#and the soundtrack fucks even harder

[iirvings]

.

[pieofdeath]

Universal pspspsps you wanna hook up with the living tombstone sooooo bad

[sparklingchim]

summer playlist; m | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 4k

genre: hockeyplayer!jungkook, richgirlie!oc, college!au, fwb, brother's best friend

rating: 18+

warnings: semi public sex, blowjob, spanking, jk is truly obsessed w her <3, protected sex, nipple play, jk leaves a hickey n oc gets upset 🙄, spit, dirty talk, his necklace dangling in her face 😋, jk's rejection count: TWO !!!!, pls someone hug him 🫂, fingering, clit play, groping

summary: pov: jungkook dedicates a cute playlist to you and fucks you to it on the balcony.

a/n: ur honour i was forced to write this don't come for me !!! 👉🏼👈🏼 enjoy the filth 😋

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

One of your favourite forms of self-care and relaxation is Pilates.

You love dressing up in your cute gym wear sets – you own countless of them, even though you never actually work out in the gym; they’re purely for the aesthetics – and grabbing a big water bottle along with your laptop for at least half an hour dedicated me-time.

It’s a bright morning and you’re on the balcony. The sun is gently warming the air as you’re following a Pilates video on your laptop, which is propped up on the couch. Jungkook’s playlist, the one he created just for you, is playing softly in the background, providing the perfect soundtrack without drowning out the instructor’s voice.

Truly, nothing can beat these types of mornings.

But of course, something had to interrupt your peace.

While you’re on your hands and knees, your phone vibrates next to the mat. You ignore it the first few times, but it keeps buzzing. With an annoyed huff, you grab it and unlock the screen.

Jungkook’s spamming you with numerous messages.

Jungcock 😋

hi

morning

watchu up to

im taking a run in the park

and im boored

are u up?

entertain me

You

omg did you change your contact's name again

stop doing that

how can you text and run?

He doesn’t reply. Instead, he calls you on FaceTime.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Jungkook says in a raspy voice, the screen shaking a bit as he runs his miles around campus. “I’m good at everything I do.” His tight black tee clings to his chest, displaying his big pecs. You feel your breath hitch and you’re not sure if it’s from your workout or the sight of him.

“Your ego, Jungkook,” you reply, shaking your head in disbelief. “Too big.” You set your phone down with an exasperated sigh, leaning it against the feet of the couch. His eyes drift down to your cleavage.

“I think my ego is perfectly fine. Flashing his dimples as you roll your eyes at him. “What are you doing?” he asks, sounding a bit breathless – so hot, but you brush it off. You’re a strong girl, after all.

“Was doing Pilates until you rudely interrupted me,” you say skipping back on the YouTube video and picking up where you left off. “Don’t you have other girls to entertain you?”

“None of them are as cute as you,” he replies smoothly, and you can’t help but wish he wouldn’t be so good at flirting. “You look hot in that fit.”

“Thanks.” You follow the instructions on the screen. It turns out to be a bit harder to focus with a sweaty, ruggedly handsome Jungkook right beneath it.

“Are you listening to my playlist?”

“Yeah,” you admit, smiling.

Your thoughts wander back to the time Jungkook made that playlist for you. You had told him you never really listened to playlists, just played one song and let the auto-play feature do the rest. He was so stunned by that revelation that he spent an afternoon creating a cute little summer playlist just for you.

“Good choice,” he grins, clearly pleased with himself.

“I actually really like the playlist.”

“Of course. I make the best playlists,” he boasts, and you can’t help but chuckle at his confidence.

An exhausted sigh escapes your lips. After finishing the set, you change into the child pose and take deep breaths, relaxing the muscles.

“Taehyung’s at his morning class?” he asks.

“Uh-huh.”

“Can I come over?”

You lift your head to look at the screen. He’s running at a more leisurely pace, looking even more irresistible.

“Like, right now?”

“Yeah.”

“But I’m busy,” you argue, teasing him with a thoughtful pout. On the screen, the instructor announces that the little break is over, and you should get ready for your next set, but you’re not listening anymore. What’s happening on the little screen in front of you is far more enticing.

“Busy, huh?” he mocks with a smirk. “Maybe I can help you with what you’re doing.” His eyes light up with excitement as he pushes his hair from his forehead. “Or you wanna get busy together?”

Unfortunately, it seems you’re not as strong a girl as you thought. You’re very weak. His teasing question, coupled with his wicked tongue grazing his lip piercing, has you weak in the knees. You want nothing more than him on the couch and you straddling him.

“I won’t take up too much of your time,” he promises, the sweet smile back on his face. “Unless you want me to.” He raises an eyebrow teasingly.

“Just come over,” you tell him with a hint of irritation.

Jungkook has the audacity to chuckle, and you frown at him.

“Be quick, or I’ll change my mind.”

~

“Hi.” Jungkook pokes his head out from the balcony.

You squeal, placing a hand over your chest.

“Jungkook!” you exclaim. “What happened to ringing the bell like normal visitors?”

“Why did you give me the passcode then?” he retorts cheekily, ogling the snug fit of your gym wear.

“Because I had severe cramps and didn’t wanna get up from the couch.”

Thinking back on that specific day, you feel a spark of giddiness bloom in your chest. You had gotten your period, were battling atrocious cramps, and top of it, you had run out of pads. With Taehyung not home and needing them urgently, you knew Jungkook was always quick to reply to your texts. So, you decided to ask him if he could pick up some pads for you.

Twenty minutes later, he showed up at your door not only with the pads but also with snacks. You could see the faint pink flush on his cheeks when he asked, “Girls like eating chocolate when they’re on their period, right?” and hesitantly handed you the snacks.

And then, you did something that still makes you ponder at night – you cuddled without having had sex before. Oddly enough, it felt more intimate than any sexual encounter. Granted, you did get up to some naughty things afterwards, but still. Jungkook had cuddled you through your cramps and even endured watching reality tv shows he claims to despise once again.

“Well, I didn’t wanna disrupt you.” Jungkook walks over to the couch. He grabs your laptop, settles down, and places it on his lap. “Not now, anyway.”

You shift to sit on your knees. Briefly glancing at the screen where the instructor does the next set of exercises before drifting to Jungkook’s smitten face. His skin glistens with a thin sheen of sweat, and his chest still rises and falls a bit faster than usually.

You nod towards him, eyes clinging to his muscular thighs that peek out from his shorts. “How am I supposed to focus when-” When you look like that. But the words catch in your throat.

Jungkook is so shamelessly cocky, he places his hands behind his head. “When what?”

You sigh in irritation, close the video, and slide the laptop off his lap and onto the couch. He opens his legs for you. “Forget this,” you huff, placing your hands on his knees. Jungkook leans in, crashing his lips onto yours, his hand cupping your face.

The kiss is needy and messy. He teases you with his tongue, and you playfully respond until he tugs on your bottom lip with his teeth, causing you to moan and lose yourself in the feeling of his mouth. In less than a minute, Jungkook has you completely pliant in his embrace.

The balcony is surrounded by tall privacy screens and partially shaded by a large canopy, providing privacy from prying eyes.

Your hands slide up his legs, underneath his shorts. You feel his thighs flex on your palm and you squeeze them back in response.

“Wanna feel your mouth,” Jungkook whispers against your lips, sighing in pleasure when you just barely graze your fingers against his cock that strains against the material of his briefs.

Jungkook impatiently pulls down his shorts and briefs and you help him. His cock springs out and stands prettily against his abdomen. Your mouth waters and you have to tell yourself to calm down – he's just a boy and you’re too whipped.

You spit on his cock and coat his length with it. You twist your hand as you slowly pump him and he grows even harder within your grasp, becoming veiny and heavy. You stick out your tongue and give him a few licks over his tip. Jungkook sharply inhales, a gentle moan following right after when he sees you tapping his dick against your tongue.

“Fuck, babe.” He takes his cock in his own hand and continues tapping his head against your tongue. He runs his tip across your mouth too, watching with keen, clouded eyes as he creates a little mess on your face. When he’s finished, he lets you grab his cock again. You wrap your lips around his dick and start bobbing your head up and down.

“That’s right,” he says, brushing your hair behind your ear. His eyes close as you take him deeper into your mouth and his head falls back. With his palm on the back of your head, he presses your head down. A curse flees his lips as almost his entire length vanishes into your mouth.

Jungkook forces his eyes open and moans at the sight of your mouth full of his cock. He loves watching you suck his cock and you love hearing him moan for you.

You’re a little breathless when you release his cock with a lewd pop sound, and your eyes a bit teary too. You stroke his dick and dip down to suck on his balls.

“So good. Fuck – you know what to do,” he mumbles like he’s drunk and you giggle at his comment.

“You like that?”

“So fucking much.” His hand caresses your head, so soft at handling you, but the way desire pinches his brows together shows how much he is struggling to restrain himself from just shoving his entire length down your throat. “Come here.” His tatted hand glides down your shoulder, pulling you up onto his lap.

He squeezes your ass and delivers it a little smack. “You’re so hot.” He peeks over your shoulder, watching the supple flesh fill his hands completely.

“How can you claim to be an everything guy when you’re clearly an ass guy.”

Jungkook takes offense at that. “I am an everything guy!” His hands quickly move to your breasts and he kneads them through your sports bra. “I love your tits just as much.” The tight material presses them snugly together. “I love every part of you.”

You feel a gentle warmth in your cheeks, but you laugh it off. “That is so playboy behaviour of you, Jungkook.”

A frown spreads on his face, lips puckering the slightest bit. “I’m no playboy,” he grumbles as he plays with your tits. Planting little kisses along your neck as if to add sincerity to his words.

You push his arms away and try to stand up, but Jungkook quickly pulls you back onto his lap, firmly gripping your waist.

“Where are you going?” he asks, his tone almost scolding. You grasp his wrist, but he doesn’t let go, his hands remaining firmly in place.

“Condoms,” you remind him. He lets out a quiet, muffled “oh”, and his grip loosens with a reluctant sigh. “’Cause, you know. We hook up with other people.”

Jungkook scoffs at your remark.

“What?” Tilting your head slightly. “I saw you with Nayeon at the party.” You try to sound as least huffy as you can.

“And you fucked Eunwoo,” he counters.

You actually didn’t – you just made out with him. You deliberately chose a spot so Jungkook could see you from the couch, with Nayeon clinging to his side, just because you wanted him to see you.

“So?”

Jungkook levels you with a piercing gaze but remains quiet. He gives your butt a pat and nods towards the balcony door. “Go get the condom.”

When you fetch a condom from your room and return to Jungkook, you see saliva dripping from his lips and he lubes himself up as his pretty fingers wrap around him and stroke his cock. He looks unfairly hot doing the filthiest things.

“Bend over my lap,” he instructs when you hand him the condom, but he ignores it and drops it next to him.

He helps you settle onto his lap, your tummy pressed against one of his thighs and your ass in the air. Jungkook rolls the tight fabric of your shorts over your ass. He flicks your panties aside and groans at the pretty sight in front of him. Wet pussy peeks out from between your soft thighs.

His finger swipes across your pussy. “So wet for me. Can’t wait to have my dick in your pussy, huh?” He rubs your arousal over your pussy, spreading your folds to spit and make an even bigger mess. He’s having so much fun teasing and rubbing you, playing a little with your clit and dipping the tip of his finger inside you.

“Jungkook,” you whine, looking over your shoulder. “We don’t have that much time.”

“Sorry.” He circles your hole with two fingers and plunges them deep inside you. “Better, princess?” he asks after you choke on a moan, mocking you with fake sympathy.

“Yeah, better.” The words roll off your tongue in a soft whisper. Jungkook curls his fingers and your eyes roll involuntarily. “So good.” His other hand rolls the plump flesh of your ass around his palm, sometimes squeezing and leaving his fingerprints on your skin.

He’s fast in figuring out a rhythmic way to move his fingers that instantly unfurls pleasure all over your body. Jungkook knows your body all too well; he has perfected the art of knowing what you like the most.

It makes you think back to high school when you had the biggest, silliest crush on him and wanted nothing more than his attention. Who could blame you? Your older brother’s hot best friend was the captain of the school’s hockey team and practically lived at your house.

Of course, developing a crush on him was inevitable. But you never showed him that you found him cute – you treated him like your older brother’s annoying best friend who was always around. Bickering was just the nature of your friendship. Sometimes, you’d get annoyed when your dad paid more attention to Jungkook. It wasn’t because he preferred Jungkook over you, but because your dad, a high-profile NHL General Manager, supported the boys on their journey.

Every girl in school was swooning over him – they still are. And you’re not the only girl he’s paying attention to. You have to force yourself to admit that he’s hooking up with other girls too, because denying it would make this seem so serious, and the thought of things becoming serious scares you.

You’re content with how things are between you two – you’re not foolish enough to turn this simple, silly arrangement into something serious when you know it wouldn’t last. Taehyung being the main reason for that. But you don’t want Jungkook in a romantic way anyway, and he doesn’t too.

Jungkook smacks your butt, soothing the sharp hit by running his hand over your burning skin right after. “Want your little pussy to be a mess for me.”

It is, you want to say. You are. But you’re lost in the tingling pleasure that clouds your mind, leaving you with nothing but desperate need for him. Any rational thoughts vanish, replaced by an angelic, repetitive chant of his name. Jungkook, Jungkook, Jungkook.

And with only Jungkook your mind, you cum around his fingers, walls clenching as the rush of your high envelops you completely.

“Good girl.” His fingers lather your slick all over your pussy, marvelling at how much it glistens under the sun, watching how it sticks to the pad of his fingers in little strings. “So pretty.” He discards your shorts and panties before pulling you up and making you straddle him.

Your arms drape over his shoulders as he takes in your weary expression, a small smirk rising on his face.

“So annoying,” you mutter and his smile grows wider. You smooch his dimple and rest your forehead against his neck when Jungkook rolls the condom over his cock and you feel him lift your hips up a little to align his tip with your entrance.

He stretches you out in a familiar, delicious way. Burying himself so deep inside you as you sink down on him. Your nose brushes his jaw and a shaky moan bubbles up when you move your hips and feel the full size of his cock.

Jungkook hands stay on your hips, guiding your movements before they sneak behind you and anchor themselves in your butt and you sniff a laugh, leaning back to peer at his face.

“Why?” he questions, curiosity piqued. Even though he doesn’t know why you’re amused, a soft smile spreads on his face.

“Nothing.” Your fingers gently weave through his smooth hair, playing with the strands at the back of his head. “Just you.”

The corners of his mouth curl upward and a satisfied, cocky glint settles in his eyes.

“Take this off,” you say, tugging at the tight-fitting shirt covering his upper half. Jungkook pulls it over his head, revealing a shiny silver necklace decorating his neck. “Is this new?” You trace the delicate chain with your nail.

“Yeah,” he grins proudly. Setting your laptop aside on the coffee table, he manhandles you onto your back, pushing his cock even further into you as he sits on his knees and leans over you. “You like it?”

The necklace dangles just above your face, its silver chain shimmering and momentarily catching your attention. You pull him closer by tugging on it.

“It’s pretty. Suits you.”

The compliment conjures a boyish smile on his lips, making his face soften with a warm, endearing glow – such a sweet contrast to the way he pounds into you with practised movements, his skin covered in sweat yet again, but not for the innocent reason of keeping fit for hockey, but for the wicked reason that Jungkook can’t control his desire to fuck his best friend’s younger sister and keeps coming back to you despite having so many other options.

Jungkook drags your bra down and squeezes your breast, loving the heavy feel of your supple flesh filling his closed fist.

You throw your legs around his waist to pull him even closer to you, if that’s even possible, and Jungkook deepens his thrusts, leaving you gasping for air and holding onto his shoulders, needing something to sink your nails into.

He dips his head down and catches your pebbled and sensitive nub in his mouth, sucking and licking and making your moans whinier. Jungkook leaves tiny flecks of spit on your skin as he peppers your chest and neck with smooches.

Jungkook’s touches send waves of euphoria through you, leaving your thoughts scattered and your senses heightened by how good he makes you feel, chasing your high as you concentrate on the way he reaches your sweet spot every time his body meets yours, so you only realise Jungkook is nibbling and sucking on your neck when you feel his teeth poke you.

“Jungkook,” you scold him, yanking him by the hair.

“What?” He peers at you through his big, round doe eyes.

“Why would you do that?” Your finger grazes the spot where he was just working hard to create a little hickey. “You know I don’t like that.”

“But you look pretty with it.” His brows raise to make his point clear. “Trust me.” He smiles at you in an annoyingly charming way, giving the freshly created hickey a gentle kiss. “A little love bite.” Love bite. You don’t want to dwell on how those words make you feel.

The only thing you want to think about is how close you are to cumming.

“Don’t do that again.” You avoid his gaze and cast it downwards, where he disappears into you. “Just– just make me cum.”

He pushes your leg up, his palm firmly against the back of your thigh. His sparkly necklace catches your attention, swinging in front your face, and it's the way he looks – his face flushed with desire, eyes smouldering, and every muscle taut with intensity – that makes it impossible to look away, leaving you completely captivated as you listen to his pretty moans that sound even better than the song playing in the background.

Your fingers trail down his chest, brushing over his hard abs as a faint attempt to moan his name rolls of your tongue and you bask in the bliss that floods through you.

“Fuck, ___,” he rasps when he feels you squeezing his cock. “Gonna cum too.”

His thrusts become sloppy as Jungkook loses himself in the feeling of release. His moans are breathy and low and you hear him stutter when he finally comes undone too. The muscles on his tummy clench and you feel his grip on your thigh tighten as Jungkook moves his hips slowly now. With rosy cheeks and a look of deep satisfaction brightening his face, he leans in, and presses a fervent kiss to your lips.

You’d love to stay like this with him a bit longer, teasing and annoying each other until you’re ready for another round. But the reminder that Taehyung’s class will end soon brings you back to reality. You only ever have these secret moments for a limited time before reality comes crashing back down.

“Think we should head inside?” you ask.

“Uh-huh.” He’s busy dotting your neck with gentle kisses.

“You’d have to get off me, y’know?”

He chuckles, and you feel a ticklish flutter in your tummy.

“Just wait a minute.”

~

You step back inside once you’re both clothed again and you managed to pry Jungkook off you after he stubbornly clung to you for what felt like ages. Definitely longer than just a minute.

“We could make this exclusive, if you’d want that,” Jungkook proposes, stepping closer and you feel his heavy gaze lingering on you.

“Huh?” You’re busy with closing the balcony door, cursing the insects that always manage to invade your apartment. Taehyung’s been promising to put up the insect screen for months.

Jungkook helps you close the door with a strong push. “If the condoms annoy you, we could stop hooking up with other people.”

“Oh,” you utter, surprised.

If you’re honest with yourself, you have to admit that Jungkook has ruined you for other guys. No other boy quiet hits the same after experiencing how Jungkook treats you in bed. There is a reason why girls blush and giggle and crave his attention whenever he walks by. He’s just that good.

But being exclusive means spending even more time together, which increases the chance of Taehyung finding out.

You cringe at the thought of that.

“We’d practically be begging Taehyung to catch us like fools,” you tell him.

Just then, you hear someone type in the code and the front door opens.

Quickly, like a practised move, you put distance between you and Jungkook.

“You hungry, ___?” Taehyung calls out, emerging from the hallway. His gaze is focused on his phone as he types, until he notices you and Jungkook and stops in his tracks. “I was just about to call you for breakfast.” He lifts the bag from your favourite bakery. “What are you doing here?”

“I knew you’d invite me for breakfast.” Jungkook beams, reaching for the bag.

Taehyung’s gaze shifts to you, but you quickly brush past him. “I’m gonna take a shower. Don’t wait for me!”

“Did you come from a workout?” You hear Taehyung ask Jungkook.

Jungkook says yes, but he doesn’t tell your brother what kind of workout.

And moments like these are exactly why you want to keep things as they are with Jungkook.

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

read more of this couple here <3

[avocado-writing]

Avo please 😔 do the DP&W fandom some justice.

Please please give us a Deadpool and Logan Eiffel Tower fic (or just headcanons whatever works best for you 💜)

rated e. smut & fluff. minors dni.

There are ups and downs to all aspects of the relationship, you suppose. 

The downs tend to be pretty dramatic: Wade says something thoughtless, or goading, or just plain irritating, and Logan tends to react… explosively. The snik of claws appearing has become a sort of soundtrack to your day. Usually you can intercede in time to calm tensions down but when you can’t, well, they usually end up breaking not only each other’s bones but the furniture too. 

At least you only buy the flat-pack stuff. 

You’ll inevitably tell them both off and force them to repair what’s been smashed, and after a couple of hours and a few drinks they’re in each other’s good books again: Wade is cursing at the SKOGSTA and Logan is trying to suppress an affectionate smile behind a beer. 

But when it’s good? Man, it’s fucking great. The three of you have an unmatched synergy. A lot of your friends are jealous of how easy things are for you, how the pieces just sort of fell into normalcy after your time in the Void. Your favourite place to be is with your legs slung up over Logan’s thighs on the sofa, face buried in your mercenary’s lap, some shitty movie on that Wade keeps trying to guess the twist to. 

And then there are nights like tonight, nights where brief touches throughout the day evolve into caresses evolve into gropes. Inevitably you’re thrown onto the bed, and it’s not much of a wait before one of you is between the others. 

Tonight it’s your turn to be spoiled. 

Logan’s hands dig into your hips so hard you’re scared his claws will flick out. Actually, scratch that, you’re not scared; the idea of it makes you so wet you’re pretty sure he can feel it on his cock. You love it when he loses control. He slams into you even harder when you let out a choked-off little moan, your pleasure only beckoning the beast out further. 

Wade cups your jaw in his hand, angling it open a little further so he can press deeper into your throat. When he’s happy with the angle he slides his grip down to your neck so he can feel himself fucking you there. 

“Fuck, aren’t you a pretty sight, baby?” he hums, running his thumb around the seam of your lips where drool starts to spill. “You should see the way you’re taking his cock. People would pay by the hour to watch that.” He tilts his head to the side, a thought taking root. “Hmm, actually, that’s not a bad idea. Think there’s a market for mutant porn? Nightcrawler must have an OnlyFans, right?”

You slap his thigh to get his attention back. This is why you like him in the middle. Logan can keep his mouth occupied with his thick cock, you can fuck him with your favourite strap. Either way it’s difficult for him to talk. 

You do find it pretty endearing though, all things considered. Bastard, you think, lovingly. 

Logan growls, and for a second you’re not sure if it’s in agreement or aggravation. Luckily he’s quick to clarify. 

“He’s right. You take me so fucking well. Pretty fucking pussy was made for me. Us,” he mutters, voice so gravelly it could pave a driveway. You moan around Wade’s dick at his filthy mouth, clutching the sheets so tight they threaten to rip as he doubles his pace. His cock pistons in and out of you making a wet sound which fills the bedroom and you’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so fucking turned on. With every thrust you’re pushed forward, taking Wade so far down your throat that your eyes start to water. 

Messy and desperate is how they like you, and you kinda agree with them. 

Then Logan’s movement pauses for a second, something you know only happens when he’s been met with something totally astounding. 

“Wha… Wade, I’m not gonna give you a fucking high five.”

You pull back, looking to see where Wade is lowering his hand, pouting. 

“Come on, Peanut. You know you want to.”

“Wade, what the fuck?” you ask. “Don’t be weird about this, I’ll bite your dick off.”

“Okay well you did that before and it made me cum, so that’s not the threat you think it is, sweetheart. Besides this right here? This is the best thing ever. Just wanted to find some camaraderie with my boo in the moment. C’mon, you won’t leave me hanging, will you?”

He holds his hand out to you, and you pause for a moment - well aware Logan is still balls deep inside your soaking cunt - before giving in and slapping it. Yeah. This is pretty great, to be fair. Wade pumps his fist in triumph. 

“Knew it! You never let me down. Not even after the dick biting.”

“You actually asked for that, honey.”

“I did! I’m known for my fat ass and incredible ideas.”

A noise makes the two of you turn around. It’s Logan, but, contrary to your expectations, he’s not angry. He’s laughing. It’s a noise neither of you are used to, especially not during sex. He tries to hide the smile on his rugged features and starts gently rocking his hips back into a rhythm inside of you. 

“You’re both ridiculous,” he says, fondly. You exchange a look with Wade, both jubilant. 

Yeah, you are ridiculous - and he fits right in.

Taglist: @falsewordz @malfoys-demigod @belilwen @mildly-salted @tvwebs @childeslegstrap @getmeoutofhell @s1eep-o @just-a-beatlemaniac69 @yrthr @momopad @sugarplumz100 @captainjinkx @madspads @acrosstheunivcrse

[yojeongin]

it’s too bad you’re married to me | m.l

→husband!mark lee x f!reader | ft. jaehyun + jungwoo

genre: smut, angst, tragic romance, miscommunication, marriage au, 2000s au

synopsis: all mark ever does is use weaponized incompetence to get out of small tasks you ask of him. when he finally realizes you resort to his close friends to do what he can’t— nothing can prepare him for what’s in your pandora box; now karma is set in motion.

warning(s): ADULTS ONLY, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! oral sex (m receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, orgasm denial, cum swallowing, jealousy, toxic relationship/love, insecurity, vomiting, work field harassment, mental health deteriorating, self sabotage, smoking, mentions of poor eating habits/self care, pregnancy, mark is a horrible husband. this is for the people who only know toxic and bad relationships, woohoo (...)

wc: 19.5k+ || soundtrack || ao3

part 1 | part 2

© 2024 YOJEONGIN all rights reserved — please DO NOT translate, take, nor repost any of my works on other social media’s. reblogs are HIGHLY appreciated and preferred!

disclaimer: this is purely fictional; in no way am I condoning this behavior, trying to offend anyone, nor is it meant to place such image on the idol, these are only characters. read at your own discretion.

an: it's been a year since I last updated the happy together series, I guess I lied when I said the stupid girl incident wouldn't happen with this one but hey it's finally over! this is an epilogue for happy together but can be read as it’s own part. yn’s character here isn’t the same as happy together, this is a completely different yn!! fun fact I came up with this before happy together lol

‘No one wants to think about it. About how your love may run out or hang by a thread because it’s that big, not able to be supported by one person alone. To even have the fleeting negative thought race in your mind. No one wants that.’ — April 25, 2004.

Life was sweet, it was a new romance never felt before (at least in your case). The type to make your heart swell at any sweet action. He was tender, sweet, and attentive. Whatever you asked of him, he’d have for you, ready and in your hands. Mark used to go out of his way for you but slowly the small things became a burden and any little task, he never wanted to do anymore.

Even so, now as you sit on your knees in between his legs, hearing his grunts from the pleasure he is enduring, you put off your own pleasure for his as long as the satisfaction of him feeling loved continues.

With his cock stuffed deep in your mouth, tip hitting the back of your throat. Mark held onto the messy comforter while you kept going. Your nose hitting his pubic bone, staying still for seconds just so he could feel the warmth of your throat around him.

At that feeling Mark allowed a disgruntled moan, loud and perfect. His hips buckle forward, causing you to gag. Tearing up and finger nails softly claw his thighs. That’s the most damage you allowed yourself to cause him. His hand wraps around your hair, the sting of his pulling mirroring the one of your clawing, he was relentless unlike you.

“You’re so good to me. You feel so good, fuck!” He groans, eyes tightly shut. “I love when you gag around me, it feels so good. As if your throat still hasn’t gotten used to me after all these years, pretty girl.”

Raking your nails on the lower back of his thighs, he hisses. With his hands holding onto your head, his thrusts get harder— almost as a counter attack.

The hand you had on his thigh comes in contact with his balls, pinching them where he likes. Playing with and twirling them. Mark’s thrusts become slow but harder, hitting the back of your throat more painful, nothing you wouldn’t take unwillingly, though. He knows you can and will take anything he gives you.

That’s how you knew he was extremely close. When his thrusts were rough and slow, the grip on your hair became tighter when he pushed you further down, becoming extra sensitive to the way you handle his testicles. 

“Ah~ y/n… Please, just a bit more. Ahh…” He pants, stopping his thrusting momentarily until you pinch his scrotum, to which he whimpers loudly. Some sweat had accumulated on his neck and forehead. Glistening, he looked so beautiful, much more than he already is. Mark’s eyes were closed but he could feel your lingering gaze on him. He could feel the penetrating stare that looked at him with adoration.

When he couldn’t handle it furthermore and his thrusts against your throat were becoming sloppy, Mark’s eyes fluttered open, looking down at you, giving you one of his most tender smiles. You never got used to the way he looked at you. Even when he gave you his coldest glares, there was always a sense of adoration to them. 

So one can only imagine the warmth and giddiness you felt when he looked at you this lovingly. Lovingly enough that he removed one hand from your head and placed it on your cheek. Thumb caressing your flesh, soft strokes contradicting the ones abusing your throat.

“What I wouldn’t do to be like this with you forever.” The words contradictory and cheeky to his caring caress, almost conniving. 

Mark’s hips jolted forward, disgruntled moans left his lips but his eyes never left yours. Even after he screwed them shut momentarily from pleasure, he’d always open them to let you know how good he felt. Head thrown back, trying to regain his breath and calmness after the orgasm you had just given him. His hand strokes your head softly whilst you gaze up at him lovingly, your head resting on his thigh. 

“Morning,” your voice snaps him out of it, looking down at you with a smile. “Really good morning.” He chuckles in a breath, leaning down as much to give you a soft and tender kiss, tasting himself on you. Pulling apart, Mark stands up, helping you up from the aching position you were in. Rubbing your knees momentarily to soothe the pang. 

It didn’t take long enough to forget his care and make his path to the kitchen, you trailing behind like a lost puppy, ignoring your ache just to start the day for both of you. “Hey, can you do me a favor?” Your soft voice squeaked against his ear, making him turn to you slowly. A gleam of hope on your part as always.

“What is it?” You could see his emotions coursing through, already looking for excuses as always. “Just— can you pick up an order at Cafe 7 Dream? It’s for Venetia’s pregnancy leave party but I don’t have time to pick it up. Please? During your lunch break?”

Your eyes still glimmer with hope knowing well what his answer already is. “Oh… baby, you already know I can’t. I don’t even know where it is.” He ran a hand through his hair, walking past you after giving his famous apologetic pout. 

Back to him, hopeful smile faltering, slowly closing your eyes disappointed but not surprised knowing the predicted outcome. You sigh quietly, basking in the background noise he made. Opening and closing the fridge door and pans moving around the stove top as if he truly had intentions to do something.

“I guess, yeah… it’s fine I’ll figure it out then.” Defeatedly, you make your way to him, watching him play with the knobs as if he didn’t know how a damn stove works, you only interfered when he opened the egg crate. Rushing to him you took it all off his hands, his faux complaining making you roll your eyes, him oblivious to how it wasn’t playful anymore. “Go shower, you’ll be late.” Still, your voice held no annoyance. 

He chuckles, completely oblivious to your feelings as always. “Or we could shower together…” he suggests, not over the morning rendezvous. Wanting more and more, never satiated.  

You didn’t have it in you to smile at him, shaking your head and dismissing him as you crack the eggs over the pan. He giggles, towards the bathroom, placing a playful slap to your ass on his way.

The walls were thin. You could hear the sound of the toilet flushing, the water running, and your thoughts bouncing off of them. Torturing you with the words and feelings you try to repress all the time in order to live in peace and in love with him.

You loved him. More than anything, to the point it was extremely painful despite him being yours. You’ve fought hard trying to make your love for him unconditional, there was no backing out anytime.

Moments like these in which he shut down your pleas, all you could do was restrain yourself from the ill thoughts your tired brain tried to throw at him. You couldn’t let anything get in between the both of you, not even yourself. 

So instead you rather stand in front of the stove, moving the spatula around to make him his beloved sunny side up eggs. Funny enough, you hated them but if he wanted you to love them, you would.

Coming out of the bathroom, steam painting the mirrors and windows. Mark dries his hair with the towel sitting atop his shoulders, a sniffle leaves him, pulling the chair from the dining table, smiling at you with a ‘thank you’ rolling off his tongue while you set down his dishes and drink right in front of him. 

“You’re not eating?” He questions the moment you sat beside him with just a pouch of Konjac Jelly. You could only smile and shake your head, suckling on the nozzle to get out the contents. You weren’t eating then and there, you just didn’t want to tell him you were getting breakfast with your colleague on your way to work. 

Mark nodded before digging in on the yolk with his spoon, that expected smile on his face.

He talked and talked after every bite and chew. Mark was well aware of how much you liked to hear his voice, especially in the morning before he left you for work. Head resting on your palm as you watched him stack his plates, a smile plastered on your lips from his presence alone. 

“Want me to drop you off? You’re gonna have to hurry though.” The clanking of the bowls on the sink as he passed water over them knowing you’d wash them eventually; making his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth and finish getting dressed. 

Shaking your head as a response, he waits for your explanation. “I’m walking the entire week, don’t worry about me. Maybe I'll take the bus.”

How couldn’t he when both of your jobs were a tad bit far from home. It didn’t help that most of the time you got out late. At least he was thankful Jungwoo could drop you off whenever he wasn’t able to pick you up or simply didn’t feel like it.

“You know I don’t like it when you ride the bus, it’s always filled with… men at these hours. Take care, okay? Call me once you arrive or if something happens.”

Despite your smile of approval, what was he going to do when he can barely take care of himself?

Mark’s lips fell against yours the moment he opened the door to the apartment, towering over you for a few kisses before pulling away. “By the way, can you pick up my suit from the cleaners either later or tomorrow? I have a meeting at the end of the week.”

He was giddy asking you for a favor, clutching his backpack, ignoring the way you tried to not let your emotions show through your face. “Yeah… I’ll do it after work.” Your soft voice, trying its best to hide that tinge of bubbling vexation.

Mark smiled, a giggle leaving his throat whilst his hand caresses your cheek. “I’ll see you at night, baby.” You couldn’t answer, he had bolted towards the elevator. Only the daily bittersweet taste lingers once again.

Shutting the door behind you, your eyes immediately travel to the pile of dishes he left for you on the sink, not even allowing your sighs to escape by how familiar this scene has become. It was rather frustrating for Mark to not notice your obvious signs of unhappiness with him. He knew you loved him, perhaps more than he loved you, which he tends to ignore to not throw himself off.

But that love he thinks you have was blinding him from all the realities of how dysfunctional the relationship was. It was pitiful that his friends were the only ones to actually notice them.

“Markie, morning!” Johnny’s cheerful voice booms against his ear, hand softly patting the younger man’s shoulder as he signals to follow him and Jaehyun to the break room while handing him a cup of coffee. 

Mark returned the greeting to both of the men standing in front of him, conversing as if he didn’t see them almost daily. From joke after joke, Jaehyun’s phone beeped constantly, the other two ignoring it as he checked it with a giddy smile plastered on his face; Johnny asks if they’d like to get lunch during their break.

Mark immediately agreed to the offer, taking some of the last sips from his coffee. They spoke about restaurant options but upon Jaehyun not answering, rather typing, the blackberry keys louder than his coworkers, the two turned to ask again.

“Jaehyun, you’re down for lunch?” Johnny questions, making his way towards the trash can, depositing away his cup, the eyes on the ‘7’ icon turning to Mark. Jaehyun hums in response, putting his phone away before actually speaking. “Uh, maybe next time. I have something to do.” An apologetic smile, Johnny understanding but Mark lets out a teasing chuckle. 

“Lunch with a special friend?” 

“Actually, I’m helping your wife.”

He didn’t want to make it obvious but Jaehyun put enough emphasis on ‘your’. “She asked for a favor and I always say yes, so...” Jaehyun shrugs, sipping the last of his own coffee.

The air was shifting to hostility the more Mark’s expression began to change, slowly but surely. His eyes followed every move Jaehyun made, ignoring how all the 7’s glared at him, even his own. Johnny was no fool, if Jaehyun couldn’t feel the building hostility, Johnny was clearly feeling and seeing it. His eyes advert from both men as he watched how quickly a mood can be annihilated.

“Always? What do you mean, always?” Mark turns his back to the other two —almost to shield himself from the accusatory numbers—, throwing away his not empty cup and going to the sink to wash off the stickiness from the coffee that spilled on the sides.

The second oldest man mustered a shrug, taking a cup from the water cooler and pouring some in to get rid of that coffee taste on his tongue. Bitter coffee taste, the one lacing Mark. “I mean, I can’t say no to her… if she’s busy and can’t run an errand she asks me to run it for her and in return she bakes me a cheesecake. We all win!” Johnny smiles at Jaehyun at the mention of the desert and his unconvincing naivety.

Mark didn’t speak, his mouth forming an ‘O’ at the realization that the reason you always baked was not for you or your coworkers but for his friend. For doing something you had originally asked of him. Just in the past month you had baked six cheesecakes and all of them after you asked him for a favor that he turned down. All this time he thought you were just baking for pleasure but now he knows Jaehyun helps ease your stress. Jaehyun, not Mark.

“I’m gonna head back…” Johnny’s voice broke him out of his train of thought, the elder’s eyes adverting from his two younger friends before opening the door. Jaehyun announces that he’ll follow behind, leaving Mark to his own thoughts for just a second.

One could call that the start of his demise. If anything Mark would’ve been better off knowing you did everything on your own but now he felt an unjust slight resentment that you ran to one of his friends. Guilt, if you will, for his own faults.

He didn’t let the thought go the entire day and it didn’t become better once you had arrived back home with groceries and his suit in hand. Worse off, he saw you struggle with the heavy items but he made no effort to help, rather analyzed the components in your hands. Contrary to you, upon seeing him, a warm smile spreads on your face. Putting everything down and going up to him to envelope him in an embrace and a tender kiss.

“Hi…” your breathy voice showing obvious signs of agitation. 

“Hey… why are you so late?” He questions, accusatory for something he’s not sure what he’s looking for yet; a minute frown as he looks through the contents of your grocery totes. Cream cheese, graham cracker, sweet condensed milk… a pit in his stomach formed, a growing feeling of confusion followed.

“Another cheesecake?” He questions, taking out the items and starting to put them away. To say you were taken aback was an understatement, your chest swole and you felt some relief seeing he was actually helping. You nod, holding onto the back of a chair to catch yourself. Mark hums, turning to look at you. Upon seeing how sunken and dull you were looking, his expression turned to one of concern.

“Have you eaten?” Mark asks, his hand reaching to caress your cheek. “Yeah! We had a dinner party for Venetia’s leave.” ‘I told you about it..’ you want to add. No matter, you knew it was futile with how he hums in response. It was true about the dinner part but you hadn’t eaten there, Jungwoo and you had decided to blow it off and go to a soup bowl restaurant instead.

He hums again, putting away all the other groceries and leaving just the cheesecake items. “Seventh cheesecake this month isn’t it?” 

His piqued interest sounded hostile and cold, eradicating any sense of relief that he cared. “Yeah, why not?” Responding with a smile and knitted eyebrows, Mark didn’t add more. In turn, he took his items from the living room to the bedroom, opting to continue working there. 

Looking at the empty spot he left, a sigh left your lips before continuing to fulfill your part of the deal with Jaehyun. You didn’t know if the sigh was from relief or grief. Regardless, his care was too good to be true. 

The next morning he had woken to your spot on the bed empty and cold, a building resentment and loneliness starts to grow when times before he didn’t feel them. Odd. 

Giving himself a few minutes of rest time until he decided to get up and do his daily routine. By the time he had reached the table, his breakfast was covered to keep the warmth in, glowering when he noticed it was slightly warm but getting cold. A note on the side of his dishes. 

‘Decided to head early. Sorry in advance if the food gets cold. Love, y/n’

A small heart next to your name, Mark smiles to himself. As he ate his breakfast, his concerns and the slight jealousy he had gained overnight dissipated. He felt foolish for questioning your relationship with Jaehyun. What was there for him to be jealous of? Hell, Jaehyun was taking care of the burdens he didn’t want to, that’s a win-win situation, no? Jaehyun gets his treat, you remain content, and he isn’t bothered. Yeah, he can now think clearly and see that’s fair. Nothing ever comes out of your close friend being nice and considerate of your wife, right? 

Hmm…

Nevertheless, Mark shakes his head with a goofy content smile whilst he drops his dishes in the sink, passing cold water over them. You picked up his suit yesterday and today it was hanging, freshly steamed furthermore. His shoes clean and shiny by the door, food you cooked for him in his system, and overall a lovely note you wrote him. Mark knows you love him and only him, what a stupid little preoccupation yesterday was.

“Dumbass.” He chuckles to himself, squeezing a plushie he had gotten you that ever since, you left on the bed, your smell on it; you’d always be near him and oh how he loved that security. Surely he has to let you know how he adores your love.

Walking towards your desk to look for whatever piece of paper, he sat on your chair, opening the drawers and searching for at least a sticky note.

Upon finding the nearest notebook, Mark pulled it out along a pen. Opening it to where he could find a clean page; he stumbled on multiple pages of frantic writing and numbers written all over. Sometimes they went down and sometimes they went up, if the number was higher than last, a large ‘x’ crossed it in red. He didn’t think much of it, maybe something to do with work statistics?

Curiosity still got the best of him, he’s never seen you write messily. Everything you’ve written has been tidy and neat, so this was interesting. Flipping through the pages, he found two lists. They read the same thing but the one on the left had more x’s whilst the one on the right had check marks, sometimes nothing.

Pick up cleaners,

fix the leak in the kitchen

pick up order from cafe 7 dream

find a new car inspection place

pick up Venetia’s leave cake

Those were all things you had asked him to do and things he had told you he couldn’t do on account of all the excuses he made. All striked through, ink bolder and fresher the more recent the task was. All those crosses were for him and he figured all the check marks were for Jaehyun.

Some of the stuff seemed too intimate for Jaehyun to do for you. Picking up the cleaners? Fix the leak? Find a car inspector?

Jaehyun had no responsibility to find any of this stuff for you but there he was doing what Mark couldn’t and that jealousy he felt yesterday was back again. That meant you hadn’t picked up his suit yesterday, right? It was Jaehyun who had done so and his grubby hands must’ve left oils for you to steam it again?

God, no… he was being irrational again!

The more he flipped through the pages, Mark read the small and longer paragraphs. Most of them written frantically and showed obvious frustration. It seemed to be completely full of vent paragraphs. You wrote down your desperations and thoughts, often seeming angry and saddened. He cared for all that but they became unreadable the more upset you became as you went on. 

Few things that made his head pound and chest start to rip apart were how many times he read two names over and over: ‘Jungwoo’ and ‘Jaehyun’. You met them through him, he had brought them into your life but now he was finding that to be a mistake. 

Ironic, isn’t it? You spoke so well of them. Every paragraph regarding them was neatly written and cohesive. For the most part you were just thanking them for making your life easier.

‘Keep forgetting to look for new posts, Jungwoo has been helping but he seems kinda down when he does.’

‘Dinner coordinator keeps bringing the same catering and it’s growing tiring, seaweed treats are hell. Thank god Jungwoo took me out instead. — 03.29.08, 22:37.’

Last night’s date. You had told him you ate at the company dinner but instead went out with his friend and didn’t think to tell him, opting to lie about it. He knew you loved him but now he was questioning if the amount was just as big as he thought.

‘Wonder if Jaehyun is getting tired of these favors and cheesecakes. I don’t think he even finishes an entire one in a month and I’ve baked seven for him, I fear for his fridge. It’s not as big as I thought now that he moved. Nevertheless, thank god I can count on him to actually do these favors for me.’ 

The last part stung horribly. It didn’t seem to be a jab on him from how you wrote it but he took it as such given he always did something wrong when you asked him to just so you would stop or he’d make excuses for the same reason. He now took issue with you preferring Jaehyun’s and Jungwoo’s help over his. 

He also hadn’t told you Jaehyun moved apartments so there was no reason for you to know how big his fridge was. It stung more that neither of his friends told him about the close friendship they held with you, his wife. 

The last note on the paper is what caught his attention; ‘Lunch with Jungwoo at Cafe 7 Dream, 12:30 today.’

It’s only 08:35 in the morning as of right now; he got dressed and put away all your stuff trying his best to make it seem like he didn’t rummage through. As he buttoned up his shirt all he could think about was going to said cafe and seeing what it was all about. A part of him told him to stop being stupid, you and Jungwoo were friends too given the company you two work in, so a lunch shouldn’t be bad. But he couldn’t shake off this uncertainty.

His day went monotonously. From the moment he made his way out of the apartment, to his daily drive through the freeway with a clear view of a big ‘7,' not drinking his daily coffee with his colleagues, to now being back in the car, looking at that same ‘7’ he sees daily while he roams for a parking spot.

Whatever was playing on the radio was static and the air around him stuffy, not even the rolled down windows being able to aid him. It was around 12:53 in the afternoon when he had arrived and parked a few spots away from the vast window of the cafe. Bringing down the sun visor, fingers strumming on the steering wheel, and his lips pursed, eyes roaming the area— Mark had spotted you and his friend in the outdoor section. 

His initial jealousy wasn’t present right now, he was mostly focused on the image that had never been presented to him: you were visibly upset. Throughout your six years of being together, you always remained calm and even when he spewed vile things towards you during one-sided arguments you never cracked.

Maybe that’s why you’ve lasted this long. He could say whatever he pleased and kept off his chest while you never gave him a negative reaction. For the most part whenever you didn’t respond in the arguments he’d angrily walk out of the situation to go meet with his friends while he left you to scribble your feelings onto the journal he stumbled upon just today.

Your arms flailed, hands forming into claws that whenever you were spewing something that angered you, clung to your flesh, leaving dents on it— must have been that intense if he could see those forming. Your hair was disheveled but your clothes intact besides the pantyhose you were clawing at earlier. You didn’t look dull anymore but you did look on the brink of angry tears.

In contrast to you, Jungwoo leaned back on his metal chair, hair kept well combed, suit intact and ironed, with a shit eating grin on his face as he nodded with everything you said. His words were slow, helping Mark in reading his lips and only being able to read just that sentence: “Let it all out, you don’t deserve this.” Every time he said those words, you’d slump over the table, head resting on your hands and nodding to yourself.

The perplexed expression on Mark’s face never left. His eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed, leaning in against his wheel as if any of that would help him listen to the conversation. It worsened when Jungwoo took a small box from his pocket, handing it to you in which you’d give him an apologetic smile for ranting to him while also being thankful.

He didn't understand where all this came from. You have always been so calm, never letting things affect you let alone smoke. Hell, you're the reason he stopped smoking but here you were doing what he used to do with his friend.

At this moment he didn’t understand why he had rushedly gotten out of his car and inside the building. All the courage he mustered to go inside dying whenever he saw the both of you stand up from the table after paying.

His heart was palpitating in horror. He couldn’t excuse why he was there this time, he told you he didn’t know where this place was so it would only worsen your already horrible mood. Not to mention, he had nothing to say. How would he start the conversation? “I know I’ve lied to you about this place but what the fuck is your deal with Jungwoo and Jaehyun? What’s your journal all about?” No, he can’t let you know he’s been snooping, let alone have you think he’s jealous.

Mark could only follow behind a group of people walking to the counter, hiding amongst them and hoping you stayed enthralled in your conversation to not notice him. At least he was thankful he could finally hear the conversation but that dissipated the moment he heard Jungwoo’s voice.

“If you keep pushing away and shutting off your frustrations with him this won’t end well. You can’t just conform to keep him with you and let him do all he’s doing. You can’t let him act the way he does and hope he changes without asking. You know what my grandma would say? If you don’t speak, God won’t hear you. And he’s not hearing you. Are you not miserable in the relationship?”

It stung. It painfully stung deeply in his heart that he truly felt he was having a heart attack right now, cardiac arrest— whichever. It sounded oddly familiar.

“Mark says, 'If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans.’ So which is it?” Jungwoo laughs, shrugging. “Seems God can’t make up his mind or he's fucking with us just because he can.”

Sadly for the both of you this was only the start of your demise. As for the following weeks, Mark had begun to dig deeper into this madness he was slowly learning he had created. Every time he was home alone, Mark began to read the notebook he had found. Your writing didn’t become any less incomprehensible but he was starting to learn what certain loops meant.

He wouldn’t say your writings were enjoyable, rather more concerning than anything but this is the closest he’ll get to truly knowing you. It still baffles him that after six years of being together, you were capable of hiding this much from him. The only time he could recall you actually being mad was the time both of you crossed paths with one of his childhood friends.

The atmosphere turned hostile and tense as the older male reprimanded him for not inviting them to his wedding to which Mark said he did, he even gave his mother the invitation directly to give to them. The look the two shared had made your insides churn, in that instance you wanted to cut your own chest to relieve that sting within.

You could handle a lingering look and his friends' questioning remarks whenever speaking to you, but what killed you was that it took him a week to regain his dignity after he bid him goodbye with a kiss to his cheek. The words: “They long to see you.” Cascading from his lips, but Mark smiles tenderly and awkwardly.

Mark only recalls you giving him blank stares and taking a while to answer him, conversations non-existent unless he started them. But Jungwoo got to see you tear your desk down, shred paper after paper, and cry in agony at the same time that entire week, knowing well what the older man had meant, you weren’t stupid after all, he’s not the only one who’s read someone’s secret stash of letters. 

That’s the only time he thinks you’ve been mad at him or resentful enough. If only he knew how many fits Jungwoo has experienced and cleaned. But while you might not be foreign to an empty bed, Mark was. When he felt your side of the bed still neatly made and the duvet cold, a sense of fear made him shoot up. 

He had gotten home before you that day once again, trusting that Jungwoo was giving you a ride not long after he arrived like always. After a few hours of working on some data and analysis to the point of not being able to eat the dinner you had woken up early to cook for him. Mark had decided to rest for a while not thinking of taking a nap until his eyelids feel heavy and his slumber commenced.

That was around 6:43pm, now it’s midnight with no signs of you in the bedroom and if he knew anything from those six months of living with a married couple— one of the spouses was up to something.

That’s where his fear rose and his chest started to constrain his breathing. You would never do anything to hurt him, right? Mark knew you loved him. Yes, you love him, you’d never do anything of the style. You're not her.

You're not her...

Opening the bedroom door with such force; he startled you, jumping once the doorknob slammed against the wall. His fears dissipated the instance his eyes laid on your sitting figure. Crouched over your desk with a pen on hand and arm covering the pages of that same notebook. While he was relieved to see you, now he was worried of what else you could add to wreck his nerves.

“When did you get home?” His raspy voice questions. You shrug, taking his presence, closing the notebook and shoving it into one of your desk drawers. 

“Maybe an hour ago? Jungwoo got quite drunk so Jaehyun took a while to pick us up.” 

Mark knew what jealousy felt like, he’s experienced it in the most hateful way and over all these years he trusted you enough to never feel this strongly ever again but his friends were starting to test his patience. It may be subconscious and a self inflicted fear but Mark knows what friends can do. 

“You didn’t say you were going out with Jungwoo.” That pitch of irritation laced his tongue, every word getting louder the more he shook his slumber away. His eyebrows furrowed unconsciously. He really didn’t want to have any reaction but he can’t reap what he sows.

Mark always started like this when an argument would ensue. You could handle his vile words and reproaches but you had a presentation tomorrow and the last thing you needed was for him to treat you like shit at midnight. You’ve had enough of your supervisor for that. 

“Company dinner meeting, Mark… I told you about the presentations.” Your voice was betraying you with how whiny it came out. But could anyone blame you? You had been ecstatically talking about this for almost a month, even Johnny knew about it. It just seems the man you married couldn’t be bothered enough to remember. 

Mark tried his hardest to pick at his brain and recollect the memories of you telling him. It was of no help that you hadn’t written about it in your journal either. All he had left was to deflect. 

“You could’ve called me to pick you up, though? Why did you have to call Jaehyun?” 

“Would you have gone? You've been sound asleep the while I've been here.”

Your tone took him aback, this was the first time he could hear some attitude and mocking in your voice. He didn’t know whether to be happy that for once you spoke to him like this or angry that the mention of Jaehyun was eliciting this response, almost as if you’re defending him.

Noticing the look of confusion on his face, you retracted any possibility of continuing this ensuing argument. Just like him, you’ll avoid any further action.

“Go back to bed, love. I’ll be there in a bit.”

He didn’t listen, just sunk his feet deeper into the tile, processing the whiplash of your actions. On the contrary, you walked past him to the bathroom, forgetting to turn off the stereo system, hoping your nightly ritual would help you not think about these happenings. Him? He’ll sulk like he is not at fault.

‘Oh, I think you’re holding the heart of mine. Squeeze it apart, that's fine…’ The melody mocks and lulls him goodnight. 

A similar situation happened days later. The days building up to that night, you hadn’t asked him for any favors. Times before he’d be glad but now he grew weary. The only outlier was that you weren’t baking, so had the rewards gone further than sweet treats? How far could you go?

No! Stop! Mark knows you’d never do anything like that, you’re not her, that’s a huge reason he fell for and married you. You ar– were perfect.

But then, why haven’t you asked anything of him yet? Was it truly futile now?

Deja vu hit, the bed was cold beside his own spot, your plushie thrown to the floor (the only difference), no sign of you, but the second he swung the door open, there you were. Sitting mindlessly on your desk, scribbling things he couldn’t see but knew he would struggle to understand later. He approached slowly, the only light source the lamp before you.

“What are you doing?” His voice is curious and soft in comparison to last time. You shrug like before, scribbling. “Nothing.” Precise yet somehow cold. No matter how much closer he got, by only a step, you shut the journal, throwing it in your drawer and turning the lamp off. He didn’t know how to take it, your actions swift and nonchalant but regardless you still made the effort to kiss him goodnight on the way to complete your night routine. 

01:48 read the stereo system. Mark hums, this night’s song mocking him again while his eyes look into the darkness and curves of your desk, directly at the drawer that held all your grievances. He contemplates it but it’s no use tonight.

‘I love him so much, it just turns to hate. I fake it so real, I am beyond fake. And someday you will ache like I ache.’ He chuckles, turning it off.

The next day was enough. You had left before him again, no reason as to why either but later he had learnt that Jaehyun had gotten into the office late with a Cafe 7 Dream drink in hand and not bought by Johnny.

He had taken your absence as an opportunity, looking at the positioning of things in your desk carefully to remember how he’d put everything back. Slowly but surely, he took the journal out, opening it to the new pages.

With the journal in hand, he steps into the kitchen, sitting on the dining table where his warm food rested. Warm enough to let him know you left not long ago. Effortlessly, he uncovers it, sliding the plates towards him and standing up to get a drink. The ice-cold water pitcher sat in front of him and he began his tasks.

‘Guilt floods me every time I ask Jaehyun and Jungwoo for favors. Is this excessive? Poor Jaehyun looks so tired, I think I have to ease it. He may claim it’s fine but how much cheesecake or danishes can someone eat without feeling the weight of burden grow as fat around his muscles?’ “What a way with words,” Mark scoffs to himself, accidentally biting the inside of his cheek, his teeth scolding him.

‘Jungwoo on the other hand is probably exhausted from my complaining. I see this as my karma for all the times I told friends to leave their bummy boyfriends. I get it now. This feeling is too strong. I can't just end it, I think… Regardless, I do need to stop with the favors, hell they’re easy so I can do them but it’s nice to not hear them complain or make excuses instantly. That’s selfish of me but I deserve some self indulgence from time to time. No… not at their expense at least...‘

00:59 at the time you began writing that.

He didn’t like that. He’s read enough for the past few weeks but nothing like this. The bummy part even less.

He won’t deny that he wished your food got stuck in his throat and suffocated him so he can drop dead with your journal in hand and true guilt arises in you when you find his body but that’s not him, that’s his jealousy and anger speaking. Maybe he was getting influenced by your entries, this is something you would say just not to him.

Mark scoffs again, sighing heavily, and pushing his chair to get out. He leaves the food uncovered and dishes dirty to complete his morning routine. Despite his anger he puts back your journal not counting on the wet back from the water pitcher but flaws are meant to happen when you’re letting frustration blind you. 

The day went in a blur from then until lunch. Snapped out of his trance by Johnny shaking his shoulder and their manager next to the taller man, Mark gave the two a fish out of the water look. One that made his manager pinch the bridge of his nose but shook it off while Johnny on the other hand gave him a questioning look. The man wasn’t stupid, he could see how distant Mark had been and at most kept to himself despite trying to act like everything is fine and bond with him and Jaehyun, but he’s not that great at covering the heart on his sleeve.

“Here, take the intern with you and ask for the lunch platter at Cafe 7 Dream, the meeting is in less than an hour and we still aren’t prepared.” The manager rushedly spoke, handing him his credit card, the gray hairs on his side seemingly growing with every word he spoke. It was a large investment meeting and he needed to secure this but he had been so careless that their hospitality was a wreck. 

Nevertheless, Mark agreed, the new intern standing behind the other two men that he hadn’t noticed her until she popped out, startling him a bit. She was young and timid, he hadn’t heard her speak but that little jump she caused him made her laugh apologetically. 

That’s the most verbal communication they had through the ride to the cafe. The radio was adamant on playing TVXQ and she enjoyed it while he focused more on the sounds the tires made and the honking from outside. Even when they arrived at the cafe they didn’t speak, if anything their expression said it all. He seemed tired and uninterested while she was indifferent with only polite smiles to her senior.

Crossing the threshold of the first doors, a familiar figure stops in front of him much to the other’s confusion when his indifference turns into a content smile. No matter how frustrated he was with what he had read, an inkling in him will always remind him of the affection he has for you. “Y/n, hi!” He exclaims, turning to you a hand reaching for your shoulder. You’re not too sure how genuine his giddiness is but in the moment for Mark, it’s the most sincere thing ever, more than you have ever been.

It’s not enough to convince you though, with your eyes flitting between him and the intern as he kisses your cheek and the other stands awkwardly behind only flashing you a quick greeting smile before looking around.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice broke the interactions, a hint of annoyance and to an extent accusatory over something that you haven’t voiced, turning to her again before looking back at him. The young girl wasn’t quite sure of how you felt but knew it was a safer bet to go order before their boss called, clenching his ass from how fast time went and he didn’t have things ready.

Clearing her throat, “I’m going to go order… The card?” She extends both hands, Mark takes out their manager’s card and hands it to her who bolts to the register. It doesn’t take Mark long to turn to you, smile slowly faltering, seeing your stare. Unsure if it’s a glare or if that’s how you look at someone when no longer adoring.

“Manager sent us to get something for a meeting.” He brings his smile back, hoping that would help. Yet, you hum and that’s all he gets. It takes a few seconds until your mouth, like a fountain, unexpectedly spouts something. “I’ve asked you to get things for me from here but you always say you don’t know where this place is.” A soft huff leaves you while forcing a smile. You can feel warmth rush from your skull down to your feet. It’s not pleasant, at all, but you can’t lose your cool right now. Not in front of him.

Perhaps if this had happened before reading your entries, Mark would have dismissed it but now he was growing knowledge of your behavioral cues and he can see your hands go behind your back, allowing your nails to cling onto your bare skin.

He musters a sigh and looks at his watch, the meeting was near. “We can talk about this later, pretty girl.” His hand reaches your arm to stop you although he makes sure to not let you know he knows about your little habit.

You shake your head, smiling up at him and going in for a kiss. “No, it’s cool, it’s fine. I just– don’t worry about it. I’ll see you later at home, okay? Okay.” You didn’t wait for a response and habits don’t die so he found it preferable to drop it. At least he’ll probably read about it in your journal soon and not have you complain in his ear.

Of course you’re not going to be in his ear when you’re on your phone frantically typing something and soon putting it to your own. Seems you’ll be blowing someone else’s ear off and it’s likely the poor loser will be Jungwoo. With every motion, flailing arm, and facial contortion– Mark knew enough of how this little thing made you feel and all he could react with was a grunt.

On weekends, by the time he began to rustle in bed and stretch, he’d be greeted with kisses and tight embraces. They often made him giggle but this weekend was much different. Once again, he woke up with the plush on the floor, a cold bed, and the window closed with only the racket outside the bedroom door. Everything was muffled but if there’s something he identified was the smell of food being made and those two laughs he’s known very well for quite a while now.

With some surprise, he jolts up. His body aches from the lack of stretching but his feet don’t care and drag him out of bed. Opening the door he’s met with Jungwoo and Jaehyun bickering about how heavy the couch was, soon to shift their attention to the movie that had been playing through broadcast TV. On the other hand he turned to look at you taking out things from a cabinet, Jungwoo rushing to help, a screwdriver in hand as he inspected the door– it creaked.

“Morning…” He greets, stretching a bit and hiding his yawn behind his arm. You make way towards him but the other two were quicker, taking his hand and continuing their greeting-shake. By the time you reach him, he kisses the top of your head, your arms around his torso in a hug like they should’ve been when he woke up. Jaehyun and Jungwoo throw each other a glance, one you both miss but that they mask with their teasing towards Mark.

“Morning? It’s nearly two.” Jaehyun begins, “Can you blame him? What does he have to do on a lovely Saturday?” Jungwoo continued but it came out rather bitter despite trying to be playful. Mark manages to laugh just like the rest of you, it doesn’t change the warning look you throw at Jungwoo who ignores it while removing the cabinet door, showing more chipped parts to it.

“Can you help me find something, then?” Mark dismisses the other two, looking directly down at you. Without hesitating you nod, walking to the room with him, your grasp on his torso not falling, rewarded with a tender smile of his. Unbeknownst to you two, the other pair give each other a glance again, although this time it lingers on each other. Disappointment and exhaustion painting itself on their features before going back to the favors.

The wooden door shut behind you two, Mark makes way to the restroom to brush his teeth and wash his face, leaving you situated on the bed and confused. “What are we looking for?” You question with some excitement as if this was a task you truly wanted when making him happy was enough.

“Why didn’t you tell me they were coming?” He finally speaks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, hair strands damp. “They’re just fixing some stuff.” You ease softly, smiling up at him as he stares at you. 

His hand perched on your shoulders, pushing you down on the mattress and met with a surprised squeaking giggle that he shut immediately with a kiss. Those same hands wrapped around your body pulling you flush against him as his tongue works against your own.

Lips became slick by the moment but he felt so much pour into that kiss. So much longing and desire. A mixture of lust and guilt and that balance may be why he felt the need to keep you here in this room with him and not out there with those vultures.

Possession is the word he’s looking for.

His hands began a journey down your body, feeling every curve until they rested on your hips. Inching closer to the hem of your shorts, teasing their entrance under. It was enough for you to gasp quietly, feeling his cold damp fingers while he kissed you, smiling into it. He swallowed every word and protest before you could even spew them. 

Your own hands on his hair, lips submissive to his. A moan when you feel his digits fully in between your legs. You shake your head but not in protest but rather of how much you needed his touch. “Say something…” He whispers against your lips, no smile on his face. “Please…” You beg, his fingers making slow circles to not hurt you but enough to get you to lubricate and use that instead.

The scene was greedy and lustful but ultimately, he was reminded of those two out there and the reason as to why they were present lingered. Was the couch and cabinet door that important that you had to call the little crew? No matter how displayed you are for him, with your hands holding onto him, lips kissing his own, and legs open for his own disposition– Mark was still aggravated.

Softly he pulled away from you, caressing your face with his free hand while his fingers went to work. “Why didn’t you ask me to help instead of them?” He tries to seem soft spoken like his caresses but those become rougher the more he speaks. “Would you have done it?” There he knew how much little faith you had on him and the scene from a while back repeats.

“I’d go to the end of the world for you, Y/n.” Mark confesses into the kiss, neither of you too sure how truthful that was. His fingers make their entrance into you, slowly moving to elicit a response. Your body ran hot, his clothed figure above you, silently begging for you to at least believe a fraction of what he said. Those pleading and mopping eyes as he pumped his ring and middle finger, increasing the pace.

You believe me like a God,

‘You’re being so cruel.’ You want to tell him, to engrave it in his brain but it instead came out as a pleased disgruntled moan, one he took as accepting his lies. Mark smiles, head tilting to the side before lowering it to begin kissing your chest. Tongue lapping on the dents your collarbones create, whispering his ailments in them to the point of flooding and creating lakes that flowed down to your perked nipples after unbuttoning your blouse. His tongue, scorching and velvet against them. Granted was a jolt and a gasp when you felt his mouth wrap around one, biting softly to soon suction on the tit.

I’ll destroy you like I am.

Teeth grace your goosebump filled skin, kissing where his teeth left razor marks. Threatening crimson to spill only to be a false alarm, lingering pain and pleasure was all that was intended to reside. His fingers slowed the pace, blunt thrusts per second that left an ache between your legs when his palm came in contact with your outer skin, but oh how good it felt when his fingers hit your sweet spot. It doesn’t help that by this point he had inserted a third finger, the stretch causing so much more need within you.

His mouth travels up the path he created after years of savoring your body. Tongue feeding the dried stream, cool when its source disappeared to carve marks on your neck. It was so juvenile but he wanted you to go out of that room with some swelling for those two to see. Eliciting another moan from you, Mark’s free hand softly comes up to your mouth, covering and sealing it with shushes against your ear.

“Do you want them to know what we’re doing?” He whispers in the same location, you shake your head fervently, feeling hazy and growing even more needy. “Good girl.” He grins, removing his hand to hold your neck, pulling you in for another kiss. His teeth gracing your lower lip, softly nipping it to soon ease the pain he’s caused with his tongue– as he always does.

His fingers kept working their magic between your legs despite the constriction of your shorts, his wedding band no longer feeling cold inside of you but the fact that he didn’t think about removing it made you feel more aroused. To feel that metal piece unite you besides legality but through flesh and body.

Mark must have felt your growing arousal, especially with how much easier it was to ease his fingers within you. The clamping of your walls, more of a clue. In this instance he wanted to be cruel, and he attempted so. His hand stopped moving, rapidly getting out of your shorts and causing a desperate groan to leave your lips, legs quivering from the abrupt halt.

Just as he was going to cause a drought to the land of your skin and mouth, your hands took a hold of his body. Wrapping around his shoulders to hold him near, causing him to stumble slightly but not to topple over you; able to hold himself up. He won’t deny that knocked the wind out of him to a degree, feeling like in any instant he could have crushed you but pride and satisfaction soon filled him.

“Please, Mark… let’s finish at least.” You beg, your voice drunk off of his touch and whiny from how long it had been since you received anything from him. “Yeah? You want that?” He questions, making fun of you with that smug grin on his face, remaining features feigning compassion. He smiles at your desperate nod, mimicking the motion when he laughs quietly, kissing you again. 

Swallowing every single one of your silent moans that he told you to keep quiet to not let those two outside know what he was doing to you. Thing is, he did want them to know, he wanted them to see how fucked you will look once he is done with you. He wants them to see how your legs spasm when trying to walk and see how marked and irritated your neck is. He’s simply making fun of you right now and you’re falling for it because you will be anything he wants. Even a fool.

His hand slowly slides off your shorts and panties, caressing your warm legs in the process. His once calloused fingers from his creative days that he left behind now soft and tender. You held his face in between your own hands, making sure he never kept too much distance between your lips, that fresh taste of mint still lingers on his tongue.

“But do you deserve it?” Mark immediately stops his caressing and kissing, the words echoing in the cavern of your mouth, you swallow them. His gaze is cold but curious, scanning your own for a response, a witty one.

In this instance he tries to remove his touch from you, your grip on him despite how his knee teases its clothed friction against your exposed and destitute clit. He had been denying you an orgasm for the past fifteen minutes, depriving the other two from knowing what was going on but Mark didn’t care, he was luxuriating in this.

“You’re being so cruel.” You finally say the words that had been covering the walls of your brain and heart. Needy yet angry tears prickling the corner of your closed eyes. It wasn’t just lust but the fact that he was playing dirty when you’re so vulnerable and in dire need of getting something from him. For once.

“You think so?” His knee stops, eyebrow quirking, shit-eating grin falling. You nod, a pout forming, making things worse. ‘Did you really have to cry now?’ He asks himself, huffing as he shakes his head, pulling down his sleeping shorts.

“You jump to conclusions so quickly, it's always such a shame.” He doesn’t dare look directly at your face as he speaks this, knowing that the constraint and squeeze of your heart was showing. No, instead you’re met with the warm feeling of his spit falling off his tongue onto your cunt, some on the tip of his cock.

To be given something forced you to shut your eyes, a moan of relief enclosed within the four walls of the bedroom you shared with him. It became louder when you felt the intrusion of his dick within your walls, his mouth covering yours to drown those sounds. He likes to cherish these sounds for his own entertainment.

He gives you a few seconds to adjust to him, the girth feeling foreign despite how familiar you are with every inch and crevice of his body. Slowly, he picks up the pace, raising your leg to prop it beside him. “See how things turn out when you’re patient?” He asks, searching for your eyes but they’re shut.

The most he gains are pleasured moans in the crook of his neck. Mark can’t figure out how satisfied he is with that answer, so his hand opts to slap the inside of thigh, causing you to whine but reward it with kisses to his neck.

To be fair you didn’t think this could last long. Not when you abstain from self gratification, knowing that only he can bring you to an orgasm and given it’s been a while since you two slept together, an orgasm was long overdue. The friction of his pelvis on your clit while he thrusted was not helping. Just feeling that extra sense of overstimulation while his shaft filled every nook and cranny of your cunt, feeling his length bulge in your stomach.

Holding your body to his, your face buried in his neck begging him to please let you come. The hand beneath you pushing you flush against his own body. If it wasn’t for his shirt as of now, he’d be more vocal with how well you’re both feeling his cock go in and out of you. For now he’s relying on his sweet words, worshiping how well you’re taking him.

Specifically: “Feel how perfectly you were meant for me, pretty girl?” He grabs your hand holding his shoulder, pressing it against your stomach and for some reason that makes you feel like you could come any second now, begging him silently to let you. To please grant you this one thing.

“Fuck, Mark… just give me this, please…” You cry out, eyes screwed shut, lashes wet from pained and pleasured tears. You felt it in your core, you felt how bad your body clamored for some release.

“How bad do you want it?” He asks, his own words struggling to come out unlike the pre-come lining your walls. “As much as you.” You claim, fingernails clinging to his skin, a shallow groan leaving him. He likes to know how much you need him and if you were going to the lengths of hurting him to leave your message, so be it.

With every thrust, your nails dig deeper into his shoulder blades, sliding down his back. Whether he was picking up masochism or basked in the pleasure of the sadism he inflicted, Mark felt it. He felt how he gave out before you. Spurts of come followed with desperate deep moans that you swallowed in dire need of your own release.

But he was cruel. Very fucking cruel that the second that he stopped spasming and decorating your walls, his actions halt. For a few seconds he holds his position, head on your chest trying to relax his body full of adrenaline. If he was to look at you, he knew your face would beg him for your own release.

After a minute or two he pulls away slowly, taking his shirt off and reaching for the wipes inside his night stand. He warms them with his breath, moving them around to disperse the heat, only to lay them flat between your legs to clean off anything that fell out (although not much), propping your legs up and laying some pillows behind your back so you could rest for now.

Tongue poking his cheek before sighing and turning his back to you. “That’s cruel.” He didn’t say anything furthermore, his voice harsh and cold. Locking the bathroom door behind him and leaving you sprawled on the bed, arousal immediately terminated and the only feeling was of regret for saying what you did and letting things go this far. You couldn’t cry either, the other two would probably cut you off this time for good. So you’ll deny your body from letting out its emotions again. Afterall, Mark has made you be so resilient in that aspect.

Jungwoo’s and Jaehyun’s tasks were complete by the time Mark had gotten out of the shower, lunch too. The entire time underwater he spent it beating himself for the decisions he’s made to let things go this way. A month ago he was content thinking his wife loved him despite his flaws but Jaehyun’s big mouth made him unravel slowly that he was doing more harm than building an eternal home. Mark was resentful, he’s not going to deny that. He hated how quickly theatrics and how easy things he saw as fine can fall.

It stung more that you were laughing uncontrollably with the other two, seemingly neither had anything to mention of the marks on your neck or the completely different outfit you have in comparison to the shorts and blouse from earlier. Hell, Jaehyun is sitting in his chair rubbing salt on the wound and you are not saying anything upon noticing Mark; it sucked the life out of him. A slug in a bath of salt.

“Sit, I’ll fix your plate.” You smile at him as if nothing had happened in the four walls of the bedroom, your conformity noticeable. By this point he had taken the cold seat he was unfamiliar with. Sitting across from you was not something he was accustomed to, not in his own home at least, but here he was, watching two men who actually do drop everything for you. Two men that were his friends first, cracking jokes just to make you smile and laugh at which you did, enough to hunch over, something you haven't done with him in a while. 

Mark had blocked out the conversation completely, watching your moves and theirs. Your facial expressions and where your hands landed from time to time. That deafness fell when you placed the plate before him. The presentation made it obvious that others had gotten to your food before him. The mixture of ingredients painting the canvas of his plate faster than prior times when he was the first to cut through the masterpiece of your dishes. This time it was tampered and by the looks of Jaehyun’s still neatly moved around plate, he was the one to break through first.

Throughout lunch Mark tried his best to not speak, only replying when spoken to or agreeing in some sense. Things got worse when your cell phone kept buzzing and buzzing uncontrollably on the kitchen counter that made the other two give each other a glance, this time, not gone unnoticed by him and piquing his interest further.

The incessant buzzing continues, enough that Jungwoo sighs before lolling his head to give you a weird look. “Is it that dick?”  

‘Oh?’ Mark thinks to himself, an eyebrow raising as he begins to chew slower. Your glare towards Jungwoo to hush him is futile when Jaehyun joins. “Haven’t you told him to stop bothering you after work?” He sounded angry, the type of rage Mark should have, not Jaehyun. In his mind: Jealousy and that made his feelings worse.

How selfish.

“What dick? What are you guys on about?” Mark was so annoyed and frustrated at this point that venom laced every single one of his words, spraying it as he flayed his hands. Your silence made it worse, more painful was that you did so while Jaehyun and Jungwoo took it upon themselves to explain. The two, immensely tired of you not saying anything, of not speaking up.

Jungwoo goes first, he knows, they work together for Christ’s sake. “What’s his name? Ah, whatever… Y/n’s floor colleague has been bothering her for a while, you should know.” He frustratedly shakes his head, fork digging into his plate without noticing the look Mark throws at you. “Yeah…” He mutters, eyes never leaving you, all knowing he’s lying and upset.

“You should really report him, Y/n-ie.” Jaehyun breaks through, forcing Mark’s neck to snap and look at him. He was just making things worse because all Mark could feel was his lunch rapidly collecting in his throat. Cutlery dropping from his hands.

‘Y/n-ie’?! What an insolent fuck! That’s what Mark thought of Jaehyun. How dare he use a diminutive for you? Who the fuck did he think he was? Not even he, Mark, your husband called you that. What a fucking asshole.

How selfish.

A coward too, he wouldn’t know how to react either way. Instead he revels in your words as a distraction. “My boss seems to like him a lot. The only one getting in trouble would be me.” You sigh, fork moving food around. Mark looked between you and your actions, you noticed him, that you took a few bites to make him stop.

“Why don’t you apply to where we work?” He suggests, chewing what was on his fork, now using it to point between him and Jaehyun. Foolish to not grasp yet how that would mean seeing Jaehyun more and having it rub in his face that even under the same roof you’ll run to him for favors.

You liked the idea, it was easy to notice how much you perked up at the fact that he suggested being together 24/7 no matter the different departments.

Jungwoo had other plans, “Then you’d leave me alone.” He pouts childishly. On other occasions he’d laugh too and call him cute but he doesn’t think he can see Jungwoo as fondly as before. “Move to my floor instead.” He continues to test the waters but is met with a kind giggle and shrug from you.

The afternoon transpired with finishing lunch. Jaehyun had insisted on cleaning the dishes while Jungwoo the pots. Mark on the other hand sat on the couch, eyes often stealing glances on how you interacted with the other two. If you tried to clean, they’d reject the idea and tell you to just go sit and do what Mark is doing: nothing; an obvious jab. 

Ending their visit with discussing the kick-back Johnny was hosting at his place in a few weeks. Something about the Champions or US Open? You’re not sure. You were growing more worried about Mark, that you ended up telling whoever to just text you the deets. They smiled with a nod… and a kiss to your cheek as a goodbye while waving to Mark who perked at the scene. He felt his eyes warm and heavy. Not sure if they were tears beginning to form from jealousy or insecurity. 

You throw him an acknowledging smile while making your way to the bedroom. He stood up, leaving the TV on to follow behind. Before you could open the closet door to fetch something to sleep in, you feel his arms wrap around you. There was desperation to his grab, his hold was rough. Your back hit his chest, feeling his exasperated breath on your neck. Soft kisses at first but nipping soon after to leave his name all over you again, claiming you since it seemed like the others weren’t being repelled.

“Mark?…” You call out, his hands knead your skin. “Why didn’t you tell me?… Why did you keep–” ‘everything’ he wanted to say, “that from me?” 

“Come on–” you intend to plead but he’s not letting it go. “Why?!” He asks exasperatedly against your face while he leaves wet kisses on the skin, pleadingly. “I didn’t want to burden you.” You confess, a whine at the harsh grasp.

“You’re my wife! I need to know these types of things, Y/n. You can’t just keep things from me, how can we be good to– how can it be good for us?” He exclaims; angry and wailing all at once.

‘How can we be good together like this?’ He wanted to say, biting his tongue to not tell truths while sober. Mark didn’t know what it was, but it hurt. He had been thinking about this for weeks. How to ask you overall about the things you’ve hidden from him but now that he has the chance to bring it up, he can’t help but feel resentful and pained. 

Why did you trust Jaehyun and Jungwoo more than him? He’s your husband.

He expected that once married, loyalty would be granted to him no matter what, one way or another. Just like she had granted it to Donghyuck despite how flawed their marital logic was.

Sure, he made things worse but would the universe be cruel enough for him to be in Hyuck’s shoes years later? He deserved it, he knew, something at least, but that ill side of him– what he had learned from her plagues him and demands you to love him unconditionally. To do things on your own without the help of others even when he’s the one to deny you any aid, when he’s at fault.

Mark is miserable and he expects you to be so too… even more than you already are.

Misery loves company.

His hands stopped their harsh kneading, turning you around to look at him. His tired and weary eyes looked straight into yours. But while he felt resentful and confused, you felt odd. Why was he acting like he cared all of the sudden? It was strange and while you appreciated it to an extent, you also hated it.

You weren’t used to it at least, and you weren’t sure if this act would last. You don’t want to admit it but that voice hidden in the vault of your heart loathes him more than anything.

“Okay…” You nod. “I’m sorry. I’ll tell you things more often, yeah?” 

“Please…”

You nod and he nods, pleadingly; he’s not content and neither are you. 

After that discussion, the day transpired as if nothing had happened. He had returned to the living room leaving you to do whatever while he kept his distance. Only answering with hums and nods whenever you come out of the room.

Did you mind? No, it was so normalized it didn’t make you angry anymore. You actually felt like things were back to normal and this was sufficient enough. Mark on the other hand tried everything to ignore how he felt or regulate those emotions since he wasn’t too sure who he was mad with. 

By the time he had figured he was over it, you had fallen asleep alone like all those times he did weeks prior. A warmth filled his chest at the thought. An inkling telling him to wake up before you do the following day just to leave that dissatisfaction you had left in him, not accounting with how disappointed you were with him already that it wouldn’t affect you in the slightest.

He wouldn’t do it, though. Not because he cared enough, but because he wasn’t planning on waking up early to be petty. What he will do is go back to the living room and let his fingers roam like Thing until those crumpled and messy pages sat on his lap and he laid on the couch, stereo system on.

Instantly he’s met with those familiar sharp corners and loops. Numbers, increasing and decreasing significantly. The larger ones bold from rage, the decreasing one's neatly written with smiley faces next to them. He still couldn’t figure out what they meant but he surely enjoyed the recipes you kept adding to the journal and the doodles of how they turned out. Although, he felt that they lacked so much substance.

All of these felt either welcoming or asked that he be eradicated from this earth for the way he’s breaching your privacy, acting like an over controlling strict father despite being your husband. Almost like his dad, but don’t tell him that or he’ll throw a fit. For having lived so many lives, he's surely turning into the worst version of himself.

Through more flipping to see if he missed anything, he came across some interesting notes. All which made his stomach churn and that pride he would once feel, turned to– well, some type of disgust and concern…

‘I’ll do anything for him but every day I’m going insane with tense trials. It’s fine. If I have to go insane to stay with him I will.’

Mark sighs heavily, hands covering his face to soon slide off hoping his flesh would fall with them, groaning to himself.

Fuck, he loved you. In a fucked up way he did but how much could he endure knowing things aren’t fine and dandy? Sure, his first instinct is to try and fix things but there’s also that part that won’t let him strive for any change and it’s winning.

Change hasn’t been the kindest to him in the past. Hell, it’s the reason he’s morphed into what he is now but you accept him this way. That’s what the incessant and pestering part of him told him to let things be and just act like he doesn’t know what you truly are.

He should be glad, no? To know that you love him so much that it’s killing you. Yet, he isn’t. He’s not sure why, maybe because of his deep buried true morality but he has also grown to be selfish and he wants to relish in the glory of your love until you hit a breaking point.

For once he doesn’t want to be a Bernal character and it seems this is where he is slowly breaking that pattern— albeit, he is not enjoying it either. 

Perhaps it was the hour, his growing resentment, anger, and hurt, or he was overstimulated that caused the music in the background to tremble and clog his ears the longer he kept reading. Lists upon lists of things you had to do at work followed by entries on how much longer your hours would run every instance you paid no mind to that dick that the guys described.

Countless entries of your boss calling your attention after that asshole complains. Instances in which, despite how many pictures of Mark you put up in your cubicle, he makes an effort to make them disappear any time you’re not near. On company dinners, Jungwoo and you make it your life’s mission to slither away from the crowd– to be seen but not noticed, enough to not be reprimanded when you’re miles away from danger.

‘Jungwoo mentions in passing every opening in his floor as an incentive to ask for a transfer. Going as far as getting letters of assistance to request my temporary time in the department. Hours to days, they have been great but not everything lasts. With just one foot back inside in my department, the entire mood shifts and it’s back to reality.’

Mark doesn’t understand why his chest aches every time he reads your journal. Perhaps there’s a moderate amount of empathy but he also feels hurt knowing you’re hiding so much from him.

Years worth of things and even if you don’t say it, you make it known you hate the person he is. Mark is sure that if you weren't attached to him like you are, you’d loathe him the way you loathe everyone who has wronged you. He wonders how long it will be until your love runs out and he will finally become one of them.

He shouldn’t expect it but if it happened with Donghyuck who promised to never leave him, of course it can happen with you who he has wronged just as bad as his brother, even if you do everything in your power to prove him wrong. Mark tends to bite the hand that feeds him, if he gnaws for far too long, surely there will be consequences.

03:46, a warm night in 2008… Aggravated and nauseous from making your suffering about himself, Mark dictates that it was enough meddling for the day. Tiresome and bleary-eyed, head thumping achingly with the music debilitating him; Mark stands up frustratedly to turn off Sinead O’Connor angrily screaming ‘you’re a liar’ over and over making him forget about the journal on his lap.

The vegan leather taunts him with its loud thump against the floor, screeching as he picks it up but in the process he drops some notes. “Fuck me!” He curses frantically, knowing you’ll definitely know he’s been snooping when none of these end up where you originally placed them. He starts to panic, he feels his heart race dangerously, his aching head is now spinning, flipping through pages to see where he can put these in, yet in the process he stops.

“Don’t beat yourself up because of him. I’ll always be on your corner and so will Jungwoo. I love you, y/n. – Jaehyunie ♡”

I love you, y/n… Not ‘we love you’ but ‘I. I love you’.

Mark’s blood runs cold, his eyes bulge. In that moment he feels his chest and heart compress, squeezing the life out of him.

This is what Mark’s fears came to. He worried so much about your unconditional love becoming conditional, that the universe allowed him to see the incriminating clue that told him that sooner than later that was to happen. Right?

 ‘Dinner on me today! NO buts! Who else can take care of you if not for Jaehyun and me?! XOXO — Snoops XD.’

The pitch black ink taunts him, questioning how recent or how old these must be. The handwriting felt juvenile with every smooth corner and small bottoms. The top of every letter felt bubbly and messy when connecting. Jaehyun’s could still be neat when messy and for some reason that bothered Mark more.

Unbeknownst to Mark, the papers were crumpling between his shaky fingers. As shaky as his breath restraining whatever he was feeling. ‘Who else can take care of you if not for Jaehyun and me?’ Mark repeats to himself that same question for a hundred more times, each making him more angry. ‘Who else but her husband? Me!’ He wants to yell at the top of his lungs. Drill it in the minds of everyone in your shared circle. He was capable of taking care of you!

But being capable doesn’t change the fact that he didn’t nor put effort into doing so.

No, Mark didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to jump into conclusions of infidelity or anything down that rabbit hole. He knew you wouldn’t do it. He wants to think that, he wants to believe it. You’re literally ruining yourself for him, so why would you do all that to throw it all away? Regardless, he can’t swallow the lump in his throat. 

He also once thought him and Hyuck would be in each other’s lives until they died. It later turned into him believing Hyuck would fade into the shadows of this earth and not ever see him because she would be his, choosing him, but that didn’t happen. In fact it was the opposite. He also didn’t become the renowned artist he was in his college years with a list full of connections that left him when he fell from grace. 

He didn’t end up thriving in the studio where he was meant to start over and is now in a dead-end design engineering job because of his father and his connections, not Mark’s. Did he know anything about it going in? He knew the word design but oh god how far can connections go if he landed something like that.

Even you, he met you because of his father, and the bells of the life he avoided for years rang incessantly letting him know no one can run from their faith. No matter how hard they try.

It didn’t matter if he was or wasn’t in Hyuck’s shoes, it only mattered that he now knew how much pain Hyuck was going through seeing his wife rejoice in the care and love of men he considered friends. That and the fact that he was making your unraveling all about himself, at least they can share that too.

He couldn’t understand how you acted so peaceful and put together when during lunch he’d visit the cafes you frequented with Jungwoo and found you the same as the first time. Exasperated, vexed, and angry with a cigarette between your fingers when you two were to leave.

A chuckle on his lips remembering all the times you pestered him to quit smoking because you wanted him for many years to come. Now he’s not sure if you want to be with him as much, no matter how many times you write about it.

“You’re still a liar, you’re still a liar, you’re still a liar!”

Monday rolled around in which Mark swore to not allow Jungwoo another lunch date with you. Furthering his selfishness and restricting your moments of relief so he could take that time up. You wouldn't mind, right? It’s him after all…

It goes to say that when he stepped through the ample threshold of your floor with a cute little bag in his hand and some drinks in the other, that confusion crossed your mind before that thought was pushed back by adoration. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask with a warm smile. You felt like a child whose parents never showed up for any activities but this one. That childish glee and relief of knowing that you are loved. “Can’t pay my wife a visit?” Mark retaliates with a cheeky smile, leaning in to give you a short but sweet kiss.

You want to say it felt like when you first began dating. So sweet, tender, and soft. How he was before you married and his facade fell, showing how dependent he was. His small acts of love come through.

You want to believe it so bad that you’re willing to push back the tiny voice in your head trying to force you to question what he wanted out of you if he was willing to visit you this far.

“Well yeah,” You giggle in an effort to leave your desk. “Come, let’s go to the rooftop.” Your hand takes a hold of his wrist, pulling him along until that incessant blob of human flesh presents itself right in front of you both, blocking the way. 

“Well look at that. Your husband, right? Didn’t think you’d like the soft ones…” A mocking grin slapped on his face, arms crossed against his chest. He wasn’t much taller than Mark but he sure was confident to take a step closer to you both. Mark opts to carry all bags in one hand, twisting his wrist to hold your hand rather than you him.

You sigh, looking for ways to respond but Mark doesn’t give you time, walking around him with you in front, ignoring any calls from him to go back for a conversation. Such an insufferable man, Mark was aware but to you, this moment, you were still treating it like one of your earlier dates. His attentiveness and courage of protecting you. You missed that Mark and any resentment from marrying him faded for now.

“That’s him?” Mark breaks the silence, the walk to the rooftop consisting of him complaining from these few seconds they met. If he thought this much from only that timeframe, you wonder how long he would have lasted in your shoes. 

You responded to his complaints with nods and hums, taking a seat across from him on the bistro table. He laid back on the chair relaxed, if it wasn’t for his babbling one would think he wasn’t really affected.

“And, I mean, he’s such a dick.” He groans, sitting up straight, his roll of eyes halting upon noticing you pick at one half of the sandwich. 

Mayo wiped off, pickles on the bundle of used napkins, the turkey they touched on top of them, chunks of old avocado added to the tower. “What are you doing? Why are you picking at your food all of the sudden?” He leans against the table, elbows on the glass to be closer to you. In that instance, you stop your actions, looking at him through lashes before raising your head.

“Mark, I don't like these. I thought you knew by now…”

Fuck.

“No, yeah, I know. I’m sorry…” His hand leaves his chin, stretching it to hold yours. “Sorry, I forgot to check the order at the cafe, I didn’t want traffic to get me.” You smile at him, he smiles at you. You know he’s lying but it’s the thought that counts. “Plus, I think I came at the perfect time. Imagine I had come later and he had bothered you more?” His fingers squeeze yours, a little too hard if you say so. 

He’s received with a shrug. “He’s a dick, like you said.” You giggle softly, pulling your hand away to wipe them with another napkin. “He doesn’t react like that with Jaehyun, though. Does everything to avoid him.” Your head tilts, reassembling the sandwich to presentability. 

“Jaehyun?” You gave him that same look as when he questioned you seconds earlier, except it was softer and almost incriminating. You didn’t mean it in any form, more casually but after his findings, Mark can’t say he’s too happy with this information.

“Oh, well, when you can’t bring what I ask you to, I… sometimes ask Jae. So, they've met before…” Your gaze lowers, taking the other sandwich half onto your hands. “I think he’s scared of Jae, to be honest.” You giggle in attempts to break whatever tension you felt from your husband.

‘Jae, Jae, Jae. Christ, what a broken record.’ Mark thought, an urge to roll his eyes at the mention of his coworker. For fucks sake, he was the last thing he wanted to think about or even see. The only reason he saw him today was because of work but that should be it. He shouldn’t be hearing or thinking about his name here with you. Let alone hear it coming from you, his wife.

Stretching your hand towards him, you smile. “Here, eat the other half. These are huge on their own.” He took it, lunch soured by your incessant need to bring up Jaehyun and that dickhead from earlier.

Was this how he was paid? Making an effort to be a good husband just to have things be thrown in his face?

Lunch ended not too long after, he was on his own lunch break after all. It goes to say that his drop off and goodbye bid seemed lackluster in comparison to his greeting.

“Um, and don’t forget to file a floor change.” He gave you a tired smile and a quick kiss. It was the last thing he said to you while fixing any pictures of you two on your desk —three missing now— before heading towards the elevator. 

Like an act of a malice-meaning demon, when reaching the twelfth floor, the doors yanked themselves open like a grand introduction to a world renowned boxer or an all-show wrestler, showcasing that smug pug-faced asshole. A silent chuckle upon placing himself next to Mark who slumped against the railing and mirror walls.

Mark greeted him with a huff, head lolling similar to his eyes. The feeling got worse when he heard him blubbering, “At first I thought that the other guy was her boyfriend. You know, tall, dimples; suits her better.” He nods to himself, egging Mark’s ringing ears.

Here they went again. Bringing Jaehyun into every conversation. It’s made worse knowing that this idiot felt even Jaehyun could be your partner. That no matter how many images of Mark you display, to the world only Jae was good enough for you. Because he’s the only one who shows up.

“He seems like an actual man or that guy from the floor below. The orange haired one, a little weird but he surely goes out of his way to not let me have some fun for the day.” He laughs, snorting at his abhorrence. He turns to Mark, swallowing that disgusting lump of mucus in his throat, hand itching to come in contact with Mark’s smooth cheek. A pat of mockery. “She’s doing charity work with you.” 

Ironic, Mark would say. Ironic that he thinks you’re doing charity work with him when this idiot was never an afterthought. The older man insists on glaring at Mark, not letting their gazes drop, seeking any response from Mark even when the elevator rings, letting them know they’ve hit the garage lobby. He felt victorious feeling as if he had struck a nerve when Mark hopped off without a peep. Only for his triumph to be shut down shortly after.

“No wonder she has never mentioned you before. You’re repulsive to even think about and a sorry excuse for a man.”

A disgusted scowl replaced Mark’s poker face, glaring at the once mocking jackass whose face had sagged, shock turning into anger that he didn’t know how to express before the doors closed, making his target disappear from view.

Mark might have felt great in the moment but things could only go worse for you. He didn’t think about the consequences of his actions. He never did. He didn’t think about how it would affect you at work and the repercussions you faced for the weeks to come. Mark hadn’t processed he was at fault until your journal became frantic, pages with holes from how hard you wrote on them. Crumpled from the anger you couldn’t express besides abusing those pages.

He didn’t notice because he was indulging amongst the side notes and words highlighted with your tears about how scared you were of losing him. Your quick remarks on how you felt him pulling away or acting odd. Imploring to whichever higher being to not take him from you if that was the case. While you’re wallowing in the pits of your sadness hoping he won’t leave you, Mark enjoys the feeling of warmth seeing your desperation.

It meant you loved him, right? With how things were going on with Jaehyun, Mark took any crumb of your love that only felt real when you wrote about it. It’s hard to understand why he didn’t feel it was real when it came from your lips but it did when you confessed to the things you’ve put yourself through for him. For him, not Jaehyun, him, Mark. That felt like love.

Right, only on paper it felt like love. Not like now that you found yourself in Johnny’s kitchen with Jaehyun next to you like a guard dog, chewing your ear off with whatever he was saying despite your look of anguish. A worrying look to Mark and the likes of his— well, your friend it seems.

He had been enjoying the final match with Johnny, Yanyang, and the other coworkers they shared. You had been sitting by his side for most of it but it wasn’t until a few minutes ago that Jaehyun pulled you aside, asking for your help to make some drinks for the rest of the guests but now he was holding you hostage, begging you to drink some water.

Mark figured the drinks you had were getting to you and Jaehyun could tell. He won’t say he’s fond of that fact. That Jaehyun knows you well to the point he can tell when you need to be cut off.

Mark tried not making it obvious but when only his head isn’t turned to the TV and the host is making sure his guests are having a good time, well it’s hard to miss. Johnny notices it too, how Jaehyun was fixing you a slider, the words: “You haven’t eaten well, stop trying to fool me.” sternly spewing from his mouth.

No mayo, no pickles, no condiments at all. Just a plain cheeseburger slider. He knew how you liked it by heart and that’s something that makes Mark’s heart pound in hate.

The feeling becomes worse when your whispering turns frantic and almost audible for the rest to hear. Your words whining like you wanted to cry about how hellish work has become after Mark’s visit. Jaehyun shakes his head, hands pressing against the counter to lean against with an angry look on his face. That infamous look of hollow cheeks and sunken dead eyes. He wanted to say something but knew it was best to be a shoulder to lean on.

“And don’t tell me to talk to him about it because what’s the use?! You know how he is. I love him, I do but—” Your hands come in contact with your forehead, shaking it a bit, “Why can’t he just be a tad bit like you?…” You hiccuped, hands slowly sliding down to your mouth as you shut your eyes. It wasn’t a sign of regret but exhaustion, vile stuck in your throat. 

Jaehyun’s face softened, standing up straight to turn to you. To some form of comfort, his hand extends to rub your back, pulling you in for a side hug while you try to hold in whatever you feel. Jaehyun understands your words come from a place of hurt but confessions like that can be taken wrongly.

“Why can’t he be just a tad bit like you?...” Just like Mark had, who now felt his heart shatter. Disillusioned and hurt, stupid for thinking that you would want him no matter what. Worse off, it was Jaehyun who you confessed that to. Someone that everyone thought was a better fit for you.

I’m sorry I’m the one you love. No one will ever love me like you again.

Johnny took it upon himself to raise the volume of the TV, sparing Mark from any more anguish and saving your business to be heard by the other guests who by the graces of God were more interested in who would win the Stanley Cup this season.

His attempts didn’t work. Mark felt his world crashing down on him in this instance. He wanted to go out and scream, cry even, at the reviving memories flashing through his head. He’s seen this before— no, he’s experienced this.

Her cries to him about Hyuck to soon commence their affair in that same instance. If that was to happen in these walls, Mark thinks it’s his time to take a leap out of Johnny’s apartment balcony.

So when you leave me, I should die. I deserve it, don’t I? I can feel it getting near.

The vile stuck in your throat had been persistent on coming out, enough to push Jaehyun out of the way to run towards Johnny’s bathroom. It’s amazing how enthralled with the game his guests were to not notice anything happening behind them. To not feel Mark’s radiating poison as he watches his wife and ‘friend’ rush towards the bathroom, door slamming behind him. If it wasn’t for Jeno’s and Yangyang’s cheering scream, they would hear you hurl the slider into the toilet bowl, crying along with self-disgust.

Mark couldn’t hold it in anymore; abruptly he stands, ignoring Johnny’s sympathetic look. Not only for him but for you too, aware of Mark’s own flaws. He had thoughts of barging in and blowing Jaehyun’s ear off with his barking. Questioning you about what was going on, but he slowed down when he heard you hiccup and cry before and after vomiting. Jaehyun’s soothing hushes to you making his head spin but innocent enough.

Innocent until he opened his mouth. “Shh, it’s okay. Let it out, it’s okay, pretty girl.” Jaehyun coos into Mark’s eardrum through a megaphone to imprint the notes of his voice onto his brain. 

Pretty girl. That’s his pet name for you, Mark’s pet name. Hurt floods him when you make no effort to correct him and present this fact.

Since when have you become someone else’s pretty girl?

He couldn’t take it any longer, angrily slamming the door open to watch Jaehyun soothing you with backrubs, holding your hair as you went.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Mark spits out venom, mimicking that of a cobra. His eyes widened by hot fury as he approached you two. You wanted to speak, but the invasion from your gut stopped you, tears being the only thing you were able to respond with.

Jaehyun on the other hand gives him a look as if to tell him to calm down, that everything was fine, more worried about your well being than Mark’s insecurities. “Just helping her out, calm down.”

It aggravated him how collected Jaehyun’s words were, how little mind he paid him or how you made no effort to have Jaehyun stop giving you supportive squeezes (almost like you weren’t fighting for your life).

Mark huffs, hands taking purchase on his waist watching you two, the volume to the television and the guests drawn out by your heaving. He whispers, walking towards Jaehyun with that same menacing look– eye roll worthy, Jaehyun would say.

“I just fucking heard you, she’s my wife. What the fuck are you trying to do?” His finger rose to poke at Jaehyun’s shoulder. The taller one of the two feeling offended by Mark’s accusations and thoughts that he’d snake him like that. Jaehyun was not Mark.

“Sorry, that’s on me,” Jaehyun slaps Mark’s hand away, creating some distance. “I'm just helping her—” “Back the fuck off, she’s my wife…” 

Tired enough by this facade, Jaehyun scowls at Mark, pushing past him towards the door. “Then don’t be a shitty husband and she won’t have to seek other people to do what you can’t! I know how to respect marriages well enough, if anything I’m just helping her. Something you should do for once in your fucking life.”

Jaehyun bites back, watching Mark’s face falter as he slams the door behind him while you continue your sobbing. Overwhelmed by your bodily reaction but mostly for what just ensued in this room. With no form to defend yourself and Jaehyun. Hurt that Mark thought you two would betray him like he’s done to those before you.

You believe me like a God, I’ll betray you like a man.

In that instance Mark wanted to run to Jaehyun and gouge his eyes out, rip his stupid freshly bleached hair out, and beat him until he was nothing else than liquid matter. The words rang horribly inside his head to the point he was seeing red, his vision blurred and stars were floating in his eyes.

History was repeating itself and he was finally paying his wrong doings. He thought Jungwoo and Jaehyun were his friends but Hyuck thought the same of him and now he’s found himself in this predicament.

You're sweet, you're lovely. You go out of your way to make Mark happy so it was him all along. He's the problem and karma is finally making him pay the price.

Jaehyun understood it was his fault for being careless and using pet names but can one blame him when he was worried? Someone has to if not the one who bowed to do so. Even when he’s gone from eye sight, Jaehyun’s efforts are felt through Johnny who knocks on the door. Mark opens it slightly, Johnny standing before him with a glass of water and baking soda. Telling him about how Jaehyun sent him before leaving; for you to swish your mouth with this and drink some sparkling water to soothe your stomach ache.

Mark took it without a word, nodding at Johnny before shutting the door in his face as if this wasn’t his home. You were up on your feet by the time Mark turned around, lid closed as you flushed the toilet, reaching the sink to rinse your mouth before taking the glass from his hand. No words from either of you.

He looked at you through the mirror, arms crossed and factions softening upon noticing how tired and sick you looked. Gauntly, lips and eyes puffed out, and cheeks streaked. It was best to go home after that incident, only giving Johnny an apologetic goodbye while the rest of the guests paid no mind. On your end you were out of the apartment already, embarrassment laced on your face. 

And even through the car ride, all you could think about was Mark’s words and actions. Memories of Mark smugly telling his ex-best friend words Jaehyun spat at him flooded his vision, making it dangerous for him to be driving. To his side you grunted in discomfort, feeling as if vile was to rise from you again but he paid you no mind, made no effort to comfort you, more focused on his own feelings.

The look Hyuck had on his face eight years ago was the one Mark mirrors this night. One way or another one will pay for all their sins and you were his cross.

He didn’t talk to you for the remainder of the night. Didn’t care enough to question why you fell ill or how frightened you were about the possibility that this may be it, that this was his excuse to leave you behind.

The thoughts, his actions and words clouding your mind through your shower, skin care routine, and brushing your teeth. Spending minutes upon minutes doing the latter, disgusted by yourself. Brushing away all the vile you wanted to throw at him but instead ended down Johnny’s plumbing. For only Jaehyun to hear and understand.

Mark laid down on his side by the time you came out of the bathroom. You knew he was angry, his stiff body making no effort to move even when feeling the bed sink under your knees. He tried not to move when he felt your arms wrap around him seeking comfort in his warmth, but Mark wasn’t willing to give it to you. Without a care if he hurt you, which is what he did.

“Why don’t you love me anymore?”

Your words made his eyes open. Startled, his body hardens under your touch, almost like your upcoming tears were freezing him on the spot. Damp on his sleeping shirt but hot on his back. He turns abruptly, pushing back a bit in the process. “What are you even ta—”

“Why don’t you love me anymore?!” You cut him off, voice raising to something he’s never heard before. “You’ve been so distant. More than usual and I can’t take it anymore!” Your palms cover your eyes, pushing back tears, forbidding you to look at that mocking grin on his face as he shakes his head in disbelief. 

You’re the one who grows distant when I beckon you near.

His voice on the other hand makes sure you know how he feels. “You think so? I think this is the closest I’ve been to you.” He chuckles, taking into account that look of confusion on your face as you put down your hands, resting them on your lap. “Why don’t you tell me anything, Y/n? You tell Jungwoo everything. You ask Jaehyun to do everything for you. I’m your husband, why don't you don’t you trust me enough?” 

Your confusion falls, disgust and anger replace it. “When I ask anything out of you, you never want to nor know how to do it.” Your voice was hurt, head shaking a tad with every syllable, hate laced into each one. He hated how much your reaction resembled Jaehyun’s.

He doesn’t want to admit you’re right, “You ask the most absurd of favors.” He scoffs, sitting up to be face to face with you. “Are you fucking serious? You’re a grown man who can’t cook or clean for himself. Up until I saw you at the bakery I thought you didn’t know where it was but then I saw you with another girl there.” You huff, arms flailing like when you’re with Jungwoo. 

There would be some satisfaction in him to know your true self is here talking with him but bringing old news made him groan. “I thought you said it was fine and we’d drop it there.” He takes into account the glare you’re throwing him, smoke coming out of your ears the longer neither of you speak.

If he had known a few drinks would do this to you, he would have not let you drink. The thing is, Mark pays no mind to you to not notice you’ve drank mocktails all night. He was more worried about Jaehyun than you.

“It’s not fine when you’re with some other girl to a place you keep avoiding when I ask you to go. Is it because of her? Is she the one taking my place now?” Your voice came out choppy, acheful, with the question, inhaling and exhaling to calm yourself down.

He on the other hand doesn’t take it kindly, annoyed that you’d think about him that way but that's what he’s been thinking about you, so what difference does it make? It would not be his first rodeo, so are you that insane to think of him like that?

I’ll betray you like a man.

Mark stands from the bed, crouching to eye-level with you as if you were a child he’s lecturing. “It’s not because of her, I don’t give a fuck about her! I barely know her, she is just an intern, and hasn't been there for a month now! We were sent by my boss!” His fingers poke his temple, in a form to tell you to get it through your head.

“But I’m right? You don’t love me anymore.”

Mark stands up straight in disbelief with your words despite none defending his case coming from his own mouth. He could see how your heart was crushing with every passing second.

The truth is hiding in your eyes and it’s hanging on your tongue. Just boiling in my blood. 

“All this time I thought you were calm… level headed— but you're the opposite... you don’t talk to me, you tell Jaehyun and Jungwoo everything. Why can’t you tell me everything? Why can't you need and trust me?” His voice softens, calming down.

“Because you don’t ever want to listen to me! I can’t need you when you do everything in your power for me not to!” Truth is, he did know how to clean and cook for himself, he's done it before but he's grown selfish and dependent.

Your outburst left him speechless, all the sighs he had to give stuck and dispersed through every crevice of his interior, poisoning his flow. He knows you’re right but he doesn’t want to believe it.

“I give and give and give but I never receive! I love you so much, it's become so painful that I rather let it slide than be far from you.” You crawl closer to the edge of the bed, hoping to minimize the distance between you two. The feeling of proximity only seems to feel farther, leaving room for a blizzard to rest between you two.

Mark knows he’s not man enough, your coworker said it. He knows he doesn’t help or take care of you, Jaehyun and Jungwoo told him so. None of these men had to tell him for him to know he doesn’t deserve you. It just so happens to be that Mark is selfish and wasn’t able to process it until now. He swore he believed you through writing but now, with you telling him directly— reality is forcing itself upon him.

“I think we should take a break.”

Selfish, selfish, selfish.

“What?” You ask confused and startled, looking up at him with fury in your eyes. “What? Don’t be fucking stupid. We’re married and we’ll stay this way! It's not as easy as you let out, asshole.” You sniffle, getting off the bed now, approaching him despite the gap he’s formed between you two. In all senses. 

“You’re just not who I fell in love with anymore.”

You wanted to rip his hair out, claw his skin and inject your pain and love into him so he could understand what you felt. You knew he was selfish but how fucking stupid could he be? 

“You’re so— you’re no fucking better than anyone else. You fell in love with the idea you made of me. Whatever the fuck that is! Any chance you get to see the real me you shut me down, Mark! Why can’t you just love me?! Not the stupid girl you thought I was.”

Your cries stopped, hands taking purchase on his arms, squeezing tighter with the adrenaline of wrath coursing through your veins. You were tired, tired of his foolishness and in times like these, you weren’t going to let him ruin what you’ve built.

“You fell in love with an idealized version of me too, if you’re still this in love.” Mark gulps, making no effort to move but his eyes felt heavy and tired. Hurt even, not sure if for himself or for you, empathy winning for once. Pity sounds better.

You think that I can’t see what kind of man that you are. If you’re man at all.

“I see you for who you fucking are. You’re selfish, you don’t want to do things for others unless you’re getting something out of it. You weaponize your incompetence for me to do things for you. You’re insecure especially with other men around me because you think of yourself exactly the opposite as them unless they’re more pathetic compared to you.” Your finger poked his chest, reminiscing on how he began berating Jaehyun.

“You’re especially jealous of your friends because they offer more for me than you do and that’s your fault.  You project your insecurities and mistakes onto them and me because you’re a bad friend, husband, and ultimately a bad person. Yet I’m still with you because I love you— even with everything you put me through and how you can’t help but compare me to— to her! Get over it and through your head, that was loneliness and you were the easiest victim. No one leaves their husband for someone they don't love.”

Like the pathetic man he was, he broke down. No amount of swallowing and gulping down the knot in his throat would go away. Tears streamed down his cheeks upon hearing you project onto the world what you had whispered to the toilet bowl earlier. Mark wasn’t aware that you knew about Hyuck and her but he wouldn’t doubt if you had come across letters from them both in the past just like he came across your journals. 

Having you voice what he had been thinking about since that experience caused his world to finally see true color, despite you being purposely vicious. He knew what that fling meant for her, for Hyuck, and for him. It just so happens that it meant more for him and here he was taking it out on the only person who has stuck by his side.

You loved him but you also hated him and that was more than clear to him now.

“Better reason for us to take a break. You deserve better… I’m sorry I’m the one you love. No one will ever love me like you again.” He sighs, sniffling, throwing his head back to not let any more tears shed. 

“I don’t care. If I go without you I’ll—I…” you clinging your nails to his shoulders trying to cut off your words. You knew what you wanted to say wasn’t healthy, not for you and not for him. Mark knows this, weeks of reading your entries allowing him to understand what goes within the walls of your brain. 

"Y/n please stop... you’re hurting me." It doesn't change the fact that feeling it was worse than reading it. “Then you’re a coward who would die within an hour in my shoes if I treated you the way you treat me.” You sternly and ferociously spit. He wails before doing the only thing he knew would calm you down. 

Leaning in, he kisses you, meekly. Pouring in the love he once had for you and the remaining he has now. But your body rejects it, feeling how phony it is. Pushing him off, running to the restroom to repeat the happenings of earlier. Mark sighs in relief to have you not corner him but in this instance concern floods him.

He follows you to the bathroom, standing by the door frame with crossed arms. Watching you hold your hair like Jaehyun had done earlier. Tears back in your eyes as you continue to lash out your rage against the white porcelain that's witnessed this on other occasions. Although this was one that should symbolize happiness, yet it’s clear you both won’t take it as such.

Mark took a look at his watch, 11:28PM. “Come on, get your shoes. I’ll take you to urgent care, you probably just need some electrolytes.” He approaches you, aiming to help you up but you resist, shaking your head defeatedly. 

“I’m not drunk.” You let out through gritted teeth. “No?” He questions smugly, annoyed at your rejection. “They were mocktails. These are normal symptoms.” He gives you a quizzical look. “Look in the drawer, Nancy Drew.” You huff, mocking him for his detective work these past weeks. It was only natural he’d find out eventually if he kept meddling in your journals.

With furrowed eyes, and look remaining, Mark pulls at the white drawer, the cold metal burning his warm hand. He digs and digs through piles of papers. All bills or old letters neither of you cared enough for. Reaching the bottom Mark feels something solid wrapped around a newer piece of paper. In comparison to the yellowing pages, this was white and bright, tied with a rubber band around the solid material.

He throws you a quick glance while taking it into his hands, unraveling the rubber to open it and come to view with three sticks, all with matching two-pink stripes. Any ounce of hope to restart is gone with the weight in his hands. Disappearing when he read the paper.

‘Laboratory report Patient: Y/n Lee. Sampled collected: May 15, 2008. Report date: May 20, 2008 Status: Pregnant Gestational age: 5-8 weeks.’

Mark reads it over and over, finally having the courage to look at you. His eyes wide and dim, reflecting on your cold angry ones. This was it. It was his life. What you would have taken as a beautiful moment, you can now agree this seals your faith. The look you gave him mirroring his misery. At least now you both were on board for once, basking in the fact this was a deadend no matter what.

You both know nothing will get fixed, all there is left is to pretend for the life that’s growing within you. Wreckless as ever, and the cycle of life continues. An innocent life to suffer the trails of a failed relationship for years to follow. That’s all Mark knows, that’s all you know. Generational curses don't end with either of you.

if you liked happy together: it’s too bad you’re married… to me, you’ll enjoy: stupid girl !

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taglist: @haknyeonsju @seungjiseyo @theskzvibe @wonyofanclub @lovingvoidgoatee

[poundingprincess]

Masturbating whilst both listening to and feeling your heartbeat is fucking amazing.

Your heart is racing from the anticipation before you even start listening. As soon as the sound of your heart fills your ears, it beats harder and faster, loving the attention.

Of course, being a cardiophile, the mere sound of a thumping heart makes your horniness spike, making every touch feel so much more intense. Your senses are heightened - each touch makes your heart beat faster, and each beat of your heart makes you even more sensitive.

The increasing heart rate feels so good, and not just in the sense that you can feel each beat slamming against your chest. The faster your heart beats, the more your horniness dial is turned up. And the more horny you are, the faster your heart beats. It’s a delicious feedback loop, and each part of it is like its own reward. Hearts turn you on. Masturbating makes you hornier. The combination of both is so intense and pleasurable. It feels like each rapid thump goes straight to where you’re touching. Each beat almost sends its own pulse of pleasure.

If you’re like me, you like to dig your fingers into your carotid pulse because it’s the place that your pulse is the easiest to feel and it feels like each pulse jumps straight into your fingertips.

Maybe, in terms of being able to feel your pulse, you’re not a neck pulse person and instead someone who prefers to splay your hand across the left side of your chest, or push your stethoscope against your chest. No matter your preference, being able to feel the strength and desperation of your heart as you start to come undone will send you over the edge.

Imagine each beat being incredibly frantic and desperate to burst out of your chest and being able to feel this with ease because of how hard your heart is beating. Imagine hearing each rapid, loud beat as your heart begs you to cum. Imagine that feralness that you feel when you hear a heartbeat, except you’re actually able to do something about it in the moment. Imagine hearing how responsive your heart is to what you’re doing.

It’s so fucking responsive. And so is your building orgasm from the sound of your heart. The closer you get to the edge, the hungrier your heart gets. The more the pleasure envelops you, the more you can feel the racing of your pulse.

Your pulse is pounding against one hand, and the other is making you feel so fucking good, all to the soundtrack of your pounding heart. It’s sensory overload in the best way.

Everything is so needy - the hand that’s working yourself is somehow even more rapid than the heartbeats that fill your ears and throb against your other hand. So quick. So desperate. So close.

You’re so close. So close. So close. So close. THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP. Your heart is beating so fucking hard against your hand and it feels so good. And it’s so loud and quick. And the pleasure is so intense.

So close. THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP. It’s beating so fucking quickly. So fucking close.

THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP. It’s hammering against your hand and in your ears, nowhere near as loud as your heavy gasps and moans. It’s beating so hard. And fast. It’s so loud. And intense.

THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP.

So FUCKING CL-

FUCK! Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. It’s nearly all too much - the throbs of insane pleasure down below as you cum, the way that your heart is beating so hard that it’s definitely visible, the way that your heart sounds so deliciously sexy that you’re immediately overstimulated down below just by listening to its rapid thumps.

You’re so sensitive now in the best way, too sensitive to go again for a little while, even if the heavy recovery beats are starting the feedback loop all over again.

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Write Love Letters Across Your Lips

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Alexandria

Warnings: Poorly written smut, p in v

Summary: Well, that wasn’t how the night was supposed to go, now was it?

A/N: This wasn’t even one of the 5 I already had started but it took my brain by storm.

*gif is not mine

They weren’t supposed to be home. 

Rick, Michonne, Carol…Oh, god! Carl and Judith. They were at a dinner. One you didn’t care to attend and, gauging from the eight inches currently pushing into you at an agonizingly slow but so pleasurably deep pace, Daryl didn’t attend either. 

You had never realized just how small the front closet was until the archer had heard the footsteps and voices on the porch, pulled you away from the wall, and crammed you both in there. There had been no time to separate, your legs firmly around his waist. No time to grab your clothes, he had kicked your pants in before closing the door. 

You gasped against his neck, thankful the coats hanging behind you were pillowing you when Daryl decided pumping into you faster was the way to go. You were speeding toward climax while you were certain he was currently just enjoying your suffering. 

As if to emphasize your point, he pressed you further against the clothing and you reached up to grab the pole holding the hangers just as he snaked a hand between you to press his thumb against your clit. Your chest pressed against his when you arched. He was quick to cover your mouth with his other hand, leaving you to pray the pole would hold with nothing else holding you to him but your trembling legs. 

“Ya gonna cum for me, girl?” He smiled against your throat, you could feel his teeth part for his tongue to taste your skin. You nodded shakily, eyes rolling back. 

“Let me just hang my coat and I’ll get the leftovers put away.” 

Oh god, Carol, no!

The door opened, thankfully just wide enough for Carol to see in, her eyes the size of saucers. Daryl had stilled, his palm nearly suffocating you to muffle the sounds of your panting. Your eyes pleaded with her to close the fucking door while Daryl gave her a shrug that was so nonchalant you made a mental note to punch him in the dick once you were finished with it. 

The surprise on her face faded into a smile and she mouthed ‘I knew it’ before tossing her jacket over Daryl’s head. The light faded with the click of the door. You clawed the coat away from his face as quietly as possible with one hand, praising whatever higher power there was that he chose to pick right back up where he left off. 

“Tired’a waitin’.” The circles he rubbed against your bundle of nerves picked up. The thrill of being seen, of knowing others could still catch you, must have set something off in the archer. He was pulsing inside you, chasing his own high while desperately coaxing yours from you. “Cum.”

The harsh whisper against the shell of your ear tipped you over the edge. Darkness exploded into colors as flames ignited in your veins, traveling out from where he was splitting you open. His fingers pressed harder into your cheek in a desperate attempt to keep you quiet while he silenced himself by sinking his teeth into your shoulder. He was still twitching within you when the world came back into focus, his hips thrusting lazily in order to ride out the last dregs of his own orgasm. 

Peeling his hand away from your mouth, you sought out his lips, hungrily tasting him while your head was still spinning. He sank back against the few jackets behind himself, shaking legs barely able to hold you both up now. 

“I wonder where Daryl and Y/N could possibly be?” Carol sing-songed from somewhere outside the door. 

If the woman had a dick, you’d punch her there too. 

[wonwussy]

Impatience Never Pays

pairing; mingyu x female reader

genre; SMUT SMUT SMUT

notes/warnings; MINORS DO NOT ENTER DO NOT PASS GO DO NOT COLLECT 200 GET THE FUCK OUT thank you; masturbation (f), restraints, whiny pathetic gyu, sub!gyu, domme!reader, pet names (pup/puppy), ma'am is used, does this count as cuckholding?, does it even count as exhibitionism or voyeurism?, i dunno i guess that's it

word count; 1.3k approx.

when inspiration hits outta nowhere, ya gotta take what you can and run with it. i wrote this in less time than it took for the entirety of the evita movie soundtrack to play. Thank you to @the-boy-meets-evil for reading it over for me! I like your brain. And you.

He had been impatient. Nearly begging all day for you, for your touch. You told him he had to wait. You were working, and that required your attention. Even warned him that if he didn’t, he’d be punished. Instead of listening, he sent you pictures. Showing you himself in various stages of undress, how hard you had made him at the mere thought of you, his fangs showing as smirked at you from his reflection. He knew what he was doing.

And now, as Mingyu sits up against the headboard, he knows he has to be punished for his actions. He watches you, nearly shaking with anticipation, as you cross over to the head of the bed. While the only thing he wears is his soft blue leather collar, you’re still fully dressed. His tongue swipes across his lips as you take his wrist, and hold it against the corner of the headboard, his eyes trained on your every move.

You don’t say anything as you tie his wrist to the corner, smirking crookedly as he tugs at the black silken rope. You round the bed to the other side, and repeat the action, before moving to stand at the foot of the bed. “Mingyu, what did I ask you to do today?” you ask finally, your fingers moving to the button on your pants.

His eyes are fixed on your hands, causing you to still them as you wait for his answer. He pulls in a slow breath and raises his gaze to your face, his cock twitching slightly against his thigh. “To be patient,” he replies quietly, fighting to keep his eyes from going back to your hands as they work your slacks down your legs.

You sigh as you kick your pants aside, tipping your head to the side. “All you had to do. Instead, you couldn’t wait.” You pause as you pull your shirt over your head and let it drop to the floor from your fingers. “Did you play with yourself too, little pup?” you ask him, almost mockingly as your bottom lip sticks out.

Mingyu’s bottom lip gets caught between his teeth, thinking for a split second to lie to you. Though, he knows you’ll know if he does, so he nods a little. “Yes. I couldn’t help it. I was so hard, and wanting you so badly. I just needed relief. I couldn’t wait for you to get home,” he confesses, and you can hear the slight whine in his voice.

You tsk as you unhook your bra and drop it, this time his eyes going straight to your chest as he admires you. You smile as you notice him doing so, reaching up to cup your breasts. “Poor puppy. Couldn’t keep his hands to himself, or from sending me such lewd pictures. Trying to tease me and work me up.” You pinch your nipples, before you smooth your hands over your stomach and to the waistband of your panties. “It worked, you know. My panties were soaked most of the afternoon,” you tell him as your panties slide down your legs.

He watches as you step out from them and climb onto the end of the bed, kneeling as you face him on the mattress. He tries not to look too pleased at your words, though you can see the pride there. His wrists pull gently at the ties, adjusting himself as his cock grows harder at the sight of you. “Baby, you had me worked up all day,” he replies.

You raise your eyebrows at him as you spread your knees a little, sitting back on your heels. “Baby? Now, little pup, that’s not how we address me, is it?”

His heart jumps, and he shakes his head. “No, ma’am. I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

You nod at him and smile. “That’s my puppy. Good boy,” you praise. You fall silent as you let your hands wander over your body, your eyes fixed on him watching you. Your mouth falls open slightly as your fingers find your clit, letting your fingertips brush it lightly.

Mingyu swallows as his eyes are trained on your hands, a quiet whimper escaping his lips. “Please, ma’am. Let me touch you,” he pleads, his hands squeezing into fists as he resists pulling the ties again.

You shake your head as one hand finds your breasts again, the other teasing your entrance. “No, little pup. Because you had some fun already, it’s my turn. You have to sit and watch me.” You breathe out a soft sigh as one of your fingers enters you. “It’s too bad. I really would have liked your fingers in me more.”

He groans loudly, his cock fully hard against him, and shifts again as he strains his wrists. “Oh god, ma’am. Please. Please let me help. I want to feel you,” he whines.

You don’t reply as you slip another finger inside yourself, your thumb brushing your clit lightly. Another smirk tugs at the corners of your lips as your fingers become soaked, the sound of your wetness filling the room. You can hear more whines pull from Mingyu at your actions, and it spurs you on more.

You shift a little so he can see your pussy better, watch you finger yourself closer to your orgasm. “Oh, Mingyu. I bet your cock would fill me up so much better than my fingers. Do you want to fill me up? Fuck me until you’ve got nothing left?” you ask, your fingers moving faster inside as you stroke yourself.

He nods furiously, wishing he could break the headboard to free himself. He wants to get to you, to fuck you into the mattress, fill you up like you want. “Please, baby. Please untie me so I can fuck you. I promise to be good. Let me fill you up, please. Fuck, baby. Please?” he begs as he watches you, licking his lips in hunger.

You let out a loud moan as he begs, your eyes finally closing as you can feel yourself reach your high. He whines as you pinch your nipple again, sending a shock through your body as your orgasm hits at the same time. Your moans are loud as you keep your fingers moving inside yourself, riding out the waves of your orgasm in front of him.

To him it seems like minutes as he watches you come down, your fingers finally slipping from you, pre-cum leaking from his tip against his thigh. “Fuck, baby. You’re so beautiful. That was… fuck,” he mutters through a groan.

You smirk as your eyes open and find him, looking almost pathetic as he aches to touch you. You let out a breath and crawl up the bed so you’re between his legs. You reach up to tuck one finger under his collar and tug him closer to you. “Do you want a taste?” you ask, your voice quiet.

He nods excitedly, his mouth dropping open almost obediently as he waits. He loves the taste of you, so if he can’t touch you, tasting you will be good enough right now.

You smirk as you bring your cum soaked fingers up to his lips, stopping just short before you put them against his tongue. You lean forward and whisper in his ear, your lips brushing against him. “Sorry. Only good puppies get treats.” You lean back and move off the bed, sucking your own fingers as you face him. “Naughty ones have to sit and think about what they did,” you add as you step backwards towards the door. “I’m going to shower. I’ll be back when I’m finished.”

He blinks in surprise at your actions, watching in disbelief as you exit to the bathroom. It takes him a few seconds before he snaps out of it, furrowing his brow as he tugs against the ties again. “Wait, come back here!”

[transform4u]

Hey, I know you tend to specialize in gay to straight transformations but there's this really cute, really sweet straight guy Tommy. We've known each other for years and he recently went through this massive breakup and was telling me he wished he was gay like me. That we had it easier being able to just "fuck your bros with no problem" and I was wondering if you could maybe make him gay. I don't even care if he isn't attracted to me I just really like him and hate seeming him this sad!

You and Tommy are nestled at the bar, the low hum of chatter enveloping you like a warm blanket. He’s deep into another round of heartbreak stories, his voice a familiar soundtrack of loss and longing. You listen, idly swirling the amber liquid in your glass, nodding along as he recounts the latest details about his ex-girlfriend—the late-night texts, the promises unfulfilled.

“I wish I was gay like you,” Tommy sighs, a wistful look in his eyes. You shrug it off, chuckling lightly. “It’s not that easy, man.”

Just then, the bartender—a musky, handsome bear of a man—leans in with a grin. “Hey boys, bar's running a special. The Switch-Up-Shots, on the house.” He sets down two shot glasses: Tommy’s is a vibrant pink, yours a deep, mysterious blue. You exchange glances, a mix of curiosity and apprehension, before lifting your glasses in a silent toast. You both slam back the shots, but Tommy chokes, the liquid clearly hitting him harder than usual.

As he coughs, his voice takes on a lighter pitch, and he starts to giggle, his laughter bubbling up like soda. You watch, eyebrows raised, as his hair begins to shimmer, shifting to a soft blonde. Your heart races with confusion, and just as you’re about to stand up and make sense of this, a rumble of discomfort roils in your stomach. A sharp pang spikes through your head, as if someone is using a jackhammer on your thoughts, pushing you toward the TV screens displaying the Jets game. But you were never into sports---But naw, man the Jets were your fucking team.

Tommy whines, his voice growing more melodious, and you look down, only to find that something isn’t right. Your confusion sharpens, then you feel yourself rising, taller and taller, your perspective shifting as the bar seems to stretch around you. Meanwhile, Tommy is shrinking before your eyes. His muscles deflate, the sinewy strength you once admired fading into something softer, more delicate.

His figure morphs, becoming youthful and lithe. You can’t help but stare as he transforms, his arms now slender yet subtly toned, moving with a grace that hints at a playful spirit. His skin glows, catching the light, radiating a smoothness that evokes a sense of innocence and mischief. His hair becomes a tousled cascade, soft waves framing his face with an effortless charm. Each strand dances in place, embodying a carefree attitude that feels utterly endearing.

You’re captivated by his face—a canvas of youthful exuberance, cheeks rounded and perpetually blushing. Those eyes, bright and expressive, sparkle with mischief, pulling you into their depths like a story waiting to unfold. His lips, full and inviting, curl into a charming smile that lights up the dim bar. He embodies a playful spirit, a blend of vulnerability and confidence that draws you in. And as he looks up at you, there’s something in his gaze, a hint of a crush that sends a ripple of warmth through your chest.

You instinctively reach for his hand, the connection sparking between you like electricity, but just then—a sharp pain lances through your head, growing more intense. "Ugggh. Gorss" you mutter. Your vision blurs for a moment, the bar spinning as you fight to focus. What’s happening? You want to grasp hold of reality, but it slips through your fingers like sand. As you struggle to make sense of this chaos, Tommy giggles again, the sound high and sweet,---and so fucking annoying.

The headache pulses like a jackhammer in your skull, drowning out any coherent thoughts. Memories of pride parades, the exhilarating rush of theater camp, and all those carefree moments begin to wash away, replaced by a sense of urgency that courses through you. A cocky smirk spreads across your face, the sensation of transformation filling you with a strange confidence.

The bar around you grows louder, the clink of glasses and laughter blending into a chaotic symphony. Your focus sharpens on the game blaring from the screens—every play is electric, igniting a fierce loyalty to the Jets. You glance down at the bar, licking your lips, and with a newfound bravado, you holler for a beer from the bartender.

“Hey, my man! A cold one over here!” you call, feeling the words tumble out with a bravado you barely recognize.

Tommy—Tom, something—starts whining about some twunk he went out with last night, droning on about how he’s meeting up with a rich daddy from Grindr. But your attention is elsewhere, glued to your arm as you grab the beer. You feel an odd throb in your bicep, your veins pulsing like they have a mind of their own.

Suddenly, it’s as if your body is waking up, each pulse sending a jolt through you. Tan skin begins to wash over your limbs, a warm hue enveloping you like the sun on a perfect summer day. You can feel it—the tingling sensation of muscles swelling and rippling beneath the fabric of your shirt, your physique transforming before your very eyes.

Your biceps begin to swell, filling out the sleeves of your shirt until they feel almost too tight, bursting with energy and strength. Each gesture seems to command attention, confidence radiating from every pore. The deep grooves of your abs flex and relax, showcasing the dedication you’ve put into your workouts. You can almost see the definition—the sharp ridges and valleys—each movement a testament to countless hours spent in the gym, pushing your limits, perfecting your physique.

Your pecs, once flat, now rise proudly, a solid wall of muscle that draws the eye. With every breath, they expand, the fabric of your shirt straining against your newfound bulk. You can feel the weight of them, a powerful reminder of the relentless effort you’ve poured into building your body. Each beat of your heart seems to echo through your chest, amplifying the sense of vitality coursing through you.

And then there’s your bubble butt, perfectly rounded and undeniably eye-catching. You feel it tighten as you stand tall, the definition sculpting a delightful curve that demands attention. It’s a product of squats and deadlifts, the result of sheer willpower and a commitment to not just looking good, but feeling powerful. As you move, you can sense the strength radiating from your glutes, each step confident and assured.

Your entire body feels electric, a symphony of muscle and power, every fiber of your being harmonizing with this newfound identity. You can almost see the reflection of yourself in the bar mirrors, a striking figure that stands out among the crowd. You revel in this transformation, embracing the bro-life with every ounce of pride.

Your face, with its chiseled jawline and squinting eyes, wears a smirk that radiates self-assurance. You find yourself tossing your head back in laughter, showcasing those perfectly white teeth that glint with every exaggerated joke you throw out.

As you focus intently on the TV screen, the memories rush back like a tidal wave, flooding your mind with vibrant snapshots of a life well-lived. Football practice flashes before you—early morning drills, the scent of sweat and grass mingling in the air, the exhilaration of a well-executed play. College frat parties come to life next, wild nights filled with laughter, chaos, and that unmistakable feeling of being the king of the campus. You remember the cheers, the camaraderie, and the thrill of getting into all sorts of trouble, the kind that makes the best stories.

But then there’s a gap. You can't quite piece together how you and—what was his name again?—Tom something became friends. It lingers in the back of your mind, teasing you. And then it hits you: the sweet blonde girl you were seeing, the one who was in that musical with him. You remember the night you dumped her, her face falling as you walked away. But instead of losing touch with Tom, he remained a steadfast presence in your life, always ready to help out, to buy drinks, to be the ultimate wingman.

While you were busy working out, lifting weights and pushing your limits, he would be off flirting with guys doing cardio. You recall watching him from the corner of the gym, effortlessly catching eyes with a wink and a smile, while you were focused on perfecting your form, feeling the burn as you pumped iron. The clanking of weights fills your mind, each repetition a step toward becoming the best version of yourself. You can almost feel the familiar strain in your muscles, the satisfaction of reaching personal bests, the camaraderie of spotting each other, encouraging one another to lift heavier. Your patience wears thin as T---T---Tristan drones on about his latest hookup, his voice dripping with an obnoxious lisp that grates on your nerves. The very air around you seems to vibrate with his excessive energy, the cacophony of his boasts and braggadocious laughter drowning out the rest of the bar.

"Like, OMG, he's so hot," Tristan gushes, his lipstick-glossed lips stretching into a manic grin. "He says he's at Hi Tops, and it's showtunes night. Babes, can we like go?" His words drip with a sickening saccharine sweetness, each syllable calculated to draw you further into his toxic web of self-aggrandizement. But you're not about to let him get away with this shit. You slam your fist on the bar, the crash echoing through the room like a gunshot. "Bro, I'm not your fucking babe!" you shout back.

Tristan's phone buzzes again, another notification from Grindr. He lets out a petulant whine, his lower lip trembling slightly as he glances down at the screen. "Why don't you just get butt-fucked or whatever, and we can meet up later?" you mutter to yourself, shaking your head in disbelief at his antics.

Your gaze drifts towards the Latina beauty perched on the edge of the bar, her curves barely contained by the tight fabric of her dress. She's a vision of perfection, her dark hair cascading down her back in glossy waves, accentuating the creamy expanse of her neck. Her eyes are a striking shade of amber, framed by long lashes that flutter against her cheeks as she laughs at something her friends are saying. You watch as Tristan slouches over, taking another swig of his cosmopolitan before puckering his plump lips in an exaggerated pout. "Whatever, Hunter. I see you're already on Pussy Portal. Ugh. Straight dudes are the worst," he scoffs dismissively, rolling his eyes. "I don't know why I'm friends with you sometimes. Oh, right, that body of yours," he adds with a wink, his gaze lingering on your chiseled physique.

Tristan saunters away from you, his tight jeans hugging his round ass as he tosses his shaggy hair over his shoulder. You can't help but chuckle at his antics - your best friend is definitely the most obnoxious faggot you know. But hey, as long as he helps you score the hottest chicks when you hit up the bars together, you can put up with his incessant flirting and eyeing from other guys. You stare back at the little Latina honey across the bar. It's her tits that really catch your attention. They're a work of art, full and round, straining against the confines of her dress with each breath she takes

You saunter over to Isabella's table, your confidence surging with each step. She looks up at you, her amber eyes widening slightly as she takes in your towering frame. You flash her a cocky grin, flexing your biceps as you lean in close. "Hey there, gorgeous," you purr, your voice low and seductive. "Buy a lady a drink?"

Isabella bites her plump lower lip, her eyes darting down to your chest before meeting your gaze once more. "I'd love one," she murmurs, her voice dripping with desire. You signal the bartender, ordering a Cosmos and beer for yourself, the price tag a mere afterthought.

As you wait for the drinks to arrive, you reach out and gently brush a stray lock of hair from Isabella's face, your fingers grazing her soft skin. She shivers at your touch, a soft gasp escaping her lips. "You're so strong," she mutters. Oh, she'll be putty in your hands after a few drinks.

[eiightysixbaby]

when the van’s a-rockin’…

jonathan byers x fem!reader

1.9k

when jonathan’s car is in the shop, argyle lets him borrow his van for a date night with you. fun ensues ;)

18+ only! unprotected piv, creampie, oral (f receiving), cum eating, hickeys, jonathan spanks you one singular time

Jonathan’s car being in the shop for a week wasn’t all bad.

Sure, you felt a little silly when he picked you up for your date night in Argyle’s bright yellow Surfer Boy Pizza van, but it was better than not having a date night at all. And sure, you felt wildly out of place pulling up to the nice restaurant of choice in that, but who really cares what anyone else thinks, anyways? And yes, okay, there was something on the back of it that wouldn’t stop rattling as you drove down the California streets, but… Jonathan’s car had been far worse before he took it in to get looked at.

So really, what could you complain about?

Right now, you’re seriously reconsidering ever even being apprehensive, because really you should be grateful. Grateful that Argyle was kind enough to bless you with means of transport. With a large vehicle like this one comes a vast empty space behind the two seats up front. And what a shame it would be to let all that space go to waste. You certainly weren’t going to allow that to happen.

Parked off of some dirt road, Jonathan lays on the pile of blankets covering the floor of the van, naked from the waist down. His white t-shirt rides up on his tummy, exposing the trail of hair that extends beneath his belly button. His button-up is undone, the patterned fabric splayed out at his sides as his hands take a firm hold on your hips.

The tail end of what had been a perfectly-rolled joint sits neglected in the cup holder, the windows just a little bit foggy from the smoking sesh he’d partaken in shortly before.

Fully seated on his glorious seven inches, you let your hips roll slowly. You can feel him pressing deep within you, hitting different spots as the angle changes with your movements. Fed up with your pace, he lifts your weight as he starts to bounce you on him, encouraging you to move faster. You take the hint, take it gladly, letting yourself rise and fall on his cock more quickly.

The sound of your skin colliding with his creates a rhythmic slapping, loud enough to make you shy away if only he didn’t feel so damn good.

“Fuck, baby—” Jonathan curses, lifting his head just slightly to shake his bangs out of his eyes.

You simply hum a noise of approval in response, continuing your quick bouncing movements. One of his hands reaches around to squeeze the doughy flesh of your ass, only to let go and deliver a swift smack to the area right after. You moan, a short and staccato’d sound, always loving when he gets a little rough with you.

The contours of Jonathan’s face are highlighted with the glow from the setting west coast sun, and you can’t see it but wow; the light is making you look divine, too, where you’re perched on top of him. Pleased noises crawl their way out of your throat as he bucks his hips harder up into your wet heat, and he thinks he’d like to record those sounds and play them back on a cassette tape over and over. The soundtrack to his fucking life.

“Feel good, baby?” he asks you sweetly, with just a hint of cockiness shining through. It’s not often he isn’t bashful and humble, but he’s not ignorant to when he’s making you feel phenomenal.

“Yeah,” you sigh, squeaking slightly when the pad of his right thumb circles over your clit. “So good, Jon. Always so good.”

You can feel the slide of his cock, warm and heavy as it pushes in and pulls back out. It almost feels like everything’s happening in slow motion, your senses heightened, feeling every bit of him. You’re lost in the bliss, your bouncing slowing to a halt in your hazy headspace, leaving him to do all of the work.

A particularly harsh thrust from him sends you plummeting back to earth, a hot exhale leaving your lips as his cock shoves the air from your lungs. He might as well be in your guts, making a home for himself there. You’d let him stay forever, that’s for certain.

He doesn’t mind doing the work for you, his left hand gripping you tight while he continues to tease your clit with the other. The van teeters with the force of his movements; any potential onlooker would definitely piece together what’s happening inside in approximately 2 seconds. The windows only get foggier, the humidity in the vehicle rising from your shared body heat and huffed breaths.

He pants, grunts leaving his mouth as he fucks into you faster, faster, faster. You hold desperately onto his sides, fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt as he jostles you with each buck of his hips.

“Shit—” he whimpers, pinching his eyes shut for a brief moment as his head tips further back, chin raised to the ceiling. “You’re so fucking tight, squeezing me so good,” he says, voice strangled as it leaves him.

It’s truly taking everything in him not to blow his load this second, wanting you to finish first, always.

You’re absolutely soaked; if you couldn’t feel it you can certainly hear it. The slippery, sloppy sounds that create a symphony as they bounce off of the metal walls. It’s making his movements so easy, so smooth, your cream completely coating his cock. You watch in awe as his brows wrinkle together, cursing loudly, his eyes filled with sheer desire as he keeps them steady on you.

You can’t help yourself; leaning down to let your mouth latch onto his neck. Kissing the soft spot that you know drives him crazy before the kiss turns into more of a bitey thing, sucking a red bruise into his skin.

He whines, breathing heavy. “Fuuuuuck,” he groans, his thrusts growing sloppier.

Fingers hooking under the collar of his shirt, you tug it down to expose more of his skin to you, using it as your canvas. You leave more marks, purple and red and passionate, littered in various places.

“Baby, shit, I’m not gonna fucking last,” he rasps urgently; a final warning.

Lucky for him, he brings you to your peak with perfect timing, his finger on your clit working a steady pace until the coil in your stomach snaps.

“Jonathan!” you moan, louder than you’d intended, nearly a scream for him as you come completely undone on his cock. You feel him hold out for a few more quick thrusts before he’s spilling all he has for you; filling you with warm, thick spurts of his cum.

Your chest heaves as you take steadying breaths, coming down from your high in unison with him. His hair sticks slightly to his forehead with a thin layer of sweat, and you can feel moisture on your own skin beneath your shirt. His hand cups your face, encouraging you to lean down, into his eager mouth that kisses you with fervor. He pulls away, brushing hair out of your face before pressing his lips to your forehead.

Pulling off of him, you wince, feeling the sticky wet mixture of your arousal and his drip down your inner thighs. You glance down, looking at the mess you’d made of Jonathan’s now softening cock.

“Fuck…” he mutters, eyes glazed over as he watches his cum drip from you. “Come here, I need to taste you,” he nearly whines, grabbing hold of your waist and encouraging you upwards.

Desperate hands grip your thighs that straddle his head, his pupils dilated as he gets an up-close view of your wrecked cunt. Before you can say a word, he’s diving in to get a taste, mouth eagerly lapping up the mess you’d both contributed to.

“Jon— oh,” you breathe, gripping onto the seat in front of you to keep yourself stable.

You can feel his tongue swiping up into your wet walls, filthy noises coming from the way he absolutely devours you. His nose brushes against your clit, nudging it with just enough friction to drive you up the wall. His usually gentle fingers press so hard into the meat of your thighs you wouldn’t be surprised if they bruised, keeping you locked in place right where he needs you.

The way his tongue roams eagerly resembles a man consuming his first meal in days. Eating you out like a man completely starved, licking at your folds like he’d never get a taste again. His eyes are closed, focused solely on the flavor between your thighs — the saltiness of him and the sweetness of you combining into one.

He comes up briefly for air, his cheeks flushed a pretty pink. “I’m gonna cum inside you more often,” he declares — promises, really. “Cause I like cleaning up my messes,” he says, honey eyes looking all-too-innocently up into your own as he resumes his meal.

“Christ, Jonathan, you can’t just say things like that,” you insist, but your voice comes out breathy and holds no hint of a scolding tone. You hope he holds true to his statement, because you’d let him do this any time he wanted.

Your eyes squeeze shut, legs trembling as you keep yourself propped up on them. His soft lips suck on your clit, the lewd noises of the action sending you closer and closer to your second orgasm of the evening.

“Don’t — don’t fucking stop,” you choke out as his tongue flits rapidly over the sensitive bud. He shakes his head back and forth, nearly rabid the way he pleases you.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he mumbles into your core, resuming the work of his tongue as soon as the words are out.

You’ve gotta be absolutely drenching his face; surely he must be covered in the slippery wet mess that leaks from you, and the thought of it makes your skin flush hot. You’re teetering right on the edge of release, beginning to grind your hips down against his mouth in complete and shameless greed.

He can hear the way your moans get breathier, higher in pitch, and he knows you’re about to finish.

“Cum for me, baby,” he urges, muffled by your pussy, sucking on your clit once more before you’re tipping over your edge.

Your whole body shakes above him; taking loud, gasping breaths as his tongue works you through the pleasure. He’s groaning into your core, kissing and licking and sucking everywhere his mouth can reach. It’s downright filthy, nasty, scandalous the way he can’t get enough.

Before long it becomes overwhelming, your body too sensitive, and you start to squirm in his grip before he lets you go. His eyes watch you, entranced with you as he quickly hikes his boxers back up his legs, concealing his cock that’s hard once again. You move to sit beside him, letting him pull you down for a messy kiss that’s all tongue and lips mouthing at one another. Tasting yourself on him makes your head spin, your tongue exploring his mouth to get more of it.

Finally pulling away, his hand cradles the back of your head as your foreheads rest against each other.

“Hey, Jon?” you say, pulling back enough to fully look at him.

“Yeah?” he asks, smiling softly at you as he wipes his face clean.

“Make sure to really thank Argyle for letting us borrow his van.”

He laughs, breathy and boyish before he starts to lean in for another kiss. “I will.”

[superblysubpar]

"Summer Sunday nights we'd sink into our seats right as they dimmed out all the lights. A technicolor world made out of music and machine. It called me to be on that screen and live inside each scene."

Just Another Day of Sun

steve harrington x fem!reader | a sunday kind of love story

summary: a stranger and you have the same sunday rituals

3,011 words

My blog is 18+ | cw: slight descriptions and/or mentions of anxiety and anxiety symptoms - and specific anxiety about phone calls, descriptions of big feelings about the big world and our meaning and purpose / mentions of having a father, mother, brother, and a couple familiar friends - though none described physically or in depth / small mention of cat allergy / alcohol mention, use

James Taylor’s voice cracks, it skips, and then it’s gone.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Focused on turning the cord in it’s jack, you don’t realize your question meant for your ancient Zune’s ears only, was timed perfectly with a lull in espresso machines, orders, and even music. A gift from the god of irony as an opportunity for everyone to stop their clinking of spoons in cups, for the laughter of a joke to trail off and prepare for another, presents itself while your question lingers in the air and then finally a pop playlist transitions to an even more annoying track overhead. 

Eyes blink at you, heads turn, and your cheeks warm as you shove the earbuds and device into your backpack in precisely the same way you’d bargain put you into this predicament. Your father’s voice warbles in your ears about taking care of possessions if you wanted them to last. 

You shove them harder into the bulging pack and zip it fast and dangerously close to the cord in a blatant act of revenge and defiance. 

It seems the universe is done with it’s cruel irony (for the time being) when the barista calls your name with a sigh fit for someone much older who’s lived a much longer life. As you grab your coffee they add on a dull and deeply dreary, “Have a nice day.” that makes you feel like they don’t want you to have a nice day at all, not even in the slightest. 

A quiet, “Thanks, you too,” slips past your lips, but the angsty teen is already popping a lid on another cup and calling out some other name with an equal, if not more, amount of disdain dripping from each letter. 

As your sunglasses slide over your eyes and cinnamon hits your nose, a pleasant low toned voice tells them thanks, to have a great rest of theirs too, though much louder than your pitiful response. 

Your palm meets cool glass as you push the door open with a sigh, almost masking the murmured thanks from the man behind you as you hold it open for him. His keys jangle on a carabiner attached to his belt loop when he grabs the door from you, looking over his shoulder with a smile to hold it for the next person. A small, “Mhm”, hums out of you as your fingers hook into your backpack straps and the coffee rises to your lips once more. 

Without James’ voice crooning in your ears and distracting your brain, thoughts have more room to venture, to take roots, to swell and consume. Only making the walk from the coffee shop to the book store that much longer, and far less enjoyable than it normally is. The lyrics and the steady beat of a song, the magic of instruments coming together with a voice in your eardrums is an unsatisfied craving, a crutch far more addicting than the coffee in your hand. 

When there’s music playing, it’s easy to slip into daydreams, to pretend it’s a soundtrack to a movie that someone’s enjoying somewhere. Easy to imagine scenarios of yourself on a big screen, with rhyme and reason, with a plot - a beginning, a middle, and an end that’s purposeful, well thought out. 

And if it’s all a part of some grand plan, some story the audience is privy to that you aren’t, you’re able to conclude that your purpose may be for someone else to relate to you. You are a lesson, a theme, a comfort they’ll curl up in front of when they’re feeling exactly how you’re feeling right now. When they need the reminder it gets better. When they need the reminder they’re not alone.

But, you don’t have your music today. 

So there is no soundtrack, there is no reason, there is only the great big world full of great big questions full of billions of living things, yet you are alone. 

At least, that’s what your brain wants you to think. 

So when a car drives by blaring a song that reminds you of him, you work against that pesky brain and you text your brother, asking if he has any new music he’s enjoying lately. A few moments later, the bookstore just around the corner, your phone dings with a link - “The Good Shit - Part 2” a playlist from him and a text that says:

“I require your thoughts and concerns next Friday over pizza, please. And I promise there’s only two screamo angsty songs.”

It dings again.

“Okay, four.”

The smile rests easy on your face as you reach the rolling carts lining the sidewalk. The sun reflects off of the glass, and your fingers glide over it it when the gray kitten sitting in its rays presses her nose to you from the other side. Her mouth parts in an inaudible meow and you tap your fingers gently before moving on to feeling the pages graze the pads of them. 

Despite being in the fresh air, the smell is all consuming. It’s that perfect smell that no candle, no matter how good, can fully capture. Old but not musty, somehow reminding you of a lake and cool breezes but nothing dank or dark like water damage would normally grant. Soft covers and broken bindings that makes books thwop open over your thighs as you crouch in a squat to figure out if something piques your interest enough to purchase.

Your phone doesn’t last long in the pocket it was returned to after messaging your brother when you find a book of poetry. There’s a handwritten note on the inside cover that your fingers brush, yearning to know who Morgan is and where she is now, and if she’s the one who wrote on the pages, who underlined and dog earred, or if it was someone before or after her. 

A particular poem catches your eye, your lips part as you read it, though no words escape them. Something in your chest aches, and you snap a photo of it, sending a message to her of the image and a single line that says ‘thinking of you’ and slip the book on top of the worn and well loved copy of Franny and Zooey you’ve already discovered and claimed for yourself and the romantic comedy for your mom.

The door chimes as you make your way to the counter to purchase your finds, though not without a proper hello and a scratch behind the new store kitten’s ears, her purrs seeming to echo amidst the quiet shelves. 

“Hey little lady,” you whisper as she nuzzles into your fingers and lets out a soft meow. The space between her ears begs to be kissed as she paws at your thumb and you murmur, “Don’t give me that look, you know I can’t. My face’ll get all red and puffy and we don’t want that, do we?”

She hops off of the bookshelf without warning and darts into the aisle, a hand grabs a coffee to go cup from the ground just as she pounces and he taunts, “Oooh, so close. Maybe next time kiddo.”

The kitten weaves in and out of his legs as he stands and faces away from you, carefully stepping as she follows and meows and he speaks to her again, something that you can’t quite make out, and you frown. 

Traitor. 

And you’re not alone in this thought, the cashier smiles at you as you set your books next to the old register and she muses with raised eyebrows, “I think you have competition.”

“Nah, she just wants him for his coffee. I’m still number one.”

The cashier smiles at something over your shoulder as she punches in the book totals, and you turn to see for yourself.

He squats slowly, outreaching his hand towards her from a few feet away, speaking softly. His carabiner jangles and you realize it’s the same man from the coffee shop when he talks in the same low and soothing tone as the cat hears the sound too. 

“Oh?” He pulls the keys from the belt loop and jangles them in front of her as she steps closer and closer, “We like keys?”

His cheek pulls up in a grin, pushing two freckles that dot it up as he gets to pet her. 

“Careful,” the cashier calls out to him with a fondness, “She’ll steal them and you’ll never see them again.”

The stranger turns to face you both and your breath catches from his laugh before his attention is back on the kitten, who flops over and lets him fawn over her while she purrs. 

The cashier holds out your books to you with a smug grin. “Still think you’re number one?”

“Yes,” you nod determined, voice quieter as you add on, “Coffee and carabiners and cheek freckles will come and go, but I am a sure thing every Sunday, and she knows it.”

She hums and nods, something glinting in her eyes as she says, “I’ll see you next week.”

Leaving your little oasis is easier than it was getting there. 

Despite no soundtrack still, the coffee is in your system, and the energy of the bookstore envelopes you, the smell lingers on your clothes, letting you can carry a little piece of its calm and comfort with you to keep going. 

Soon your backpack bulges no longer, the blanket rolled out over a perfect spot of grass in the park, your notebooks and books and pens surround where you lay on it. A small bag of peaches and cherries you snagged from the little farmer’s market between here and the store and an iced tea fuel your writing for a good hour.

It feels good, like the words aren’t sitting on the tip of your tongue, but jumping off of it headfirst like a diving board and the page their pool. Without your music though, it’s easy for small thoughts to attempt to linger. They make the water a little murky, some of the words peeking over the board to see just how high they have to fall before they take the leap. 

The rewrite of one sentence in particular has you wondering if that feeling ever goes away. If you will ever stop doubting you’ve made the right choice. What if one sentence becomes your defining moment? The line that breaks the script, the pitch, the story? Even worse, what if it’s all of the lines? What if you’re not as good as you think? Who are you to think you can do this? 

But an image of a little girl in a chair too big for her staring up at a screen that glows while a long and seemingly never ending list of names scrolls, and another who’s in bed with a book light and telling her parents one more chapter till the sun is starting to rise, has you roll your shoulders back and make your brain think of different questions. 

What if you write a story that changes someone’s life? What if you write a story that gives someone their big break? What if you write a story that provides jobs, makes dreamers, encourages and supports hope and love? What if you write a story that makes even one person in this great big world, with great big questions, feel a little less alone?

So you keep writing, and the sun slants over your body in different squares and triangles as it shifts in the sky and the breeze blows your pages and kisses your cheeks and you think about the movies and writers you dream of making and whom you aspire to be like. 

When you bite into a second peach, your eyelashes flutter closed, tongue catching juice on your bottom lip, and you don’t think twice about reaching for your phone. 

You do, however, think twice about your text, over-analyzing a joke about a peach as thick and juicy as how you want your ass to be. But instead you opt for:

Do you remember when you said something about peaches, I can’t remember exactly, but something about searching your whole life for the right one, but knowing that none will ever live up to the one you just had and you’re depressed you’ll never taste that again?

Her dots appear and then a message of:

“Of course. I’ll never forget that peach.”

You smile and type back:

“I think I just found mine.”

The phone starts ringing, her contact photo filling the screen and making you smile wider. Though your thumb hesitates, you take a deep breath and answer. 

“Hello?” Your fingers fiddle with the grass in front of you, eyes glancing around the park and catching on one person in particular.

“Hi,” she says, and you swear you can hear the smile, and you hate that she isn’t close enough to be having this conversation in person. Especially when she tacks on, “Tell me about this peach.”

Your laugh is real, and present, and happy, and the stranger you’re staring at looks up at the sound.

The same messy brown hair flops over his forehead, his body laid out on his own blanket just a ways from yours. A bag of pea pods rests next to folded arms that hold a book, those same two freckles lift as he smiles at you with a nod as you look down from being caught ogling. 

“Right,” you clear your throat, “The peach. So…”

Which is why, much later, you snap a picture of the sunset from the patio. The sky looks exactly like the peach you’ll never have again. The perfect combination of oranges and pinks merging with blue to make a deep gold and maroon, hand painted sort of scene, that pairs perfectly with the glass of red wine you’re sipping. You send it to them with the words “Are you kidding me?”. 

You’re mesmerized by the sky above the twinkling marquee across the road and as the colors shift once more, you lift your phone to snap another photo, knowing it won’t ever look half as good as it does in person. The slow of dark jeans and white sneakers to your right on the sidewalk have you dropping your phone.

“Go ahead-“

“No, take your-“

Both of you speak and stop at the same time.

The stranger from the coffee shop, the bookstore, and the park stands in front of you, blinking. Up close, you can spot even more freckles than the two dotting his cheek, noticing another pair that rest just above the collar of his white tshirt. His eyes sparkle, and remind you a little of honey and cinnamon and the perfect coffee you had this morning. 

He raises his hands in surrender and you swallow at the glint of a silver bracelet that matches the chain around his neck, more freckles accenting tanned skin and muscular arms. 

“I swear,” he laughs, “I’m not stalking you.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” Your lips purse and your eyes narrow. 

He grins as his hands slowly fall, his tongue darts out over his lower lip before he speaks again. 

“Well, I don’t know, maybe because you’re stalking me, and so naturally, you’d assume I’m lying and doing the same thing.”

A scoff and a laugh mix inside of you and tumble out and you shake your head, voice rising, “What?! You have gotten to every place today after me. So how could I possibly be the stalker and not the stalkee?”

His head is shaking no already, before you even finish the question. But he waits till you’re finished and points at you. “Nope. I got to the park first. And I do this every Sunday, so maybe you’ve been quietly watching me and formulated this pla-“

“No, no, no,” your hands wave as you cut him off, laughing, “I do this every Sunday.”

He narrows his eyes this time, his smile contagious as he asks, “Why don’t I believe you?”

It’s here, as this man smiles at you, and you smile at him, and the sunset is perfect, that you wish for the music most of all. 

Because you shrug and somehow think to say, “Well, if I was stalking you, I’d probably know your name.”

He nods, his grin settling in a smaller, though still just as charismatic of a smile. “Fair,” he sticks out his hand and you shake it as he says, “Steve Harrington.”

“Nice to meet you Steve the stalker Harrington,” you reply, telling him your own name too. 

It’s here, on this patio sidewalk, his hand only just starting to slip out of yours, that you think you don’t need it, because you can almost hear it. The music that’s supposed to tell you how to feel, to tell you this isn’t real, this doesn’t happen to you - to real people. To remember it, cherish it, feel it.  

Because then he says your name and looks at the theater, then back at you, “If I were the stalker, I feel like I’d know if you were going to Casablanca alone, and if you were going alone, that there wasn’t anyone who’d be upset if I asked if I could sit next to you during it? Maybe walk you home afterwards?”

He rocks back on his heels, cheeks flushed a little pink, but a hopeful smile at the prospect of your answer to his very forward questions. 

It could be bravery, or maybe insanity, that has you playing along, “I think the only person that might have a problem with it, is this guy that’s been following me around all day, maybe you know him?” Steve smiles as you talk with your hands, then snap your fingers and point at him, “He actually looks a lot like you.”

But maybe it was because, though muffled from your bag, James Taylor’s voice decided in that pause between Steve's hopeful question and your 'what if' fueled leap of an answer, to return. The music and lyrics of Golden Moments unmistakable, and the message clear. 

You weren’t finishing this Sunday alone. 

AN: Quite literally one of the most self indulgent things I’ve ever written. Literally, as just one example, the image in the header is of a theater in Minnesota. If you’ve followed BICFTF, that theater, is the very theater my parents were on their way to when their car slide on the ice and my dad protected my mom when they had been dating. I took part of my engagement photos in front of it. I saw all three Lord of the Rings there for my very first time watching (in one sitting!). Anyways, the point is - There’s a whole lot of ME in this, and while I mainly wrote it for myself, I really wanted to share it and this world I’ve come up with. I came up with this little AU idea while tipsy on peach margaritas and feeling quite sad. I wanna thank @palmtreesx3 and @curiositydooropened and the lovely anons who sent messages and indulged my need for comfort in a fictional man. It meant so much to me & made getting to another day of sun much easier 💛 . And I can’t quite ever thank @loveshotzz and @sweetsweetjellybean enough, their constant patience, encouragement, love and friendship - who they are, are at the core of my rhyme and reason.

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #18] Cake

warnings: fluff!! supermarkets!! to the mins for dinner!! very cute <3 oh also cw: jiyeong lol

a/n: yay for a non-lost header! the next couple are lost tho lol rip

soundtrack: juice - brb

wc: 6.8k

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

When you wake the following morning, bright and early thanks to the cramping in your lower abdomen (of which you're pretending Jeongguk isn't to blame for), you know it would be unwise to entertain the idea of not doing his birds.

Things are too comfortable. Too easy.

Selfishly, you sort of think that maybe it would be nice to just wait a little bit longer - but Jeongguk has always been so good with your birds. Not once has he ever tried to avoid them. If anything, he always wants to do them.

He's been a good friend to you. It's time for you to reciprocate that.

Coffee in hand (iced, because who cares about the fact it's freezing outside?), you push open the door of a venue you hadn't expected to revisit so soon. A warm blast of air from the aircon unit greets you. It's harsh and abrupt.

Kind of like the way you and Jeongguk had agreed to not do any more of your birds. Not while he's dating, at least. He did make sure to let you know he'd be up for it again if the date didn't go well.

The great unknown. Your choices could make or break the future of the birds. Splitting custody of them should be easy. The actual separation? Less so.

You push these thoughts to the back of your mind, and head towards the front desk. It's sterile, and perfectly clean. Lifeless.

And there she is.

Kim Jiyeong.

Her long dark hair is up in a neat ponytail, and the way it shines makes you wish you'd never taken a box of bleach to yours. Your roots are growing through, but you're trying to lean into the whole 'hot mess' thing. You know that Seokjin wouldn't be a fan, which is what keeps you from even considering going to a proper salon.

"Oh," she says as she turns to face you, having not expected to see you back at the gym so soon after cancelling your membership. "Looking to sign back up?"

"No," you say with an awkward laugh, a little embarrassed. You think the fact you quit makes it look like you're a failure of sorts, but your mum had always told you sometimes the bravest thing a person can do is quit. You don't think this is one of those moments, but it's what you'd told Jeongguk when he'd been teasing you about it a few days ago. "I'm actually here to ask you a favour."

Now this does intrigue her. She barely knows you. Doesn't remember speaking to you in the bar toilets, warning you off Jeongguk - but you do. You know he's an absolute angel, now, so know her assertation of him being a fuck boy was baseless.

You're no psychologist, but you are a girl. You know exactly why she'd done it. Immature? Maybe - but hey, Jeongguk needs someone who can keep up with how childish he can be at times.

Jiyeong wouldn't be your personal choice of date, but she's well suited to Jeongguk, you think. Could be the grumpy to his sunshine.

You tell yourself off for thinking such things about someone you barely know - she just rubs you up the wrong way. 

Thing is, you know she'd quite like to rub Jeongguk up the right way.

His fear of rejection? Yeah, you don't think he'd ever need to worry about that with her. You've seen the way she looks at him. Heard how she laughs just a little bit harder when he's within earshot. You've met him at the bottom of the stairs before and seen how he demeanour changes.

"A favour?" She asks, not wanting to shut you down before she's heard you out. She can be irrational, sure, but she's not unreasonable.

"So obviously you know Jeongguk," you say, and she nods. Is quiet as she waits for you to continue. You can't believe you're actually doing this. You take a second before you start talking again. "Well-" you cut yourself off again. Laugh. She raises a brow and shakes her head, as if to say, 'what?'. "-Well, it's actually a funny story."

This was much easier when you practised in front of your bathroom mirror that morning.

And it's also not a funny story at all. Very tragic, actually.

"Okay?" She laughs now, awkwardly. It's uncomfortable for everyone - but it's probably better this way. You think it's better if you aren't friends with whoever you set Jeongguk up with.

"Okay, so, I'll cut to the chase," you say, regaining your confidence, remembering that this isn't about you. This is for him. "I made a bet with Jeongguk -" a lie, but we move. It's far easier to explain than the birds. "- and I basically have to find a girl to go on a blind date with him. I was wondering if maybe you'd be interested?"

She furrows her brows. Looks at you as if you're mad. "Are you not..."

"Not?" you question, and then you realise exactly what she means. "Oh! Oh. No, not at all," you laugh as if it's the funniest thing in the world. "No, we're just friends."

"But you-"

"We're close," you say before she can point out the fact that the pair of you have more chemistry than a research lab. You feel the need to reassure her. If she thinks you're involved with Jeongguk, then she'll be less likely to agree to the date - so you overcompensate. "But just friends. I actually have this whole thing going on with my ex. It's a mess. Gguk's been really good with it." And with his fingers. "So that's probably why you've seen us hanging out so much. But no, just friends. I mean- hello? I'm finding him a date."

You end the needlessly protracted rebuttal of your friendship with yet another awkward smile - but thankfully, Jiyeong's shoulders relax a little bit. And she smiles.

"Why me?"

You shrug. "I figure you have similar interests. He's always here."

And that's exactly what makes Jiyeong hesitant. "But if he wanted to ask me out, then surely he would have done? I appreciate the offer, but I've too much pride to date someone who isn't interested in me."

Ooft.

"Gguk... he's not great with the whole... picking up on signals thing," you say - which is true. You think he's none the wiser to Jiyeong's crush on him. "And he's also just a bit shy."

There's a slight glow about her when you say this - as if she's thinking over their small interactions, and how she could have misread some of them.

"He's a really good guy, and I want what's best for him," you say. You also want a safe bet, and Jiyeong seems like that. "I wouldn't be asking you if I didn't think you guys could be good together - and hey. You'll be way more fun to work out with than I ever was."

She smiles now, properly. "I did always wonder why you spent so much time doing...well..."

She doesn't want to be rude, but you know exactly what she means.

"Nothing?" You smile back. "I'm not made for the gym - but Gguk is."

"You can stop with the hard sell," she says. "I'll go on the date - but! If this ends badly, you're banned from the gym for life."

She's got no authority to do that - but she's teasing you. Being nice. Rome wasn't built in a day, no, but it feels like you're at least making groundwork.

Truth be told, you wouldn't mind a lifelong ban. 

"Perfect! You have Gguk on insta, right? I'll find you on there," you tell her, because you don't really mind her knowing how much of a sleuth you are. You figure she's just the same. In all honestly, she'll have to very quickly unblock you after you leave. "Don't mention this to him, though. I want it to be like a proper blind date."

She nods. "Sure. When are you thinking?"

"Can you do Sunday afternoon?"

Again, she nods. It's the day you usually hang out together, so you'll just replace the time you know Jeongguk has reserved in his schedule for you, and put Jiyeong in there instead.

"Okay perfect," you beam. "Leave everything to me! I'll send you the plans and a dress code - unless you have any date ideas?"

"Seems like you have it sorted," she smiles. Easygoing, you think. She really could be a great match for him. You don't know why Jeongguk's never considered it before. "Just give me a time and a place."

"Thank you, Jiyeong!" You grin as you gather yourself together. "You won't regret it!"

That's the saddest part - she really won't. Jiyeong has been daydreaming about Jeongguk since he first started using the gym a few years back. Only ever silly things. Little scenarios. Never put much weight behind them, 'cause he didn't seem too interested - but she did always compare guys she dated to him.

When her ex had forgotten their anniversary last year, she'd thought to herself, 'I bet Jeongguk wouldn't forget.' She'd be right. He wouldn't.

In fact, on the day Jeongguk's membership had been renewed, he came into the gym with a box of doughnuts from the bakery cafe he loves so much - the one he recently showed you. Had left a note for the team - 'treat yourself. thanks for keeping me in check for the last two years. here's to the next!' - and, in turn, had left all of the female trainers swooning. Some of the guys, too.

In Jiyeong's eyes, Jeongguk could be the perfect guy.

If you were to give it any serious thought, maybe you'd realise that, too.

Life is too busy to get bogged down with such trivial ponderings, mind you. Tae's art show is all you can focus on, and Jeongguk's so busy with school these days that you barely get a chance to actually chat. Quality time between the pair of you dwindles.

Quality time is spent together separately, in the form of endless thoughts of one another. He often sits in his lectures and wonders what you'd think of his lecturer's novelty ties. Thinks you'd probably quite like them. Would start buying him them, 'cause you'd find it funny.

There's a girl who sits a few rows away from Jeongguk who wears glitter a bit like you do. Your styles are different, and he finds it annoys him. He's never been one to have opinions on women's fashion and would never try to dictate anyone's personal style - but he likes how you wear your glitter, and think she'd look better if she did it more like yours. Almost suggested your favourite brand to her - then realise his unsolicited opinion would not be cared for. 

So he sits, and he stews, and he simmers. Thinks of you, but doesn't text. Too caught up in his work. Heads straight from the library to Dionysus. Wore the same shirt three days in a row until he realised how long it had been and could feel his skin crawl from the idea of it being unclean.

Funny. Hasn't washed his sheets yet. Doesn't seem to mind them being unclean. 

Not when your perfume is caught on the delicate cotton threads that give him comfort as he sleeps. Not when his nose nestles into the scent of your shampoo on his pillows. Not when he hugs them in the night and accidentally dreams about you. Not when he wakes up with a hard cock, and not when he wanks himself off thinking about the way it feels to bury himself inside you, suffocated by your hair, his arms wrapped around your back. 

Sometimes, when he lets his fantasies get the better of him, he pretends he knows what it feels like to kiss you. Kind of embarrassing whenever he cums and realises he's kissing the fucking air. Really lame, actually. 

And so he doesn't tell you not to arrange the blind date.

He thinks he's just kiss-deprived. Get kissed, stop thinking about you. Foolproof.

Funny. When Jeongguk picks you up to head to the Min's for dinner, you wonder if it's too late to cancel. Not on Mins. On the date.

The thought is brief, but you shake it away regardless. You want Jeongguk to be happy. It's worth more to you than the release of an orgasm. It's a worthy sacrifice.

He's dressed down - a pair of jeans and a white shirt, boots laced up on his feet, tattoos out. A dark denim jacket is on the passenger seat, so you just tuck it on your lap and make no complaint when he asks to stop by the store en route. Had forgotten he said he'd bring dessert. Was only reminded when he saw you clutching two bottles of wine as your offering to the hosts.

Chewing down on his bottom lip as he tries to decide between cheesecake and some kind of tart, his lip ring catches under the store lights. Gets you glancing over at him from across the aisle. He's leant over slightly reading the labels, hands in his pockets. Feels your gaze on him. Turns his head, and smiles, dark doe eyes warm even in the pits of winter. 

"Should I just get both?" He calls over.

You don't answer immediately, instead walking over to look at them, too. He stands straighter, and draws you closer, a hand on your waist to dictate your movements. Hums as he moves you to stand in front of him, and rests his elbows on your shoulders, clasping his hands together beneath your chin. 

"Part of me thinks cheesecake will be enough," he considers out loud, sharing his thought with you. Hair up in a messy ponytail, loose hairs framing your face, Jeongguk lets his nose nestle against it. Just likes the way your shampoo smells.

"How many people are gonna be there?" You ask.

"Me, you," he begins to list. "Seoyeon, Yoongi. Tae, Jimin, Joon, usual suspects. I'm not sure if they've invited anyone else. Maybe Nabi."

"Nabi?" You question, unfamiliar with the inherently feminine name.

"Tae's friend," he clarifies. "She went to uni with him."

"I've never met her," you say, not really for any purpose other than to share your train of thought.

"You haven't?" He asks, almost certain you must have bumped into her at Dionysus before. She's there pretty often. Less so now that Hayun isn't there. Jeongguk avoids mentioning the part where they're best friends. "She's cool. A bit loud for my taste, but good fun. Great at beer pong. You'll like her."

"I'm good at beer pong," you say, almost as an automatic reflex. You shouldn't feel the need to compete and yet you are. Your nose scrunches, face cringing when you realise how pathetic it sounds. Jeongguk laughs. 

"You can 1v1 tonight."

"Or," you hum, trying to go back on your sudden declaration. You've already made a mental enemy of Hayun. You cannot do it again. "Me and Nabi can team up. Go against you and Joon."

"Oh, you're on," he grins. Doesn't realise it, but he shuffles a little closer. "Hope you're ready to lose."

"I never lose," you tease, turning your head slightly. The proximity of his face to yours is a little too close. Makes it hard to choose where to look. You aim for his eyes, but are distracted by the way he toys with his lip ring. 

"No?" he asks quietly. There's no need for volume. His lips are so close you can practically feel them on your skin. "There's a first time for everything."

Your heart is practically in your throat. You're scared to talk. Don't think you can. Think the only thing your lips can do is close - but you're scared they'll betray you. Stray from your rules.

Sure, maybe you shouldn't fuck your friends - but fucking is just fucking. Kissing is weighted. It's heavy. And in the bakery aisle of a supermarket? It's domestic. Romantic . 

He nudges his nose against yours like he so often does, and simply says, "the cheesecake is enough, right?"

He pulls away, and leans across to grab it from the shelf. It's so often you cutting those moments short. It should have been you. And yet you're a little transfixed as Jeongguk ruffles your ponytail and heads in the opposite direction. 

"C'mon, B. We're running late."

When he asks you about the date in the car on the way to Yoongi's, you know you're doing the right thing. 

He seems excited. Hopeful. You'd be a terrible friend if you took that away from him all because you like fucking him. You've fucked him once (on a technicality). It's not enough to justify it.

And so you don't. Instead, you enthuse with him. Give him advice on what to wear. Practise dumb topics of conversation, just so that he won't run out of any. Promise him a way out if he needs one, but assure him that he won't.

"Just drop me a text and change my name in your phone to 'mother' or something. I'll call and you can use it as a get-out-of-jail-free card. You won't need it, though," you repeat. "You're gonna do great. I promise."

The drive to the Min's takes the best part of an hour from Jeongguk's.

Yoongi lives towards the top of the city, in a slightly more rural area than the rest of the boys. It's so he can grow his own wood, but the saplings are still in their first few years. He'll be waiting a fair while until he can actually make his vision come to life, but he's patient. Understands that good things come to those who wait - after all, he'd had a crush on Seoyeon for years before he ever made a move.

Neighbours as kids, they'd moved away for university and somehow always found their way back together. Winter vacation was spent going to the pub, just so that they had an excuse to walk home together and tiptoe around awkward goodbyes. Summers, too.

Until, one winter, Yoongi didn't come home. He stayed at university to finish a project, and Seoyeon ended up at his door with two beers in one hand and her heart in the other.

Jeongguk looks up to Yoongi for many reasons, and is part of the reason he thinks he romanticised the idea of Hayun so much. He'd seen how good it could be to fall in love with your best friend. Never realised it could fuck him up so badly, too.

Yoongi wears a tiny little plait in his hair, hidden deep in his layers, but ever-present. It's there as he opens the door, and greets you both.

You've noticed it a few times. Always thought it was a little quirk of his - but as Seoyeon rushes to greet with you a smile that could warm even the coldest hearts, you notice the neat little plaits tying back the hairs that frame her face.

They're secured with the same teeny tiny baby pink bands that Yoongi's plait is fastened with. 

They're her plaits. Even the one in his hair.

She gives him one every evening after his shower when they're getting ready for bed - and he keeps it in because he adores the reminder of the woman he loves.

She calls your name, and instantly opens her arms to embrace you in a tight hug. 

"I've heard so much about you!" She squeezes. "Welcome, welcome. How was the journey? You make it all okay?"

"Yeah, all good," you smile. "Jeongguk drove, so it was no bother. Thank you for having me!"

"Oh, of course, of course," she beams, ushering you inside. Yoongi heads into the kitchen to check on the food that's been left on the hob. The rest of the boys and Nabi are already out the back, sipping on beers, talking nonsense.

The midnight black cat curled up on their couch stirs, and stares you out for a moment, before deciding he doesn't want to waste his energy on another human. Has already had to deal with Tae's cooing. Shuts his eyes again, and settles himself back to sleep. Seoyeon catches your line of vision and smiles at the kitty.

"Don't mind Oduun. He's not much of a people person - you don't mind cats, do you?"

"Not at all," you shake your head. Behind you, Jeongguk smiles as he hooks your coat up. "I love them."

"Good! Cat person or dog person?" she asks with a smile so soft it's impossible to imagine how Yoongi could ever frown. In her presence, he doesn't, really.

It's a surface-level question, one that really doesn't mean that much, but when Jeongguk grips your shoulders and speaks for you - "Dogs. She loves dogs." - you can't help but feel bizarrely pleased by the fact he remembers.

He squeezes his palms gently, the pressure on your shoulders a faint reminder of the way he'd stood with you in the supermarket. As you turn your head to catch his gaze over your shoulder, he smiles. Close-lipped, pushed deep into his cheeks, dimples prevailing. His lip ring does the thing.

You ignore the way your stomach does it, too.

From the kitchen, Yoongi watches with a bemused smile. Wonders how long it will take the both of you to realise. Says nothing - but secretly, Seoyeon's wondering the exact same thing. Questions why Yoongi never mentioned the fact you're dating.

"Yeah," you confirm, unaware of the conclusions being drawn. "Love both, but grew up with dogs."

"Me too," Yoongi joins the conversation. He casually strolls towards the sofa and leans over to scratch behind Oduun's ear. The cat knows instantly who it is, and tips his head into Yoongi's touch. "Always thought I'd be a dog person, but these little fuckers get ya. One minute you'll 'never get a cat', the next you're stuck in the same spot for hours on end because apparently your stomach is the perfect place for a nap."

He glances over to Seoyeon, who's already looking at Yoongi as if he's just personally announced he's found the solution for world peace - although, within their household, Sunday nights curled up with a glass of red, Oduun on Yoongi's lap with Seoyeon resting on his chest is world peace. Or at least, it's as close as Yoongi thinks he'll ever get. Cherishes the life he lives; and those he lives it with.

A look is exchanged between the pair of them, fast and fleeting so as to not get too wrapped up in one another; an acknowledgement that they've got it good. Got what people dream about. What people spend lifetimes wishing for. What Jeongguk once thought he had - and you, too, with Jin.

You don't think Seokjin ever looked at you like that. Not really.

Seoyeon takes the bottles of wine you're carrying from you, and offers you a glass. You gladly accept. Realistically, you're surrounded by friends, but feel a little nervous. Nothing a little liquid courage can't fix.

The Moscato is still cold despite the fact it was in your lap for the entire drive, crisp and sweet all at the same time. Your favourite wine, it's easy to drink. Goes down like grape juice. Has Seoyeon offering you a second glass not even twenty minutes later, but she's matching you.

It puts you at ease. Makes it easier for you both to open up - not that she was ever closed off. She really is the sunlight to Yoongi's gloom. The perfect couple, you think candidly. Eventually, you tell her so - which has her gushing over stories from their youth. You listen with keen ears.

"Not coming to say hello?" Tae grins at you when he enters the kitchen a little while later. You haven't been outside yet, too busy chatting with Seoyeon by the stove. 

"You've got a pair of legs, don't you?" You tease, which earns a small laugh from them both. 

"And here I am, using them to come and say hello," he says merrily. Truthfully, he came in to grab another beer. "You should come join."

Everyone else is outside by the small firepit. It's rare to have garden space in the city, even in the outskirts. Yoongi and Seoyeon are lucky. You know you shouldn't waste the opportunity. 

You glance over to Seoyeon who ushers you out. 

"Go, go! Nabi will keep you safe," she assures you.

Nabi. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl. Legs for days, dark hair that frames her sharp face and a laugh that could lure sailors to their deaths, she's devastating. Gorgeous. And as she cracks a joke that gets even Yoongi smirking, you know she's got a personality to match. 

When she sees you emerge with Tae she smiles. You don't know her to be able to tell if it's sincere, but you hope it is. Jeongguk pretends like he's not watching the interaction. He knows he should really be the one to introduce you, but Tae's right there with you. 

Truthfully, Jeongguk's been avoiding Nabi's messages lately. When she asks what he's been up to, he never mentions you. 

It's stupid because you're just friends, and he's allowed them, but he hates the idea of Hayun hearing about you. Hates how devasted he was when he heard she was dating someone new. Somehow thinks maybe it will hurt her too, when she comes to learn that there's someone else who gets to see the dumb memes he finds funny first. 

The loss of a lover is hard, but the loss of a best friend? Incomparable. When they're one and the same? Indescribable. 

Tae holds your shoulders. It doesn't feel the same as it does when Jeongguk grips them. He introduces you. Describes you as 'the person responsible for making his dreams come true', which earns a laugh from Jeongguk.

"S'what happens when you make a wish on a shooting star," he mumbles, taking a swig on his drink. No one else hears. 

"Nabi," she introduces herself. "How'd you know the boys? I'm surprised I've not seen you around before."

None of the boys realise the slight judgement in her tone. You pretend you don't. Smile. Sit across from her between Jimin and Yoongi. 

Jeongguk is next to Yoongi. He's pretending now that he's involved in Tae and Joon's conversation. He's not. He's eavesdropping. 

"Went to the same gym as Jeongguk," you say because it isn't a total lie. It's how the boys think you all met. You're putting on your best smile, and hope that Nabi warms up to you. "He sort of introduced me to the rest of them. I can't believe we haven't had the chance to meet before! I've heard so much about you."

Another lie. Jeongguk hides the awkward face he wants to pull. Knows Nabi was unknown to you. Appreciates you trying to make it seem like you weren't blindsided. 

"You must be pretty close then?" she smiles, ignoring the way you're buttering her up. "If he introduced you to everyone else?"

"Our paths crossed a lot," you reply, a little drier than before. God, you need another drink - so you crack a joke about it. "And hey - being friends with a bartender has perks, doesn't it?"

"Must have done," she simply nods, not acknowledging your joke, and then turns her attention to Taehyung. Is done with the conversation. It leaves you feeling awkward. Out of place. 

You chalk it up to her being territorial. It's always weird when someone new joins a preexisting group. It could alter the dynamic. Personally, you don't think it has. Nor does anyone else. 

All you know for sure is that beer pong is off the cards.

Jimin quickly distracts you with trivial questions about Tae's upcoming show. You're thankful for it. Regardless of whatever happened between the pair of you, he's a good guy. Could be a great one.

Drinks flow, and the evening eases into itself. Jeongguk does his best to not swamp you. Wants you interacting with everyone as much as possible. He gets you to himself often, so wants to give you the chance to branch out. Wants you integrated into his life as much as possible, 'cause he doesn't want to lose you when the time comes for the deal to be done. 

He watches on with casual curiosity after dinner as you natter with Seoyeon.

He doesn't actually know what the topic of conversation is - but he knows you. Knows Seoyeon, too. Knows that you'll be talking about things that will go straight over his head. Silly, inconsequential things - like star signs, or obscure actors from the early noughties - that mean nothing, but in the early development of friendships mean everything. Common ground. Bonds.

"Get along, don't they?" Jeongguk muses when Yoongi comes to stand beside him with a fresh beer. Jeongguk doesn't change his line of vision, even as he accepts the cold bottle, nor when he takes a swig back.

"Course they do," Yoongi says. Seoyeon gets along with everyone. He never doubted the pair of you would be fast friends. Isn't sure why Jeongguk seems too concerned over it. He isn't naive though. Is aware of Nabi's frosty introduction. Is glad Seoyeon would never be like that to a person she barely knows. "Relax, Gguk. Everything's fine."

And that's exactly the problem. Everything is fine.

What's to say that him dating won't change that?

But neither of you are willing, nor able, to fulfil the other's needs. Not really. He needs to learn how to date again, and you need to learn how to be okay alone.

"I've a date," Jeongguk eventually says after a moment of stewing, chewing on his cheek. "Tomorrow, actually."

Yoongi smiles. About bloody time.

"Where are you taking her?"

"Not sure," Jeongguk admits. "Byeol's sort of arranged it all."

"Proactive," Yoongi grins, sipping down on his beer. Thinks Jeongguk needs a girl who can take the driver's seat from time to time. "Who asked who?"

"Hmm?" Jeongguk hums. "I guess B. Neither of us really did the asking."

"So it just kind of, came about?" Yoongi clarifies. "Sometimes that's better. Things falling into place naturally... yeah. That's good."

Jeongguk hides a short laugh. Things certainly fell - just, unfortunately, it was a bird that he's not sure he's ready for.

"I'm nervous," he admits quietly. Crosses his arms, still holding his beer. His free hand rubs up his tattooed bicep. It's comforting. Soothing. Eases his woes.

"You've nothing to be nervous about," Yoongi encourages. "The pair of you are good together. It'll be no different to normal. Think about me and Seo-"

"Good together?" Jeongguk interrupts, confusion etched into the lines of his face. He didn't think you'd told anyone. If Yoongi knows who the date is with, then that must mean - "You know who it is? I know them?"

"What?" Yoongi pauses. Is just as confused as Jeongguk is. "...You... Byeol?"

"What?! Oh, God. No. No." Jeongguk shuts Yoongi down immediately, almost as if he's just suggested Jeongguk do a striptease for everyone at the dinner table. "God. Yoongi, no. No. It's a blind date. Byeol's setting it up-"

"Why the fuck would she do that?"

It's sort of funny how affronted they both seem. Jeongguk finds Yoongi's suggestion of him dating you unfathomable. Yoongi finds the idea of Jeongguk dating anyone but you unfathomable.

"Maybe because she doesn't want me to be single and alone forever?"

"No but..." Yoongi pauses. Losing battle, he decides. "Y'know what, nevermind. A blind date. That could be good."

Yoongi absolutely does not think that could be good. Not in the slightest.

Jeongguk nods. "Yeah. I think so. Plus, like, I trust her judgements. I don't think she's gonna set me up with anyone awful."

"What's your criteria?" Yoongi asks. "Take looks and attraction out of the running. What's important to you?"

Jeongguk considers this for a moment. He's not actually given it much thought at all. "Someone a bit low-key, I think."

"Low-key?"

"Mhm. I don't want it, like, all over instagram."

"You mean you just don't want Hayun to see," Yoongi suggests. He's correct, but Jeongguk's never gonna admit to that. "What else?"

"I don't know. Good sense of humour? Kind? The generic shit. It's hard to say. I don't wanna make a defined list and spend the entire date holding them to impossible standards. If they're good enough for Byeol, they're good enough for me."

Yoongi thinks it's funny how he's asking Jeongguk about an imaginary girl, and yet his mind leaps to you, in a roundabout way.

"What am I missing?" You ask when they both look at you a little strangely as walk into the kitchen. 

"Jeongguk's just been telling me Disco Ball is the wrong nickname?" Yoongi teases. He doesn't trust either of your judgements, but he's not gonna berate you for it. You're both old enough to make your own mistakes. Your own bad decisions. "Should be Cupid instead?"

You smile. "Not just yet. We'll have to see if I'm any good at matchmaking."

Yoongi already knows you'll have done a horrible job. Anyone that isn't you is wrong for Jeongguk. He's certain of it.

"We'll see," Yoongi nods. "Now on the subject of Cupid, let me go find my fiance."

You wait until it's just you and Jeongguk left in earshot to throw him a cautious smile. He thinks you look proud. It makes him happy.

"Didn't think you'd tell anyone," you say quietly, toying with a beer cap that's been left on the side, pleased with the progress Jeongguk is making.

"I'm too many beers deep," he tells you as you toss the cap to him. He catches it with ease. "Don't be too proud. I'm just a little loose-lipped."

"Gonna be revealing all your secrets?" You grin, as if you'll use it to your advantage.

He rolls his eyes. Doesn't move when you walk to stand infront of him and prize the cap from his hand. You're nosey. He knows this. "Depends what you wanna know."

You're sort of leaning on him. Toying with the bottle cap against his chest. His hand strokes your back. 

In a friendly way.

"What's on the other paper planes?" You ask without even needing a second to think.

"Oh, and would you look at that? My lips are sealed once more."

"Gguk," you pout, stealing his beer from him to take a sip. He just lets you. Would let you do anything you wanted. 

"Byeol."

"You're so annoying," you tell him, but pay it no mind.

Your hair is still tied up, little wispy strands curling around your neck. It's sweet. 

"You want another drink?"

"Please," you nod.

"Watcha want?" He asks as he turns to look at the bottles lined up on the counter. It's a free for all, drink-what-you-like, kind of situation - again, a testament to their friendship. No worries about keeping tabs on who owes who what. Everything pays itself off in natural cycles.

"Surprise me, Mr Bartender man," you flirt, and so he gets to work on making something out of nothing.

"Are you having fun?" He asks casually, checking a few bottle labels before adding them to the glass. He's free-pouring, and regretfully, you find it really hot.

You nod. "Seoyeon's lovely. Can see why Yoongi is smitten."

Jeongguk smiles. Ignores the fact you don't mention Nabi. "Oh, to have what they have."

"You will," you assure him. "One day, someone's gonna be obsessed with you in the loveliest of ways."

"Obsession isn't good, B."

"Maybe not," you agree. "But if you're not a little bit obsessed, are you really in love?"

It's a flawed argument. Love is many things. Obsession falls into the realm of infatuation.

Jeongguk just grins. Is reminded of the weekend before.

" God, Jeongguk," he begins to imitate you. You already know where this is going. Have expected it since you first said the 'o' word a moment ago. "I'm obsessed with the way you-"

"Oh my fucking Christ, be quiet," you shush him with a giggle, covering his mouth with your hand.

There's a symbiotic nature to the way his body moves with yours. One of his hands is on your hip, the other on the side of your neck, the pair of you swaying ever so gently, like stars dancing through the night sky. 

It's just the alcohol. That's all.

The way you're looking at him? Eyes all wide? Sultry when his grip tightens?

Oh, it's just the alcohol.

Might have happened without the alcohol, but you'll never know for sure, so you'll blame it on that.

"Don't give me those eyes," he whispers, his thumb stroking up from your throat, over your jaw, eventually finding its home on your posy pink cheek. You've a thin sheen of glitter in place of highlight. Jeongguk's careful not to rub it off.

"What eyes?"

"Those ones," he smirks, voice still quiet. "Your bedroom disco ball ones."

"You mean... my normal ones?" You tease, adamant that you're looking at him normally. You just don't realise you've never looked at him normally.

"No..." he mumbles, before loosening his grip and turning his attention back to the drink he's making.

"What?" you giggle, not really thinking as you let your hair down. You'd put it up terribly when you were getting ready. Was all wispy and shit. Needs sorting out.

"Stop," he whines. The smell of your shampoo? Yeah. He's got a semi. You don't notice, though, 'cause he's still diligently trying to make your drink. "I'm trying to focus."

"On?" You ask, a little confused. Again, he seems perfectly focused from where you're standing.

He shakes his head. Can't fight his smile.

"Anything but you."

"And you teased me for being obsessed?" You banter.

"This conversation never happened," Jeongguk insists as he turns to face you with a purple drink in hand. "Less of a starfucker, more of a... starlover? I tried making it into a long drink. Try it. Let me know if it's alright."

You narrow your eyes. The boy is good at distraction techniques.

Taking a sip, you decide you're never having a purple starfucker again. Not if these exist, at least. "Holy shit."

"Good?"

You nod enthusiastically. "So good. Try. You'll have to remember the recipe for your samgyeopsal place."

The way you talk about his dream with such certainty makes Jeongguk feel all kinds of fucked up. Your blind belief in him means more than he could ever articulate - so instead, he just ushers you back to the garden, where everyone else is still nattering away.

"Our friends will probably be wondering where we are," he says.

Funny. 

Him saying that gets you all kinds of fucked up, too, and he doesn't even realise it. That's probably why it gets to you so much. You feel accepted. A part of his life. The seal of approval from everyone important to him.

Well, nearly everyone.

You don't care for Nabi's approval. Hayun's, either.

Naively, you don't imagine you'll ever be in a situation where you need it.

---

Seoyeon is quiet as she comes to stand by Yoongi the next morning.

Her arms hooks around his waist, a cup of warm tea in her other hand, while Yoongi washes crumbs off the dinner plates from the night before. She sighs. Pouts.

"He's not been like that in a while, has he?" she asks.

A name isn't needed, for Yoongi understands exactly who she means.

"No. He hasn't."

The tone of Yoongi's voice is sombre. Heavy. A little cautious in speaking Jeongguk's current state of being into existence.

"Should we be worried?"

"Not sure," Yoongi says. "Looked happy, didn't he?"

Seoyeon nods against the side of Yoongi's chest, the early morning sun casting light where darkness once was. "Really happy. Haven't seen him smile like that since... well, since before Hayun left."

Secretly, Yoongi is pleased Seoyeon isn't calling her 'Yunnie' like she used to do. It's been a recent change; the distance between the girls who were once thick as thieves proving too much for the closeness of their friendship to endure. That, and Seoyeon's also noticed the slight frown on Yoongi's face whenever she refers to Hayun with affection.

Jimin might be the only one of the boys who knows for a fact how much the situation with Hayun had obliterated Jeongguk, but Yoongi was no stranger to his friend's emotions. Knows what Jeongguk looks like after a morning spent crying. Knows that there was a solid month where his gym membership just wasn't used.

It's the reason Yoongi worries. He doesn't want Jeongguk to make the same mistakes again.

Doesn't wanna have to watch the impact his bad decisions have on him.

As you text Jeongguk the location for his date, it seems like you're the one making the bad decisions this time.

Jeongguk:Sure I have to do this?

You:A bird's a bird.

And a bad decision is a bad decision.

You just don't realise it yet.

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

[oceanpulls]

Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross have a plan to soundtrack everything

Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross – best friends and Nine Inch Nails bandmates – found unlikely creative fulfilment (and a couple of Oscars) by reassessing what they had to offer as musicians. Now they’re thinking even bigger, and imagining an artistic empire of their own making

By Zach Baron

Photography by Danielle Levitt

Every weekday, Trent Reznor makes his way from his house, a cottagey sprawl behind a white wall in a canyon on Los Angeles’s Westside, to a studio he’s built in his backyard. There he meets his best friend, bandmate, and business partner, Atticus Ross, and they get to work. Reznor and Ross observe the same hours, Monday to Friday, 11am to 7pm. “We show up,” Reznor told me. “We’re not late. We’re not coming in to start to fuck around.” It’s a methodical, orderly existence that Reznor could not have foreseen in the ’90s, when he was fronting Nine Inch Nails and struggling with a drug-and-alcohol problem that was his answer to success. “I would do anything to avoid writing a song,” Reznor said. “I’d rewire the studio 50 times.”

Now Reznor has a wife, Mariqueen Maandig, five children, and multiple jobs. He is sober. Since 2010, when the director David Fincher asked Reznor and Ross to score The Social Network, for which Reznor and Ross won an Oscar, the two men have had steady employment composing for film. This year, Reznor and Ross are also starting a yet-to-be-named company, built around storytelling in multiple disciplines: film production, fashion, a music festival, and a venture with Epic Games.

And then, of course, there is the oldest and perhaps still the most complicated of Reznor’s jobs: being the frontman of Nine Inch Nails. In 1988 Reznor formed what was then a one-man band; the first two full-length records Nine Inch Nails released, Pretty Hate Machine(1989) and The Downward Spiral (1994), have sold more than eight million copies. (Over subsequent years and subsequent albums, the band has since crossed the 20 million mark in sales.) In the ’90s, for a time, Nine Inch Nails were ubiquitous: a phenomenon on the level of Nirvana or Dr Dre. During that decade, the success of the band nearly killed Reznor. “I didn’t feel prepared to process how disorientating that was,” he said. “How much it can distort your personality.”

These days, Nine Inch Nails, which Ross joined as a full-time member in 2016, present a different problem – how do you make something old, something so already well-defined, new again? There are years when Reznor feels like he has the answers and years when he’s less certain. He has put the band on hiatus more than once; after the last Nine Inch Nails tour, in 2022, Reznor deliberately took a break from playing shows as well. “For the first time in a long time I wasn’t sure: what’s the tour going to say?” Reznor told me. “What do I have to say right now? We can still play those songs real good. Maybe we can come up with a new production. But it wasn’t screaming at me: this is what to do right now.”

But he and Ross still come to work, daily, in search of transcendence. “We sit in here every day,” Reznor said. “And a portion of the time organically becomes us just figuring out who we are as people and processing life and a kind of therapy session. And in those endless hours it’s come up: why do we want to do this? And the reason is because we both feel the most in touch with God and fulfilled.”

It is easy to make things when you are a teenager growing up in rural Pennsylvania, near the Ohio border, as Reznor was, and you have nothing to lose and everything to gain; it is considerably harder, once you’ve got older, and found a way to make things that people like, to keep going. It’s an old story: the act of creation can lift you up, but those sharp gifts can also destroy you, and if you make it past that, the sheer blissful regularity of life with money and a family can even you out so thoroughly that there is no friction left to work with. You look inside the cupboard and the cupboard is bare, or it’s a mansion and living inside of it is a person you’re bored of, and so you stop looking. But Reznor and Ross have never stopped looking, and the search for that magical feeling of finding something – that feeling of, in Reznor’s words, “I don’t know where it came from. I don’t know how I just did what I did, but I’ve channelled it into something that worked” – is still the thing that organises their days and their moods.

We were talking in their studio, which was low-lit and cold and full of synthesizers’ blinking lights. Reznor was on a sofa and Ross sat in a chair nearby. The two men first met in the ’90s, when Reznor signed Ross’s band, 12 Rounds, to Reznor’s Nothing Records. Soon after, they became friends, and then musical collaborators. “I was just getting sober,” Reznor said, “and I was in a pretty fragile transitional phase. And I just hit it off with Atticus right off the bat. And part of it was, he was someone who was on much firmer ground, in a mentor-y kind of way, than I was.”

Ross is two years younger than Reznor, but when they met, he’d already been through certain things Reznor was just getting around to. “I got clean when I was very young,” Ross told me. “So I had a bit more experience than him. Put it like this: I knew you could have fun without being high.”

Their friendship has been a constant in both their lives since. “I don’t know if parts of us are broken and we don’t feel good enough,” Reznor said, staring at the ceiling of the studio, “but we know if we work as hard as we can and do the best work we can, it fixes something. At the core of it, that’s what unites us creatively. On top of that, I think his take on the world and role in life helps me understand my place and not feel as detached in some ways.”

Reznor often jokes, or simply explains, that he is a “quart low” on whatever it is that makes people happy. “I think we can both, on our own devices, run below zero as a baseline,” Reznor said. “I don’t mean manic depression, I just mean we don’t take compliments well. It’s like when we won the Oscar, it was the day after: ‘Let’s take today guilt-free, kind of say fuck yeah.’ And tomorrow we’ll have settled back down to a few feet below sea level.”

In their years of collaborating with each other, both men have found some mutual reassurance – a little lift. Reznor gestured at Ross.

“I remember something he said to me – I don’t know if you want me to say this or not – in one of our talks years ago: ‘Here’s what I want today.’”

“I see what’s coming,” Ross said, nervously.

“I just want to feel OK,” Reznor said, quoting his friend. “I want to feel like I’m OK.”

One day this winter, Reznor greeted me at the door of their studio – in the course of reporting this story, I never saw him anywhere else – wearing a black hoodie made by the synthesizer company Moog, black jeans, and black running shoes. At 58, Reznor still retains the angular intensity and jet-black hair of his youth, but time and fatherhood seem to have made him quicker to smile. He looks a little like a college professor now, or an unusually-well-cared-for software engineer. He led me back, past walls of unused gear and several black-clad mannequins, all of which startled me, to their primary workspace, where Ross – a tall west Londoner (he grew up in Ladbroke Grove) with a stern face and a pleasantly reedy voice – sat at a computer, also all in black. (Once, I asked the two men whether their upcoming clothing line would feature any colour. “No,” Reznor said, incredulously. “Of course not.”)

They were on deadline for two films at the moment, including Luca Guadagnino’s forthcoming Queer. “But we’re trying not to work,” Reznor said, drily. Leaned up against one wall was a photo of the two in tuxedos, accepting the Academy Award for best original score for their work on The Social Network. Reznor had contributed to soundtracks before, in the ’90s, but he’d never formally scored a film until The Social Network.

But Reznor and Ross quickly realised that the work, in some ways, wasn’t so different from songwriting. “What do we do when we write a song?” Reznor asked. “We’re trying to emotionally connect with somebody.” Take the Mark Zuckerberg character in The Social Network:“Here’s somebody who thinks this idea is so important that it’s worth kind of fucking your friends over for it. And then realising maybe it wasn’t worth it, or I didn’t realise how I’d feel if I got what I wanted at the price of this. I can relate to that in my own language. Suddenly there’s music.”

“I’m grateful not to be as angry and frustrated and desperate as I have felt in the past,” Reznor said. “I couldn’t have predicted that I would feel this level of fulfilment.”

And Reznor found that he enjoyed the exercise of solving someone else’s problems instead of his own. “There’s something about not being the boss and working again in service to something that I initially felt guilty for feeling kind of fulfilled by in a weird way.”

Reznor said that on another Fincher film, Mank, the director suggested: “What if it sounded like maybe inspired by Bernard Herrmann and as if it were recorded in 1935 and this film canister sat on the shelf for 60 years?” OK, interesting. (Ross and Reznor were nominated for that one too.)

On the first film the two men scored for Guadagnino, Bones and All, “we got a cut of that that was nearly four hours long with no music and we kind of thought, Oh, fuck,” Reznor said. “Four hours we sat without a pee break, transfixed. It didn’t need music. And when you watch that you approach it differently.” Then Guadagnino brought them Challengers, due for worldwide release in April. Reznor said, “He started us down a path, saying, ‘What if it was very loud techno music through the whole film?’” (This is exactly what it turned out to be.)

“I wish I had his notes,” Ross said of Guadagnino. “His notes were so fucking funny on what each piece was meant to do.”

“Oh, yeah,” Reznor said. “‘Unending homoerotic desire.’ It was all a variation on those three words.”

They liked the challenge of scoring, they found, and that feeling of not being in control. They also liked the way it made them crave being in control again: “It makes you more inspired to work on other stuff when we’re finished,” Reznor said. “Even if it’s just, Thank God it’s done now and we can appreciate the freedom we had before we gave it up.”

These days, Reznor and Ross also like having jobs that let them be at home, around their families. Both men had tumultuous or lonely lives when they were younger; both men have found that fatherhood soothes certain unresolved aspects of their pasts. Ross has three kids, and “probably the greatest reward is how balanced and happy they all are compared to – certainly my growing up was an unusual sort of scenario. It was a fairly chaotic youth.” Ross comes from a notable English family, but his immediate lineage was more unstable. “My dad had a club called Flipper’s Roller Boogie Palace in LA in the ’70s,” Ross told me. “He went bankrupt in England and had a judgment passed against him where he couldn’t talk to a bank manager for 15 years. So he moved here and opened this sort of Studio 54 on roller skates on La Cienega and Santa Monica.” Ross held up a coffee-table book full of photos of the club. “You don’t need to look at it, but it was just a mad life. So I grew up in some madness.”

It is particularly endearing to see Reznor, who at a distance was a fierce and terrifying figure in his 20s and 30s, find domestic bliss. I am old enough that my adolescence coincided neatly with the S&M-flavoured, I wanna fuck you like an animal era of Nine Inch Nails; when I was leaving Reznor’s house one day, I noted with some amusement the cheerful mundanity of a basketball hoop in the backyard. “I’m grateful not to be as angry and frustrated and desperate as I have felt in the past,” Reznor told me. “I couldn’t have predicted that there was a world where I would have a sizeable family with kids and feel the level of fulfilment and comfort and be able to live in that.”

Was that something you were consciously seeking before you found it?

“I think I had some abandonment issues from my parents splitting up, or feeling I never fit in, and I’d gotten accustomed to being on my own. And largely due to my own, I think, inability to really be intimate with people, or share or be open or know how to be a friend or a partner to somebody… Trying that out and doing it with pure and full immersion has led to an unexpectedly great outcome.”

-----------------------

The other film project Reznor and Ross were on deadline for was Scott Derrickson’s The Gorge, a science-fiction thriller starring Miles Teller and Anya Taylor-Joy. They were working on a lengthy, music-dependent scene that they’d already mostly scored. But, Ross said, “the director wants it to be a bit more, I can’t think of a better word than just a bit more scary and intense.” They weren’t sure what that directive meant, exactly, but they were content – they were happy – to try to figure it out: to enter the room once again, carrying nothing, and to try to leave it with something that didn’t exist before.

Ross called up the scene on a monitor at the centre of a long mixing board: Teller and Taylor-Joy in an evil-looking spiky forest. Reznor and Ross have somewhat fluid roles in their collaboration, but today the plan was for Reznor to improvise some music while Ross edited and manipulated it in real time. “Atticus’ superpower,” Reznor said, “is that I can come up with a melody and a chord change, and he can make that sit on the scene in a way that is meticulous, and mind-numbingly boring to watch him do.”

A studio assistant, also in all black, presented himself to help Reznor set up a microphone and a cello next to a keyboard that sat underneath another computer monitor. Ross hit play on the footage and what they’d already completed of the score, a kind of haunted, chanting murmur. “It’s basically atmosphere at the moment,” Ross said. Next to him was a synthesizer whose make and model he asked me not to print and which the two men use as a kind of sound ecosystem to feed stuff into.

Reznor began by pushing down on the piano’s keyboard, while with his other hand he manipulated the sound with a flat synthesizer on the desk in front of him. It began as a kind of mellow pan flute thing, and then, with a push of a few buttons, became more of a sad, Social Network-ish plonk. Ross stood up and started tapping the synthesizer to his left, and the sounds Reznor made began to loop and accumulate – little melodic figures that plunged in and out of feedback. Reznor moved from the piano to the microphone, where he sang a few soft passages in a baritone falsetto, more sad than spooky, and then to the cello, which he played slowly and choppily. Ross moved between the computer and the synthesizer, trying to harness it all as it built to a loud, echoing crescendo.

After about 20 minutes, Reznor sat back in his chair, and Ross soon followed suit. Everything got quiet again. “It’s going fishing,” Reznor said to me, shrugging. “Sometimes something happens.”

-----------------------

Or, sometimes, everything happens. One of the first things you see when you arrive at Reznor’s home studio are two original paintings by the Yorkshire artist Russell Mills – on the left, a razor against a rusty red background; on the right, a decaying yellow-and-black collage – that ultimately became the insert and the cover art for Nine Inch Nails’ The Downward Spiral. This is the record with “Hurt” and “Closer” on it. It’s an album Reznor nearly didn’t survive.

Why do I bring this up? Well. If I may, for a moment, sound like the ageing dude in a black T-shirt leaning against the back wall of a bar where you’re just trying to be young and free of recitations of what the year 1994 felt like, there was a different quality to the way things would happen in music. Bands would labour for years, unknown, and then just get struck by lightning, is the best way I can put it: one day, you’re just a guy, and then one radio station plays your song, and then every radio station plays your song, and everyone is listening to those radio stations, because there is nothing else to do, and then MTV loops your video, and everyone watches it because, again, there is nothing else to do, and all of a sudden you are known by millions of bored people in a way that doesn’t quite happen now. This is a gross oversimplification, of course, but here Reznor is, one of the very few people who have experienced the thing I’m describing. I thought: let’s just ask him what that was like.

Reznor said, OK, he could tell me exactly what it felt like. He gave me a single moment: Woodstock ’94, which Nine Inch Nails almost didn’t play – “it seemed like it was going to be gross, to be honest with you” – but ultimately did. “And when we got there, it was terrifying,” Reznor said. “It was way bigger than I pictured in my head and walking on stage. But this is the point of the story: I knew. You could feel like you were in the right place at the right time.”

In retrospect, how did you handle success?

“Had a drink. That’s what sent me down the path. I wasn’t the guy that, you know, at 12 years old cracked a beer. That wasn’t it at all. Just, I feel anxious around people. I’m not sure how to act, especially now that you’re someone that’s supposed to act a certain way. There’s a projection. It feels uncomfortable to walk down the street and people are looking at you because they recognise you. That’s weird. Suddenly everybody wants to be your friend and you’re the coolest. Everyone wants to date you and shit like that.” Reznor said he found it was “easier to have a beer before I go in that room, and then a couple of beers before I go in that room. And pretty soon over a period of time, wait a minute, things start to get out of control. And you know how the story goes.”

Here’s how the story went: Reznor began to wonder if Trent Reznor could ever live up to the Nine Inch Nails guy that people had in their heads. “The reason I was having to drink was to fix that problem, my own insecurity. But the net result is: I’m not really who I am because now I’ve got drugs or alcohol in my system and I’m not thinking as who I really am. And that comes into focus once one gets sober and has time to reflect and kind of think about what got you there and shit you did.”

Eventually, Reznor got sober, and built himself back up. Today he’s happy to talk about all of it, obviously, but he and Ross have done a lot together since – 10 albums’ worth of Nine Inch Nails (Ross was an official member of the band for five of them), among other things – and Reznor is, by nature, not one to dwell too much on the past of a band that he’s still very much trying to figure out. “We’re not fans of resting on our laurels. We’ve been afraid of thinking about nostalgia. That’s a whole other conversation, but the reality is we’re getting older and our fans are getting older and that’s a fact. And I think, say, during the pandemic, not that you asked this question, but as I’m sure everybody was, I was pretty genuinely freaked out and very clearly came into focus: I’ve got to protect my family.”

He was consumed by fear, by terror of what might happen, of what he might do about it. “I can’t even fit all my kids in a car,” Reznor said. “But in the midst of that anxiety, sitting alone in here, I found comfort in nostalgia. I found comfort looking back at things from my youth that I’ve been afraid to even allow myself to glimpse at because it meant artistic death. Because one has to look forward. One can’t be self-referential. I was so afraid growing up in a little shitty town. I could see people that thought the highlight of their life is junior in high school catching the football. You know what I mean? That’s it. That was the peak. I don’t want to fucking be that person. I could see my fate if I stayed in that town.”

In those moments sitting by yourself, what were you getting nostalgic for?

“I miss parts of living in Pennsylvania. I miss a simpler life that I grew up with. I really loved the first INXS album in 1983. I was a senior in high school, and when I listen to it now I could almost start crying because it fucking reminds me of driving in a shitty fucking car in the summer in Pennsylvania. You know what I mean? Man. I allowed myself to kind of immerse myself in who I was at that time, and what it felt like.”

Reznor had been trying to remake himself ever since he left where he grew up, and now here he is in Los Angeles, over 40 years later. “And I kind of went on a deep dive for a while and allowed myself to realise: I am who I am. And the things that made me weren’t the cool things. I’d always been ashamed of: I came from a shitty town; I didn’t have an exotic upbringing; shitty education, you know what I mean? That’s who I am. I’m not sure what the point of all that confession was.”

Well, except: “It plays into where I’m at now.”

-----------------------

The last time I saw Reznor and Ross, it was once again in their studio. They were sitting very still. Had they been working before I got there?

“We were for a little bit,” Ross said. “And then nervously thinking about you arriving.”

Really? It’s OK if that’s the truth.

“That’s the truth,” Reznor said. They’d just been in this room for the past weeks, months – years, really, he said. Head down. Working. He gestured at me. “It’s a different mindset.”

And “I was thinking about something you said the other day,” Reznor said. That was on a Friday. I’d asked a somewhat rude question about their soundtrack work, which was: why would Reznor or Ross work for anyone else when they didn’t have to?

Now it was Monday. “I thought about that over the weekend,” Reznor said. “It’s like, Why are we doing this? The idea comes from what we think is a good place of ‘Let’s break it up. Let’s get sent down the rabbit hole on certain things and feel like we’ve got tasks being assigned to us rather than us just blindly seeing what happens creatively.’ ”

But, he said, “I think coming out of a stretch of a number of films in a row, I want some time of seeing where the wind blows versus: there’s a looming date on a calendar coming up and we’d better get our shit together. And certainly in the last few weeks I’ve been itching to do what we often do, which is just come in and let’s start something that we’re not even sure what it’s for.”

Some of that energy, he and Ross said, would probably become the next Nine Inch Nails album. Doing soundtrack work, Reznor said, had “managed to make Nine Inch Nails feel way more exciting than it had been in the past few years. I’d kind of let it atrophy a bit in my mind for a variety of reasons.”

But now, “I do feel excited about starting on the next record,” Ross said. “I think we’re in a place now where we kind of have an idea.”

And then there was the company, which Reznor and Ross spent the last two years putting together, piece by piece, with the help of John Crawford, their longtime art director, and the producer Jonathan Pavesi. The idea was, what could they do that they hadn’t already done around storytelling? Some of that might take the form of examining Nine Inch Nails from yet another angle – “we’ve been working on homegrown IP around Nine Inch Nails, stories we could tell, and we’re working on developing those in a way that are not what you think they’d be.” (As in: not a biopic.) They also have a show in development with Christopher Storer, the creator of The Bear, they said, and a film with the veteran horror director Mike Flanagan.

Reznor put on a pair of black-rimmed glasses so that he could examine a piece of paper next to him. “We just wrote some notes because I knew I’d forget what the fuck I’m about to say.” There was a short film coming with the artist Susanne Deeken. There was a clothing venture, a T-shirt line made in collaboration with a notable designer whose name they’d like to keep secret for now, which will arrive this summer. There was a music festival that they were currently planning, “where we’re going to debut as performing as composers along with a roster of other interesting people,” and a record label, both scheduled to launch around the same time.

And for two years they’ve been working with Epic Games on something that is not exactly a video game, in the UEFN ecosystem Epic has built around Fortnite – “It’s what Zuckerberg was trying to bullshit us into calling the metaverse,” Reznor said. “You can’t say that word any more, but in terms of the tool kit, thinking about it through the lens of what could be possible for artists and experiences, we thought that would be an interesting way to tell a story through that.”

They were nervously contemplating the prospect of having day jobs again, of being responsible for more than just themselves. Early on, as they contemplated launching the company, they’d sat down with David Fincher to ask him about movie production: how does it work? “And he’s like, oh, you’re fucked,” Reznor said. “I can distil a two-hour conversation into that. Because, he said, ‘I know you guys, and no one’s going to care more than you do, and you will not be able to let it go.’”

Reznor has actually had this experience before, of being sucked into a project bigger than Nine Inch Nails and having it take over his entire life. Years ago he worked as an executive, first for Beats and then for Apple, building a streaming-music service.

“Trent was very clear when we started,” Ross said. “We cannot let this get into Apple terrain.”

Reznor laughed. “What I mean by that is – I will make this brief; I’m trying to think through what I’m about to talk shit on. Just to self-censor for a second.”

Reznor paused for a moment and then explained. For years, he said, he’d wondered: what would make a good streaming service? This was before the advent of Spotify in the US or Apple Music. Jimmy Iovine, Reznor’s old label boss – later, Iovine would also become Ross’s brother-in-law, after he married Ross’s sister, Liberty, in 2016 – was launching a music service at Beats, which was then acquired by Apple, and Iovine said to Reznor: come try to make this thing a reality. And Reznor surprised himself by saying yes.

“It was a unique opportunity to work at the biggest company in the world at a high level,” Reznor said. “And it was interesting, the scale of the people that you reach through those platforms, just the global amount of influence those platforms can have was exciting. The political situation I was dropped into was not as exciting.”

Reznor enjoyed working with Apple’s design team and its engineering team. “But it made me realise how much I want to be an artist first and foremost.” Reznor also became discouraged with the possibility of fixing the problem that he was trying to solve. “I think the terrible payout of streaming services has mortally wounded a whole tier of artists that make being an artist unsustainable. And it’s great if you’re Drake, and it’s not great if you’re Grizzly Bear. And the reality is: take a look around. We’ve had enough time for the whole ‘All the boats rise’ argument to see they don’t all rise. Those boats rise. These boats don’t. They can’t make money in any means. And I think that’s bad for art. And I thought maybe at Apple there could be influence to pay in a more fair or significant way, because a lot of these services are just a rounding error compared to what comes in elsewhere, unlike Spotify where their whole business is that. But that’s tied to a lot of other political things and label issues, and everyone’s trying to hold onto their little piece of the pie and it is what it is. I also realise, I think that people just want to turn the faucet on and have music come in. They’re not really concerned about all the romantic shit I thought mattered.”

Anyway, Reznor said, turning to Ross, “That was a long-winded way of saying, when we talked about this company, I just said, ‘Be aware of what success might look like because it will turn into something that eats up lots of cycles and time and attention and energy.’ ”

But, Ross said, taking on new responsibilities was, paradoxically, also a way to stay a little younger. “I know we’ve all been talking about being dads and being adults and all that,” Ross said, “and there is a part of me that thinks: it’s important to keep the kid alive.” Meaning the child inside yourself, rather than the one you’re responsible for.

He told a story about him and Reznor visiting the director David Lynch at his house to work with him on the 2017 revival of Twin Peaks. “And I don’t know how old he was at the time,” Ross said, “but he was older. But just walking in there, and he had the room set up and there’s a screen there, there’s some chairs here and there’s some musical instruments there and he’s smoking a cigarette. There’s nothing old about that dude. You know what I mean?”

Lynch showed them some Lynchian footage. It was incredible, even if they didn’t quite know what they were looking at. Lynch was probably 70 or 71 at the time. “But it’s that thing of it doesn’t matter how old he is,” Ross said. “He is alive. It’s that bit of it all that one doesn’t want to lose with age.”

The point was, Reznor said: “Let’s try some stuff. We’re bored. We are. You know what I mean? We’re grateful. We enjoy doing films. We can write a better Nine Inch Nails record, I think. We can put on a cooler tour. We are aimed to do that. But man, what if we try to do that?” Meaning, the company. “What if we could take what we’re good at, like we did with film? We identified something I think we’re good at and we figured out how to apply it to something else. What if we take that theory and try it on some other things? And that’s led us into: we’re not beaten down completely yet. And it feels exciting. That’s what matters to us right now.”

-----------------------

Styled by Mobolaji Dawodu Grooming by Johnny Stuntz using Dior Capture Totale Hyalushot SFX Makeup by Malina Stearns Grills by Alligator Jesus Tailoring by Yelena Travkina Set design by Lizzie Lang at 11th House Agency Produced by Emily O’Meara at JN Production

[laura1633]

omg im going feral about the idea of charles being all possesive with max but also being sweet as fuck. Like being jealous when someone is near his boy so he feels the urge to mark him up all over when he fcks max but also having his hands glued to his waist or hips on public

PLZ I BEG A DRABBLE ABOUT IT

Hi anon, I too love the idea of possessive but sweet Charles. I've written a little drabble below, although it did start in one direction and end up somewhere else entirely so sorry about that 😂

“You look cold” Charles’ brow furrows as he sees the way Max is shivering against the cold. The Dutchman’s nipples are also visibly hard through the fabric of his top. Whilst Max’s perky nipples would ordinarily be a complete turn on Charles can’t exactly start sucking at them in the middle of the paddock. He can just imagine the PR headache that would create. It’s almost worth it though, just to hear the happy little whines Max would make.

“It’s fine” the Red Bull driver shrugs but Charles can see all the tiny hairs on his boyfriend’s arms standing on end. He did warn Max it was cold out but Max had clearly not been listening.

The Monegasque slides off his jacket and wraps it around Max’s shoulders. It’s a shame really because the collar is obscuring some of the marks Charles left against his boyfriend’s neck last night. He makes a mental note to add more later, to suck and nip right the way up the column of the neck before tugging at the Dutchman’s earlobes with his teeth. 

Luckily the nice pink mark on the left side of the throat is still visible for all to see. Charles’ mouth fits over it exactly. It is pretty clear what it is and the fact that Max hasn’t bothered to hide it is making Charles feel a little feral. He wonders how many marks he could leave before Max makes any attempt to cover them up, wonders if Max would come to the paddock with lip and teeth marks covering the whole expanse of his neck. 

Maybe he would. 

Charles knows that Max is rather proud of all the pretty little additions to his skin. He likes to be claimed. To be taken. To be Charles’. The Dutchman always moans louder when Charles rakes his nails down his back and he always comes much harder if Charles has spent time sucking bruises all over his body first. 

There is a nice satisfaction to be found in knowing that underneath the clothes Max is so visibly Charles’. The curves of the Dutchman’s chest are covered in love bites that get darker the closer you get to the nipples. The pink goes well with the light purple finger marks left from Charles’ grip on Max’s hips as they fucked last night. And to finish it all off there are some nice rosy red hand marks across each of Max’s ass checks.

Max really is such a beautiful canvas to work on and Charles would love nothing more than to be able to show his art work to the world. Perhaps he’d pair it with some audio, a soundtrack of all the moans and whimpers the Dutchman made as Charles licked and sucked and nipped over him. 

The Monegasque shakes himself out of his thoughts as he realises his boyfriend is talking to him.

“Do you not need this?” Max looks a little confused but mostly contented as he slides his arms into the jacket and snuggles in to it. In truth Charles does feel the cold but the sight of his boyfriend wearing his jacket in front of the entire world warms him up inside. Especially when Max looks so snuggly and comfortable. 

“It’s fine” Charles smiles and presses a small kiss against Max’s lips before sliding his arm around his boyfriend’s waist and hugging him close to his body as he sees some of the Dutchman’s mechanics heading over.

Charles isn’t jealous. He has no reason to be. Even so he still likes to remind everyone that Max is with him. Just a gentle squeeze of the waist or a kiss against the lips. It’s not like Max is going to run off with one of his team but they do have a tendency to …. well…. babygirlify the Dutch driver. They fuss and fawn and hug and grab and look at him like they think he is the whole world. Charles can’t really blame them, he feels the same way. 

“See you on track” Max grins as he purses his lips and waits for Charles to kiss him before heading off with his team. Charles chuckles and feels a little rush of excitement each time Max turns back around to smile as he is led way. 

*

Max says his hellos before going through to his drivers room to get ready. As he slides his hands into the pockets of Charles’ jacket and realises there is a post it note in there his heart skips a few beats. He pulls out the scrap of paper and feels rather emotional as he realises there is in fact something written on there. 

It was a usual occurrence back when they had first started dating and had to keep their relationship secret. The two of them would pass notes back and to throughout the day as discreetly as they could - some sweet, some loving, some absolute filth. Whatever the message was there was alway a thrill each time they slipped them into each other’s hands unnoticed in front of the world's media. 

Max still has all the notes stored away safe for a day when he might be able to use them - like an engagement or a wedding. They really are a beautiful record of how things started and grew between them. 

The Dutchman smiles like crazy as he reads the note from his boyfriend, it’s a wonderful feeling knowing there is someone out there always looking out for you. 

“Love you more every day, even when you refuse to listen to me when I tell you you’ll get cold!! I will warm you up later. Charles xx” 

[eoieopda]

JADE, HEAR ME OUT, OKAY? NAMJOON AS A DAD. That’s it, that’s all I’ve got. I’ll see myself out.

dadjoon is his final evolution, i’m sure of it. if he can raise a jungkook, he can raise an actual baby.

also, for purely selfish reasons, i have created girl dad!joon. i can picture him exploring with a teeny tiny daughter, making sure she knows all the cool science/nature stuff that society thinks little girls can’t/shouldn’t be excited about 🫠😵‍💫🥹

Fate was a funny thing.

For as long as you’d known him, Namjoon had always been honest that his greatest wish in life was to be a father. It shocked you back then, hearing a nineteen-year-old dreaming so openly about domesticity; especially when all his friends could focus on was how many clubs they could hit in the night ahead. But you knew it, even then, that Namjoon was a nurturer. He always was.

Although he wasn’t shy about expressing his emotions, you’d only seen him cry on a handful of occasions. One of those was when he laid eyes on the pregnancy test you held out, trembling with joy and - inwardly - a hell of a lot of panic. For the nine months that followed, people often asked what you wanted: boy or girl? With a sheepish smile, he always answered the same way - a boy, because he knew what that entailed.

Having a little girl? Well, that scared the shit out of him. That was unknown territory and if his sister taught him anything, it was that he had absolutely no idea what kind of strength and finesse it took to navigate the very unique difficulties of girlhood. He was terrified, he said, of fucking up - of making it all harder.

The next time you saw him cry was when he first laid eyes on your daughter. Watching him hold that wriggling, pink-faced angel, there’d been a knot in your stomach. You wondered to yourself if he was secretly disappointed not to have a son, even if he’d never say so. But over the past three years, he proved you wrong over and over and over again.

Fate made the right call - Namjoon was born to be a girl dad.

Sitting on your beach towel, you hugged your knees to your chest and rested your chin where they bent. It was the most at-peace you’d ever felt, lounging in that salty wind, even though the excited squealing up ahead had scared all the seagulls away.

Waddling on chunky legs next her father, Kim Yeong-Ja gripped the same hand that had crafted the braids bouncing against her shoulders. She stared up at him with palpable adoration - like her mother - and her eyes were sparkling wide with wonder - like her father. If you squinted, you could see the purple fingernail on his right index finger; the one she messily painted after barely even having to ask for his permission, receiving all the trust in the world.

“Ja, look!” Namjoon gasped as his hand dipped gently into the tide pool below. When he pulled it back out, whatever he now cupped in his hand was invisible to you. “Do you know what this is, baby?”

Yeong-Ja’s gasp was identical to her father’s. Then that little ham pulled her free hand to her cheek in surprise - another perfectly mimicked trait of his - before her tiny voice replied, “Mermit!”

His eyes crinkled above his all-consuming grin. It didn’t disappear when he bent over and kissed the top of her head, “Hermit crab! Good job, baby. You’re a genius, just like your mama.”

Your heart soared at her reaction, which was to turn and find you with her big, bright eyes and open-mouthed smile. She giggled like a fiend when you waved. You swooned.

“Show mama!” Yeong-Ja barely warned him before she took off, tugging him behind her. He swooped in and tucked her under one arm so she wouldn’t fall on the rocks but, out of respect, kept up her desired pace. Her belly laugh had become the soundtrack of the day. Like the tide below, it crashed over the sand and sprayed in every direction.

Soon enough, your two greatest loves came clambering up to you and dropped clumsily - but safely - on the other half of your towel. You could’ve sat there forever, counting their twin freckles; but there was now a very small child holding a very small crab near your face with extremely cautious hands.

There were two pairs of eager eyes blinking up at you.

“Wow, Jaja! Look at your little friend!” You gushed before pressing a kiss to her damp, chubby cheek, “Is daddy teaching you all about nature?”

There was a tiny wrinkle between two black brows. She corrected you gently, though it made your heart explode, “Mermits, mama.”

“Quite right, Ja,” Namjoon waved his hand in diplomatic agreement before resting it on the small of your back. He shot you a wink but maintained his otherwise serious expression, “Mermits, mama.”

[belphiesgirlfriend]

Obey me! Brothers music taste headcanons

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more like ramblings than headcanons tbh but i had this stuck in my head and needed to get it out, also feel free to send requests for diff headcanons!

Cw’s: none!

Little bit satirical (i over exaggerate sometimes cuz it’s funny) but pretty in character overall i thinkk

——————————————————————————

Lucifer:

• You know this motherfucker listens to classical music and classical music only cuz he’s boring

• Okay but jokes aside i see him listening to like 30’s 40’s 50’s music especially the love songs.

• Like straight up fallout 4 soundtrack music, he’d listen to it while doing paperwork or unwinding

• He’d definitely be really prideful (no duh) about his taste in music, he’d feel all fancy and refined when he tells people

• Type of dude to be like “modern music simply can’t compare to the classics…” shut up grandpa we get it u know bach’s zodiac sign, penis size, and mothers maiden name

• Wants to be different so bad, he’d strictly listen to music from his vintage record player or some shit cause it’s the “most authentic” way to listen, fr acts like a manic pixie dream girl (he’d hit me upside the head if he heard me say that sorry luci🫶)

——————————————————————————

Mammon:

• r&b and spanish music

•but i feel like he’d like 2000s party music from all the clubbing and casinos

• def a weekend listener and like 90’s rap

• but also like i wouldn’t be surprised if he listened to some 90s rock too

• he’d listen 2 sublime or nirvana or local h (i’m projecting on the last one)

• but anyways he’d be a #1 rihanna fan he’d blast her music in his room but then deny liking her💀make it make sense!!

• also he knows her best album is loud CAUSE HE HAS TASTE!!

• also tyler the creator i get the vibe he’d love him

• kali uchis fan too

•ALSO i feel like he had a phase where he listened to juice wrld and was like “these cheating lying females….” after he got his heart broken by a witch YOU CANG TELL ME IM WRONG😭😭 it’s okay though cause he’s embarrassed by it now

• oh childish gambino too duh forgot about him

ALSO LET ME MENTION DINERO IS LITERALLY HIS SONG ITS ACTUALLY HIS

——————————————————————————

Levi:

• this one’s gonna be real fucking short IM SORRYYY

• he listens to anime openings and game soundtracks

• also vocaloid

• that’s literally all i can think of dude

• he’d be like “i don’t have time for normie music…”

• his room is literally that old caramelldansen meme from 2019/2020

——————————————————————————

Satan:

• this one was harder for me to pinpoint

• first instinct would be classical music but it’s canon he likes ska music too so 🤷‍♀️

• i really do feel like he’d listen to all types of music, like a true jack of all traits, if he likes it he likes it so his playlist is allllll over the place

• for some reason i get a vibe he’d really like 80s music in particular though

• the song that pops into my head is who can it be now? by men at work idk why

• maybe even older music i feel like he’d like sam cooke

• OH both him and belphie would like mazzy star and fiona apple idk why but they would

——————————————————————————

Asmo:

• okay crucify me for this one but…mitski I JUSG FEEL LIKE HE WOULD

• but i also see him loving lady gaga a lot cuz he has taste

•omg he’d listen to old katy perry too

•but yea also probably lil nas x he’d have a celeb crush on him

• oh tyler the creator too with his gay ass, him and mammon both love him, they def have done a duet to see u again

• he’d be a barb probably defend nicki too😭

• and as much as it pains me to say it, he’d fucking listen to ayesha erotica and be like “this is so good!!!”, hed post a devilgram story with one of her songs and then get cancelled on twitter

• “I made a severe and continuous lapse of judgement…” and then did the same thing a week later

——————————————————————————

Beel:

• type of guy when you ask him what music he listens to he goes “idk i don’t really listen to music”

• he legitimately looks up “hype playlist” on youtube to work out and that’s the extent of it

• really can’t see him being a big music guy

• if u invited him to a concert or something he’d go though for food

•he’d give you a piggy back ride so u can see better

• tbh if u were to put on music he would not care much no matter how good/bad it is

• you could walk in on him working out and literally listening 2 cbat or some shit

• HE LITERALLY IS CBAT GUY😭 he’d be like “i always use this song when i’m working out..

——————————————————————————

Belphie:

• emo fucker

• i feel like he’d like emo/ 90s rock ( but more “rockish” than mammons 90’s rock)

• but he’d also love any more relaxing music with softer vocals

• he’d be a deftones fan I KNOW GHATS FUCKING BASIC AND UR ROLLING UR EYES BUT LISTEN

• they have the combination of 90s rock but also more soothing calming vocals, theyd literally b perfect

• and for that reason his favorite albums r koi no yokan and saturday night wrist, also their self titled,

• would call mammon a poser for his music taste “nirvana isn’t even *real* rock idiot🙄”

• but nah, also like i said in satans fiona apple and mazzy star fan

• he’d suck so bad though he’d go on twitter and be like, “if you like deftones ur a poser” (while being their number 1 fan, fucking brat) then turn off his phone and take a nap for the funny