reassurance of trust he didn’t think he needed.

“And in hindsight,” Jimin speaks on, “while I disagree with what you did before that,” a sting in Jungkook’s beating heart, “I think your reasons were selfless. Lack of communication here and there, but… you want her happy, right?”

There’s no debate about this.

“So much,” Jungkook immediately agrees, “it just doesn’t make sense, you know? That someone like her should be sad.”

“I agree. And you came back, that’s what it is. You’re here. I think I was fond of you because you gave her a sense of… safety.” He shrugs his shoulders, hands still buried in his pockets. Gives a glance to the variety of passersby. “Making her feel protected and like she was worth something when others didn’t. And in turn, you gave her something to fight for, too.”

Something to fight for… someone to fight for.

How hard is it to wrap your head around the fact that somebody thinks you worthy enough to combat the world for?

Jungkook’s heart stirs. A sudden affection for your friend awakens. No. His friend, too.

“You’re just half as bad, huh?” he says, urging another laugh out of Jimin.

“No, you.” More snicker. “But seriously. Since we were teenagers and she was first confronted with… all the issues around her, she’s repeated to me everybody has demons to fight. A couple weeks ago she said it again… added that you do, too. No details, no worries!”

He raises his hand in defence, and Jungkook shakes his concerns off, mumbling that it’s okay, that it’s true.

So Jimin continues, “But just… whenever you might feel like you’re not doing enough — because let’s be real, we all do sometimes — remember that you make at least one person happy.”

Crazy. This is crazy. An alternate reality, for sure.

“I never expected to hear this from you, but… I really am thankful, Jimin.”

Jimin nods before he stops, as if remembering something. “And if it helps. I’m really glad you joined us here. I mean you know Tae and Yoongi better, but Eun loves you.”

Jungkook titters, shy as Jimin nudges his arm, but silencing when he looks ahead, not early enough to stop Jimin’s addition, “And by the way, she’ll love that. Will feel like the bride, probably—”

Jungkook grits his teeth at the very last word, as if staggered by another ghost appearing in front. Jimin’s eyes follow Jungkook’s, eyes widening a couple inches as he realises his mistake; met with your bright gaze as you near the men with Eun and question, “What are you guys talking about?”

You’re so cheerful and curious, impossible to resist. Jimin’s lie nearly doesn’t come out, but when it does, it happens smoothly enough, “He was just gushing about your dress. Told me how he already knows you’ll be the talk of the night.”

“Come onnnn,” you urge, your smile falling, replaced by a scowl, “this is so weak. I know you, Park. That’s not what you were talking about.”

“It is!” Jungkook chimes in as shamelessly as he can. Guilt floods him — but there are certain sacrifices that are necessary for love, aren’t there? “I told you many times how hot you look in it. I did, you can’t contradict that.”

Jungkook’s acting might be getting better, but you still squint your eyes, still pulling a face. But it seems they are conspiring against you; Jungkook clearly sees you give up. Understand that you won’t get anything out of them.

Besides, you love surprises. You won’t ruin it for yourself.

So you wave the white flag, only saying, “I don’t really believe you, but okay,” before turning, gripping Jungkook’s hand and adding, “Listen. You don’t get to drink a good punch every day. Screw the coffee, try it for me. Yoongi is still there.”

And as the two of you walk away, Jimin follows, ignoring Eun’s curious look. Focuses on how Jungkook turns to him just a little, smiling in mischief but also in something like…

Friendship.

Jungkook has been babbling his mouth dry. You know of his temporary hyperfixations; alternating between cooking twice a day, karaoke-ing his way through a lazy weekend or playing Overwatch for four hours straight and of course, you.

Tonight, it’s gimbap.

You’ve heard a ton about it today; from his favourite kind to how it’s made to failures in his past as he first attempted them. Anecdotes and urges.

When you went to the restaurant earlier, he inhaled a gigantic portion of jjajangmyeon, followed by kimchi-bokkeumbap that he partly shared with your still hungry self. His idea was to order some gimbap as another course, but his grunts and groans revealed that he was done for the night.

Or so you thought.

Because hours and a trip to the old town and its popular fountain later, he’s still craving them, restless on the hostel lobby couch as he says, “Do they have room service or something? Do they sell gimbap?”

His attention is directed towards Jimin, the main organiser of your trip; everybody’s been posing questions today as if he’s studied the town and journey to the tiniest detail. Jimin rubs a palm over his tired eyes, sighing before he speaks.

“No, this isn’t a very luxurious place anyway,” he explains, “and besides. You’re making me hungry, too.”

Jungkook leans into him as he asks, “Aren’t you quite close with the receptionist?” Pause. “Do you think they’d let us take a couple things from the kitchen and make it ourselves?”

“Wow, you really are craving it,” Taehyung mocks, but Jungkook skillfully ignores him.

“Jungkook, this is a lot of special treatment to ask for,” Jimin then claims, waiting for a response, but nothing comes back.

You lean forwards when your friend shakes his head, trying to understand what’s going on. And when you find Jungkook’s big, twinkling eyes staring longingly, you know he’s gotten to Jimin, too. Because the latter sighs again, adding, “If you charm them, maybe.”

“Come on. I know how to charm people,” he says, regarding you with a wink, a flick of your chin and a click of his tongue, all at once. You whisper a playfully indignant Damn, watching him get to a stand.

He’s brave, you must say; for an initial and past introvert, good food certainly makes him courageous. Jimin first gestures towards the reception, mumbling a, “Go ahead,” but barely a second later, he’s on his feet with a deep exhale, hearing Jungkook say, “Decided to help me?”

“Only because I’m hungry, too. Can make them together.”

Whatever scenario you just witnessed, it could’ve been one from a sitcom. Those little filler scenes, there for comic relief. But what strikes you the most of all is the dynamic you just watched emerge.

You’re surprised to the core; these two, doing something together? Peacefully? Voluntarily?

As your eyes bolt from the duo to the hanging guitar at the wall and then to your friends, you let out a tiny laugh, delivering a short head tilt before you deduce, “That’s new.”

It’s quite a show, the one you observe from here. Your friends are already too groggy to converse, instead indulging in the scene: Jungkook and Jimin as they converse with the receptionist, leaning in, telling the young man about their day.

Then, the quiet plea, as sweetly uttered as possible; you know these two. You know they’re pulling out the biggest, brownest eyes the world shall ever see, the mellowest voices outing their plea — and to your utter surprise, the receptionist gives in.

Leads them to another room, probably the breakfast hall, and around five minutes later, they reemerge.

Your group giggles when they come out with a wink, Jungkook forming a tiny ‘Oh’ with his mouth, as if to whistle without ever doing it. They don’t come back to you yet; settle on another table at the back instead, hands full of ingredients. There’s more room there for sure.

They spread the stuff across the table, rolling up their sleeves. You can’t really hear their conversation from here, but Jungkook says something and Jimin smirks back with a slight shake of his shoulders. Then, they start, but not before choosing a playlist to play quietly as they attempt the gimbap journey.

You can’t believe it. What an odd sight — but good for them.

“That’s rare indeed,” Eun lets slip before she turns back to you and the group, falling back into the couch.

You nod, looking through the round. Different from the two across the room, the atmosphere here is dead. So you wait; wait for an opportunity until Yoongi, opposite from you, gives you one. His eyes roam the room, soon stopping at the guitar from before. He regards it entirely, like a piece in a museum.

You ask, “Hey. Do you play?”

“Hm?” Yoongi looks back at you, puppy eyes in full effect, and then switches between you and the instrument. “Ah. Yeah, I play sometimes.”

“He plays all the time,” Taehyung corrects.

Yoongi raises a hand in something like defence, humble as ever as he says, “I’ve been learning. But I think I have gotten better, though there’s still a long way to go.”

“Any song you enjoy playing the most?” you ask, leaning in.

“Ohh, you’ll like this.” His eyes are widening, waking, sobering up. As you see new stars being born in his dark eyes, you know you’ve introduced the right topic. “You like oldies, don’t you?”

“I do, actually! How do you know?”

Taehyung chimes in, “Jungkook told us. Like literal months ago.”

Perhaps it’s the new sentiments you’re still accommodating yourself to, but you feel the heat filling up your entire chest, moving up to your cheeks and providing warmth in the eye of this autumn.

You peek at your boyfriend and your friend, catching them falling into a goofy cooking session. Jimin grabs the dark soy sauce bottle, attempting to pour the liquid on his plate with the most dramatic expression you have ever witnessed, only to realise a moment later that he hasn’t even opened it yet.

Both of them break into an embarrassed and amused chuckle, Jimin shaking his head, and before you can melt into the leather couch, you look away with a smile.

“Wait,” you say, “in which context? I’m nosy, and now I want to know.”

“He said Yoongi would like you because your favourite song is… what was it again?”

Taehyung directs his gaze imploringly to Yoongi, but it’s Eun who answers fondly, “It’s Can’t Take My Eyes off You. Ever since… always.”

You cock an eyebrow at Yoongi, teasing, “So is it true? Do you like me then?”

“I adore you.”

Your face heats up more. “You didn’t tell me what you like playing the most.”

“I would say I enjoy…”

“Or wait. Don’t tell me. What if you played it?”

“Now hold on—”

Energised, you take a stand, throwing a look at the receptionist who locks eyes with you at just the right moment. You point to the guitar, and he lifts his hand to gesture, “Go ahead, please.”

You take the guitar off its hook, grazing over the smooth, wooden surface and skimming the strings for a tiny moment. Relishing the familiar feeling. And then, encouragingly, you hand it to the man of the hour, telling him, “I know you want to.”

Yoongi is uncaring and unapologetically him, but he’s just as shy when met with attention. Yet, you know him enough to understand he often does whatever somebody asks of him, so you’re barely surprised when he flashes a thin-lipped smile and agrees, “Yeah. Alright.”

He situates the guitar on his lap carefully, treating it like a newborn as he mutters at the same time, “What should I play? Maybe this?”

His fingers strum a few chords that you don’t recognise, tough ceasing when he starts working on tuning the guitar. It takes a moment; a time you spend in silence, watching Taehyung for a second as he props up his head, eyelids half closed.

You shrug your shoulders, telling Yoongi, “Whatever crosses your mind first.”

He doesn’t answer, handling the instrument. He’s focused, his lips slightly apart, his expression impossibly composed. He murmurs another, “This should do,” and when he plays just the first three chords, you already know what he’s chosen.

Sounds like an acoustic version of the song. Like it could be played at a wedding, plucking the strings in the background as the bride marches to her groom, fitting the theme of the song.

“Which one’s this?” Eun asks, leaning into Taehyung who’s barely alive at this point. The music probably doesn’t help.

But apart from him, most of the heads turn, even if just very few present. There’s a quiet couple near Jimin and Jungkook’s table, smiling at the pleasant intrusion. The receptionist puts his lower arms onto the counter, listening in.

And then, eyes still fixated on the fingers skillfully mastering each note, you clarify, “Dance Me to the End of Love. Leonard Cohen originally, but this seems like a very… calm version of it.”

Yoongi nods a little, never stopping the music, but adds, “The Civil Wars. Covered it.”

“Right.”

The ambiance changes immediately. You wish you could lower the lights, embrace all that you hear, save it in your eardrums like a memory stick could. From afar, you notice luminous eyes directed at you, blinking slowly, hands still working, but giving you some momentary attention.

Is Jungkook thinking the same as you? If he stood now, gently pulling you into the middle of the room, would you care who watches as you dance? Could this be the magical moment that soon awaits you in a very near future? Swaying at the wedding…

You break the longing gaze when Jimin nudges Jungkook’s elbow, chin nodding towards your group as if the latter isn’t already watching. It seems they have advanced, nearly done with their endeavours. Not too long until they can join you again.

Another minute passes until Yoongi proceeds to the bridge and the peak of the song, and then another until he’s reached the end. Calm, soft thrums. Fading slowly, snapping you out of something you didn’t know just yet.

Heavy affection crowds your chest, lifting all sorrows off your heart. You’re filled with fondness. Empty of pain. Weighing everything and nothing.

Yoongi looks up at you with another awkward smile, still humble, his lips a straight line. The few people in the room applaud quietly, and as he puts the guitar down, you ask, “And how did that feel?”

“Surprisingly…” Yoongi angles his head, and then changes the movement into a nod. “Comforting.”

“Isn’t that special? Feeling something through the very music you put your soul into?”

It’s how you feel when you write. Probably how Jungkook feels when he draws. To possess something, be it creative or not, that floods you with joy like this is priceless. You think back to when you wrote your first poem. Or when you crafted your very first short story.

The memories are blurred, but you remember the feeling. Putting the dot at the end of the very last sentence. And then, you remember more than just this.

Remember when your father taught you how to play the piano, too, and remember when he—

“You play?” Yoongi suddenly asks, and you look up in surprise.

Oh. What? Your eyes widen, eyebrows lifting, mouth wanting to ask what he said, even though you know exactly which question he posed. But you soon break into a satisfied grin.

“How do you know?” you wonder.

“You talk like you do.”

“I didn’t want to give any spoilers,” Eun confesses from the side, comfortably closing into Taehyung, “so I didn’t say anything. But I’ve heard her play.”

“Ah,” you voice, “not often. Was I any good?”

“As much as I remember.”

Your eyes wander back to Yoongi, the man already working on handing you the guitar over the table between the two of you. You puff out a breath, nearly declining, but then recall that he did this for you, too.

So you grab it for the moment, explaining, “I… I play a little. Dad taught me the guitar and a bit of the piano when I was younger.” You mimic Yoongi’s gestures from before, making yourself comfortable with the bottom of the guitar on top of one leg. “Always enjoyed the guitar more, though. Felt productive, feeling the cornea on my fingertips.”

“Damn…” Taehyung makes, and you smile at him, nodding as if to say, “You’re alive, too!”

“Then you should definitely play something,” Eun says.

“You’re all okay with that?”

“Please,” Yoongi confirms, gesturing for you to start, “you don’t need our permission at all.”

So you nod. Getting used to the steely feeling, preparing mentally as you don’t need to tune the guitar anymore. You start the song in mind, an equally important oldie as Yoongi’s piece; and then you go another brave step further as you start humming.

You wish Taehyung, Jungkook or Jimin could do that for you. They’re better singers. You’re alright, certainly not a pro, singing your words rather quietly when you do start. But it provides you with deep relaxation, and you inwardly hope your voice does the same for the others.

“Wise men say, only fools rush in…”

You don’t know why you chose this song. You don’t know why you didn’t settle with your usual choice. Something about the moment and the starry night urged you to pick out this very melody, holding onto the charm and spark tingling in the air.

Yoongi, an introvert among so many extroverts in your circle, is the one who chimes in soon, singing the chorus and then moving to the third verse. You entrust him with the latter, giving you time to open your eyes that you didn’t realise were shut.

You see the two boys at the end of the room finally emerge, slowly treading towards you with full plates. They plump onto the free seats right under the wall where the guitar previously hung, placing the gimbap in the middle of the table.

Taehyung helps himself to one portion, Eun soon following, but Jungkook…

Jungkook seems to have forgotten about it. He walked to you from one spot to where you sit, but as he looks at you now, you wonder how he moved at all. So mesmerised, like a flawless statue, bambi eyes filled with a tenderness you thought only exists on TV.

If you could guess, you’d say he’s looking at you like… like he’d die for you.

Love. Yearning. Affection uncurbed.

He cradles his cheek, putting his elbow on the arm of the couch, lost as if he’s dreaming. He could fully throw you out of balance just now. If you hadn’t played this song with your father a dozen times, committing each movement to memory, you probably would’ve long failed.

You shut your eyes for a moment enough to catch yourself, hearing Yoongi finish another chorus when you suddenly hear another switch in voices. Jungkook, singing the outro, so effortlessly and tenderly; the tone so angelic without even trying.

You could fall asleep. You could fall deeper.

You never knew you could.

Jungkook is the living proof that, despite not being the biggest sap to walk the Earth, you’ve grown fond of his little gestures. You didn’t think you could feel so shy over the way he kisses the air in your direction, expression so hazy.

A couple months ago, you would’ve never expected not to roll your eyes over his little, gentle antics.

But you’re not. Instead, you’re trying not to let show how much he affects you, nodding towards the applause before you ask, “So I take it, it was good?”

“Good?!” Eun blurts in disbelief, leaving it at that with a shake of her head.

“You keep surprising me, angel,” Jungkook admits, “I don’t know what to do with this anymore.”

“With what?”

He’s close enough for his mouth to kiss your cheek, an eyebrow lifting in tease as he puts a hand on his heart. This time, you do roll your eyes, albeit still going in when he gives your lips the tiniest peck.

Your heart is still in the process of accelerating when he asks, “You chose the right song, didn’t you?”

Yeah. A little dose of Elvis’s Can’t Help Falling in Love fits the situation quite well, doesn’t it?

You merely answer with a flattered smile, nearly going in for another, longer kiss; another touch in your own little bubble, suspending time and the world. But your manners demand differently, so you resist, leaning back.

Only taking his hand until the group comes alive a little more, feasting on the midnight snack that the men handled pretty well. The group changes up with time, seats abandoned and taken, switched with another, the guitar cautiously passed on to Yoongi again.

And then they sing some more. You listen, head on Jungkook’s shoulder, dozing in and out of sleep, in and out of his embrace.

Taehyung is soon encouraged to sing a couple, gorgeous snippets of Fly Me to the Moon, a signature song for him and his baritone voice, as Yoongi and Jungkook assure you. You don’t know when this became a session of nostalgic karaoke, remembering a time you never experienced.

It’s how you pictured these nights to end. Nearly falling into a slumber before the day concludes.

Surrounded by a warmth incomparable to a bonfire; one you’ve been yearning for your entire life.

The end of the night begins with an argument.

Yoongi and Jimin are busy preparing themselves for bed, surprisingly cool-headed after the tumult this morning. They don’t struggle with choosing their comfort in the room, while you pull at Jungkook’s leg as it dangles off the upper bed.

“I’m going to come up,” you warn, trying to tickle the bottom of his foot before he crosses his legs, smirking down at you. “And I will be so annoying.”

“Is that news?” he wonders, and you open your mouth wide in surprise, hearing a chuckle from the couple behind you.

“Babe. I called shots on the upper bunk.”

“You did not.”

“It’s a lot more fun up there. And I thought you’d like sleeping down there.”

Jungkook’s eyebrows kiss, his expression questioning as he asks, “What made you think that?”

Well, now that you think of it, your presumptions were flawed. You assumed he wasn’t too picky, always a deep and peaceful sleeper at home. Defeated, you shrug your shoulders, telling him, “You had a mattress on the floor when you moved into the apartment.”

“That’s… an impeccable argument. I can’t even respond to it.”

The sarcasm drips out of his voice like a damaged tap, and once he shifts to the wall, pressing his back against it, you understand your half childlike, half playful pleading won’t work. So you only tilt your head, squinting his eyes at him, and then drop onto the bed below him.

“Don’t you fart, though,” you tell him, registering a goofy laugh with a fond smile. It’s okay. Maybe tomorrow. Either way, it’s worse than not having him beside you at all.

Yoongi switches off the light, ready to sleep as he falls into his bed with a groan. It was a long day and you walked miles, so you understand his fatigue. You expect for them to snore within a moment, but to your astonishment, Jimin starts a conversation not a minute later.

“We were lucky with the weather. I bet it’s raining back at home.”

Oh… have you finally grown into the type of adults who smalltalk about the sun and the clouds? The precipitation and humidity?

Jungkook answers, “Closer to the equator. The weather is best over here in the fall.”

Then, Yoongi, “Hopefully it’s as nice at the beach, too.”

“It better be,” Jimin chimes in, “I’ve been looking forward to our game for ages. I’ll play in the rain if need be.”

“Oh god, can you imagine?” you add, switching to your left side, hands under your temple. You’ve been thinking about the game just as much — chaos with a big fat portion of craze. “We wouldn’t even be able to get up if it rained.”

“We’d get nowhere,” Jungkook confirms, and you imagine him nodding towards the ceiling, arms under his head.

“That’s what. Doesn’t it sound fun? Wouldn’t matter anyway… the rain would at least kill my competitive side, you know?” Jimin jests, and you already send a prayer above. Not for rain, but for bright sunshine; you cannot miss the ruthless, cut-throat battle that will emerge.

And as if you predicted it, knowing very well who strives for a win and who doesn’t, Jungkook challenges, “Your competitive side means nothing if you’re gonna lose anyway.”

“Dude. Be careful. There’ll be nothing but regret if we end up being on the same team,” Jimin says.

“True, true,” you hear Jungkook respond, just as Yoongi lets out an amused snicker, aligning with your muttered, “Now, that, I wanna see.”

The banter and chatter proceeds for another couple minutes, up to the point where Yoongi needs to shush the quartet. Your laughter ebbs down after his reprimands, morphing into content and tired sighs.

And once the conversation has more or less died, you wonder, “Do we need to sleep? We could just stay awake and talk all night.”

But your suggestion proves redundant — because barely two minutes later, your breathing evens out, calm as you finally drift away. Not a single word anymore. Jungkook rolls over his bed, casting a brief look at you, not quite seeing your face in the dark, but understanding that you’ve fallen asleep.

You can’t stay silent for this long; and you’re not moving. Jungkook clicks his tongue, fond but a tease as he jokes, “I drove all day and still she falls asleep first.”

Yoongi and Jimin’s laughs are cautiously quiet, exhausted, soon giving way to deep breaths like yours until they’ve fallen asleep, too.

Weirdly, it takes some time until Jungkook can join your land of dreams. There’s a strange yearning in his chest that he’s well used to by now; it thoroughly sucks to not have you by his side. And… is this too much?

The affection poured into and onto you, is he doing too much? Feeling too much? Why are his fingers itching and his chest not warm enough, despite the pleasant weather?

You’ve really done a number on him.

The minutes prove long, soon stretching to what he perceives as hours. Jungkook doesn’t know how much time has passed and he refuses to fish out his phone again; the light of the device will only postpone sleep, and he cannot use that for the trip tomorrow.

“Man…” Jungkook quietly complains, letting his left arm swing between the bed rails.

Sleep isn’t an entity to grace him just yet anyway; because as around an hour passes, he hears a sound from below. Sheets shifting, a light groan from you. You sigh audibly, soon going silent, and when he thinks you’re off again, he hears a couple seconds later—

“Kook?”

No, he must be insane. It must be insane how his heart stirs at your tiny, wispy voice. You wash over him like… relief.

“Baby,” he calls out in a whisper, once more moving to look at you — or the darkness below. “You’re awake?”

“Can’t sleep properly. I really hate sleeping in other beds…”

“Right? Me too.” He reaches out for you, hoping you’ll notice the movement, and when your soft fingers get ahold of two of his digits, he breathes out in gratification. “And… I miss you here.”

You hum, rubbing your thumb over his palm, mumbling, “Isn’t it ridiculous? How we can’t go a night like this.”

“Hmm…”

“I miss you, too.”

Patience is a virtue he hasn’t learned yet when it comes to you.

He could wait hours for a hall in the museum to fill. For a visitor to comment on his pieces. He could sit in a room with his father, attempting a conversation; could attempt his whole life to sway your mother’s thoughts. All possible.

But you… distanced from your touch and your lips, not feeling your breath as he does every night is…

Pretty damn shit.

“Wait,” he murmurs, pulling his fingers out of your grip. He hears you mutter a small, “Huh?” as he moves, careful to not hurt himself in the dark.

For the smallest moments, he uses the light of his display to navigate through the limited space, never daring to turn on the flashlight to not wake the entire room. And once he’s touching the ground, agile as a cat, you understand what he’s trying to do.

Quietly, but inefficiently, you protest with just half a heart when he climbs into your bed, telling you to scoot. You say, “Uhm, I… Baby, I don’t know if it’s a good idea—”

But you don’t seem to have much of a say in this matter — because you’re soon outnumbered by Jungkook and his obsession with you, shifting on the bed until you’re nearly pressed against the wall.

He wraps an arm around your waist before the tight space can suffocate you, soon leaning back a little — close to rolling off the mattress? — and pulling you close. The embrace catches your breath more than the cramped area, but it stops your complaints, too.

Winding a little more, you soon find yourself breathing against his chest, a heartbeat right underneath. Your arm reflexively sneaks around him, hugging him close before he laughs and teases, “You were saying?”

“I… I was saying you feel so warm.”

“Mmmh,” he hums, towing you in impossibly close, planting a kiss on your head before resting his cheek against it, “you are, too.”

“Do I feel better than your bed up there?”

“A lot better.” His palm flattens over your back; the scent of his shampoo, his fabric softener and him dizzies you. “Makes me feel a bit less sorry about keeping you awake.”

“Don’t worry,” you sigh into his soft cotton shirt, feeling the lines of his pecs against your lips, “Am exhausted. I’ll fall asleep fast. Especially like this…”

“Oh… glad to be of service then.”

You nod, rubbing his shirt between your fingertips as he moves his hand up and down your lower back, just a little. He yawns against your hair; you know the telltale signs of a drifting mind.

The two of you have gotten used to this. It’s said that pressing something comforting against your chest, such as a pillow or stuffed toy, works wonders on an insomniac mind. You guess that’s what you are for each other.

Even when you’re not home. Even when the space barely suffices for one body.

Which, as you brood over his sudden presence next to you, reminds you—

“You wanted the upper bunk bed,” you tell him. Nothing more; he understands without you needing to elaborate.

He chuckles as quietly as possible to not wake your friends, his hand slipping under your shirt and feather lightly pinching your sides. Not enough to hurt, but enough to tickle you. You nearly yelp, muffling it against his clothes in time.

“Shut up,” he says, thumb running over where he nipped you. “Okay. Do you know why I wanted you to sleep down here?”

You smile. You’re not stupid. As your vision became blurry, your mind shutting just a while ago, the realisation dawned upon you as the seemingly last thought of the night.

“I think I do…” you admit. “I think I figured it out.”

Because.

Because you’ve fallen out of bed one too many times. Because of some days, when you weren’t nestled in his arms as you are now, not caged in solidly, overworked and stressed. Or when you let go of each other in the middle of the night.

And that’s when you rattled down the bed. Just once or twice!

You never got injured or anything, getting away with perhaps a tiny bruise. What was worse was the fond laughter you tolerated when you told him about it, or when he was there and realised. Worried sick, inspecting your body, but still shaking his head in amusement.

Chuckling as he pushed back your hair, but relieved when he found nothing out of the ordinary.

“I’m not gonna risk your clumsy ass to fall off a bunk bed,” he says.

“There’s a raili—”

“Still. One never knows with you. In any case… you’re not getting hurt on vacation, okay?”

You could coo right here, right now. Whisper his name a million times in disbelief and absolute gratitude, melt into him, dampen his shirt. Jungkook is a thoughtful being, alright, but it’s insane that with you, he thinks half a dozen steps ahead.

Mind empty of a response as worthy as his, you settle on a joke, “Is that right? We’ll see about that once we play the game.”

You finish your sentence dramatically, and he answers with a breathy, “Yeah, yeah,” as he kisses your temple. Careful to keep his back off the ladder leading up to his bed, you keep him in your hug, soon detecting in a whisper, “I really mean so much to you.”

“Mhm… So very much.”

It’s too dark to see his expressions clearly; you see him move, see the white of his eyes a little. But even without it, you know he’s blended out the world when you look up at him. You know he’s staring back quietly.

You know what he’s feeling as the tip of his nose touches yours, the bangs of his growing hair grazing your forehead. And when the finger under your shirt draws circles on your skin, touching you so gently, you feel your heart in your throat, hear it in your ears.

Pumping, pumping hard when you see the silhouette’s mouth part before it arrives at yours. Kisses you tenderly. Doesn’t rush or force his tongue in, just lazily moving. 

He cradles your face a moment later, raising your head some more, tilting it as much as possible. The kiss is more like a sequence of innocent pecks, but maybe that’s why the moment feels so intimate.

Because there’s no impatience. No other sentiment but adoration.

As he moves back again, he doesn’t talk right away. Takes a deep breath. Then—

He brushes your tresses aside, away from your temple as his thumb rubs against it gently. His lips hover close to yours, and much like the ever-blooming tiger lily on his golden skin conveys, he whispers, “Love me?”

Your heart.

This treacherous thing — cries and flutters, punctured and whole at once. You’re constantly breathless and speechless, so you wonder how he manages to say, “Please love me, too.”

Doesn’t he know how easy that is? Doesn’t he know who he truly is, what his stardust of a soul is made of? That he was born to be loved. That he’s not responsible for those who do not, rather a ray of serene moonlight who doesn’t need to show anyone that he’s just that.

“No need to beg,” you tell him, “you’ll never need to beg.”

Another beat of silence. He’s smiling, you know. Keeping his heart at bay as much as you are guarding yours. Does he think the same way about you as you do about him?

Of course. Probably. In some sense, you were in the same sinking boat, surrounded by an overwhelming, troubled ocean of doubt; waves of self-hatred drowning you. You know exactly what it’s like to get used to being unloved by everyone; and then to learn to be loved again.

You clear your throat, feeling his body relax; your head returns to his chest, and you say, “You know. It might be a bit uncomfortable, but we could make it work. It’s not that tight—”

“In theory. But we wouldn’t sleep well, right?” he ponders.

Wrong. You soon prove him wrong, unpredictable as you are half of the time when you’re not being familiar to him like the back of his hand.

Because your words soon become slurred, silent not much after, your breathing calm and warm against his chest. Your tiny fist still holds onto his shirt, the blanket alternatively slipping either off him or you.

So he waits until your grip around him loosens. Then, presses a light kiss to your lips, carefully moving away and out of your bed. Ignoring how you hold onto him until the last moment, scared you might awaken again; murmuring in your sleep as you tend to do.

He gently rubs your fist until you uncurl your fingers around his shirt; if he doesn’t do this, he’ll stay here all night. Instead, he furrows his eyebrows in chagrin and yearning; and when your hands move back under your head, he finally bids the first day goodbye and climbs back up.

Eventually descending into dreams of you, too.

DAY 2

The air is much colder up here than you thought.

You can’t recall ever having been on a mountain before; considering your country’s geography, a very ordinary thing that you never really got to experience. Your parents were fans of beaches all over the nation and the globe; didn’t enjoy heights, but depths.

You knew that early on.

Satisfied, however, you hide your mouth in your jacket. You’re glad Eun talked you into packing a thicker jacket and gloves, giving half a dozen logical arguments like the amazing lawyer that she could be. It was fun, packing suitcases together via video calls.

But the wind still hits your ears harshly, and you curse as you get off the cable railway, “Damn it.”

Jimin rubs your arms from behind, the ecstasy clear as day as he cheers, “Come on, no pauses now! We finally made it.”

That you did. No turning back. You’ve wanted this for so long. So you follow the others, walking beside Eun. Her legs are slightly longer than yours, and her steps wider. She proceeds a little faster, so you soon hook your arm with hers, urging yourself to catch up.

You’re relieved when you reach a small platform overlooking not much but the mountain lift and all the stops till the ground. Down below, you recognise the entrance you bought your tickets at. 

Sometimes, along the descent of the mountain, you spot people hiking. They don’t take the lift; they trek up and down, with these cool hiking sticks of theirs.

Jungkook and Taehyung didn’t come with you. Or rather, they’ll arrive a bit after you. Namjoon rang up Jungkook just before you got ready to leave, asking for his apprentice’s time. Something about the gallery and the exhibit.

Yet, extremely sorry, Namjoon told him he could call back later, but Jungkook insisted on listening to what his mentor had to say, presuming it was urgent enough for an interruption in his vacation. And Taehyung stayed with him — partly to not leave him alone, and partly because he’s always dreamed of making an acquaintance with an art connoisseur like Namjoon.

Taehyung apparently has a big thing for art. The only reason Jungkook let him stay at all.

Because when you suggested the same, he rejected your idea without flinching once, prompting you to enjoy these valuable days instead of hanging around at the quiet hostel with him. It took some persuasion and a tender, “Angel, as much as I want you here, I won’t be able to talk to you anyway. I’ll be there in no time.”

So here you are now, content when cold but pleasant air caresses your face. You take in the high trees and the picturesque mountain range; somewhere in the far back, at the horizon, there’s another higher, snow-capped mountain.

And you look for a while, arms wrapped around your knees. Eun remains in a similar position, enjoying the moment; Yoongi and Jimin decide to bask in their joy by capturing the experience in snapped pictures.

Ten minutes later, your group decides to walk on, tramping up a short distance to a bridge Yoongi mentioned earlier. And you guess that’s where your serenity ends.

Because the bridge isn’t as short as you thought. Moves a little, mostly solid, but… holy shit, were you this high up all the time? They say don’t look down in moments like these, but you can’t help, and God, there’s an immeasurable distance between you and the ground and—

It’s not immeasurable. No, you’re an idiot. But you still can’t help it; stare down, gulp.

You reach to the railing with a careful hand. Why do they… how do they…

The others are doing it so easily. The other tourists. And Jimin; moving over it effortlessly, swaying a bit, but airing a sweet laugh. And then even Eun and Yoongi, initially struggling, make their way over, slower than Jimin but courageous nevertheless.

Okay… okay.

You push your phone extra deep into your bag, blinking before you take a deep breathe, repeating a mantra three or four times before you—

Scream.

The surprise of a new voice directly behind you is unwelcome, absolute horror in a moment like this. You flinch hard, reacting, barely hearing the “See?” over the wind before you slap the sudden hands off your shoulders. Your knees are shaking and you’re uncertain who the fingers belong to, but you’re still ready to fight.

The voice isn’t; the startled gasp reveals as much.

You turn, only to find your boyfriend’s eyes ripped open, lips parted. He puffs out a breath, equally frightened at your reaction before his expression turns apologetic. Baffled. Both at once as he exclaims, “Sorry! Sorry, baby.”

“Kook! Timing,” you blurt, scowling in distress, yet immediately holding onto his waist once you’ve grasped the reality enough.

“Angel…” he starts, looking into the hell below. “Are you scared of heights?”

No time to be sarcastic; you don’t have the breath to. So you admit, “A little.”

“I didn’t know,” he breathes, another apology in his words. He kisses your hair to soothe your worries; in some way, it works, even if not enough right now. “I’m sorry. Do you want to go or just stay here? We can stay here.”

His gaze is worried now, and he nods to reassure you, holding onto you. Behind him, Taehyung emerges, comprehending the situation and studying your countenances within the next three seconds until he asks, “All good?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook promises, “you can go ahead if you want.”

“Mmmh,” Taehyung hums; doesn’t sound too sure about leaving the two of you here. “You need a hand? I can go ahead, Jungkook follows.”

Uhh…

“Is that a good idea?” you mumble.

“It could be.”

Could be? And if it isn’t?

Then again. You’re here for a reason. You’d be disappointed with yourself if you just stood here, ruining the chance not only for yourself, but Jungkook, too. You look at him, and he shrugs his shoulders, signalling that it’s up to you.

So you decide, “No, I’ll go. I came here for this, and I don’t know when the next opportunity will arise. Fears exist to be conquered!”

“Hear, hear!” Taehyung cheers, just as Jungkook praises, “See? That’s my girl!”

It helps you, their way to motivate. Cautiously, you place a hand in each of their palms, moving one step after another. They’re determined to take care of you, constantly checking if you’re okay. And it works at first. But.

The bridge seems endless, and the fright yearns to return to you bit by bit. Halfway through, your surroundings look scary enough to put you off balance; you hate that you’re not holding onto anything solid, basically standing freely.

If one falls, all of you do — which, in truth, is sheer impossible. The railing is high enough. But your brain isn’t quite computing properly right now. You let go of Taehyung’s hand, grabbing the railing, but still clutching Jungkook’s grip.

“Go ahead,” your shaky voice commands; and Taehyung nods this time, no other choice left. “It’s okay.”

“I’m right here if you need me,” he vows before walking on.

Jungkook puts an arm around your waist, a human safety rope. His voice is so insanely steady as he spurs you on, “Imagine it’s the amusement park, yeah? Wanna guess the remaining steps? I think it’s… uh… thirty more till the end.”

You exhale, then inhale. Look in front of you instead of down, blinking rapidly before you let out a trembling laugh and counter, “Are you kidding… Looks like a hundred.”

He chuckles with you as you suck in another breath, straightening your back, fixing your gaze on a big rock on the other side. Thinking about how such a vast number of people take these steps every day offers you some courage. Leaves you brave.

So this must be safe, right? Logically seen. You gulp, and then, with your full chest, estimate, “Forty-five! I say forty-five steps.”

And then, you count together. You’re amused when Jungkook curses as you reach twenty without the end anyhow approaching. And just when you take your thirtieth step, he shakes his head in defeat, telling you, “Should know better than to compete with a munchkin.”

You guffaw awkwardly, howling over the wind, “This is actually fun,” not noticing that he’s barely holding you anymore when you jump over to the mainland again.

“What a journey, huh?” Jungkook praises, patting your back. “I’m proud of you. It’ll only get easier from here.”

And it does. As you move on, you soon reach another platform, spiral stairs leading up to the top. It looks a little like the remainder of an old stone tower, half broken, not too high. The stairs were clearly broken; lighter, fresher patches indicate that they were evened out.

Okay, you can do this much, at least.

In fact, you’re the first to climb up, Jungkook treading on your heels, fingers still entwined with yours. And up there, your mouth drops — the view stuns you, frozen in place. The wind blows more fiercely here, but the moment is worth the strong, cold pull of the gust.

Jimin, having reached much before you, must have seen you, because you hear him say, “I know, right?”

Everyone is scattered up here, leaning against the stone wall protecting you from falling. Other tourists are eternalising the moments in pictures, through talking and kissing. Tae and Eun are pointing into the distance, Jimin and Yoongi going around, laughing.

Holy shit. The euphoria filling each one of you is inevitable. Poignant somehow.

You’re above the foggy clouds.

In the far-flung distance, you see the turquoise ocean, merely a day away from wading through its waves; levitating on the sparkling water; thinking back to now and how numerous the miles between are.

And the forests — they’re thick, vast. You wonder what animals inhabit them. Bears? Wolves? Birds you’ve never seen before? Deers and does that have the same eyes as him?

Even the mountain range looks like the sea from here. Is this odd to say? Like high waves, green and dark blue and white and cloudy. So many valleys and so many peaks. Some of them hidden behind the clouds like before.

The birds are flying so close to your heads. And the sun isn’t at its highest point anymore either. You see the horizon coloured in a yellow-ish, orange-ish hue, indicating the nearing sunset.

This was your goal anyway. You wanted to come here late because of these very colours, occupying yourselves with other sights in the morning and the early afternoon. Because you wanted to see what nature bestows upon you.

The mountain will soon be closed for tourists, and in less than an hour, you’ll be heading back down. But you don’t feel any hurry. Nothing matters.

“This…” you finally whisper as you catch yourself, “makes me wanna cry.”

You put your hands on the chest-high stone wall. Jungkook’s arms make themselves home around your body, pulling you in, pushing him close, telling you, “Then cry. Isn’t that what catharsis is about?”

“It’s just so pretty.”

“It is.”

“Like… is this really our world, Jungkook?” You shake your head against him, ruining your hair as his chin moves against your scalp. “The same we saw a few days ago. Those cars and the pressure and the rushing people. All the stress we endure. Or even, our cosy apartment.”

You fill your lungs with the crisp air, more thankful for it than ever. “There’s so much more.”

“There is, right? A lot more,” he confirms.

“Look at this,” you say, chin gesturing towards no particular spot ahead, “wherever there aren’t people to fuck things up, there’s peace like this.” You sniffle; whether due to the temperature or sentiments, you can’t say. “What if we became nomads?”

His laugh is as sudden as your statement, differing so vastly from the rest of the poetry you spat.

He concludes, “I think you’ll really like it back home.” You’re confused until you understand he means his hometown; to that, you nod enthusiastically. “There are so many wonders out there like this one. I want to show you the prettiest places and the prettiest things.”

“…Do you already have something in mind?”

“Of course I do,” he responds matter-of-factly, tapping his finger against your stomach. “I just won’t tell you yet.”

“Ha. I wouldn’t want you to.”

You swallow when he moves in, kissing your cheek, his breath pleasantly warm against your ear. You wait for a second, indulge in the feeling, permitting yourself to believe you’ve transcended this realm and entered another.

But as you hear everyone else’s voices again, laughing and joking and teasing, you remember you’re still very much here, on the same Earth you know. With your everyday thoughts and lives. Which reminds you…

You turn to the side to look at him, his face in immediate proximity to yours. You ask, “What did Namjoon want?”

“Oh, just needed to discuss a couple things. Exhibition.”

“Sounded super urgent, though.”

“I mean, it kinda was,” he answers, catching the strands of hair that the breeze blows into your face, tucking them back, “he needed a status update. We also spoke about the style the gallery collector likes and—”

“Wait. You’re still sticking to your own style, though, right?”

His heart thumps, violently enough to nearly drop out of his chest. When trailblazing artists, already enjoying a remarkable reputation, preach about the relevance of support, this is what they must mean.

Behind someone who does something significant for the world in any way, there’s somebody soothingly rubbing their backs in bad times. Embracing them in success. Pushing them forward, lending them bravery.

You.

You’re who they must be talking about. Unshakably by his side.

“Of course, angel,” he says, “I think having your signature style is always the most important aspect.”

“Good. You’re the coolest, Kook. Just so you know.” His smile is telling, rendering the humble click of his tongue that follows ineffective. He holds you tight, lips close to your temple as you say, “I still don’t know what you’re painting.”

“I will never show you my paintings until an exhibit rolls around. Mostly because you’re my muse. My girl.”

He must think that this doesn’t wreck you inside out. Puts you back together, pieces of puzzles reunited that you didn’t know were lost. You feel something new all the time; is this possible? Surely, there can’t be this many emotions anyway, right?

If you didn’t feel it with your own heart, you wouldn’t believe it…

“But…” you begin, “you’ll let me see those that I don’t inspire, right?”

“Of course. Always.”

Breathing comes easy to you up here. So you do it again. And again. Taking in the oxygen, so entirely different from the one in the city; and soon, you mutter, more to yourself than to anyone else, “This really is pretty.”

He doesn’t answer. There’s no answer to this. Whatever his mind is conjuring and his heart trying to convey doesn’t just have to do with the nature stretching in front of you. Of course it’s gorgeous. Of course, your world’s unique.

Of course, it’s home, and home feels warm, pleasant, familiar.

There’s no doubt that the sight and the moment evoke something rare in him. But he’s seen these things before; when he was younger, he was used to this. What he’s never been used to is people like you.

Those who match nature's fierce, distinctive personality. Those who grow carefully and selflessly; like the trees offering shelter to birds. Or the bees serving as pollinators to provide nourishment for so many creatures out there.

Jungkook doesn’t answer right away because the right response doesn’t come to him immediately. But when he does, he collects his breath, and then voices—

“I love you, angel.”

Your heart skips one or two or three beats. You look at him again.

“People climb mountains, watch the world from above, need to see forests to figure out how good life can be. And that it can be worth living,” he says, his voice velvety soft. “But I feel that way with you every day, you know? I do… I do love you so much.”

You want to say something. You want to pour your heart out. Keep staring at his gentle eyes, serving all confessions at once. But interruptions are expected; so you’re briefly displeased but not surprised when you’re pulled out of your daydream.

Taehyung is gathering the crew behind you, asking for a group picture. You’re soon caught in a short, harmless commotion until everyone has collected at a spot, and you stand in position, yet not before gracing Jungkook one more look.

Mouthing something.

And he sees. In this split moment, he sees and smiles.

If he could be honest… whatever, those mountains. Whatever, them and the adrenaline that comes with them. All the natural phenomena. You’re enough, too — a force of nature, too.

He doesn’t need any mountain peaks when you bring a new high every day.

The lift is crowded as you make your way down again. They stuffed it to the brim, much until a stranger urged staff to stop pushing people in. You’re moved to one end of the cabin while you watch Eun and Jungkook forced into the opposite corner.

Yoongi, Jimin and Taehyung will step into the next, and you’ll wait at the exit.

Since it takes barely five minutes to reach the bottom, you don’t fight for a spot next to Jungkook and Eun. Instead, you look down into the depths, waiting until the vehicle finally finishes its dive.

The chatter in the booth is peaceful, but plenty enough for you to blend out any words the other two utter to each other. In that sense, you don’t hear it when Eun says, “You’re both glued to each other, huh?”

Jungkook’s wide, wondering eyes ogle into hers, surprised as he asks, “Is that… bad? Too much?”

“Well, definitely much,” Eun laughs, “but very sweet, too. By all means, don’t change.”

“Ah. Ahhh, that answers one of my questions at least.”

Eun looks at him in curiosity, though entertained and maybe even a little baffled that she’s ever been the object of his attention in any way. So she voices, “Oh? Which one’s that?”

“Just confirms that I have your blessings.”

Eun catches his admission as a popular line from a million movies before, immediately puffing out a laugh. She didn’t anticipate this, out of all things; blinking, somewhat flattered even.

“My blessings?” she repeats. Her smile, combined with the appearing crease between her eyebrows, dips her expression in something that reveals, “Are you joking?”

Which is presumably why Jungkook’s thought shrinks the very next moment, pupils shaking just a little as he mutters, “Well… yeah?”

“Okay. And what if I didn’t give them to you?”

She raises her chin as if in arrogance, but the immediate giggle reveals the playful joke. She shakes her head again, patting his bicep, smitten when his speechless self voices, “Uhm…”

“I’m just messing with you,” she clarifies, watching one corner of his lips rise. “But also, why is it needed, you know? Would you leave her if I didn’t bless you two? Or stop loving her?”

Jungkook’s surprised about the L-drop; of all people, Eun must have known from the very beginning that he loved you. There’s no bewilderment in her voice; she emits the word casually.

He blinks, albeit discarding all preceding hesitation immediately as he admits, “No.”

“Exactly,” Eun agrees, wiggling a finger with a wise, subtle nod on the side, “you don’t need my blessings. If you’re sure about her, you don’t need anyone’s. I’ll trust the process.”

That’s it.

No ominous warnings, no playful best-friend-threats. She trusts in his certainty as much as he does; and where would the two of you be, what would all of this be if he didn’t? No. Not a trace of doubt.

Not if every smile matching yours expresses a silent I adore you. Or if every exhale against your shoulder reveals a promising I want you.

Not if everything he’s still about to do breathes a whisper of a soft I’ve been thinking of you all this time.

“But,” Eun continues; Jungkook’s ears perk up, “if you need to know. I do adore you two together. I know I tease you and stuff, but I’ve never seen a cuter couple.”

“Ah. Even cuter than you and Tae?”

“Much. We’re not the sappy kind. Or well, he is, but… you’re straight up sugar. Makes me sick.”

Jungkook laughs, spying over his shoulder, seeing a glimpse of you as you look out of the window in wonder. “Well, she makes up most of that sweetness.”

“Maybe. God,” Eun exclaims as if agitated, and when he looks at her again, her teeth are gritted, eyes squinting hard before she opens them again. Adding, “Sometimes I wanna grab her face and squish her.”

“The most precious, right?”

“Isn’t she?”

Somebody to kill for. Somebody with a face that doesn’t fit tears. The world did you wrong, but you exist to be happy. You’re deserving of it; you could be the most enthusiastic soul if the universe allowed you.

No, fuck it. Fuck the universe.

He’s here, right? He can do it, too. Guard you from harm; keep your smile plastered there.

And as if reading his mind, Eun continues, “I’ve always hated seeing her sad. She deserves the world, and shit always hit the fan when she was so close to finding the joy I always wanted her to have. Does this sound dumb?”

No, it doesn’t. In fact, Eun’s very truth pricks his heart like a fine needle. Because in a sense, he was also once a reason for stripping you off that happiness; but he’s made up for it. He so deeply hopes he made up for it.

“It sounds just right,” he says.

“I don’t know if you already know, but you won’t meet anyone purer. Not saying this as her best friend… it’s true.” She shrugs a shoulder, as if to dismiss the corny statements; she truly isn’t a mawkish one. “So it’s a big deal to say I want you close to her.”

Her eyes shift away from him and straight to you; there’s a gap between all the people, allowing a glance at you. And when Jungkook follows Eun’s gaze, you seem to feel it somehow, his eyes like Cupid’s arrows in your back until you meet their attention.

Your lips promptly form the most saccharine smile, an unsure hand lifting; somebody next to you immerses themselves in the brief interaction, looking to and fro between Jungkook and you.

And Jungkook waves back, watching your chest rise and fall in satisfaction rooted in nothing but the untroubled moment. Right there, you hold not one but two hearts hidden. His bleeding organ thumps, but it’s as if he hears it from where you stand.

Slowly, stare dropping to his feet, he nods, love clumping up his throat, a barrier for the words wanting to escape. Instead, he basks in the things Eun said, repeating them over and over in his head until he merely susurrates—

“Thank you, Eun.”

“Here you are.”

Jungkook is soft-spoken, his voice mellow; a textbook definition of a lullaby. Which is possibly why you’re so surprised when it breaks the fall air so loudly, echoing through the empty space.

You flinch before you reflexively turn, watching his body tower on the other side. The lights of the swimming pool illuminate his face, and even from here, you recognise the bright, gorgeous, twinkling eyes immediately. They’re not hidden behind his bangs this time; his damp hair is pushed back.

Maybe you could focus on that unusual sight of his forehead if there wasn’t the entire rest of him. Hands in the pockets of the open bathrobe he’s sporting, mere boxers hiding his most important parts, but the rest of him naked. Tits out, abs sharp.

You flash him a smile from where you’re floating, pushing yourself off the edge and swimming towards him. You see his reflection in the water, blurry, moving, somewhat funny. As you near him, he drops to his knees, crouching for a second before dipping his legs into the pool. Sitting down, remaining there, waiting for you.

Getting ahold of his calf, you pull yourself in for the last few feet. He reaches out without hesitation as your shoulders collide with his legs underwater; gentle fingers tuck your soaked hair behind your ears.

“I was looking for you,” he says.

“Oh, I just got here a couple minutes ago. Making the best out of the remaining time.”

“Yeah. I just showered for a few minutes, too.” He pauses. Looks around the vacant pool save from the two of you, humming before he asks, “Hey, do you need a moment to yourself?”

Your eyes widen as you look up, his expression suddenly cautious, as if he’s intruding your personal space. Curiously, you merely voice, “What?”

“Just. I know there’s been a lot of interaction these days, so I get it if you need a break.” His finger moves to his temple, drawing circles in the air. “My battery almost ran out, too.”

Oh. Oh…

If there was a way to hide your flattered smile, you still wouldn’t. God, if he knew how rare of a person he is. How uniquely humane. If he knew that not everybody’s ready to offer space despite knowing that somebody requires it at times.

You know enough people who put the blame on themselves; deem themselves victims. If you can’t be there for them, it’s something they have done wrong. Not the fact that you need peace, a moment to yourself.

Jungkook knows. Jungkook understands.

Has seen you run out of energy and crave a quiet evening. But you immediately shake your head, touched, “Oh, no. I actually knew you’d find me here. Hoped for it.”

“Is that right?” he says, relieved, grazing your cheek as you put your chin onto his leg. Muscly, thick thighs, yet like a pillow.

You nod. Look up to him properly, a little distracted, very mesmerised. It’s outrageously insane, how he’s perched there like he’s allowed to. As if it doesn’t clearly state in your book that it’s illegal to look this way, that it should be retaliated somehow.

“It’s been a while since we were alone,” you tell him, “feels like we didn’t have many moments to ourselves.”

“Then, this is convenient, isn’t it? An empty pool in the evening. Very cliché.”

You laugh a little, tilting your head and ignoring the goosebumps that arise when he touches the sweet spot behind your ear. Hands exploring. You respond, “Others are probably too tired to be here. Or too cold. We’re the only crazy ones here.”

“It’s warm enough, though,” he argues, sniffling, as if to contradict his point — there’s something funny about it. “I bet it’s wet and grey back home.” A click of his tongue, watching you nod in agreement; after a beat of silence, he wonders, “Are you looking forward to tomorrow?”

Exhilaration inundates your chest without a warning, as is common with this very conversation topic. You can barely fathom that you talked about this for weeks straight, and now you have only a few hours left until the awaited day finally breaks in.

Jungkook must be seeing the change in your pupils, because he smiles when you do, nodding with an open mouth as you cheer jubilantly, “A lot! It’ll be a long day, we’ll be exhausted, but… got a feeling it’ll be worth it all.”

“Yeah, but like. I think we can rest a lot after that, though,” he explains, flashing a wink to your astonishment. “My childhood bedroom is cosy.”

“I’d hope so. We won’t be leaving it.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes in jest before he agrees, “Of course not. Duh. Except for the wedding.”

“Except for the wedding… sure,” you repeat, as if reluctantly.

As you put both your arms on top of his thighs, Jungkook uses the moment to let his stare dawdle; right there where yours lingered two minutes ago. His head moves slowly, taking in the wide, endless view behind you.

The sky above and the stars attached to it. The tiny mountains far away and the forests next to them. The world looks as wide as it truly is, stunningly bedazzling; infinite from where he sits here with your touch so close.

There’s a sense of disbelief in the fact that, despite the crazy vastness of the world, it’s you who found your way to him, inches away. If luck exists, this must be it, right?

But he doesn’t say any of it — don’t you already know? What if he lovebombs too much, frightens you away. So instead, his fingers shift to your face, much cooler to the touch than before, and he queries, “Aren’t you cold?”

You shake your head, however, stating, “Not yet. Or… maybe a little. You can help me warm up?”

Jungkook cocks an eyebrow in disbelief; something about the way he looks down at you with such power lets something in you loose that floods your entire body. You wouldn’t mind if he…

“Isn’t this another cliché?” he asks.

“How so?”

“You’ll make me jump in, huh? Or no, wait. You’re a brat,” he establishes as if remembering just now, rethinking his choice of words. “No… you’ll pull me in.”

“What? I won’t.”

“How do I know that, though?”

“I mean, technically, you don’t, and yes, I realise that doesn’t help,” you blabber, tone shifting when he shakes his head with a laugh, “but, you did just shower. I wouldn’t want you to waste more time showering afterwards.”

He looks sceptical to no end; squinting his eyes, biting his lower lip, furrowing his eyebrows — the whole package. Leaning in, he lets you know, “I don’t trust you this once, but…”

And that’s where his sentence ends. The words unspoken are replaced by another movement closing the gap between the two of you. He grabs your chin, moving your head up, bending his back enough to draw closer to your lips.

The phantom touch and his warm breath cause a strange, crackling sound somewhere in your brain — a bulb going out, your mind breaking. Shutting down. But your body lights up as he cradles your face, every single inch of your skin craving his all.

The knowledge about his affection and that he yearns for you like no other man on Earth blurs your reality, as if you don’t belong into a utopian world like this. As if you’re from another corner of the multiverse, incredibly lucky by accident.

Weird, weird how all of these thoughts trigger disbelief and thorough rapture in you, but how empty-headed you are at the same. Almost enough to fully lose yourself until—

The man leans back, intentionally teasing you, just a little but enough for you to fall out of your immersion. You chase his lips for a second, long enough to make him laugh. But as you find your composure, looking at the shit-eating grin, you land a decision.

“Unfair,” you say, pouting, predicting for him to coo, which occurs just a moment later.

You remain at your spot, not a lot of options either way as he still holds your face. Then wait. See him get a hold of himself before he mutters, “My pretty angel. Pouty little sweetheart of mine, hm?” twice, then thrice and then closes in again.

Thumbs skim the apples of your cheek, nose rubbing against yours, his own scrunched. He looks so happy with himself, but so charmed by you, too, squishing your face as if handling cuteness-aggression.

Calls you plenty of pet names as he kisses your nose, your cheek, your earlobe and then moves in for an actual kiss.

Only this time, no matter how much you yearn for his lips, rosy and wet and sweet and tender — you can’t let him beat you. So you prepare for the retaliation you considered before, and just as new goosebumps arise on your arms, wanting the kiss, you suppress the desire and—

“Fu—”

The curse falls out of him suddenly, just a second after he closes his eyes and you use the moment of weakness to put your hands at the back of his neck. Pulling him in without a warning, watching him lose balance and splash into the pool.

He struggles a little underwater before he breaks the surface; hands reach for you with an intent to revenge, but you dodge him. He gasps, shaking his head, going through the trouble of wiping the water off his eyes before opening them.

You swim away a little, carefully, just to be sure; watching him cough a bit before he laughs. He can’t help but scoff, more curses falling out of him, but never towards you. Only a reprimanding, “Angel, you’re— you brat." Another cough. "You’re too much.”

And as his eyes finally land on you, he immediately charges for you, jaw clenched, teeth gritted, but pure amusement gracing his features. You try to get away, but he’s faster. Moves in the water as he strips himself off the bathrobe.

The image makes you choke.

How ethereal yet sinful of a moment. Tempting as he pulls it off his strong shoulders, revealing the bulging bicep, throwing the bathrobe to the side with an absolute indescribable, fiery aura.

Teeth pull at his lower lip before they instantly release it. Then the tongue, running over glistening lips, eyes hooded, the bathrobe sitting where he did without him even regarding it. Like a villain who sets a house on fire and then walks away without looking, badass to the core.

Fuck, he’s broad. And fuck, he’s coming right for you.

You try to flee, hysterically laughing, probably too loud; but he’s a fast swimmer, arms soon around your waist, wrapping around you, tugging you in. He whispers into your ear, “Talking about clichés, baby, huh?”

As he holds you there, you swallow some water, spitting it out right away before you answer, “Well… there’s a reason why they’re clichés.”

“Not wanting to waste my time showering, my ass.”

“You’re saying it sounds like a bad idea?” you whisper, breathless as he kisses your shoulder, his soft voice muttering a little, “What?” before you clarify, “Showering with me?”

“Nah. Stop planting this thought in my head,” he says, lips continuing at your neck, kissing it gently first before he morphs the touch into a wet, open-mouthed kiss.

You try to stay afloat, but god, you’ll drown if he keeps that up. But then he adds, much to your already existing misery, “Stop or I swear, we won’t even make it to the damn shower. Understood?”

“Beast—”

“You say as if you don’t know me already. Don’t you know?” he asks, pausing, kiss moving to your jaw. “That I get like this with you?”

“I… I do, so well. Not even this is surprising to me.”

You press yourself into him harder, feeling the bulge hardening below, right against your thigh. Your hand drops from his shoulder to his slim waist, further down until it gives his hard-on the slightest of touches. He groans; gives you a head tilt as a warning.

Then kisses your cheek. The corner of your lips; tickles you, pinches your waist. You engulf him a bit more, trying not to pull the two of you underwater, swimming and floating. It’s hard, though, and harder even when he tickles you again.

He must understand, because as you push him away, swimming away a couple feet, he doesn’t tow you back in. Lets you go as your vision blurs, the movements of your arms hectic enough to push more water into your eyes.

You dip below the surface for a second, regaining control, and when you’re up again, you hear his voice farther away, urging, “Come on.”

And once you see him again clearly, he’s already wading to the edge where you stood when he scared you. Right where the view to the town is the best, the pool and roof separated from the depths by a high glass wall.

You follow slowly, stroking for a moment — but it doesn’t take you long to pause again halfway through. Gliding, you watch his arms coming up and settling on the edge, muscular and mountainous like the range far away. Hair wet, water drops drip onto his already doused back.

And in front of him, a lake you couldn’t see from the other side of the pool.

Then, the mountains, like the one you went on. A village and fields and up above, a painting of stars. Millions and millions of them. Sparkling, alive, dead, moving, closer, farther… burning and bright. Reflecting in the lake, along with the moon.

His head moves to the side, probably looking for you; but you don’t move yet, just admiring the side profile for a little longer. Gorgeous, lips formed as if drawn, a clean-cut, razor sharp jaw. Golden back, broad.

As he peeks over his shoulder again, doe eyes searching for you, you finally swim towards him the moment he pleads, “Come, baby.”

And you do. Put your hands on his shoulders again, kissing his back, his neck, his shoulder blade before you settle right next to him. Imitating his position.

He says, “One could almost forget that we’re leaving in two hours. Ahh, I want to stay here.”

Right. Your group decided to check out in the late evening tonight — an exception at this hostel — to make the most of the day on the mountain and at dinner. But in a while, you’ll set out for your new destination. The beach calls for you.

You’ll check in late at night over there, and then remain at the new hotel — no hostel this time — until the day after tomorrow.

“Yeah. Just a bit more,” you say, sighing before you let him know, “By the way… I do feel a lot warmer now.”

“Good,” he says, although you don’t miss the beguiled smile he flashes as he looks away, “anything for you to not get sick.” He nudges your elbow with his. “Not before the big day.”

No, not the big day. If anything, you’re even more overjoyed over it than tomorrow. And nervous — oh, so nervous. You don’t think you’ll feel any different until the day rolls around.

What will happen at the wedding? What’s the atmosphere like in a smaller gathering? What does the magic of such a place elicit? It must be so different from any event in the city.

Could it make you fall in love with him with further desperate urgency? Seeing him standing there, admiring you in your dress, thoughts whirling as the couple of the night promises each other eternity. Does the romantic serenity of a wedding make hearts of those in love burst more?

No. You don’t think it’ll make you fall for him harder — because you don’t need a wedding for that.

A moment like this suffices.

Yet. As you stare ahead, fixing your eyes on the clouds, you remember something. Curious as you think back to the first day and ask, “Hey. What did Jimin mean when he said I should be excited for the wedding? What does he know?”

Jungkook sighs, shaking his head at your friend’s slip-up. He smirks, and then says, “Well, you’ll see at the wedding, right?”

“…Jungkook,” you challenge, and he looks at you so innocently, hiding whatever secret he shares with Jimin. But you don’t fall for it, ideas already brewing in your mind; one blurted as you ask, “Did you get me something?”

But he’s unfazed — a good actor. “Wait up,” he says, “if you’ve got any theories, keep them to yourself, though! You’re too smart for me.”

“C’mon, as if.” You wait. Wait a bit more, pupils shaking, just slightly distracted when he frees your cheek off your hair again, giving you a chaste peck. “Wait. Oh.”

He chuckles, a little lost in you as he copies, “Oh?”

“Jeon Jungkook… are you proposing?”

And that’s when he breaks into a laugh. A loud one, Jungkook-esque, sweet and genuine, with his eyes nearly closed, mouth open wide. So, so enchanting as he says, “I did not expect that. But sure, that’s what it is.”

“Well, that cancels it out.”

“Oh, baby…” He pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger, moving your head to look at him, kisses you again, just for a fleeting second. “You’re so cute. So, so cute. I love your cute ass so much.”

Butterflies, butterflies, butterflies.

They never cease. You don’t think you’ll ever get over this word. You don’t think there’s a way to get used to Jeon Jungkook confessing his love — his love — for you.

Ugh, he drives you mad. Into absolute insanity.

Sucks you out of breath, your heart palpitations reasoned in him. Your body craves him; not cold anymore at all. Tingling and wanting.

Starved for him, you look into his dark eyes, intrigued by the wet bangs, and with all the patience you can muster, you finally whisper, “Let’s go and hurry to that damn hotel. Hm?”

DAY 3

You love packing your bags, but you hate reorganising them. Like, stuffing back dirty clothes because there’s nowhere else for them to go, changing your initial order. 

You won’t empty your suitcase for that one remaining day anymore; you’ll only be here for another night anyway.

But you want to separate the worn stuff from the clean one. Thankfully, your suitcase is spacious enough; after all, there’s no chance in hell you’re having your soon-to-be-messy swimsuit reside right next to your resplendent dress.

Yawning as you rummage through your things, you shoot a fleeting glance at the ticking clock at the wall. It’s only 8 o’clock in the morning. Breakfast has already started, but you and the others longed to sleep in, agreeing on a 9 AM meal.

But for some reason, the two of you already awoke about half an hour ago; nevermind that today’s schedule doesn’t begin before noon.

For some time, you merely lay on your sides of the bed, enjoying each other’s company, brief kisses here, modest touches there — until you decided to make yourselves useful. Still tired, yet unable to fall back into sleep, being productive was all you could do.

Albeit, you’re distracted. Your mind keeps drifting, your heart still pounding thinking about the shower last night, taken right as you checked in and found your room. Not as tired from the busy day and the two-hours-drive to the hotel anymore when he touched you.

You still feel the ghost touch of his palm around your neck; glistening lips exploring your cheek and your jaw.

And… there are bruises on your leg somewhere, reminiscent of when he dragged you into bed, keeping your thighs apart with a grip passionately aggressive. Loving yet brutal. Uttering admissions that still coat your flesh with goosebumps.

Shit, are you grateful for the proper room. All to yourselves at last.

You cover your naked thigh. The oversized shirt barely hides his effect on you, but he seems rather distracted anyway. Of course he is — whenever he spies the lavender dress, like now, he becomes one hell of a goner.

He fishes it out by ruining some of your tidiness, the folded top and two shorts falling out as he pulls the dress from underneath them. You complain, “Hey!”

But he’s still examining the gown, shaking his head once again as he did the last few days whenever he caught a glimpse of it. You still remember his reaction when you first brought it home, presenting it to him but not yet putting it on.

You assured him you looked hot in it beyond hell, but that he’d have to wait to actually see you wrapped in it.

His eyes were still wide, alright. Mouth drooling. And you understand — when you first laid eyes on it, you knew it was made to be yours: soft, pastel pink hue. Dreamy and ethereal. Shit, you can’t wait to wear it.

Apparently, he can’t either.

Because he declares, “You’re gonna be so fucking pretty in this.”

“You told me.”

“And I’ll keep doing so. My god, I’ll need to keep an eye on you all night!”

You laugh. “Ah? Why?”

He shrugs a shoulder, explaining matter-of-factly, “Some of my friends there are still single. Gotta shield you from their shit. I mean, they loyally respect me, but then again… it’s you.”

“Oh, oh,” you voice, tutting, “and the girls? Are some of them single, too?”

“Well, I guess so, but—”

“Nothing but. I’ve seen you in a suit before, mister. What if some of them are girls from your high school? What if they had a crush on you? Fuck it, they all probably did,” you ramble, and he listens, lips twitching; he forces the laugh back. “No, you’re sticking by my side that night, Jeon.”

You raise a finger, wiggling it like a warning, blabbing the most ridiculous, “No running away with other chicks.”

“As if, you idiot,” he jests, “even if I got shitfaced as heck and you carried me home and I didn’t realise it was you? And you pretended to be somebody else — I’d still tell you that I need to go fetch my girlfriend.”

You cover your mouth as laughter fills the air; you’re sure your eyes are sparkling at the fantasy, and your voice changes, euphoric to an unknown extent as you say, “Oh my god. I so want to witness that one day. I’m gonna try to get there.”

“I believe you. What else will you be wearing? This? Wait,” he asks, picking out a silk and lace lingerie from the side; baby pink. But you snatch it out of his hands as he adds, “Is this part of your attire?”

“Well, now you ruined a perfect surprise.”

“What! I don’t think I did, though? Wait for my reaction. It won’t be any less than you expect.”

You smack your lips in faux disappointment, but in truth, you get it very well. Seeing him always feels new to you, too.

You brush your hand across the fluffy carpet as he eyes the dress once more, waiting until he’s folded it neatly again, putting it into your suitcase. Then, he leans against the bed, observing as you get back to work.

Your lips open, pouting a bit. You give the sweetest, most genuine reactions; how you form an Oh with your mouth when you like something you brought. Or how disgusted you look when you’re reminded of your two-days-old clothes again.

You mutter, “Gonna have to ask your mom if she’s okay with me using your washing machine.”

“She will be, for sure.”

“I’ll even hang them to dry myself.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm! Shit, Jungkook. I’m so excited!” you exclaim, fingers moving fast over your stuff, and he keeps watching. “I wanna tattle about you with your mom! And I can’t wait to meet Ria, either. She sounds so cool and—” You peer up at him, and when you catch him smiling, you wonder, “What?”

“Nothing, just…”

He shrugs another shoulder, already moving to close your suitcase. You watch with an innocent curiosity in your eyes, hands on your knees as he pushes it away. He reaches for your wrists to pull you closer until you’re between his legs, your own crossed, obliging wordlessly.

Then, he speaks again, “Can you kiss me? Really wanna kiss you.”

He always wants to kiss you. And staring at these rosy, pretty lips of his, arched so prettily, you don’t think you fare any better.

So you’re walking on air when his hands settle on your waist to tickle you, forcing you to relocate them down to your hips. You ask, “Do you ever get enough?”

“Hmm… Do I look like I do?"

“I mean. Do you really just want to kiss me, baby?” you inquire, but he’s already onto pecking your lips, pulling at them. You place your arms around his neck. “Your eyes look just like they did yesterday.”

“Ah, really?” A featherlight kiss on your neck. “So I won’t have my wish granted?”

“You… You’re stupid,” is all you say before you prove him wrong — diving in, locking your lips, moving them slowly against his, in unison.

You tilt your head immediately. Kiss him deeper, seeking his hair. His hands wander to your back, and you arch it when he hauls you closer. Your tongues come into motion at the very same time, a touch intense enough for him to breathe a sigh that you feel, that you hear.

And before you know it, you’re moving further; straddling him. He pushes your shirt up, only to the small of your back; the other hand moves down to your ass, nothing on you but your underwear. And considering it’s a string, not even that matters.

He has free reign to your rear, squeezing and slapping lightly. At which you lean back, breathless, giggling a little as you watch him move back in — trying to catch another kiss, eyes drooping and lips parted.

But when he realises you’re pausing, not granting him what he needs, he looks up into your eyes. You say, “Thought so. That’s,” you touch his hand over your ass, “what your eyes said. Even after you wrecked me just last night, huh?”

“Sorry,” he mutters with a grin — but his expression soon changes. Back once more against the bed, he promises, “I… if you don’t want to, we don’t have to though. I’m okay with just organising our stuff or chilling.”

Oh, the way he touches your heart…

You blink, affection in your pupils reflecting in his. You coo, and then call, “Oh, baby…”

“No, seriously. Whatever you’re comfortable with, my love.”

“I’m… I’m comfortable with you, you know? If I ever feel like not doing something or disagreeing with you… I’ll be honest with you.”

He silences for a moment. Keeps gaping at you. Then, “Do you feel like you can?”

But no matter how deep his insecurities are, your answer is immediate, “Always.” Swift pause. “Kook, I— I know you still fear I could distance myself from you. I see it, but… I won’t. As long as you’re willing to stay, I will, too.”

“I will. I promise. And I’ll never ever do anything to hurt you again. Not on purpose… okay?”

Hmm… you wish these moments were rare. It does happen ever so often that he seeks reassurance and vows; your companionship, regardless of what lies in your pasts. To know you’re here despite all the despites.

But if you need to, you’ll keep dispeling his fears all your life.

So you say, “I know. I know.” Brushing through his hair. “And I want this.”

“It won’t hurt? We just did last night—”

“If it does, we can stop. I always want you. Besides…” You circle over his lap, your hips a tease. You feel the bulge stir. “I can’t blueball you.”

Jungkook smirks in the way only he’s able to, clutching your butt again, and you catch your lower lip with your teeth. He states, “Brat, acting like it’d be the first time.”

“You’re just… so hard already. Can’t do this to you. Or me. Not today.”

“Babe… you being so sweet makes it worse. And this isn’t even its final state, you know?”

“Of course I know.”

Oh, of course you do. Whenever you think it can’t get crazier, he negates your beliefs. Well equipped as he is, your man, the thought suddenly makes you want to unwrap him again, like a gift crafted just for you.

He’s in a black tank top; tattoos reach up to his shoulder, muscles flexing as he holds you. You touch them, sneaking further to his wrist, and then take the plunge and lead his forefinger into your mouth. Then, you suck.

Upon which his eyes immediately shut. He draws a deep, shaky breath, barely exhaling much of it when you twirl your tongue around the tip of his finger. Absent-minded yet fully aware, he shakes his head, taking a moment to compute before he pulls his digit out again.

His cock twitches beneath you, much as a last warning.

And a second later, out of the blue, there’s a hand on the nape of your neck while the other shifts to your buttbone, pushing you to the ground with his body in tow. You fall flat on your back, his face right above you. Lips crash against yours again, strong hands pinning your arms down.

“You’re so brave,” he deduces, “like you forgot yesterday.”

“I could never. Maybe… maybe I’m just trying to repeat it.”

“Oh… smart, smart. If that’s your wish.”

Cocky, how he tilts his head and winks. How he pushes your thong aside without a warning, already damp, freeing your pussy before his touch collides with it. Fondling with it; making you release a pleased sigh. Gaze still set on you firmly, fingers running up and down. To the clit.

You’re already out of your good mind; but you attempt a fair approach; a mutual effort in which you try your best to push his shorts down. He’s not wearing anything underneath… you know because he threw them on last night after the chaos that ensued, wanting to rush to you. To sleep in peace.

And he’s well aware of it, because as it slides down to his knees, he dares a step further. Fists his cock and replaces his fingers when he drags the tip up and down your heat. You sigh again before it contorts into a moan, gripping him, pleading, “Kiss me again?”

“Not yet. I wanna see you wind.”

“Why…? You’re so mean—”

“Just now. Come on. Look at me.”

You do. You’re met with a hungry beast who’s yearning for you, simultaneously so soft — easing you into this, not dipping his fingers in just yet. Discovering how you feel; how soaked you get; how far he can already proceed.

He might be craving you, but he’s not stupid; he’s cautious. Gauging your reaction.

This man… this man…

“Want me to push it in?” Jungkook then questions, making your eyes rip open; you didn’t expect the inquiry this soon, but you’re not opposed to it at all.

You nod, eyebrows furrowed. Your voice is feeble when you agree, “Please.”

“Please, yeah?” he repeats, just the head prodding your entrance — but then, he chuckles. “Baby. Take care of yourself when I can’t. I can’t fucking think, you know? But even I know you’re not ready yet.”

“I…”

“Just a bit more, okay?” He slaps your pussy; you wince. “Wanna get up and undress?”

“No,” you instantly blurt, “want you like this. Right now. I don’t care about the shirt.”

“Right… so that’s how it is.”

He leaves the two of you just the way you are, except kicking off the bothersome shorts. Pushes your shirt up to your tits, too, stopping right underneath the mounds, still covering them. He leaves it there, dizzy about how your nipples perk against the white shirt, just above the Kakashi Hatake print.

Huh.

“Is this my shirt, by the way? You stole it, didn’t you?” he gathers.

You pretend, playing the innocent lamb, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I can’t believe you. Stealing my clothes… and my perfumes,” he recollects, his voice going up and down. He’s referring to the time you used his cologne just to keep his scent close; once. He was very amused by it. “What’s next? My heart?”

Only that you already exchanged both of yours. He knows, because he can’t really feel his own heart beat, but yours. After all, your chest houses his thumps, not his.

But he still clicks his tongue; kisses down your body, caressing your sides, and then shoves your panties aside. He spits on your pussy so indecently, in a manner so filthy that it affects your entire body.

The sharp tip of his tongue is the first to taste you. The first to intrude. Lightly and softly, he attempts a touch, anticipating a reaction that he barely needs to wait longer for than a nano-second. Because your body blooms immediately, your pussy constricting.

There’s never a single reason for him to react with surprise; if anybody in this world understands your body as well as you, it’s him. He knows you to the tiniest detail; so why the astonished, “Oh? Oh, oh…”

Then again, maybe that’s all that’s necessary to set the mood further; he doesn’t elaborate on it, nor does he ask any questions. Instead, he French kisses your cunt with the techniques he’s mastered to the core. With each time you spend with him like this, he gets better.

Because he knows when to draw back, when to return. When to kiss you again, when to pull at the nether lips. Or when to nibble just lightly, when to use his tongue. It’s obvious in the twitches of your legs, and how he needs to keep them in place each time — hence, the bruises.

Your head lifts when he angles your right leg on the side, enabling better access to where he wants to drown. And when he comes back, he seems starved; maybe he needs that promised breakfast soon to come. Or maybe not; maybe he’ll feast on you enough.

Because he’s thorough; does enough work on you to divulge, “Maybe I was wrong and you are ready after all.”

“…M-maybe.”

“Wish we’d brought the sex toys. Man, I want to…” He touches your clit, painting patterns, a steady and diligent artist’s hand; and you can’t help but imagine it’s the vibrator he often handles. “Wouldn’t that be good?”

“Don’t… do this to me.”

A smug chuckle. “Sorry, bae.”

Ever since he gave you the damn toys months ago, he’s teased you about them constantly. And ever since you started inhabiting the same walls as him, he’s prompted orgasm after orgasm. God, the last few weeks alone, he’d revel in your whines.

Overstimulating, keeping you awake on weekends, battering your cunt and your nub. Nerves on fire. Tears of pleasure and sobs of exhilaration.

“Jungkook…” you start. He hums, but your brain blanks; you think about whatever you were going to say until you remember and jabber, “We’d never get t-to breakfast then.”

“So? I’d still be having mine.”

Thought so.

“But…” you argue, no clue why at all. “They’d be waiting.”

“I think they’re just as bad as we are. C’mon.”

You laugh before you mewl; insane when he buries himself in your sex, tongue in a whirl, plump lips operating so agonisingly skilled. He heaves your legs onto his shoulders; everything feels wet and warm and dirty.

Nerves burning again; your entire neural system is alight like a torch, buzzing like electricity.

And you want to close your legs but you can’t.

The motion only covers his ears, much to his disdain as he says, “Stop… I can’t hear you like this,” before dragging his tongue down again. Pushing your body up, he grips your ass, pulling the cheeks apart before he licks over the string just for a moment. Then suggests, “What if we added something to our collection one day? Hmm?”

His thumb toys right over your clenching hole; you grasp for a breath, airheaded as you admit, “I… don’t know yet.”

“Fine. There’s time.”

There is, but you want it to pass faster. Want him over you, around you. And maybe he can read your thoughts after all, because a second later, he’s uprighting himself; once again slapping his dick against your drenched mess. Hiding it between your folds as he rubs it up and down.

Then moves it side to side rapidly, helping himself, pumping until he’s grown impossibly solid. On his knees, he shifts on the mattress until he’s kneeling right over your face, and you raise your head, mouth ready and open without a single command necessary.

He’s chuffed about your keenness; breathes out a laugh as he drags his cock between your lips and onto your tongue. You’re rigorous, his good girl, sucking right away.

Fuck, he savours the moment much like you are; watching the saliva drip down your cheek obscenely. It covers his dick, much of it enveloped by your mouth; the picture of you barely being able to take half of him in this position yet trying sends him into pure madness.

And when your tongue teases his slit and the head, he thinks he’s dying and being reborn.

“I’m dying and being reborn, babe. What the fuck,” he repeats, immediately regretting it when he realises he spoke it out loud; because you’re right beneath him, eyes foggy but the sudden giggle entirely contrary.

“Glad to hear.”

Jungkook uses the separation from your lips to back away already; any longer and he’ll have to help you rinse out your eyes. He leans down again, kissing you, hips aligning with yours as he prepares for the next step.

He’s gentle as he places your hands on his shoulders, and you already understand why. Already make yourself comfortable, getting into position as if for war, already realising that you need him to kiss you or your scream will shatter the building—

“Careful now,” he still warns, right before he reads your wish off your eyes and dives back in for more making out. You nod; you know. Your neighbours don’t need to—

Fuck.

Fuck, how big he feels when he digs in, not even fully inside yet.

Isn’t it just a bit more than the head so far? You bite your lip when you hear yourself whine, suppressing it, eyes watery. Your mouth transforms into a thin line, but Jungkook opens it with his finger; telling you, “I don’t care who hears.”

Okay. Okay. Then… you’ll stop holding back, right? You moan and call his name, hearing in his tender sounds and overjoyed, endlessly breathy and quiet laugh that he’s loving it. He asks, “Can I go farther in?”

“Thought you’d never ask…” Yet, it doesn’t happen. He refuses for some reason; which is why you work towards him instead, your hips upthrusting. Pushing at his ass, knowing how much he’s enjoying your helplessness. You say, “You are mean.”

“Mhm… especially to you, right?”

“Especially to me,” you laugh. “You say you love me and then edge me? Prove it, won’t you?”

“Ohhhh no.” He drags out the syllable, a sudden change in his tone, as if you’ve purposely teased him to a challenge. A you did not just say that kind of vibe. “You will not doubt that I love you. Fuck no.”

He buries his face in your clothed tits, kisses the spot between them; one hand envelops your left side before he lets go and gets serious. Kicks his shorts away and then— bottoms out. His balls clash against your ass, your eyes rolling back. His words ring in your ears.

And then, he’s already dragging himself out before plunging back in. Hard. Remains like this. Then out again; all the way in again, harder. Repeating it with a hand on your neck; but the moment, much to your irritation, doesn’t prolong at all.

Jungkook must have been quick to make a decision to torment you today when you first kissed him ten minutes ago. Because he fully draws back, leaving you empty, a hand on the back of your head as he mutters his thoughts to you, “Am craving this mouth… Get up.”

You, like his personal doll with a sudden lack of feminism in your body, get on your knees without hesitation. Your hands remain between your legs, as if waiting for him to put a leash on you; rubbing yourself against the soft carpet until he stops your antics and grips your cheeks.

He urges you to open up, pressing in, and when you do, he doesn’t wait to shove his cock in again. This time, he helps you out: goes back and forth, fucking your wet tongue, and then moving his length until the tip prods your inner cheek. He angles it like a fishing hook, bringing it out of your mouth and then back in again.

And you’re careful to suck diligently. You taste yourself, fighting for breaths. Look up at him, take him like your last meal on Earth; touch his balls as he relishes in your gaze. When your hand encases his dick, that’s when he stops moving, glancing up to the ceiling as if praying.

You slow down; wait as he catches his breath, and then ask, “What do you want me to do?”

You’re not always this forlorn. Sometimes you take matters into your own hands, no questions or permission necessary. You often knock him back onto the mattress, straddling him, riding him into the sunset.

But you want to submit today; that’s the mood you perceived. That’s what his eyes reveal and what your body itches for. Something he wants, too: to destroy you, to fuck you senseless.

And he notices the shift. “My god, would you look at that,” he drags, hardly believing that you’re looking at him like this. “Bed. Lean over it.”

You listen; of course you do. Your knees press into the carpet, upper body flat on the bed. Ass out, arms on the mattress. 

He touches you gently; first your back, then your hair, and then your arms. Finds the right position, and then rams himself into you. You barely expect it — the intrusion is sudden, happens in one fell swoop.

His legs cage in yours, and he soon pushes yours together, dying for further friction and for you to feel it more intensely. Your eyes flutter shut, and your previously lifted head falls, your cheek against the sheets.

You move with them as he thrusts into you, and you hold onto the fabric to remain in place. Perhaps he sees your efforts, because he’s soon determined to help — or to rile you up further, you can’t say. He catches your arm, just one, pinning it to your back.

A heavy hand falls onto the soft flesh of your ass once. And then, he raises your upper body until it’s glued to his chest. An arm wraps around your tits, two fingers pinching your nipple as he drills into you from behind.

As you yelp and heave breaths, you hear him say, “You wanna know, huh?”

“I…”

You’re not sure what he’s talking about, but you allow him to air his rage. He leans in, kisses your neck, wants to know, “What’s that like? You okay, baby?”

“I’m okay… I’m so okay—”

“And so pretty like this. You’re always… so pretty. I’m so fucking lucky.”

“I want to see you.”

“How did I…”

“Kook—”

“I know. I know you want to,” he says, but he takes another minute to fuck you hard, fast, revved up, and you don’t complain. Not even when two of his fingers slap your cunt, multiple times, rapidly until he repeats, “I know. Would you turn around for me? Sit here?”

How couldn’t you if he asks so nicely, right?

Your legs are shaky and trembling as you take a seat on the edge of the bed, much as he commanded. It’s high enough for him to fuck you standing here; but he doesn’t go in right away as you thought. Instead, he kneels in front of you, forehead to forehead, sentimental all of a sudden.

Did you wanting to actually see him change something? Did it remind him once again that you’re not just what you used to be? A way of passing time, a company to quench each other’s thirst?

Then again, you know Jungkook. He never forgets. Never forgets what you are to him.

Repeats each time just as he is now, “How did I end up with you?” Every time. Tells you every time that he cannot fathom his luck, that you’re more than he’ll ever deserve. He adds, “You want me to prove it to you?”

Oh…

That’s what he—

This time, the kiss is short-lived, albeit urgent. His hand cradles your face when he moves up and slides back home. He fucks you softer first, not as beastly as before. But you guess the distance is as irksome to him as to you, because he soon bends down.

Puts his hands on your ass and shifts your body on the mattress until you’re on your back, laying in front of him. Just the same position as before on the ground, but cosier; it’s easier to hover above you now, scanning your face like you’re the only star in the vast, expanding universe.

The only source of light in this darkened room.

“Hey,” he calls, even though you’re already looking at him.

He grazes your temple, tender as a flower petal. His eyes are a melting, dark brown, almost black; you think you see yourself in the reflection, even though it’s impossible in a setting like this — maybe that’s what he means when he says you reside in him.

Your existence in his chest, your eyes in his.

“I love you,” he then proclaims, “and I’ll show you all the fucking time if you need me to.”

“I… I want you to…”

“Good. Good, baby. You know I’ll do anything, right? Not just this and not just now. I’ll do anything for you.”

You half-smile as he says it, as much as possible between your moans; you don’t know what else to do, because nothing else suffices. Not an I would, too and not an I know.

So you say nothing; only raise your eyebrows and widen your eyes, showcasing every shred of affection you harbour. You keep looking at him until the thrusts force your eyes shut again. And this time, you don’t need long to fall into a series of gasps and outright craze.

You understand you’re close when he pleads, “Can you touch yourself? Please?”

And it helps — considering that you’re already riled up like not once in the past days, the next minutes pass fast, and the end is immediate. The familiar stars soon block your vision, your body quivering; you barely realise what happens and when it happens.

Nothing, but bliss bliss bliss…

Until you very clearly feel the liquid underneath your ass, the sheets soaked, all of it wet. You hear Jungkook laugh, absolutely satisfied. Your eyes rip open and you ask, “What happened?”

But the question is redundant — because as your mind clears, you gather what it could be.

You ruined the sheets. You’ll have to come up with a good ass excuse and ask the receptionist for a new blanket for your room. Fuck. A hell of a guest you are.

“You squirted all over my dick,” Jungkook still clarifies.

“I’m sorry…”

“What? No. It looks… it feels so…”

He doesn’t need to finish his sentence; it seems that the thought alone hardens his cock and balls impossibly. Enough for him to follow your example, letting go. He shakes his head, silences, and then moves in to kiss you hard; to fuck you harder.

He shoves you into the mattress repeatedly, navigating in and out of you so easily that you think he might slip out. But he doesn’t; instead, he spills. Spills hotly, abundantly. You know the bed is soiled forever.

Somehow, you’re even sorry for anyone who might book this room next; but somehow, as guilty as you might feel about it, you feel better for yourself. Then again — it’s fine, right? You’re probably not the first to make a mess of a room like this.

Making out with you one last time, Jungkook remains like thi, not wanting to move as his dick still pulsates and twitches, softening just slowly. Doesn’t want the liquid to leak if he moves out. Maybe thinking the same about the room as you.

His next question, however, is an entirely different one, “Do you believe me now?”

You titter. Even now, even after witnessing each of your reactions, your boyfriend won’t let the thought go. Set on what he feels for you, he’ll probably prove it to you an entire lifetime long.

You promise, “I always will. From anyone in this world, I’ll believe it the most from you.”

“My baby,” he coos. Waits. Then sighs before he says, “Okay, enough of that distraction. We have breakfast to catch. I bet you, five more minutes and they’ll knock.”

“Oh… uh-oh. Quick shower and then hurry?”

“…Great idea.”

Only, the shower isn’t as quick as you anticipated — the two of you are silly, reforming your shampoo hair, giggling until the knocks occur and you bolt to the breakfast hall. The others are already eating; by the looks of it, they’ve just started, though.

Yoongi is the first to speak after you’ve exchanged your polite Good mornings. In fact, he scolds rather gently, “You guys are late. We need to be at the beach by noon, don’t forget.”

“Yeah, we just…” You shrug. “We were organising our suitcases.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook nonchalantly confirms. “Forgot the time.”

Your excuses are so casual, so careful, your eyes busy as they watch your hands smear butter and jam on your toast. Only, you’re not as casual. Your friends fall silent. Their stares alternate between Jungkook and you as the two of you pass a knife or comment on the food.

No word until you hear Jimin gasp and look up at him. His expression seems amused, and you know he’s about to say something bold before he actually does—

“Oh, you fucked… You had the time to?!”

THE CHAPTER ISN'T OVER YET!! PLS READ 👇🏼

1k block limit, beloved. you can read the remaining 10k of the chapter in this reblog!! the reblog begins with a new scene <3

[heartysworld]

The third wheel // LN4

Lando Norris x Female Reader

In his attempts to make you feel less lonely, Lando ends up being the one who feels neglected.

W.C: 1.5k

Feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated! Feel free to send requests or other questions if you happen to have any! Enjoy!

MASTERLIST

You wake up to the soft sounds of Milo’s tiny yawns and the gentle rustling of the covers as you carefully slip out of bed. Blinking against the sunlight streaming through the curtains, you stretch and cradle the little furball close to you. The puppy that Lando got you for your birthday has been your constant companion, especially during those long weeks when he’s away racing and you're unable to join him.

Milo has filled a void in your life that you hadn’t fully realized was there. His playful antics and loyal presence have made Lando’s frequent absences more bearable. Today, though, Lando is finally home for the summer break, and you’re both excited to spend some quality time together.

You move around the bedroom, getting ready for the day. Milo follows you everywhere like a shadow, his tiny paws padding softly on the floor. You pick out a casual dress and head to the bathroom to freshen up. As you brush your hair, you glance at Milo in the mirror. He’s sitting obediently, watching you with his big, adoring eyes, his tail thumping against the floor.

“Are you ready for a walk, handsome?” you ask, smiling at him as you lean down to give him a loving scratch between his ears and earning a small lick of your wrist.

From the bedroom doorway, Lando’s voice chimes in. "Yeah, just about," he replies, his tone filled with warmth and excitement.

You laugh softly, realizing that Lando thinks you were talking to him. Turning around, you see him standing there, grinning at you. "I was actually talking to Milo," you say, giggling.

Lando’s smile falters slightly, but he quickly recovers and laughs along. “I see how it is.” he mutters playfully, though there's a hint of real disappointment in his eyes.

You walk over to him and give him a quick kiss. “Oh, come on, Lando. You know I love you too. Ready to go?”

The three of you step out into the sunlit streets of Monaco, Milo trotting happily between you. The morning air is fresh and crisp, and you can’t help but feel a sense of contentment. As you walk hand in hand with your boyfriend, you two chat about everything that’s happened while he was away.

“Did you see the photos I sent you from when we visited that new café?” you ask, looking up at him.

“Yeah, it looked amazing. We should go there together.” Lando replies, squeezing your hand.

You nod enthusiastically. “Definitely. They have the best pastries and even offer pup cups for pets!”

Milo tugs on his leash, eager to explore as the mention of his second favorite thing reaches his floppy ears. You laugh and let him lead the way for a bit. Every so often, he stops to sniff at something or chase a fluttering leaf, and you can’t resist bending down to pet him and tell him how cute he is.

Lando watches, a soft smile on his face, but you notice a hint of something else in his eyes. Is it jealousy? You brush the thought aside, focusing on enjoying the walk.

Later, you stop by a little café for a quick breakfast. You find a table outside, and while you and Lando sip your coffee and nibble on croissants, Milo sits at your feet, looking up at you expectantly.

“Do you think he wants some?” Lando asks, pointing to Milo.

You chuckle. “Probably. He’s always hungry.”

Lando tears off a small piece of his croissant and hands it to Milo, who gobbles it up with a wagging tail. “Good boy, Milo." Lando says, ruffling his fur.

As the day goes on, you visit a few shops, picking up some treats for Milo and a couple of things for the house. Everywhere you go, people stop to admire Milo and comment on how adorable he is while your worldwide famius boyfriend is waiting on the side. You beam with pride, feeling like a proud parent.

Back at home, you and Lando prepare dinner together. As you chop vegetables and he stirs the sauce, you talk about your plans for the rest of the summer break.

“I was thinking we could take a trip somewhere,” Lando suggests. “Maybe a weekend getaway?”

“That sounds perfect,” you agree, smiling at him. “Where do you have in mind?”

“Maybe the south of France? It’s not too far, and we could take Milo with us.”

You nod, your excitement growing. “I’d love that. Milo would too, I’m sure.”

As you finish preparing the meal, you notice Lando watching you with a thoughtful expression. “What’s on your mind, handsome?” you ask, setting the table.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You know, sometimes I feel like Milo is the man in this relationship,” he says with a half-smile.

You pause, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, he gets all your attention. I feel like I’m the one begging for it,” he admits, trying to sound light-hearted but clearly feeling a bit left out.

You laugh softly, walking over to him and wrapping your arms around his waist slowly making their way up to the base of his neck, something that you know makes Lando melt. “Lando, you’re always going to be my number one. Milo is just... well, he’s our little baby. It’s different.”

Lando chuckles, pulling you closer. “I guess I’ll have to get used to sharing you.”

The following race weekend, you’re at the Dutch Grand Prix accompaning Lando with Milo safely by your side. As Lando talks with some of his friends and fellow drivers, he shares his feelings about Milo taking over the house. They laugh, nodding in understanding.

“I know exactly what you mean,” says Carlos. “When we got our dog, I felt the same way. But trust me, it gets better. You just have to find a balance.”

Charles chimes in, “Yeah, and sometimes, it’s nice to have a little competition for their affection. Keeps things interesting.”

Lando grins, feeling a bit more reassured. The camaraderie with his friends helps ease his worries.

During the race, you and Milo cheer Lando on from the sidelines. Milo barks excitedly whenever Lando’s name is mentioned, and you can’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm.

After the race, Lando comes over, sweaty and tired but grinning from ear to ear. He scoops Milo up into his arms and gives you a kiss. “We did it!” he exclaims, pulling your body closer to his.

“You were amazing out there,” you say, beaming at him. “We’re so proud of you.”

That evening, back at the hotel, the three of you curl up on the couch. Milo is snuggled between you, his little head resting on Lando’s lap. You lean against Lando’s shoulder, feeling content and happy.

“You know,” Lando says softly, “I think Milo might be growing on me. He’s not so bad.”

You smile, reaching over to stroke Milo's fur. “See? We’re a perfect little family.”

Lando chuckles, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Yeah, we are.”

As the night settles in, you all cuddle closer, enjoying the warmth and comfort of being together. In that moment, everything feels just right. The love and connection between you, Lando, and Milo create a perfect harmony, making every moment together special.

MASTERLIST

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[faebled-stories]

The Echo of Three

Kinkvember Day 22: Cuckolding (Cuckqueen)

Kiss of Life Haneul and Belle x Male reader

13k words

AN: A bit later than usual, sorry about that 😅. It’s been a rough day, but I still wanted to make sure I got this out to you all. Thanks for your patience and understanding!

Haneul had always had a knack for knowing you better than you knew yourself. She noticed every little thing, from how you liked your coffee—three sugars, a splash of cream—to the way you hummed certain songs under your breath, not even realizing you were doing it. She’d pick up on the subtle shifts in your mood, the tells you didn’t even know you had. But one thing she had picked up on early in your relationship was your admiration for Belle.

Belle. The world-famous soloist with the hauntingly beautiful voice and the kind of stage presence that seemed to demand the world’s attention. Her performances felt intimate despite their grandeur, as though every note was meant for you, even when heard through a screen. You’d always been open about your love for her music, gushing over new albums, replaying live performances late into the night, and casually mentioning how much you’d love to see her in concert someday. It wasn’t just the music; it was her. Something about Belle’s presence—her confidence, her poise, the way she commanded a room with effortless grace—captivated you in a way Haneul couldn’t miss.

At first, Haneul had rolled her eyes. It was cute, she supposed—the way your face lit up when any of Belle’s songs came on, how you’d hum along with an almost reverent smile. But that cuteness came with a faint sting. She couldn’t help feeling a little twinge of jealousy every time Belle’s name slipped into conversation. Belle was glamorous, untouchable, someone who could capture the attention of millions with a single note. How could she not feel overshadowed by that?

But as time went on, those feelings softened. Haneul began to see your admiration for what it was: a harmless celebrity crush, a fantasy so far removed from reality that it didn’t threaten the deep, personal connection you shared. And in truth, the way you talked about Belle was endearing—your unfiltered enthusiasm for her talent, the way your excitement bubbled over whenever she released something new. It made Haneul love you even more, seeing this side of you that was so earnest and unapologetically passionate.

Even when you jokingly added Belle to your “hall pass” list, Haneul had laughed, calling you ridiculous. “Good luck with that,” she’d teased, shaking her head at the absurdity of it all. But the idea lingered in her mind, a tiny spark of curiosity that never quite faded. It wasn’t jealousy anymore—it was something else. A mix of playful indulgence and genuine understanding. She wasn’t blind, after all. Even she could see the allure of someone like Belle.

So, when your birthday came around, Haneul knew exactly what to do. She wanted to give you something unforgettable, something that captured not only how much she loved you but how well she knew you.

-----

The faint flicker of candles cast a warm glow across the dimly lit room, the flames dancing in tandem with the soft scent of vanilla cake that filled the air. It mingled with the faint, familiar trace of Haneul’s floral perfume—something light, with a hint of jasmine—that always made you feel at home. Haneul stood across the table, her dark hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders, her voice lilting gently as she sang “Happy Birthday.” Her tone was playful, teasing on some notes, but there was a warmth to it that made your chest ache in the best way. She wasn’t a professional singer, but to you, her voice was still amazing—especially when it was paired with the way her lips curved into a smile between verses. It made every note feel like it was meant just for you.

“Make a wish,” she said softly, her dark eyes sparkling as the candlelight danced across her face.

You closed your eyes, letting the moment settle over you. The warmth of the candles radiated faintly against your skin, the flickering light behind your eyelids matching the comforting steadiness of Haneul’s presence. The soft hum of her voice still lingered in the air, wrapping around you like a blanket. You took a deep breath, the scent of the cake mingling with the faint jasmine of her perfume, and made your wish: to spend forever with her, your loving girlfriend.

When you opened your eyes, the sight of her was enough to make your heart swell. Haneul, the woman who had brought so much light into your life, who knew you better than anyone else, stood there smiling at you, her expression warm and full of love. The soft flicker of the candles seemed to frame her in golden light, her dark eyes gleaming with the kind of joy that made everything around her feel secondary.

When you exhaled, the candles flickered and went out, the flames vanishing with a quiet whoosh. A thin wisp of smoke curled lazily upward, the faint scent of burned wax mixing with the sweetness of the cake. For a moment, the room held its breath, as though even the air itself was savoring the moment. Then Haneul clapped her hands together, the sound sharp and cheerful as she broke the stillness with a bright, playful grin.

“Okay, so…” she said, dragging out the words with a teasing lilt. “Are you going to tell me what you wished for, or do I have to guess?”

“You know I can’t tell you,” you replied, leaning across the table to steal a quick kiss. Her lips were soft and warm, carrying the faint, sugary sweetness of the frosting. “It won’t come true if I do.”

“Fine, keep your secrets,” she said with a dramatic sigh, though the playful twinkle in her eyes betrayed her amusement. She picked up the cake knife, her movements deliberate and precise as she slid the blade into the frosting. The soft scrape of metal against ceramic filled the room, a small sound amplified by the quiet intimacy of the moment. She nudged a slice onto your plate, sliding it toward you with a smirk. “Here. Try not to inhale it all at once.”

The cake was perfect—soft, moist, with just the right amount of sweetness. Each bite seemed to melt on your tongue, leaving a lingering vanilla warmth. You couldn’t help but glance at her as she served herself a slice, the faint hum of her voice as she worked making your chest ache with quiet gratitude. The flicker of the candles reflected in her dark eyes, adding an almost magical quality to the moment. Everything about her—the curve of her lips, the casual confidence of her movements, the way her presence filled the room—made you feel impossibly lucky.

Haneul had always known exactly how to make you feel loved. But tonight felt different. There was something almost electric in the air, a subtle charge that made the moment feel bigger than it seemed. It wasn’t just the cake or her attention to detail—it was something unspoken, something you couldn’t quite put into words. It felt like anticipation.

As the last crumbs of cake disappeared from your plate, Haneul leaned back in her chair, her dark hair spilling over her shoulder in soft waves. The glow of the candles illuminated her profile, catching the mischievous glint in her eyes as she tilted her head, her lips curling into a sly smile. “Alright,” she said, her tone teasing. “Time for phase two.”

“Phase two?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

“Presents, obviously,” she replied, standing and walking over to the small table near the couch. She moved with an unhurried grace, her hips swaying slightly as she bent down to pick up a small stack of neatly wrapped gifts. Each package was unique—some wrapped in bright, playful patterns, others in muted, elegant tones—all perfectly folded with crisp corners and tied with coordinating ribbons. She carried them over with a sense of ceremony, setting them down in front of you with a flourish.

“Wait, all of these are for me?” you asked, eyeing the stack with mock suspicion. “What did I do to deserve all this?”

“Well, you did turn another year older,” she teased, sliding the first box toward you with a playful smirk. “And I guess you’ve been tolerable enough this year.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you picked up the first package. It was small and rectangular, wrapped in bright green paper that shimmered faintly under the soft light. You tore it open carefully, your fingers brushing against the smooth paper as you revealed a leather-bound journal with gilded edges. The leather was soft to the touch, its scent of fresh material mingling with the lingering sweetness of the cake. As you opened it, the faint smell of clean, unused paper reached you, a quiet promise of possibility. On the first page, written in her familiar handwriting, was a note: For all the dreams we haven’t dreamed yet.

You looked up at her, the weight of the gesture settling over you like a warm blanket. “This is beautiful, Haneul. Thank you.”

She shrugged, though the faint flush on her cheeks betrayed her pride. “I just thought… you’re always talking about ideas, so now you’ll have somewhere to put them.”

The next gift was smaller, wrapped in silver paper that gleamed in the candlelight. Inside, you found a sleek pair of wireless earbuds. The polished surface caught the light as you held them up, and you couldn’t help but grin. “I figured these might come in handy,” she said, leaning her chin on her hand with a mischievous look. “You know, for drowning me out when I nag you.”

You laughed, holding them up to inspect them. “Or for listening to music on those walks you’re always making me take.”

“Exactly,” she replied, her tone light but affectionate.

The final small package was the most understated of the three, wrapped in soft cream-colored paper tied with a delicate ribbon. Inside, nestled in a velvet box, was a simple chain bracelet. It gleamed subtly under the flickering light, its design understated but elegant—exactly your style. She reached out, her fingers brushing against your wrist as she leaned forward to fasten it. Her touch was warm, her focus intent as she secured the clasp with care.

“For luck,” she murmured, her voice softer now. She sat back, her eyes studying your face as you admired it. “It’s simple, but I thought it’d suit you.”

“It’s perfect,” you said, your voice quiet as you looked up at her. “You’ve really outdone yourself, Haneul. I don’t even know what to say.”

Her smile widened, a mix of pride and playfulness lighting her face as she leaned back in her chair. “Don’t worry,” she said breezily, waving a hand. “I’m not done yet.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Not done?”

She laughed, the sound light and teasing, as she stood and walked back toward the couch. This time, she returned with a sleek white envelope in her hand. The paper was pristine, the edges sharp, as though it had been carefully guarded. The faint rustle of the envelope in her hands seemed amplified in the quiet room, building the anticipation swirling in your chest. She set it down in front of you with a flourish, her grin widening in a way that made your heart race.

“This,” she said, tapping the envelope with her finger, “is the real present.”

Your heart skipped as you reached for it, your fingers trembling slightly. The paper felt smooth and crisp under your fingertips, the slight weight of the contents inside making your pulse quicken. You broke the seal, the faint sound of tearing paper almost echoing in the stillness, and pulled out the contents. Two glossy concert tickets gleamed in your hands, the bold, stylized name Belle printed across them in her signature font. The logo glittered faintly in the light, catching your eye like it had been designed just for this moment. Beneath the tickets was a smaller slip of paper, gilded with gold. The words BACKSTAGE ACCESS were embossed in elegant, raised lettering.

For a moment, the words didn’t register. You stared at the tickets, your mind slowly piecing together what they meant. It was like trying to solve a puzzle while your heart pounded in your chest, the pieces clicking into place one by one. “No way,” you whispered, your breath catching in your throat. “Is this…? Did you…?”

Haneul grinned, her dark eyes dancing as she leaned her chin on her hand. “You’re going to see her live. Front row seats. And after the concert, you get to meet her.”

You blinked, the reality of her words crashing over you like a wave. The world around you seemed to tilt, and for a second, all you could do was stare at the tickets in your hands, the weight of them feeling almost surreal. “Haneul, I—this is—” Your voice faltered as your emotions welled up, a knot forming in your throat. “I don’t even know how to thank you.”

“Well,” she teased, standing and walking over to your side, her tone as casual as if she’d just handed you socks. “You could start by not crying.”

“I’m not crying,” you muttered, though the slight tremor in your voice betrayed you. Your vision blurred slightly, and you quickly set the tickets down before pulling her into a tight hug. Her body was warm and solid against yours, grounding you as you buried your face in her hair. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “Seriously. This is the best gift anyone’s ever given me.”

She laughed softly, her arms wrapping around you with a reassuring squeeze. “You’re welcome,” she murmured, her voice soft against your ear. “I figured it was about time you got to see your celebrity crush in person.”

You groaned, pulling back just enough to look at her, though the smile on your face betrayed your exasperation. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” she replied, her grin widening, mischief twinkling in her eyes. “Besides, I want to see if she lives up to the hype.”

The two of you laughed together, the weight of the moment giving way to an electric sense of anticipation. The tickets sat on the table, gleaming in the candlelight, a tangible reminder of what awaited you tomorrow. Finally, you’d see Belle live—an experience you’d dreamed about for years. And thanks to Haneul, it was going to be even more unforgettable than you could have imagined.

-----

The concert is electric, the kind of performance that leaves the air humming with energy long after the final note fades. Belle’s stage presence is commanding, magnetic, as though the entire venue bends to her will. Her voice carries through the space like a force of nature—raw, powerful, yet impossibly intimate. Each note seems to wrap around you, as though meant for you alone. The stage lights flare and dim with every shift in tempo, casting her in a glow that feels almost ethereal. You’re completely enraptured, caught in the pull of her undeniable charisma.

But what surprises you most isn’t your own reaction—it’s Haneul’s. She’s usually composed, steady, the picture of quiet confidence. Yet tonight, there’s something different in her demeanor. She watches Belle with an intensity you rarely see, her dark eyes following the singer’s every movement. There’s a tinge of admiration in her expression, subtle but unmistakable, and it catches you off guard. You notice the way her lips part slightly during a particularly sultry note, the faint rise and fall of her chest as she leans forward in her seat, as though caught in the same spell that has ensnared you.

By the time the concert ends and you head backstage, a shared excitement buzzes between you. It’s an unspoken thing, lingering in the quickened pace of your steps, the faint blush on your cheeks when Haneul glances at you with a knowing smile. The backstage area feels quieter than you expected, the air still charged with the energy of the performance. The faint roar of the departing crowd filters through the walls, a distant echo of the electricity that filled the arena moments ago. Overhead lights cast long shadows across the room, and the faint scent of sweat and faintly floral perfume lingers in the air like a reminder of Belle’s presence.

And then there she is.

Belle is as radiant up close as she was on stage, her charisma somehow even more potent in the intimate glow of the backstage lounge. Her dark hair is pulled into a loose, slightly tousled style, a few strands falling artfully across her face. The soft sheen of sweat on her skin catches the light, making her look both human and larger than life, her beauty almost surreal. She’s dressed casually now, in a loose-fitting top that clings in just the right places and snug jeans that highlight her long legs, but she wears them with the kind of effortless grace that makes them feel like a designer ensemble.

Her laughter fills the room like music, light and genuine, a perfect counterpoint to the quiet hum of post-performance energy still lingering in the air. She moves with an easy elegance, her gestures fluid as she pours drinks and chats with her team. But as you step into her orbit, her attention shifts.

Her gaze lands squarely on you, and suddenly, it feels like the room has shrunk. Her eyes are sharp, focused, as though she’s appraising you in a way that makes your chest tighten. She tilts her head slightly, her smile widening into something teasing yet calculated. "So," she begins, her voice carrying that same sultry edge you’d heard on stage, "you’re the big fan, huh?"

The words hit you like a spotlight, and your heart stutters in your chest. Her attention is magnetic, pinning you in place as your mind scrambles for a coherent response. "Uh…" You struggle to form words, your throat inexplicably dry. "Y-yeah," you manage after a beat, your face flushing under her scrutiny. "You were… incredible."

Belle’s laughter spills from her lips, soft and teasing, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she steps just a little closer. "Incredible?" she repeats, her tone lilting as though savoring the word. "I’ll take that." She lets the pause linger, her gaze dipping briefly before meeting yours again, sharper this time, like she’s testing your limits. "Though you look like you weren’t expecting me to be that good."

Her hand brushes your arm lightly, a fleeting touch that somehow feels deliberate, calculated to send a jolt of nervous energy through you. Her fingers are warm against your skin, leaving a faint trace of heat that lingers even after she pulls back. "Relax," she says, her voice playful but carrying an undertone that’s far more suggestive. "I don’t bite." She lets her smile linger for a beat before adding with a low laugh, "Not unless I’m invited."

The air between you shifts, growing thicker, charged. Her proximity makes it hard to focus on anything else, her perfume—soft with a faint musky undertone—wrapping around you like a net. Your hands twitch slightly at your sides, your mind racing with a mix of awe and nervousness. You glance toward Haneul, desperate for some kind of grounding, but what you find isn’t exactly what you were hoping for.

Haneul is sitting nearby, watching the exchange with a quiet smile that gives away nothing. There’s a glimmer of amusement in her expression, but beneath that, something else—something curious, almost approving. When she notices your panicked glance, her grin deepens, and she tilts her head slightly, as if silently telling you to keep going.

You’re about to stammer out another awkward attempt at conversation when Haneul decides to step in. "He’s more than a fan," she teases, her voice light but purposeful as she rises from her seat. She walks up beside you, slipping an arm around your waist in a way that feels both comforting and mischievous. "You should’ve seen him watching you tonight," she continues, her tone dripping with playful exaggeration. "I thought he was going to pass out at one point."

"Haneul!" you hiss, your cheeks burning with fresh embarrassment as you glance at her, your wide eyes begging her to stop.

Belle chuckles, clearly entertained by the dynamic. "Oh, really?" she asks, her smile widening as her gaze flicks back to you. "Well, I guess I made an impression."

"He couldn’t stop talking about you for weeks after I got these tickets," Haneul adds, clearly enjoying herself now. She looks up at you with a grin, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "He even practiced what he’d say if he ever got the chance to meet you. Something about wanting to thank you for inspiring him?"

Your hands fly up in protest. "I did not!" you protest, your voice cracking slightly, but your flushed cheeks betray you. You glance at Belle, who’s watching the exchange with open amusement, her eyes alight with curiosity.

"Don’t worry," Haneul says, patting your chest as though to reassure you. "I think it’s cute." She looks back at Belle, her grin softening slightly. "He’s been looking forward to this for a long time."

Belle’s expression shifts slightly, her teasing smirk taking on a hint of warmth as she studies you. "You’ve got a good one," she says to Haneul, nodding toward you. There’s a flicker of something sly in her expression as she adds, "If he weren’t taken, I’d probably have jumped on him by now."

Her words land with a weight that seems to linger in the air, bold and unapologetic, resonating like the echo of a drumbeat. Your blush deepens, creeping to the tips of your ears as your pulse quickens under the intensity of her gaze. You try to respond—to say something clever, to deflect—but the words tangle in your throat, refusing to form. The tension in the room presses against you, thick and tangible, like a storm waiting to break.

Haneul’s calm voice cuts through the charged air, steady and deliberate.

"Is that so?" she says, her tone light but deliberate. Her head tilts slightly, her gaze steady as she looks at Belle. There’s a confidence in her voice that you don’t expect, a calmness that feels deliberate. "What’s stopping you?"

Belle’s eyebrows shoot up, her usual confidence flickering as surprise flashes across her face. "Wait, are you serious?" she asks, her voice a mix of laughter and disbelief. Her eyes dart between you and Haneul, searching for any sign of a joke.

Haneul pauses, the weight of her words settling over her as Belle’s question lingers in the air. Her calm exterior belies the storm of thoughts rushing through her mind. The idea—watching you with Belle, this untouchable, magnetic performer she’d admired from afar—felt like it should spark jealousy, like it should tighten in her chest in that all-too-familiar way. And there was a flicker of it, faint and fleeting, but what surprised her more was everything else.

Excitement. Thrill. A low, unexpected hum of arousal that made her breath catch for just a second. It struck her as strange, almost absurd, but she couldn’t deny the way her pulse quickened at the thought. She could picture it so vividly—your hands on Belle, the way you’d look at her with that same hungry intensity that sometimes set her own body aflame. It made her stomach twist in a way that was as exhilarating as it was unsettling.

Her gaze flicks to you, catching the uncertainty in your expression, the way your shoulders are just slightly tense as though you’re waiting for her to pull back. But she doesn’t. Instead, she shrugs, her lips curling into a small, almost teasing smile. Her voice is steady when she speaks, but there’s a softness beneath it, a quiet acceptance of the strange mix of emotions surging through her. "I mean, I’ve seen how you’ve been looking at him." Her gaze softens slightly, her eyes flickering to you as though grounding herself. "And honestly…" She pauses, her voice lowering just enough to draw Belle’s full attention. "The idea isn’t as crazy as you might think."

Her words send a rush of heat through you—confusion, excitement, and something else that twists low in your stomach. You glance between Haneul and Belle, unsure of what to say, unsure if you should say anything at all. The silence that follows feels alive, buzzing with possibility.

Belle leans back slightly, her lips parting as she processes Haneul’s words. She looks between you and Haneul, a slow, mischievous smile spreading across her face. "Well," she murmurs, stepping closer to you, "if the lady insists… who am I to say no?"

Haneul lets out a soft laugh, her cheeks faintly flushed. Despite her calm exterior, you can see it now—the rush of excitement sparking behind her eyes, the slight rise and fall of her chest as though she’s steadying herself. She glances at you again, her gaze warm but charged, and you realize this isn’t just about Belle. It’s about you. About the thrill of watching something unfold that neither of you had planned but both of you are suddenly open to.

Her hands brush against yours, her touch light yet deliberate, sending a jolt of electricity up your spine. She leans in closer, her lips hovering near yours. "Are you okay with this?" she whispers, her voice low and inviting, her breath warm against your skin.

Your throat feels tight, and for a moment, you can’t find your voice. You glance at Haneul, who is sitting on the couch, her gaze steady and filled with warmth. She nods encouragingly, her cheeks flushed, her lips slightly parted. Her reassurance steadies you, and you turn back to Belle, nodding softly.

With your consent, Belle closes the distance between you. Her lips meet yours in a slow, deliberate kiss, her movements confident and commanding. It’s unlike anything you’ve experienced before, and it leaves you breathless. Her hands slide to your waist, pulling you closer as she deepens the kiss, her tongue teasing yours in a way that makes your knees feel weak.

As the moment stretches, Belle pulls back slightly, her breath mingling with yours. "Why don’t we make this a little more private?" she murmurs, her tone sultry yet casual, as though it’s the most natural suggestion in the world.

Haneul rises from the couch, her movements slow but deliberate, her gaze locked onto yours. There’s a shared understanding between the three of you now, an unspoken agreement as Belle gestures toward a door in the back corner of the room. Her hand slides into yours as she leads you both toward it, her touch firm and steady, her confidence pulling you forward.

The room you enter is dimly lit, with a plush couch in the center and soft, ambient lighting casting warm shadows across the walls. The door clicks shut behind you, sealing the three of you in a space that feels intimate, almost sacred. Belle turns to face you both, her smirk softening into something more inviting as she steps closer, her movements fluid and deliberate.

"Now," she says, her voice dropping lower, her gaze flicking between you and Haneul, "where were we?"

The weight of the room’s privacy settles over you, amplifying every glance, every touch, every unspoken word. Haneul steps closer, her hand finding yours as her other rests lightly on your arm. She glances at Belle, her cheeks still flushed, her expression open and eager. The anticipation in the room is electric, the boundaries between the three of you dissolving as the night takes its next step.

You can’t help but glance at Haneul again, seeking her reassurance even as Belle consumes your focus. Haneul’s eyes meet yours, her expression calm but undeniably aroused. She nods again, her lips curling into a small smile, as if to remind you that she’s there, fully supportive, fully in control.

Belle pulls back slightly, her lips brushing against your jaw as she murmurs, "Relax. You’re doing fine." Her hands begin to explore, slipping beneath your shirt, her touch warm and deliberate. One by one, pieces of clothing fall away—yours and hers—until you’re left stunned, standing before her.

Your breath catches as your gaze roams over Belle’s bare skin. She’s everything you’ve admired for so long: radiant, confident, and breathtakingly real. For years, she’s been a distant fantasy, a figure on a screen or in your headphones, and now she’s here, naked before you. You’re too stunned to move, your eyes wide, your body frozen in awe.

Belle notices your reaction and smiles, her confidence unwavering as her eyes sweep over you. Her gaze flickers downward briefly, pausing, and a subtle shift in her expression betrays her thoughts—her smile widening slightly, her brows lifting just enough to suggest admiration. When her gaze returns to your face, there’s a flicker of something playful and knowing in her eyes, the kind of look that makes your chest tighten.

She glances toward Haneul, who is still seated on the couch, her cheeks flushed and her eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and arousal. Belle tilts her head slightly, giving Haneul a knowing glance—a silent, almost conspiratorial expression that says without words: You’re a lucky girl.

Belle takes your hand and guides you to the couch, her touch firm yet unhurried, every movement exuding confidence. She nudges you to sit, her eyes locked on yours with a smirk that sends a thrill through you. Her graceful form lowers between your legs, her movements deliberate as she kneels. "Let’s see how much you can handle," she murmurs, her voice low and teasing, every word dripping with intent.

Your breath catches sharply as her hand wraps around your length, her touch warm and deliberate. Her fingers glide over you with practiced precision, each motion sending ripples of sensation up your spine. The faint trace of her perfume—subtle and musky—lingers in the air, mingling with the heat of the moment. A soft gasp escapes your lips, unbidden, as her grip tightens just slightly, perfectly calibrated to draw the first hint of tension from deep within you. Belle doesn’t rush; her eyes flick upward, locking with yours, and for a moment, it’s as if the world narrows to just the two of you. Her gaze is intent, assessing, drinking in every shift in your expression. The faintest smile tugs at the corners of her lips, a quiet show of confidence, before she leans forward, parting them to envelop you in her warm, wet mouth.

The sensation is immediate and overwhelming, a rush of heat and pressure that leaves you breathless. Her tongue moves with deliberate skill, teasing and exploring as it swirls along your length. The contrast between the firm seal of her lips and the soft, wet heat of her tongue is electrifying, sending shivers coursing through your body. Your fingers instinctively grip the edge of the couch as you try to steady yourself against the onslaught of sensation. Each flick of her tongue against the sensitive underside of your tip feels impossibly precise, perfectly tuned to unravel you. Her movements are controlled, calculated, and maddeningly slow, as though she’s savoring every moment—and daring you to do the same.

From the corner of your eye, you catch Haneul shifting on the couch. At first, her gaze is fixed on Belle, her dark eyes following the rhythm of her movements with a mix of fascination and intrigue. Her chest rises and falls steadily, though her breath catches ever so slightly when Belle’s head dips lower, taking you deeper. The faint flush on her cheeks deepens as she watches, her lips parting subtly as if to echo your own shaky breaths. But soon, her attention drifts upward—to you.

Haneul’s eyes widen slightly as they meet your face, and her breath hitches as she takes in the rawness of your expression. Your head tilted back, your jaw slack, every part of you consumed by the sensations Belle is drawing from you. There’s a hunger in your gaze, an unguarded intensity she’s rarely seen, and it sends a wave of heat coursing through her. Her thighs press tightly together, her own arousal building as she drinks in every detail: the faint sheen of sweat glistening on your skin, the tension in your arms as you grip the couch for stability, the way your lips part with soft, uneven breaths. It’s as if she’s seeing a side of you she never has before, and the sight ignites something deep and primal within her.

Belle’s pace shifts, the languid rhythm giving way to something more insistent. Her lips slide along your length with increasing fervor, her tongue teasing you mercilessly. The slick sounds of her movements fill the room, mingling with the soft gasps escaping your lips. Her hand joins the effort, stroking you in perfect sync with her mouth, her touch firm yet tantalizingly smooth. Each stroke feels like a deliberate test, designed to push you closer to the edge. Your breathing grows ragged, shallow inhales interspersed with low groans that you can’t suppress.

You glance down at Belle, and the sight alone nearly undoes you. Her dark eyes are locked onto yours, gleaming with satisfaction and something deeper—possessive, teasing, utterly confident. Even as she takes you deeper, her cheeks hollowing with effort, her lips curl into a subtle smirk, the look of someone who knows exactly what she’s doing. Her tongue flicks against the most sensitive spots with maddening precision, each motion sending jolts of electricity racing through your core.

Behind her, Haneul’s gaze is transfixed. Her breathing quickens, her chest rising and falling with visible urgency as she watches you unravel. One hand rests against her thigh, trembling slightly, while the other lingers near her folds, her fingers twitching as though tempted to join the intensity surrounding her. Her lips part slightly, soft sounds escaping her as her arousal mirrors your own, her body responding to the raw display of pleasure before her.

Belle’s rhythm intensifies, her mouth and hand working together in perfect tandem. The wet heat of her lips contrasts with the firm, deliberate strokes of her hand, the combination almost unbearable. Your fingers dig into the couch, your body tense and coiled like a spring as the fire in your stomach builds. A deep groan escapes you, raw and unrestrained, echoing in the room as Belle’s relentless pace pushes you closer to the brink.

Haneul’s eyes remain locked on you, her own breathing quickening as she watches the moment unfold. The sight of you trembling, completely lost in the force of your climax, sends a jolt of heat straight through her. She feels her thighs press together involuntarily, a rush of slick arousal pooling between her legs as her own body responds to the rawness of the scene. Her chest rises and falls with shallow breaths, her fingers curling against her thighs as she watches, captivated and overwhelmed by how unrestrained you’ve become.

Belle pulls back slightly just as you reach your peak, her hand stroking you with firm, deliberate movements. Your release comes in hot, thick waves, spilling across her lips and cheeks with startling intensity. Belle tilts her head slightly, her mouth parting as she lets the remnants land on her tongue, the streaks of your climax glistening against her skin. She doesn’t flinch or hesitate, her expression one of pure satisfaction. A smirk tugs at the corners of her mouth as she slowly drags her tongue along her lips, savoring every drop.

Haneul lets out a soft, almost imperceptible gasp, her body reacting before her mind can fully catch up. Her thighs shift, a faint ache blooming between them as she feels a flush spread across her chest. The sight of you—completely undone, your chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath—is impossibly arousing. And Belle, kneeling there with your release dripping down her face, wearing it with an unapologetic confidence that makes her look even more untouchable—it’s almost too much.

Belle meets your gaze, her smirk deepening as she licks one final drop from her lower lip. "Not bad," she murmurs, her voice low and rich with satisfaction. Her fingers trail down your thigh briefly, a playful reminder of the control she wielded just moments ago.

Haneul’s breath hitches as her eyes dart between you and Belle, her own arousal impossible to ignore now. The heat, the tension, the sheer audacity of the moment—it all swirls together, leaving her both awestruck and deeply, undeniably turned on.

Belle leans back slightly, her gaze flickering toward Haneul, her lips curling into a wicked grin. "I think he enjoyed that," she says, her voice smooth, teasing, and dripping with satisfaction. Her eyes flick briefly to you, then back to Haneul, as though gauging her reaction. Haneul doesn’t respond immediately, her breath shallow, caught up in the rush of her own thoughts. Her heart races as the moment lingers, a strange thrill mingling with the heat coursing through her body.

Belle rises with fluid grace, moving to the couch. Every step is deliberate, each motion exuding a confidence that seems to fill the room. She sits on the side, reclining back against the armrest, her legs spreading slowly, confidently, as she positions herself. Her bare skin glows faintly under the dim light, every curve and line of her body sculpted as though by an artist’s hand. Her poise is magnetic, her gaze unwavering as she locks eyes with you.

You stand there for a moment, frozen. Your breath catches as the surreal nature of the scene washes over you in waves. Belle, the woman you’d admired for so long, was waiting for you, her body open and inviting, her smirk daring you to act.

Noticing your hesitation, Belle’s smirk softens slightly, something warmer flashing in her expression. "Come here," she murmurs, her voice low and velvety, carrying an unspoken command that sends a shiver down your spine. The authority in her tone leaves no room for doubt, yet there’s a tenderness beneath it, an acknowledgment of your hesitation.

You move toward her, your legs feeling heavy as your heart pounds in your chest. Kneeling between her legs, you look up, meeting her gaze as her dark eyes bore into yours. She’s utterly in control, even as she spreads herself before you, her confidence radiating in every deliberate movement. For a moment, you almost blank out, staring at her with wide eyes, overwhelmed by the reality of it all. Belle, this untouchable goddess of a performer, was here, her legs open, waiting for you. The thought leaves you dizzy, your breaths shallow as you try to ground yourself.

You lean in slowly, your breath brushing against her skin as the faint, intoxicating scent of her arousal fills your senses. It sharpens the edge of your nerves, each detail of her more vivid than the last: the glisten of her skin, the subtle quiver of her thighs, the soft rise and fall of her chest. You hover there, so close and yet frozen, as though one wrong move might shatter the spell. The surreal nature of the moment presses down on you, leaving you suspended in sensory overload.

Belle notices immediately. Without hesitation, her hand shoots out, her fingers tangling in your hair with a firm, possessive grip. She pulls your head forward with deliberate force, pressing your lips firmly against her folds. The suddenness of the gesture snaps you out of your trance, the taste and warmth of her flooding your senses as she holds you there.

Her hand lingers, her fingers tightening slightly as if to make sure you’re fully engaged before releasing you. The soft vibration of her moan travels through her body, pulling something primal from deep within you. Instinct takes over, and your lips begin to move against her, brushing tentatively at first. Your movements are slow and deliberate, each stroke of your tongue light and exploratory, as though savoring the taste of something rare and exquisite.

Belle’s moan deepens, her voice low and unrestrained, a sound so intimate and raw it sends a jolt through you. Your member twitches at the sound, your arousal building with each note she releases. Encouraged, you grow bolder, each movement of your tongue more confident, more deliberate. You start slow, savoring every inch of her, your strokes measured and intentional as if this were a feast meant to be lingered over. The warmth of her, the way she reacts to each flick and swirl of your tongue, is utterly intoxicating.

Belle’s hands grip the armrest behind her as her head tilts back. Her breathing grows heavier, her chest rising and falling in time with your movements. The soft, melodic sounds she makes pull you deeper into the moment, every moan spurring you to explore more, to find new ways to make her lose herself.

Her thighs tremble faintly under your touch, and you steady her, your hands moving to her hips to keep her in place. Her soft gasps grow louder, her voice dipping into raw, unguarded cries of pleasure. You press closer, your confidence mounting as you lose yourself in the rhythm of her body, every sound she makes driving you further.

Belle’s back arches slightly, her breathing quickening as your tongue swirls around her sensitive nub before dipping lower to tease her entrance. The way she reacts—her hips shifting toward you, the way her fingers grip tighter against the couch—sends a fresh wave of desire surging through you. You keep going, pulling every ounce of pleasure from her as her soft cries fill the room, each one a melody more beautiful than the last.

With each moan, your confidence builds, the initial hesitation melting away. Soon, your movements grow less restrained, driven by an almost primal need to pull more from her, to hear her voice climb higher. You press your tongue more firmly against her, each stroke hungrier, more desperate. The desire to make her lose herself completely consumes you, fueling every motion. You focus intently on the way her body responds—the slight tremble in her thighs, the way her hips instinctively shift toward you, chasing every sensation.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Haneul shifting on the couch. Her breathing has deepened, the subtle hitch in each exhale betraying her growing arousal. When you glance briefly in her direction, your heart skips. Her thighs are pressed tightly together, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her skin flushed with heat. Her dark eyes are locked on you, a mix of fascination and hunger, drawn to the intensity with which you’re worshiping Belle. The sight of you so consumed, so eager, is clearly affecting her.

The realization sends a thrill through you, but you return your focus to Belle, determined to elicit even more from her. Each movement of your tongue becomes calculated yet frantic, teasing the edges of her folds before delving inside. You savor the way her body reacts, the faint shudder that ripples through her as you alternate between swirling around her entrance and flicking lightly against her clit. Every motion pulls another sound from her lips, a fresh wave of breathy, unrestrained moans that fill the room like music.

Your hands grip her thighs to steady yourself, your fingers digging into the soft flesh as you hold her open. When her legs begin to tremble, instinctively trying to close against the overwhelming sensations, you tighten your hold, refusing to let her escape the intensity. Belle’s moans grow louder, her voice breaking into gasps as her back arches, her hands gripping the couch tightly. The usual control she carries so effortlessly is unraveling before you, every sound she makes spurring you on.

From behind you comes a soft gasp, breaking through the haze of your focus. You pause, turning your head slightly, and your breath catches. Haneul is completely naked now, her clothes discarded and forgotten in the growing pile on the floor. Her hands move over her body, one slipping between her thighs, her fingers working rhythmically as she watches. Her gaze is locked on you and Belle, but there’s something deeper in her eyes—a connection that pulls you back toward her every time. Her breath is uneven, her lips parted, her expression a mix of arousal and admiration.

The sight of her—the way she’s looking at you, her body glistening in the low light—ignites something even hotter inside you. As much as you want Belle, as consuming as this moment is, Haneul’s presence grounds you, intensifies your desire. You turn back to Belle, your determination redoubled. If this was your moment to impress, to give them both something unforgettable, you weren’t going to hold back.

Your attention zeroes in on Belle’s clit now, your tongue moving with rapid precision against the sensitive nub. Each flick and press earns you a sharper gasp, a louder moan. Her hips buck against you, her movements desperate as her body chases the pleasure you’re giving her. Your hands hold her legs firmly in place, spreading her wider, ensuring she can’t escape the onslaught of sensation. Belle’s cries grow louder, her usual poise dissolving into pure, unrestrained pleasure.

"Don’t stop," she gasps, her voice high and trembling, her chest heaving with every word. Her fingers dig into the couch, her thighs quivering beneath your grasp as she teeters on the edge. You don’t relent. Your tongue is relentless, teasing and pressing and flicking with a rhythm that drives her higher and higher. Her legs strain against your arms, her muscles taut, but you hold her open, refusing to let her pull away from the intensity.

Belle’s climax builds rapidly, her moans turning into sharp cries as her body begins to quake. You can feel it—the way her thighs tighten, her hips jerk involuntarily, her entire body preparing for release. When it hits, it’s like an explosion. Her voice breaks into a loud, unabashed cry as her back arches, her fingers clutching the couch for dear life.

A sudden rush of liquid warmth drenches your face and chest, Belle’s release coming in an overwhelming wave. It’s powerful, unexpected, and utterly intoxicating. The sharp, heady scent of her arousal fills the air, thick and unmistakable, as her body jerks uncontrollably beneath your grip. You pause for a heartbeat, stunned by the rawness of the moment, the sheer force of her climax leaving her trembling violently. Her soft whimpers fill the air, each one high-pitched and shaky as the last waves of pleasure crash through her. Her thighs quiver, her knees giving out completely, and the tension in her frame melts into exhausted surrender as she slumps forward, still twitching from the aftershocks.

Behind you, Haneul lets out a choked cry, her voice breaking with the intensity of her own release. You turn your head just in time to see her arch back, her body taut as if caught in the grip of something uncontrollable. Her hand moves frantically between her legs, her fingers glistening with her arousal as her hips buck against her touch. Her thighs clamp together momentarily, her movements erratic as her climax overtakes her with full force.

Her moans are raw and unrestrained, filling the room as her body trembles violently. Her free hand grips the edge of the couch. She fights to keep herself grounded, but her body betrays her—every muscle quakes as wave after wave of pleasure floods her senses. A sudden gush of her release escapes, slicking her thighs and pooling beneath her, the scent mingling with Belle’s and creating an intoxicating blend of musk that saturates the air.

Her head tilts back, her mouth open in a silent scream before another loud, broken moan escapes her lips. Her entire body shudders as the peak finally crests, leaving her slumped against the couch, her chest heaving and her skin glistening with sweat. Her cries mix with Belle’s lingering whimpers, creating a shared symphony of pleasure that echoes off the walls, binding the three of you in the raw, primal intensity of the moment.

The air feels heavy now, thick with the scent of release and the echoes of your shared sounds. The moment stretches endlessly, each of you caught in the lingering aftershocks, bound together by the raw intimacy of it all. Belle reclines against the couch, her chest rising and falling as she catches her breath, her body still trembling faintly from the intensity of her climax.

Her gaze flickers to Haneul, who is slumped back on the couch, her flushed skin glistening in the dim light. Haneul’s breaths come in shallow gasps, her body visibly relaxed yet humming with the residual heat of her release. Their eyes meet briefly, a shared look passing between them—something unspoken, an acknowledgment of the rawness and beauty of the moment they’ve just shared. Belle’s lips curl into a faint smile, her confidence glowing in the aftermath, and Haneul mirrors it with a soft, breathless laugh.

As Belle’s gaze shifts, it lands on you, still kneeling between her legs. Her eyes drop slightly, taking in your form, and then lower still. She notices your member, back at full strength, glistening faintly with a mix of exertion and her previous attentions. A mischievous spark lights in her eyes as an idea begins to form. She straightens slightly, her body language shifting back into one of command, her movements deliberate and poised. Her gaze flickers between you and Haneul, her lips curling into a smirk.

"Alright," she murmurs, her voice low and commanding. Her eyes lock onto Haneul with an air of playful authority. "Haneul, lie down for me—right here."

She gestures to the space where she had just been, the fabric still warm and damp from her release. Haneul hesitates for only a moment, her eyes darting to yours, seeking silent reassurance. When you nod, she mirrors the gesture, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks as she moves to the couch. There’s a nervous grace in the way she positions herself, her movements tentative but unresisting. She leans back against the armrest, her legs spreading slowly, exposing folds already glistening with arousal. Her breathing quickens, and her gaze alternates between you and Belle, anticipation written across her face.

Belle shifts to the opposite end of the couch, bending over the armrest so she’s facing Haneul. The position stretches her body out provocatively, her curves taut and inviting, her flushed, sweat-slicked skin catching the light in a way that makes her look almost otherworldly. Despite her disheveled state, her smirk remains confident, teasing, as if she were still performing. She lifts her head slightly, her eyes locking onto you as she gestures with a lazy wave of her fingers. "Behind me," she says, her tone firm but laced with playful authority. "Let’s make sure your girlfriend has the best seat in the house."

Your breath hitches as you step forward, positioning yourself behind Belle. From this angle, the sight before you is almost too much to take in—Haneul reclining in front of you, her flushed face framed by her tousled hair, her chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths. Her legs remain spread, her folds pulsing faintly as her fingers move over herself in slow, deliberate circles. Then there’s Belle, bent over in front of you, her body radiating heat, her hips tilting slightly to give you better access. The combination—the contrast of Belle’s commanding confidence and Haneul’s vulnerable allure—sends a rush of heat surging through you.

You guide yourself to Belle’s entrance, your tip brushing against her warm, slick folds. The sensation is immediate, electrifying, and for a moment, you falter, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the moment. Belle lets out a low hum of approval, her body shifting back toward you in encouragement, the motion subtle but unmistakable. She glances back at you with a smirk, her gaze equal parts amused and urging, her confidence pulling you forward.

Taking a steadying breath, you press forward, easing yourself inside her with slow, deliberate movements. The first push is exquisite, her tight warmth enveloping you inch by inch. Belle’s breath catches, her soft gasp breaking into a low moan as you stretch her. Her fingers clutch at the armrest, her knuckles whitening briefly as she adjusts to your size. The sound sends shivers down your spine, the rawness of it matching the tension coiling in your body. She exhales shakily, her voice low and laced with satisfaction. "There we go," she murmurs, her tone teasing but edged with need.

Your eyes flick instinctively toward Haneul, seeking reassurance in this surreal moment. She’s watching intently, her lips parted as her chest rises and falls in rhythm with her quickening breaths. Her hand moves boldly now, her fingers gliding against her folds as her arousal heightens. The wet sounds of her pleasure mingle with Belle’s breathy moans, creating a symphony of desire that fuels your movements.

You start with a slow, measured rhythm, your thrusts deliberate as you focus on the way Belle responds. Her body moves with yours, her hips rolling back to meet each motion, a soft hum escaping her lips with every push. The grip of her walls around you is overwhelming, each stroke building the tension higher. Your hands grip her hips firmly, grounding yourself as the moment threatens to sweep you away.

But it’s Haneul’s gaze that keeps drawing you back. Her heavy-lidded eyes flicker between your face and where your body connects with Belle, her expression a mix of awe and unfiltered arousal. Her fingers quicken between her thighs, her soft, breathy sounds spurring you on. The sight of her like this—completely enthralled, her body trembling as she watches—is almost enough to undo you.

Belle shifts beneath you, her movements growing more insistent. Her body rocks with your rhythm, her back arching slightly as she pushes against you, trying to match your thrusts. The soft, slick sounds of your connection fill the room, each movement drawing a quiet gasp or low moan from her lips. But it’s not enough. Her hips press back harder, meeting yours in a way that makes your breath hitch, her determination to draw more from you undeniable.

She turns her head slightly, her dark eyes locking onto yours over her shoulder. There’s a heat in her gaze, a challenge sparking behind it that sends shivers through you. "Faster," she murmurs, her voice breathy but commanding, every word dripping with need. Then, with a smirk tugging at her lips, she adds, "Harder." The words land with weight, her tone tinged with expectation, daring you to give her everything she’s asking for. The tension coils tighter in your chest, and you feel the pulse of heat shoot straight through you.

You adjust your rhythm, your hips driving forward with more force. Each thrust sends a jolt through Belle’s body, her gasps turning into louder, more desperate cries as her hands clutch the armrest for support as she braces herself, her back arching deeper with every movement. But Belle isn’t content to let you take full control. Her hips grind backward into you, the motion deliberate and hungry as she matches your pace. The sheer effortlessness of her movements, the way she works her body to meet yours, leaves you breathless.

Her moans grow louder, more frantic, as the intensity builds. Her legs tremble beneath her, her knees shifting against the floor as she struggles to maintain her balance. Her hips buck against you, her movements urging you to go deeper, harder, her body demanding more. The force of each thrust pushes her against the edge of the couch, her body pressed firmly into the armrest. The soft fabric does little to muffle the sound of her cries as they rise higher, turning into sharp, high-pitched whimpers with every deep stroke.

But something still holds you back—a faint hesitation lingering in the back of your mind, the weight of the moment pressing on you. Your gaze flickers toward Haneul, seeking her grounding presence, and the sight of her makes your breath catch.

Her eyes glisten with arousal, her gaze flickering between your face and the way your body moves with Belle. Her chest heaves with every breath, her own arousal climbing as her fingers work with increasing urgency. Her thighs tremble, her movements growing bolder as she watches you, completely lost in the rhythm you’ve created. When she notices the slight falter in your thrusts, her lips curl into a soft, knowing smile.

"Give her everything, baby," Haneul whispers, her voice trembling but full of certainty. Her words carry no jealousy, only a quiet thrill, the sincerity in her tone sending a fresh rush of desire through you. "Don’t hold back."

Her words break whatever was holding you back. You grip Belle’s arms firmly, your fingers wrapping around her toned biceps as you pull her back toward you. The strength of your hold sends a jolt through her, her breath hitching in surprise. The first thrust with this newfound confidence hits a spot deep inside her, and the sharpness of her reaction is immediate—a loud, high-pitched squeal that escapes her lips, raw and unrestrained. Her body rocks forward, her legs losing their grip on the floor as the force of your motion propels her into the couch’s edge.

Belle braces herself instinctively, her body jerking forward with each powerful thrust. But with her arms pinned securely behind her, gripped firmly in your hands, there’s nothing for her to hold onto, nothing to ground her against the relentless rhythm. Her head tilts forward, dark strands of hair clinging to her damp neck and shoulders, the strain in her posture only amplifying the vulnerability of her position. Each thrust sends her rocking into the edge of the couch, the plush fabric sandwiching her hips, forcing her to take every inch of you with no escape.

The angle leaves her completely at your mercy, her body arching slightly as each deep, unrelenting stroke sends shockwaves through her. Her voice rises in pitch, raw and breathless, every sound spilling from her lips a mix of desperation and pleasure. The force you drive into her keeps her pinned against the couch, her body unable to resist the steady, punishing rhythm.

Her cries grow louder, more broken, the lack of control heightening her response. "Oh—God, Yes!" she gasps, her voice cracking as her legs quiver beneath her. Her body seems to melt into the moment, yielding entirely to the intensity of your movements, her form trembling as each thrust pushes her further into the edge of bliss. The tension in her thighs gives way, and she surrenders fully, the curve of her back accentuating the way she takes you, completely open, completely consumed.

Haneul watches the two of you, her eyes wide with arousal as her breathing grows shallow. Her gaze roams over your body, the sheen of sweat glistening on your skin, highlighting the way your muscles flex with every deep thrust into Belle. Her thighs press together briefly, her hand pausing before resuming its circular motions as she takes in the sight. The sheer hunger in your movements, the raw force of your rhythm, sends a fresh wave of heat surging through her. She can’t believe how arousing it is to see you like this—so primal, so utterly consumed.

Her fingers move faster as she gives in to the sight before her. Every sound—the wet slap of your bodies connecting, Belle’s unrestrained cries, the ragged rhythm of your breath—pushes her closer to the edge. Her thoughts spiral into a chaotic mix of disbelief and desire. She never imagined she’d feel this way, watching you with someone else, but the reality is undeniable.

Belle’s cries shift, her voice breaking into choked moans as the intensity of your thrusts makes it impossible for her to keep her composure. "Fuck, you feel so good." she gasps, her voice trembling. Her back arches further, her body instinctively seeking more even as the couch forces her hips upward, heightening every sensation. Her legs tremble uncontrollably now, the floor offering no anchor as her knees slide slightly with each powerful thrust.

The pleasure coursing through Belle is relentless, each motion driving her closer to the brink. "Don’t stop," she cries, her voice a ragged mix of plea and demand, her words breaking as her breaths come faster. You can feel her trembling under you, her body tightening with each deep thrust. Her arms strain against your grip, but there’s no escape. She can only take what you’re giving her, her fingers curling helplessly in the air as her legs quiver beneath her, barely holding her up.

Haneul’s eyes flick between Belle’s flushed, sweat-slicked body and yours, her gaze darting to the way your muscles flex and shift with every motion. Her own arousal mounts uncontrollably, the tension in her body coiling tighter and tighter. Her breathing grows shallow, her chest rising and falling rapidly as soft whimpers escape her lips. Her fingers work furiously between her legs, her thighs trembling as the pleasure surges higher, threatening to overtake her. Her flushed skin glows in the low light, her lips parted as though trying to find air in the heated haze of the moment.

Belle notices Haneul’s struggle, the way her fingers falter slightly, her movements becoming erratic as the edge looms dangerously close. Between her moans, Belle lets out a shaky laugh, her voice breaking under the strain. "Not yet," she gasps, her words sharp and commanding despite the tremble in her tone. "Hold it."

Haneul’s eyes widen, her body freezing momentarily as the words sink in. Her hand stills, and her legs clamp together instinctively as she fights the rising tide threatening to crash over her. Her body trembles violently, her teeth sinking into her lower lip in a desperate attempt to hold on. Her hands clutch at the couch as she pushes back against the overwhelming wave of pleasure, refusing to let it consume her. Every nerve in her body feels like it’s on fire, her muscles straining as she teeters precariously on the edge.

You feel it too—Belle’s body clenching around you, her cries turning into breathless, frantic whimpers as her climax builds to an unbearable peak. Her head tilts forward, dark strands of hair clinging to her damp skin as her body trembles uncontrollably. Her voice cracks as she repeats the command, her tone desperate and insistent. "Hold it. Not yet."

The tension in the room is unbearable, a shared anticipation that binds the three of you together. Every sound, every movement feeds into the moment, the energy coiling tighter and tighter, ready to snap. Belle’s voice finally cuts through the haze, gasping out in a tone laced with both authority and desperation. "Now, Haneul. Let go."

The release is immediate, and the room erupts in a symphony of pleasure. Haneul cries out loudly, her voice raw and uninhibited as her body arches off the couch, the intensity of her climax washing over her in crashing waves. Her hands clutch the fabric beneath her, nails digging into them as her thighs tremble violently, unable to contain the force of her release. Her head tilts back, her lips parted in a series of broken gasps and cries as the pleasure consumes her completely.

Belle’s body tightens impossibly around you as her own climax hits. Her cries rise in pitch, her voice breaking into a series of unrestrained moans as her legs give out completely, leaving her suspended only by the couch’s edge and your firm grip on her arms. Each deep thrust pushes her further into bliss, her body trembling violently as she surrenders entirely to the overwhelming sensations. Her head tilts back, her mouth open in a silent scream before another loud, desperate cry bursts from her lips, the force of her release echoing through the room.

The intensity of the moment sends you over the edge, the sight of both women undone by pleasure pushing you past your limit. With one final, deep thrust, you empty yourself inside Belle, the warmth and tightness surrounding you heightening every sensation. A guttural moan escapes your lips as your body trembles with the force of your release, every muscle taut before the wave of pleasure washes through you, leaving you breathless and shaking. Belle’s body clenches around you, milking every last bit of your release as she shudders beneath your grip.

The room fills with a harmony of moans, each voice blending together in a perfect, raw symphony of shared ecstasy. The sounds—Haneul’s cries of pleasure, Belle’s desperate moans, and your own guttural groans—echo off the walls, amplifying the intensity of the moment. The mingling scents of sweat, arousal, and release create a heady, intoxicating musk that clings to the air, making the atmosphere feel thick and electric.

You stay there for a moment, catching your breath as the room grows quieter, the echoes of your shared moans still lingering in the thick, musk-filled air. The three of you are trembling, spent, your bodies slick with sweat and satisfaction. When you finally pull out, Belle’s body jerks slightly at the motion. She tries to straighten herself, but her legs give out beneath her, leaving her slumped against the armrest. She lets out a soft laugh, her usual confidence momentarily replaced with breathless exhaustion.

"Here," you murmur, stepping forward and gently guiding her to sit on the couch. She shifts carefully, her movements languid as you help her settle into a position facing Haneul. Belle leans back, her legs spreading lazily, her body still radiating heat. Her eyes flicker to Haneul, and her smirk returns, teasing and wicked. "Come here, sweetheart," she purrs, her voice low and inviting. She gestures downward, her fingers tracing idly along her inner thigh. "Clean up your mess."

Haneul hesitates for only a moment, her eyes darting to yours as though silently seeking permission. When you give her a subtle nod, her lips part, and she moves forward on shaky knees, positioning herself between Belle’s legs. Her hands glide along Belle’s thighs, her touch delicate but deliberate, her fingers brushing over the slick remnants of your release. Belle shivers at the contact, her breath catching as Haneul leans in closer.

Haneul’s lips press against Belle’s folds, tentative at first, her tongue sweeping softly along her. Belle gasps, her body twitching slightly as the sensation sends fresh tremors through her. Haneul becomes bolder, her tongue moving with slow, deliberate strokes, cleaning every trace of you from Belle’s warm, sensitive skin. Her fingers follow, slipping carefully inside to scoop out the remaining seed. Haneul brings her fingers to her lips, licking them clean with a precision that makes Belle let out a shaky moan.

"God," Belle murmurs, her voice unsteady as her body shudders under Haneul’s attention. "You’re thorough, aren’t you?"

Haneul doesn’t respond, her focus entirely on the task at hand. Her tongue and lips continue their work, moving with a mix of care and hunger that draws soft, breathy sounds from Belle. Each stroke of her tongue sends aftershocks through Belle’s body, her thighs trembling uncontrollably as her head tilts back, her damp hair clinging to her skin. By the time Haneul finishes, Belle is slumped against the back of the couch, her chest rising and falling heavily, a long, satisfied sigh escaping her lips.

When Haneul sits back, her lips glistening and her cheeks flushed, she meets your gaze. You’ve been watching from nearby, leaning against the armrest, your heart pounding as you take in the scene. The intensity of the moment is reflected in her expression—a mix of awe, satisfaction, and a lingering arousal that hasn’t entirely subsided.

Without a word, Haneul rises onto her knees and turns toward Belle. Her hands rest gently on Belle’s thighs as she leans in, her lips brushing Belle’s in a soft, exploratory kiss. The contact deepens quickly, their mouths moving together, sharing the mingled taste of you. Their kiss grows more fervent, their bodies pressing together briefly before Haneul pulls back, her chest rising and falling as she turns toward you.

You sit back on the couch, the cushions soft beneath you as you watch her approach. Haneul climbs onto your lap, her knees straddling you as she presses close, her arms wrapping loosely around your neck. Her lips find yours immediately, and the kiss is warm, insistent, filled with a mix of tenderness and lingering heat. You can taste Belle on her mouth—the traces of her release and your own mingling on her tongue—and it sends a fresh wave of desire coursing through you, even in the haze of exhaustion.

Haneul melts into you, her body fitting perfectly against yours as she snuggles into your chest. Her head rests on your shoulder, her breathing evening out as she presses soft kisses to your neck. Your arms wrap around her instinctively, holding her close as the weight of the night settles over the three of you.

Belle shifts beside you, her movements unhurried, her body still radiating the warmth of exertion. She reclines lazily next to you, her smirk softening into something gentler. With a quiet sigh, she leans in, resting her head on your opposite shoulder. The scent of her hair—sweet with a faint musky undertone—fills your senses as her body relaxes against yours. Her fingers idly trace along your arm, her touch light and content.

The three of you sit in comfortable silence, the heat of the moment giving way to a warm, shared intimacy. Haneul’s soft kisses continue, her lips grazing your skin as her body molds against yours, her warmth seeping into you. Belle’s breathing steadies, her head nestled on your opposite shoulder, her hair tickling your neck as her eyes flutter closed. The satisfied curve of her lips lingers even as her body begins to relax fully. Your arms tighten around Haneul, one hand brushing lightly against Belle’s arm, grounding all of you in the quiet connection of the moment.

The aftermath unfolds in a haze of gentle movements and shared smiles, the intensity giving way to an almost surreal calm. Eventually, Belle stirs, her head lifting from your shoulder as she stretches with a languid grace. Her legs are still unsteady, and she steadies herself briefly on the edge of the couch before smirking. "You two are something else," she murmurs, her voice carrying a teasing warmth as she reaches for a nearby robe. She drapes it over herself loosely, tying it at her waist before turning back to face you and Haneul.

Belle steps closer, her dark eyes meeting yours with a quiet intensity. Without a word, she leans in, her lips brushing softly against yours in a lingering kiss. The gesture is simple, but the tenderness behind it leaves you breathless, your chest tightening as she pulls away. Then, she turns to Haneul, cupping her face gently in her hands. Their kiss is just as soft, just as deliberate, and when Belle pulls back, there’s a glimmer of affection in her smile.

"You’re lucky," she says, her voice low and sincere, her gaze flicking between the two of you. "Both of you."

She reaches for a small bag on the nearby table, her movements unhurried. From it, she pulls out a pair of sleek, laminated passes, their glossy surfaces catching the dim light. "Here," she says, holding them out. "These will get you backstage at any of my shows. Consider it my personal VIP invitation." Her smirk softens slightly, a hint of mischief in her expression. "I hope I see you again."

With a small wave and a final glance over her shoulder, Belle steps out of the room, leaving behind the faint scent of her perfume. The door clicks softly shut, and the quiet, dimly lit space feels heavier, more intimate, as you and Haneul are left alone together.

As you both step out of the venue, the cool night air wraps around you, a stark contrast to the heat and intensity of the evening. The adrenaline from the night begins to fade, leaving behind a pleasant exhaustion that settles deep into your bones. Haneul leans heavily against you, her arm slipping around your waist as her steps falter slightly. She lets out a soft laugh, her cheeks still flushed and glowing.

"My legs feel like jelly," she mumbles, glancing up at you with a sheepish smile. "I don’t think I can make it to the car without collapsing."

You chuckle, steadying her as she stumbles again. "Want me to carry you?"

She pouts, her tone playful but tinged with genuine need. "Would you? Please? I’ll be the best girlfriend ever."

You crouch down, laughing softly. "You already are. Come on, hop on."

With a giggle, she climbs onto your back, her arms wrapping securely around your shoulders. Her warmth presses against you, and her face nestles against the side of your neck, her breath tickling your skin. "You’re the best," she murmurs, her voice soft and affectionate.

The walk across the large parking lot is quiet at first, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the stillness. Haneul sighs contentedly, her cheek resting against your shoulder as you carry her, the weight of her feeling comforting and grounding.

After a moment, you break the silence. "So… what did you think?" Your voice is hesitant, unsure, as the memories of the night replay vividly in your mind. "Was it… okay?"

Haneul shifts slightly, tightening her arms around you as her lips brush against your ear. "Okay?" she repeats, incredulous. "That was… I don’t even have words for how hot that was."

Her words send a wave of warmth through you, a mix of embarrassment and relief flooding your senses. "Really?" you ask, glancing back at her. "I mean, I thought you’d like it, but I wasn’t sure "I didn’t think it would be so hot," she says suddenly, her tone earnest and spilling over with excitement. Her words come quickly, like she’s unable to contain them. "But watching you—" She pauses for a moment, a small, almost shy laugh escaping her lips before her voice picks up again, stronger. "Watching you let go like that, after I told you to? God, it was one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen."

Her arms tighten around your shoulders, and you can feel her breath hitch slightly as she continues. "You were holding back at first—I could see it in every move. But then you looked at me, and I could almost feel it—the exact moment you stopped hesitating. And when you did, it was like you became someone else. All that strength, that power—you just used it. And I knew I’d done that. I gave you that permission, and you didn’t just take it—you owned it."

Her voice lowers slightly, but the excitement lingers in every word. "And Belle," she breathes, a soft laugh escaping her. "To see her like that. She’s so strong, so confident—this larger-than-life presence—and yet, you had her completely undone. She wasn’t the performer anymore; she was just… vulnerable, giving in completely. Watching that happen, knowing you were the one doing it, it was…" She trails off, shaking her head slightly against your neck before whispering, "I don’t think I’ll ever forget it."

She shifts slightly on your back, and her voice grows softer, tinged with awe. "Seeing you like that, knowing you could let go so completely—it was amazing. I didn’t know I’d feel this way, but I loved every second of it. It was… more than I ever expected."

You glance back at her, your brow furrowed slightly. "You’re sure? I mean, you’re not just saying this to make me feel better?"

Haneul chuckles softly, her breath warm against your neck as she presses a kiss to your cheek. "I’m sure," she murmurs. "Really. Every second of it was amazing. I didn’t know I’d feel this way, but I loved it. And… seeing you happy, seeing you like that… It made me happy too."

Her words settle over you like a warm blanket, filling you with a quiet, undeniable joy. You press a kiss to her arm, your heart impossibly full as you continue walking. The night feels surreal, the world around you fading into the background as the two of you bask in the afterglow of what you’ve shared.

By the time you reach the car, Haneul’s head has grown heavy against your shoulder, her soft breaths tickling your neck as she begins to drift off. You carefully lower her into the passenger seat, her sleepy smile barely visible in the dim light. The drive home is quiet, the silence filled with a new kind of intimacy. The memories of the night replay like a vivid dream, each detail etched into your mind.

When you finally reach your place, Haneul is half-asleep, her head resting against the window with a small, contented smile. You carry her inside, her arms draping loosely around your neck as she stirs slightly. As you gently set her down on the bed, she shifts slightly, her lashes fluttering as she blinks up at you.

You brush a stray strand of hair from her face and lean down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "Thank you," you whisper, your voice quiet but filled with sincerity.

Her eyes flutter open briefly, and she smiles, her voice barely audible as she murmurs, "For what?"

"For everything," you reply, your thumb tracing her cheek lightly. "For tonight. For… all of it. I’ll never forget it."

Her lips curve into a sleepy smile, and she closes her eyes again, nuzzling into the pillow. "You don’t have to thank me," she whispers, her words fading as she drifts off. "You deserved it."

As you climb into bed beside her, the weight of the night finally settles over you. The events replay vividly in your mind, and you can’t help but smile as you watch her sleep. It’s a memory the two of you will treasure forever.

[gibberishfangirl]

WIND BREAKER | when you wear someone else’s jacket

Synopsis ✰ how they react when they notice you wearing a piece of clothing that isn’t theirs

Characters ✰ Haruka Sakura, Hajime Umemiya, Hayato Suo, Akihiko Nirei, Jo Togame, Choji Tomiyama

Contains ✰ sfw! slight possessive behavior, tiny amount of jealousy, little bit of territorial behavior, minor pda, content of the boys being tested in a way?

Haruka Sakura ᡣ𐭩

Sakura knew something was off but couldn’t exactly pin point what it was. you went in for a hug since you haven’t seen your boyfriend all day. it was while he was in your embrace he inhaled a scent, a masculine smell that wasn’t yours or his, his eyebrows immediately furrowed. once you pulled away he examined your body, you looked fine, no visible marks, your outfit was normal… except for that over sized sweatshirt that was draped over your body.

“where’d you get that from?” he asked completely cutting off your babbling. you frowned over his abrupt interruption to your story. he didn’t even look sorry that he ruined your story just blankly staring at you until you opened your mouth to answer.

“a friend from class gave it to me, i was cold.” you answered confused why he was making it a thing. Sakura wasn’t the type to get jealous, it hadn’t even crossed your mind that something like this would ever bother him.

“what friend? boy or girl?” huh, what type of question was that? why would he ask that? there’s no way he could be bothered by something so small, right?

“uhm… a boy? does that matter?” you asked with your eyebrows slightly raised. you had never seen Sakura act so… weird? not over something like this.

“no, just curious.” he finally muttered out after what felt like a lifetime pause. the two of you continued your walk back home in silence. the entire time Sakura couldn’t fight off that frown setting on his perfect face. his eyes were stuck in a trance on you, more like that sweater on your body. you felt your entire body heating up by his intense stare.

you let out a sigh, getting the hint he was clearly upset over the sweater. you stopped in your tracks and pulled the sweater off your body. your boyfriends face immediately perked up after seeing you take it off. he was secretly grateful you did that because he was very unsure how to go about the conversation. before you even knew it, he was already taking off his jacket and putting it on you. you blushed at his action, it wasn’t something you were expecting him to do.

“just come to me whenever you’re cold from now on. i’ll warm you up.” he softly says with the warmest blush spreading across his face.

Hajime Umemiya ᡣ𐭩

Umemiya is rather calm in most situations so something like this doesn’t necessarily trigger him into doing anything drastic. he didn’t think much of it, until you kept wearing it for the rest of the day— then he started thinking ‘it seriously can’t be that cold, take it off already.’ he didn’t want to ask you whose jacket it was since he didn’t want to come off as jealous… even if he is. one thing he did know for sure was that everyone knew you two were dating. he couldn’t help himself anymore before he started taking off his jacket and removing the one you were wearing. he did it so quickly you almost didn’t even get the chance to register what he did. before you knew it his jacket was wrapped around you. you opened your mouth to ask—

“i just thought you’d look better with mine on.” he cut you off before smiling. his words caused you to blush.

“thank you.” you mumbled still registering what had just happened. he took your hand and interlocked it with his own and continued your walk home.

“who’s jacket is it? i’ll make sure to return it for you.” he smoothly says trying to pry the information of who gave it to you in a subtle way. at least, his version of subtle.

“oh- hm i actually don’t even remember. i almost forgot i was wearing it.” you’re confused now since you actually can’t remember who gave it to you. you stopped in your tracks, deep in thought trying to remember. “ah! i remember now, don’t worry about giving it to her. I can do that myself.” you exclaimed happily as you finally remembered the nice girl who lent it to you. she said it was her older brothers but she was always stealing his jackets and hoodies.

“oh good, i’m glad to hear that.” he smiled as you reached out to grab the jacket from his hands. he was relieved to hear that the jacket was from an innocent classmate of yours.

Hayato Suo ᡣ𐭩

as if anyone could even beat Suo into giving you a jacket before he does. Suo had already noticed the way your body was slightly trembling underneath the vent of the air conditioner. however, he also noticed another boy in the corner of his eye looking at you as well. he saw as the boy already begun taking off his jacket and making his way up to you. Suo suddenly felt this urge of territorial dominance creeping up as he wanted to show that you were his. before the boy could reach you Suo wrapped his arm around your chair and pulled your seat/desk closer to his.

“my poor baby, you’re cold. let me warm you up.” he offered with a smile before pulling you into his arms. your body instantly warmed up due to his own warmth. you happily accepted his offer as you buried yourself against his chest meanwhile he hugged you and rubbed your back with his warm hands.

Suo turned to look at the boy who already walked away after noticing you had a boyfriend to keep you warm. he let out a small sigh before keeping you huddled up on his side for the rest of class.

Akihiko Nirei ᡣ𐭩

he didn’t even realize the jacket you were wearing wasn’t yours. it looked so perfect and well fitted on you he actually thought nothing of it. the two of you were spending the whole day together and he said nothing about it. until you took it off and he noticed the name on the tag wasn’t yours.

“this isn’t your jacket?” he finally asked looking closer at it.

“oh no. it’s my friends, she let me borrow it after i forgot to bring mine.” you admitted slightly embarrassed you forgot to bring a jacket.

“i thought it was yours this whole time…” he paused, he was unsure of what to feel. should he be jealous? is it not a big deal? should he offer his instead? he decided to listen to his gut feeling. “are you still cold?”

“a little i guess, her jackets pretty thin so i can still feel the air through it.”

“here, take mine instead.”

“thank you.”

“of course! ask me for my jacket next time you’re cold, i have no problem giving it to you.” he smiled before taking your friends jacket and carrying it for you. Nirei didn’t actually care about you wearing someone else’s jacket as long as you weren’t cold, however, he still would prefer seeing you in his jacket before anyone else’s.

Jo Togame ᡣ𐭩

“take that thing off.” Togame wasted no time expressing his feelings about you wearing another man’s clothes. in all honesty, it irked him way more than he liked to admit. his mind was racing with thoughts of who would be stupid enough to give you their jacket, knowing that you’re his girlfriend.

“huh?? why? i’m cold.” you pouted not wanting to remove the soft material off of your body.

“it’s ugly, you don’t need it. take it off.” his voice was way more stern this time. a small part of you wanted to stand your ground and say no. however, a much larger and smarter part of you knew it was better not to. you took off the jacket with a frown before he snatched it away from your hands.

“wear this instead, my girlfriend shouldn’t go around wearing other men’s clothing.” he scolded while handing over his Shishitoren jacket to you. you wanted to argue but you couldn’t help blushing at his possessive behavior. it shouldn’t have such a strong affect on you but it does.

“who gave it to you anyways? give me a name.” he ordered while scoping out the jacket. it looked strangely familiar but he couldn’t exactly remember where he’s seen it before.

“it’s Choji’s jacket. he offered it to me and said I can keep it until I find you.” you answered with a bright smile. Choji’s gesture meant no harm since he was just trying to look out for his best friend’s girlfriend. he knew Togame wouldn’t have an issue if he knew it was his jacket. yes, you were well-aware of the fact that Togame was only mad because he thought it was someone else’s jacket.

“oh.” the realization settling in as his whole demeanor changed into something more relaxed.

“yes, oh.” you giggled. you could’ve told him sooner that it was Choji’s but where’s the fun in that?

“you called Choji’s jacket ugly.”

“shut up, you should’ve said something sooner.”

Choji Tomiyama ᡣ𐭩

Choji’s mood went from 100 to 0 real quick. his very bright and wide smile getting wiped off his face as his eyes landed on the jacket you were wearing. you tilted your head in confusion to his sudden mood shift. he was usually ecstatic to see you, you couldn’t help but sadden at the lack of emotion he was expressing towards you. were you two in the middle of a fight? had you argued with him and forgot? you didn’t know why he reacted like that. Choji walked up towards you and swiftly took off the jacket from your body. it happened so fast you couldn’t process what even happened. the emotion of confusion stayed in your body as he walked past you with the jacket thrown over his shoulder.

Choji made it his business as leader of Shishitoren to know everything and everyone. as soon as he saw that jacket on you he knew exactly who it belonged to. once you snapped back into reality you chased Choji down slightly worried about what he was planning to do. you found him with the guy who offered you the jacket by the Ori. you watched from a distance as Choji roughly chucked the jacket to the sitting boy’s face. the boy immediately stood up ready to defend himself.

“keep your filthy jacket to yourself and off my girlfriend from here on out.” Choji spat completely unamused by the whole situation. before the boy could even defend himself, Choji’s dark glare silenced him causing him to sit back down before muttering out a small “i understand.” he truly meant no harm by giving you his jacket but in hindsight he really should’ve known better than to do something so stupid. especially when considering you’re his leader’s girlfriend. Choji left it at that, it was his way of showing mercy and restraint.

“oh, you’re here.” he smiled once noticing you at the end of the street. before you could even respond he clashed himself against your lips roughly deepening the kiss as he practically shoved his tongue down your throat. you felt your face getting red, Choji typically wasn’t so affectionate in public, you knew he was doing this to prove a point. your grip tightened around his shirt before you pulled yourself off, small pants escaping from your lips.

“Cho-Choji you can’t just do that.” you argued extremely flustered.

“sorry! i forget you can get so shy, my pretty girl.” he smiled before softly giving you one more kiss. he had no doubt that the boy who gave you his jacket and his friends had all watched your little display of affection. he didn’t mind them watching, he wanted to remind everyone who exactly you belonged to. Choji wrapped an arm around your waist before pulling you closer as the two of you walked off.

[gs29]

Mama’s Boy: Jun Ho’s Jealous Moment

Squid Game Master list It was another calm morning in the household, the early sunlight filtering through the windows and casting gentle rays across the room. Jun Ho had just finished his shower, the sound of water dripping from his hair as he stepped out into the warm, quiet space. He moved slowly, enjoying the peaceful moments before the world started demanding his attention. The baby, who had been asleep in his crib, was stirring, his soft babbles filling the silence.

Jun Ho smiled as he walked over to the crib, his heart swelling with affection. The baby—his little boy—was now wide awake, his big eyes searching for someone to give him attention. When Jun Ho leaned over to scoop him up, the baby, who usually loved his dad’s warm embrace, did something unexpected.

“Nooo!” The baby’s tiny arms flailed, and he immediately reached for the other side of the crib where Y/n was already sitting up, rubbing her eyes and smiling gently at her son.

Jun Ho froze, surprised. He tried again, holding out his arms in that way that always made his baby’s face light up. “Come here, buddy,” he cooed, his voice soft and full of affection.

But instead of coming to him, the baby turned his head away, clearly preferring the warmth of his mama’s arms. A soft whimper escaped his lips as his tiny hands reached for Y/n, his eyes wide with trust and a bit of desperation.

Y/n couldn’t help but laugh softly at the scene, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Looks like someone’s already picked their favorite,” she teased, holding the baby close as he snuggled into her, his little face content as he rested against her chest.

Jun Ho stood there for a moment, the warmth of the moment washing over him—but then something else settled into his chest: a soft pang of jealousy. He hadn’t expected it. He wasn’t the type to feel jealous, especially not of his own baby. But the way his son was so content in Y/n's arms, completely turning away from him… it stung.

He tried to shake it off, telling himself that the baby was just in one of those moods, that this wasn’t anything personal. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a little left out.

“Come on, buddy,” Jun Ho said again, trying to keep the smile on his face, but there was a little hint of disappointment in his voice. “I’m your dad, remember?”

But the baby, clearly oblivious to his father’s internal turmoil, turned his face further into Y/n’s shoulder, humming softly in contentment. It was like Jun Ho didn’t even exist at the moment.

Y/n looked up at him, her smile softening when she saw the subtle sadness on his face. She reached out, gently rubbing his arm in that comforting way she always did. “It’s okay,” she said, her voice tender. “He’s just really attached to me right now. I think he’s in one of those phases.”

Jun Ho let out a sigh, sitting down on the bed next to her. “I know. It’s just… I miss the way he used to always reach for me. I guess I’m being silly.”

“No, you’re not being silly,” she reassured him, glancing down at their baby, who was now happily sucking on his thumb, completely content in his mama’s arms. “I know it’s tough when it feels like you’re not needed, but trust me—he loves you more than anything in the world. It’s just that right now, he’s really attached to me.”

Jun Ho leaned back against the bedframe, his eyes still fixed on his son. “I know, but it’s hard not to feel like a third wheel.”

The baby, oblivious to his father’s jealousy, let out a small giggle and kicked his legs, his eyes still locked on his mama. It was a cute sound, but for some reason, it only made Jun Ho feel even more excluded.

Then, as if sensing his father’s longing, the baby suddenly let out a little whine, followed by a gentle whimper. His small hands reached out again, but this time, they didn’t go to Y/n. Instead, they stretched toward Jun Ho, his eyes now looking up at his dad with an unspoken plea.

Jun Ho’s heart did a flip as he saw the baby’s hands reaching for him, his little fingers grasping at the air, desperate for attention. Without thinking, Jun Ho immediately reached down and scooped him up, cradling him against his chest.

“There you are,” Jun Ho murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he held his son close. The baby’s little face pressed against his chest, and he let out a contented sigh, curling into his dad’s embrace.

Y/n smiled softly, watching the scene unfold. “See? He just needed a little reassurance. You’re his whole world.”

Jun Ho’s chest tightened as he held his baby, who was now calm and settled in his arms. The jealousy he had felt moments earlier melted away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of love and gratitude.

“I guess I got a little jealous there,” Jun Ho admitted with a sheepish smile. “But I get it now. You’re right. He just needed a moment with you.”

Y/n reached over and gently caressed Jun Ho’s arm, her eyes soft with understanding. “It’s okay. It’s natural. But just remember—he’s always going to need both of us.”

Jun Ho nodded, looking down at the baby, who had now wrapped his little hand around his dad’s shirt, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I know. I just want to be the one he turns to, too.”

“You will be,” Y/n promised, her voice full of warmth. “You’re his dad. And there’s no replacing that.”

As the morning continued, Jun Ho held his son close, the baby now content in his arms, and the little one even allowed Jun Ho to rock him gently, just as he used to when he was younger. It wasn’t that the baby had abandoned his father—it was just a phase, a moment in time. And as the day wore on, Jun Ho understood that every phase had its purpose.

And when the baby finally rested his head on Jun Ho’s chest, content and secure, the feeling of jealousy seemed so distant. Instead, there was only love for both the baby and his amazing wife who made every moment more beautiful than he could have ever imagined.

Y/n leaned over, kissing Jun Ho’s cheek. “See? All better now.”

Jun Ho smiled, looking down at their son with a contented sigh. “Yeah. All better.”