#because they never look like that. not even 'full light' scenes.

[imagine-it-was-us]

when am I gonna lose you? || Lando Norris

Inspiration: Local Natives "When am I gonna lose you?"

Author's note: Had a real block – purely because I wanted to write something about love. Not the meet-cute. Not the breakup. Just that heart-wrecking, honest kind of love where you’re so happy, you almost can’t believe it’s real. And trust me, it was a struggle to find a song in my playlist that captured just that. But I found it – so here’s a little glimpse into my mind (and my playlist).

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Warnings: some angst and one swear word.

Summary: A quiet evening on the coast turns into something deeper when two anxious hearts confront their shared fear. It's not a story about falling in love – it's about choosing it, keeping it, and learning to trust that it’s real.

Word count: 1.4k+

She felt it mid-movie – his hand suddenly tensing around her thigh, even though the scene on the screen wasn’t meant to stir anything dramatic. She turned to him, catching him stealing a glance her way before he quickly snapped his gaze back to the TV, a cheeky smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“What?” she prodded, half-laughing. It wasn’t often she caught him staring. Whenever she did, it always set off a cascade of anxious thoughts. Maybe there was an eyelash on her cheek. Maybe her mascara had smudged, and she looked like a raccoon. Maybe–

He gave a tiny shake of his head, eyes still trained on the screen. “Nevermind.”

“Nah, you’re not doing this to me,” she said, laughing as she reached for the remote and paused the film. These kinds of quiet, uninterrupted moments were rare. Even rarer was Lando choosing silence over commentary. He always had something to say – a thought, a theory, a stupid pun. So when he didn’t speak, it meant something. It meant everything.

With the screen frozen in mid-frame, he leaned back against the sofa and turned his head slightly toward her. And there it was again — the exact moment that had caught him off guard before. The sun was melting into the sea, casting golden slits of light through the blinds, painting lines across her face, her collarbone, her shoulder like some divine stencil.

He let out a quiet breath. “Don’t you ever get that feeling… when everything’s perfect, and you just know something’s going to come along and fuck it up?”

The words hit her like lightning out of a clear sky – sudden, sharp, strangely poetic. But she didn’t flinch. She just nodded slowly, like some part of her had always been waiting for this exact question.

“I do, sometimes,” she said softly. “But… why now?”

“I don’t know. I just love this moment.”

His hand found hers, fingers gently fidgeting with hers — not restless, not anxious, just… soothing. Like the motion might slow his thoughts down enough to catch them.

He was used to his mind running laps. Constantly. Overthinking things that didn’t need thinking about. Race results. Snide comments online. Whether thirteen spring rolls were the magic number to feel full or just too much. The cute golden retriever he saw at the paddock last weekend, the one he’d probably never see again. He’d gotten used to that kind of mental noise – the static that never turned off.

So when there was stillness, when there was peace – real, earned, golden-hour kind of peace – his brain didn’t quite know what to do. It reached for the nearest thing to worry about. And it always landed on her.

What if he lost this?  What if he lost her?

She was more like him than he ever expected. A year in, long-distance and late-night calls, airport reunions and sleepy goodbyes, and somehow they’d figured each other out pretty well. They both had restless minds – sharp, hungry, buzzing. They could spiral in sync. They could reassure each other just by existing. It made their bond easier in a way. But it also meant that peace felt like walking a tightrope, always half-waiting for the fall.

“But…?” she said, already sensing it. There was always a “but” with him.

He glanced sideways at her, cheeks slightly pink now in the fading light.

“But I was sitting there, just looking at you… thinking about how pretty you are. How lucky I am that you chose me – even with everything that comes with me. All the noise. And then I thought–”

His voice faltered for a second.

“–when am I gonna lose you?”

Her heart shuddered at the words he said. She hadn’t expected that kind of vulnerability from him tonight – not here, not now, with the ocean humming outside and the world finally leaving them alone. And yet, she knew exactly where it came from.

Because she had felt it too.

Their relationship, from the outside looking in, probably never should have worked. On paper, it was ridiculous. She was – for all intents and purposes – a nobody. Just a student who’d gotten separated from her university tour group while wandering through the endless corridors of MTC. He’d been on a break, taking a breather from a wall of sponsor commitments. She’d made some half-sarcastic remark about the building layout – something like “Hard to believe you’ve got all these engineers and no one thought of a better floor plan.”

He laughed. Not just a polite chuckle. A real, head-tilted-back, god-I-needed-that laugh.

He helped her find her coursemates. They walked maybe ten minutes, tops. But in those ten minutes, something clicked – fast, easy, effortless. By the time they reached the others, he was practically pleading for her number. Just in case, he said.

Now here they were, a year and a half later. Sitting in a cabin tucked between the trees and the sea, miles from anyone, basking in quiet. Days of decompressing behind them. Long talks about futures they both secretly hoped would intertwine. It was surreal.

She looked over at him. His hand was still playing with hers absentmindedly, his eyes on their fingers instead of her face – like he wasn’t sure he could handle eye contact after saying something that raw.

“You’re not gonna lose me,” she said gently.

He glanced up, cautious hope flickering across his features.

She exhaled. “But I get it. I do. Sometimes when you call me after a race and you’re so tired you don’t even sound like you – I get this ache. Like, what if this life of yours pulls you so far away I can’t reach you anymore?”

He opened his mouth to protest – to say no, never, that’s not how it’ll be – but stopped himself almost immediately. Because how could he argue against what he’d just admitted feeling himself? It would’ve been hypocritical. Even worse – unfair. Her fear was valid. 

Their worlds had collided in the most unlikely way, and he was still keeping her tucked away from the spotlight – not because he was ashamed, but because he wanted something that was just theirs, untouched by the noise.

“But we keep showing up for each other, yeah?” she went on, voice steadier now. “In the little ways – the answered calls, the random surprises I hide in your luggage. The voice notes when the time zones don’t match up. The flowers that you order every time an older bouquet starts to waste away. Every person we let into our shared world.”

He looked at her then, how her face softened when she talked about them, how she said “shared world” like it was sacred.

“There’s this thing about people like us,” she continued. “We expect good things to vanish. We prepare ourselves for it. But maybe… maybe this is one of the rare things that’s actually built to stay.”

For a moment, all he could do was sit with it – the weight and the lightness of her words, the quiet miracle of being known so well. Then, he squeezed her hand, gently but with purpose.

“You know what I think?” he murmured.

She tilted her head toward him, a question in her eyes.

“I think we don’t give ourselves enough credit,” he said. “This? What we’ve made – it’s not just luck. It's an effort. Intention. It’s staying up at 3 a.m. just to hear your voice, even if I’ve only got five words in me. It’s you reading the same boring post-race summary just to tell me I sounded confident. It’s both of us choosing this. Every day.”

Her lips parted slightly, the corners lifting, and he could see the words landing – not as a grand gesture, but as truth. And the most amazing thing for her was how in reality he was talking himself out of the spiral. 

“I’m not afraid of losing you because something out there takes you away,” he added. “I’m afraid of losing you by accident. Letting something slip. Not fighting hard enough.”

“But you are,” she whispered. “Fighting for it, I mean.”

She cuddled into him, light slowly slipping away.

“And if we keep doing just that, we will never lose each other. So let’s keep it that way. And whenever that curly little head of yours starts telling you these kinds of things, remember us here,” she murmured.

He couldn’t stop smiling, even as he gently kissed the top of her head.

“I will.”

Neither of them said anything else for a while. She unpaused the film, and they eased back into the cushions, limbs tangled, breaths in sync. The dialogue from the screen filled the silence between them, but something had shifted – something small, steady, and unshakeable.

They watched the rest of the movie just like that: closer, lighter, stronger. And this time, neither of them was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

[my-rose-tinted-glasses]

Tag Game: Scenes I will never forget

Rules: Share 5-10 scenes you can't forget. Not your favourites, the ones that got stuck in your brain for any reason.

Tagged by @dramalove247 here thank you!💜

So when I saw this game, my mind immediately went to pain. Maybe because of the post that originated the game or maybe because it's easier to remember the pain lol (laughing to mask the pain). But then I started to think about shows and scenes and so many scenes live in my brain and not just because they hurt, but also because I felt such joy, or a scene that made me relate in a good way, or made me laugh non stop. So, with that in mind, here goes my list of scenes that I will never forget, no matter how many more shows I watch. I'm gonna keep it QL to make it easier on me but I also started to think about scenes from other asian media, so if anyone wants to tag me again, feel free. But also, don't feel obligated. You know what I mean. Let's go.

Kinou Nani Tabeta

I still get teary eyed just looking at the gifs. Chicken thighs as love. Shiro had me crying throughout most of season 2, but this moment absolutely wrecked me. There's something about Shiro's understated but deep way of loving Kenji that hits harder than any tragic scene ever could.

Love in the Big City

What can I even say about this scene. It destroyed me twice. First when I read it and then actually seeing it. I related too heavily to Young in this scene for reason I wrote about before, so I'll stop there before I start crying and don't stop.

Love for Love's Sake

This show had plenty of scenes that completely wrecked me, so I could've picked several. But this one was a gut punch that absolutely shattered my heart. It was just so overwhelming. And it felt like looking in a mirror.

She Loves to Cook, and She Loves to Eat

Not gonna go into it right now. Everything you need to know about how I feel about this scene and others like these can be found here. It healed something in me to watch it.

At 25:00 in Akasaka

"To get into character." I could hear his heart break into a million pieces. I still get goosebumps just thinking about it. Such an incredible scene and an amazing job by Komagine Kiita.

Life~Love on the Line

This is one of those where you had to be there. Cause I'm not gonna spoil anything. I live here, on this beach. Damn you Akira!

Time of Fever

THE HEATER BETWEEN THEM!!! (*waves at @colourme-feral*) This scene has taken permanent residence in my brain. These two had me in a choke hold for way too long, and this scene was just perfect in every way.

The Untamed

Scene of all time. Suffice it to say that I sometimes go back just to watch this scene. Or to read that chapter in the book. That's the effect this scene has on me. I love Wen Ning so much. The actors were great here. Jiang Cheng just makes me hate him and want to hug him, all at the same time. And seeing Lan Zhan putting the pieces together just ends me. Oh it's so good.

Light On Me

"During the time I couldn't see anything, and I was unaware, Noh Shin-Woo thought about me. He talked to me. The messages that remained unread and his feelings that weren't relayed, came pouring out to me, all at once." AAAAAAAHHHHHH. Confession of all time. That's all.

And last but certainly not least, truly an unforgettable bl moment....

Every You, Every Me

This scene had me laughing so hard. For that whole afternoon after I watched this episode, this scene kept coming back to me and I could not stop laughing. Carrots will never be the same.

And we come full circle, starting with chicken thighs and ending with carrots, proving once again, that food is ultimately the most memorable thing to me. This was hard because I wanted to include so many others that I love and think about and can't forget, but today these were it.

Tagging but as usual no pressure: @thisonelikesaliens @colourme-feral @abstractelysium @troubled-mind @italianpersonwithashippersheart @nabi-unveiled @yannig @theside-b @watchthisqqq @watchingblsnowandforever @littleragondin @he-is-lightning-in-a-bottle and if you see this and want to play consider yourself tagged here ➡️@ 💜

[servicereward]

Buena Vista Style Guide, Disney's Gargoyles (1994)

Size Comparison & Color Callouts

[holopossums]

i think it's kind of interesting that i'm like many artists where i can replicate the Rise TMNT style To An Extent, but i really don't try too hard to make it look Exactly like the show either. i have little traits in my art that i don't want to lose because i like them and they're uniquely my own. i like to look at my art and see clearly that i made it, not another person.

[i2sunric]

𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐄 (s.jy)

PAIRING: boxer-dad!jake x mom!reader (f)

SUMMARY: being married to a boxer is frightening— twice as much when you’re raising a child (or two) with that very same man. but none of it matters, not really, because your love for him is unconditional, stronger than fear, deeper than doubt, and it has always lived beyond the reach of worry.

WARNINGS: boxing, mentions of blood and wounds, mentions of pregnancy, morning sickness, pet names (baby, love), fear, love making (it’s just the last scene and barely narrated, but you can choose to skip it), starring yunjin huh (lesserafim), babies (jihoon/james & jiheon/jane). lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.

PUBLISHED: 12th May 2025

WC: 9.2k

TAGLIST: @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @jwnghyuns @bangtancultsposts @shawnyle @jooniesbears-blog @skzenhalove @ro-diaries @onlyhyunjin @xcosmi @strawberrhypen @heeheeswifey @jakeflvrz @astratlantis @tunafishyfishylike @branchrkive @insommni4 @kirinaa08 @leiclerc @nxzz-skz @laurradoesloveu @beomluvrr @heeshlove @17ericas @riribelle @cloud-lyy @enhamonsterghoul @star-hoon @princesstiti14

NOW PLAYING: Brisbane by Youth in Revolt & Heavenly by Broadside

a/n: the meds against allergy the doctor gave me make me feel high so sorry if there are any errors or shit. anw let me know your thoughts on this fic! 🩷 i honestly like it sm (my search history is full of synonyms lol) and please, if you haven’t, read the sunghoon!dad fic i wrote too!

©️don’t copy or steal this fic & please REBLOG to share.

You always woke up first. That was just the way it went.

The early sun never failed to warm your face through the slightly cracked blinds of your shared bedroom, golden light slipping across the foot of the bed like it belonged there.

Jake’s arm was slung heavy around your waist, his breath slow and deep against the nape of your neck, and just a little too warm. One of his legs was tangled with yours, as if even in his sleep he couldn’t stand to be far from you.

And at the foot of the bed, curled up with a stuffed gray bunny that was beginning to unravel at the seams, was James— Jihoon when he was in trouble.

Five years old. Barely able to tie his shoes right, but already carrying Jake’s stubbornness in his bones.

You shifted gently, trying not to wake Jake as you slipped out from under his hold.

He grumbled something incoherent in his sleep and reached out for you, but you were already halfway to the kitchen.

It wasn’t long before little feet padded after you, and then James was clambering onto a chair at the table, face still puffy with sleep, hair a mess.

“Toast?” you asked.

He nodded, rubbing at one eye. “With honey.”

You ruffled his hair before turning to the counter. “You’re getting too used to sweet things in the morning.”

“It makes me run faster,” he insisted, already kicking his legs under the table like he had a hundred miles of energy to spend.

Behind you, you heard Jake’s heavy steps thudding down the hallway, groggy and shirtless, his curls a wild mess. He kissed your shoulder as he passed, then bent over to ruffle Jihoon’s hair too.

“Morning, champ.”

“Morning,” James beamed. “Can we box today?”

Jake laughed as he sat down. “You wanna box again?”

James nodded so hard his curls bounced. “I’m gonna be a boxer just like you!”

You didn’t say anything at first. Just buttered the toast. Carefully.

Jake noticed. Of course he did.

After six years, he could read you better than anyone. “We’ll be careful,” he said softly, glancing at you over James’ head.

“Boxing’s not a game,” you replied quietly. “It’s not— it’s not something I want him dreaming of every night.”

Jake’s eyes softened, and he reached for your hand as you placed the plate of toast down. “I know, I know it scares you. But he doesn’t see the blood or the bruises. He just sees his dad being strong.”

You looked at him, feeling your chest ache. “That’s exactly why I’m scared.”

James munched on his toast without a care in the world, his feet swinging. “Can I come to your next match?” he asked suddenly, crumbs on his lips. “Please, please, please, pleeeeeease?”

Jake blinked, surprised. “What, the next one? That’s in two days, James.”

“I’m big enough,” he declared, sitting up straighter. “I wanna watch, I wanna cheer. Please, mommy?”

You looked at him, at his big, pleading eyes.

At the innocence behind them.

And then you looked at Jake, with the same eyes who looked torn between pride and guilt. It wasn’t fair— how much James looked like both of you at once, how easily he could tug at your heart.

You sighed. “We’ll see.”

Which really meant yes. Because you were never good at saying no when it came to them.

That night, you helped James into Jake’s old boxing gloves. They were far too big, slipping past his wrists, practically swallowing his arms.

He tried to throw punches, but they were mostly flailing motions that made Jake laugh until he was nearly wheezing on the floor.

You leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, trying not to smile too much.

Jake caught your eye, cheeks flushed, a sheen of sweat on his collarbones from messing around with James. “See? He’s a natural.”

“He’s five.”

“He’s my kid, he’s gonna be unstoppable.”

James fell over trying to jab at Jake’s leg. “Gotcha!” he shouted.

Jake swooped down and scooped him up, holding him upside down while James shrieked with laughter. “You got me, huh? You sure about that?”

“Daaaaaaad!”

“You gonna knock me out one day, champ?”

“Yeah! One punch!”

You bit back a laugh as you walked over, flicking Jake’s shoulder. “Put him down before he vomits dinner.”

“Fine,” Jake groaned, dropping James onto the couch. “You both take all the fun out of my life.”

James poked his tongue out at him. “No I don’t. I’m your best fun.”

Jake looked at him for a long second, eyes warm, and then over at you. “You both are.”

Two nights later, the arena smelled like sweat and nerves.

You had James on your lap, his little legs tucked close to his chest, his hands gripping a paper cup of juice too tightly.

The crowd was loud, the lights bright, and your heart was beating way too fast for someone who wasn’t even in the ring.

Jake stepped into the spotlight wearing his mouthguard and gloves, robe slung low over his shoulders.

He looked fierce. Serious. Beautiful. Like the fighter you’d first met back in college, when he was reckless and full of fire, but still somehow managed to be the kindest boy you’d ever known.

Jihoon bounced excitedly. “There he is! Look, mom, look!”

“I see him, baby.”

The bell rang.

The fight started.

And something was wrong.

You could tell, even if the others couldn’t.

Jake’s steps weren’t as light, his dodges not as quick. The other guy was aggressive, coming in hard and fast, and Jake—he was getting hit. A lot.

Your stomach twisted.

“Mom,” James said, his voice small now. “Why’s dad not winning?”

“He’s trying,” you whispered, arms tightening around him. “He’s okay, he’s— he’s just warming up.”

But then Jake stumbled. His lip was split.

His shoulder sagged like he’d pulled something.

And your son started to panic.

“Mom, he’s hurt. We gotta go help him.”

“James, no, listen to me— he’s gonna be okay, you can’t—”

But your words weren’t fast enough.

James wriggled out of your arms before you could catch him, ducking under the security rope, sprinting across the edge of the crowd.

Someone shouted. You were on your feet, your heart in your throat, but James was already halfway to the ring.

“Jihoon!”

He scrambled up through the ropes, small enough to slip between them, and ran straight to his father.

Jake didn’t even notice at first, too dazed by the last punch.

“Stop the fight!” you screamed. “Stop it, my son’s in there!”

The ref blew his whistle furiously, waving his arms. The other boxer dropped his stance immediately, confused.

Jake blinked down— and froze.

“Champ?”

James launched into his chest, wrapping his tiny arms around his waist. “Don’t let him hit you again! I’ll fight him for you!”

Your vision blurred with tears as you rushed down toward the ring.

Someone opened the gate for you, and you ruan inside, breath shaking, legs trembling.

Jake had dropped to one knee, one arm around James, the other shaking as he pulled his mouthguard out.

“Hey,” he whispered. “What are you doing, buddy? You can’t be in here.”

“You were losing,” James mumbled, clutching him tighter. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

Jake let out a laugh that sounded like it hurt. “I’m okay. It’s just a match.”

“You were bleeding.”

Jake looked up at you then, and his face — Lord, his face —he looked so sorry. So wrecked.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should’ve never let him come. This was too much.”

You knelt down beside them, pulling James into your arms, running a hand through his hair. “You scared me,” you whispered. “You can’t run off like that, Jihoon. Ever.”

“I’m sorry,” he sniffled. “I just— I didn’t want him to lose.”

Jake leaned in, pressing a kiss to both your foreheads. “I’ll never lose anything that matters, okay? Because I’ve already got you.”

The crowd was murmuring. Officials were everywhere. The match was called off.

Jake was disqualified, but he didn’t care.

All he cared about was you. And James. Safe. In his arms.

Later, in the locker room, after everyone had gone, Jake sat with James asleep in his arms, still wearing one glove that dwarfed his hand.

You sat beside him, your head resting on his shoulder.

“Promise me,” you murmured, “that if he really wants to fight when he’s older…you’ll teach him how to be smart. How to be safe.”

Jake nodded, kissing the top of Jihoon’s curls. “I promise. But for now…I just want him to dream about anything else. Anything safer.”

You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. “You scared me tonight.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“I love you, Jake.”

He turned, eyes soft. “I love you too.”

And in that quiet moment, with your son snoring softly between you and the world finally still, you felt it again— that fragile, powerful kind of happiness that could only exist when you had everything you loved right there in your arms.

☆.

It was supposed to be your morning to sleep in.

The deal was sacred: on Sundays, or holidays, or any day the world wasn’t demanding something from the two of you at dawn, one of you got to stay in bed while the other kept James entertained.

It had been years of trial and error, balancing exhaustion with parenting, love with chaos, but you’d found your rhythm.

This morning, you were supposed to be nestled in the warmth of the blankets while Jake took James to the kitchen for cereal and cartoons.

You’d heard them shuffling around in the other room— Jake’s low, sleepy voice, and James, wide awake, asking if he could have two bowls because he was ‘super strong today’.

But instead of dozing off again like you usually did, a sharp pain twisted through your stomach, a heat blooming behind your navel and spreading like fire.

You jolted upright, cold sweat already rising on the back of your neck, and before you could think or breathe or blink, you were rushing out of bed.

The bathroom door hit the wall when you shoved it open, and you barely made it to the toilet in time before your stomach gave out.

Violent, sudden.

Your knees hit the tile hard as your body curled in on itself.

“Baby?” Jake’s voice, thick with sleep, came from the hallway.

You couldn’t answer. The retching had stolen all the air from your lungs.

There were small footsteps, bare feet padding quick against the floor, and then James’s voice, high and worried. “Mommy?”

Jake was there a moment later, crouching beside you, his hand on your back.

“Shit— hey, hey, what’s wrong?” He was rubbing gentle circles into your spine, his other hand brushing the damp strands of hair from your forehead.

You forced yourself upright, gasping, “Phone. Get me my phone.”

Jake didn’t waste time asking questions. He was up in a flash, bolting down the hall.

But it was James who surprised you.

He knelt beside you, mimicking his father’s earlier movements, his tiny fingers clumsy as they gathered your hair and held it back.

“I’m here, Mommy,” he whispered. “You’re okay. Daddy’s coming.”

You shut your eyes for a second, heart swollen even through the pain. “Thank you, baby.”

Jake returned a beat later, sliding to the floor with your phone in one hand, his other reaching out to feel your forehead. “You’re burning up. Do you want me to call the doctor? What do you need?”

You didn’t answer at first, just searched the appa until you found the period tracker one.

You looked at him — really looked at him — and said, hoarse and quiet, “My period’s late.”

That madew him pause.

He glanced briefly at James, still by your side, loyal and worried and trying so hard to be brave.

“Late?” he asked.

You nodded. “Like…late late. And I know July’s always weird for me, and sometimes it skips, but this… this isn’t like that. This is…”

Jake caught on. He stood and reached for the bathroom cabinet before you could finish.

His hand went straight to the little white box buried behind cough syrup and cotton pads. The spare test.

He held it up. “This?”

You nodded, pressing a palm against your stomach as another wave of nausea rolled over you.

Jake knelt again and gently coaxed James to his feet. “Hey, buddy. Can you go watch TV for a bit? I’ll bring you snacks soon, I promise.”

“But—Mommy—”

“She’ll be okay,” Jake said, smoothing a hand over James’ss head. “I promise. Just give us a few minutes.”

James hesitated, looking from you to Jake, before finally nodding and stepping out of the room with one last glance over his shoulder.

You leaned back against the wall, breath shaky. Jake helped you up and steadied you with an arm around your waist.

“I’ll wait out there,” he said quietly, placing the test in your hand.

“No,” You looked up at him, eyes wide. “Don’t go.”

He hesitated for half a second, then nodded. “Alright. I’m here.”

The test took less than a minute to take. But it felt like a year.

You placed it on the edge of the sink, both of you staring at it like it might jump to life and scream the answer at you.

You were still sitting on the toilet lid, knees tucked up, your arms hugging them to your chest.

Jake sat across from you on the closed tub, elbows on his thighs, eyes flicking between the floor and your face and the tiny plastic stick.

You broke the silence. “We weren’t planning this.”

Jake gave a breathy laugh that had no humor in it. “We weren’t really planning anything back then, either… when we had James.”

“That was different,” you said.

He met your eyes. “Was it?”

You bit your lip, chest tightening. “It feels scarier now.”

Jake didn’t say anything for a second. Then he moved closer, kneeling in front of you.

His hands found yours, his fingers cold from the tile but steady. “Whatever it says…you’re not alone in this. You’re never alone, love.”

“I threw up everywhere.”

“Still not alone.”

You buried your face in his shoulder, and for the first time since the pain had woken you up, you let yourself cry.

Just a little.

Jake held you through it, fingers curling into your hair, his lips pressing against your temple.

When the ten minutes were up, the test was still face-down on the sink.

Jake turned it over.

He didn’t say anything at first.

You looked at his face, trying to read it. He was too still. His jaw clenched once, then loosened.

His eyes flicked up to yours, wide and stunned.

You stood slowly, walking to the sink, feeling your heartbeat rattle in your ribs.

You saw the two lines.

Pregnant.

Your stomach swooped. Your hands trembled.

“Oh my god.”

Jake was behind you in a second. His hands came around your waist, his head resting on your shoulder.

“That’s real,” you whispered.

“Yeah.”

“That’s real.” you said, more convinced.

Jake nodded, kissing your cheek softly. “Looks like we’re doing it again.”

You turned in his arms, eyes brimming, half-laughing, half-sobbing. “What if I can’t handle it? What if it’s too much?”

“You will handle it,” he said firmly. “Because you’re strong. And because I’m here, and we already made the best little human in the world. We can do it again.”

You clung to him, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “He’s gonna be a big brother.”

Jake pulled back just enough to smile at you. Really smile. “Can you imagine him? With a little sibling running after him?”

“He’ll boss them around.”

“He’ll protect them.”

You laughed again, eyes still blurry with emotion. “We need to tell him.”

Jake looked toward the door. “Now?”

You paused. “Not yet. Let’s just…hold it, just for a little bit. Just ours.”

He nodded. “Just ours.”

There was still pain. Still nausea. Still fear.

But Jake was here. You were here. And there was life, again, starting inside you.

Another heartbeat waiting to be loved.

☆.

You never liked hospitals.

They always smelled too clean, too sharp, like something was being covered up.

But you went anyway, let Yunjin drive you in her little too-fast-for-comfort car with her playlist blaring.

She didn’t let you argue. Not when she saw the look on your face after the test. Not when she showed up with a fresh croissant and a determined, no-bullshit attitude.

“I’m not letting you stay in bed and Google symptoms until you give yourself a panic attack,” she said. “We’re going to the doctor. I’ll hold your hand, throw up with you, whatever you need.”

True to her word, she was there when you lay back on the crinkly white paper of the exam table, heart in your throat, the sonographer squeezing warm gel onto your skin.

She didn’t let go of your hand once.

AAnd there it was.

That flickering heartbeat.

Tiny. So small it didn’t feel real until it pulsed across the screen like a drum.

You stared at it, lips parted, heart unraveling. The image was hazy, grainy, but it was there, this new, growing piece of you. Of Jake. Of your family.

You cried, of course. You always cried at these kinds of things, even if you tried not to.

Yunjin blinked hard a few times herself. “You’re really doing this again, huh?”

You laughed, a watery sound. “God, yeah.”

“You’re stronger than me.”

“No I’m not,” you said. “You’d be amazing.”

She squeezed your hand. “But right now, this baby’s gonna have the coolest mom on earth… and well, aunt, duh!”

When you finally did tell your son, Jake was the one who brought it up.

James had been building a Lego tower in the living room, lying on his stomach in his little dinosaur pajamas, humming to himself.

Jake sat beside you on the couch, his hand on your thigh, a soft press of reassurance.

“Hey, bud,” Jake said, ruffling his son’s hair, “we’ve got something kinda cool to tell you.”

James looked up, blinking, pieces of Lego clutched in each hand. “What?”

Jake looked at you. You nodded, and he smiled. “You’re gonna be a big brother.”

James blinked again. “What?”

You leaned forward. “There’s a baby growing in my tummy, sweetheart.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then, “A baby? In there?” He pointed, alarmed, at your belly, which still looked more like you’d eaten too much lunch than anything else.

You laughed. “Yeah. In there.”

His mouth dropped open. “Is it gonna pop out soon?”

“Not soon,” Jake said. “You’ve got a few months, but eventually, yeah.”

James crawled closer, pressing his little hand against your shirt like he was trying to feel the baby through your skin. “Is it a girl?”

“We don’t know yet,” you said.

He tilted his head, clearly deep in thought. “Will it like dinosaurs?”

“I hope so,” Jake said, laughing.

James was quiet again for a moment, looking at you, then Jake, then back to you. “Do I have to share my snacks?”

You smiled. “Only if you want to.”

“I’ll think about it,” he said solemnly. “But only if it doesn’t touch my T-rex.”

“Deal,” Jake said.

And just like that, James accepted it.

Sort of. He had questions, of course— How does the baby breathe? Will it be loud? What if it’s a girl and doesn’t like trucks?

But in the end, he was still the sweetest baby boy on earth.

☆.

The first trimester was cruel.

The toilet became your closest companion.

Mornings were the worst: your body felt hijacked, your stomach constantly roiling, everything smelling too strong or too wrong.

Jake woke up every day with you, even when his eyes were heavy with sleep and his matches were approaching.

Even when his training hours stretched him thin. He still tried to take up time to stay with you, to train younger boxers instead of boxing himself.

But what surprised you most was James.

He’d peek into the bathroom every morning, hair sticking out in wild directions, clutching his little stuffed dinosaur by the arm.

And if Jake wasn’t already holding your hair back, James would quietly step in and do it.

He never complained.

He just stood there with a serious look on his face and said things like, “You’re doing a good job, Mommy,” or “It’s okay. Sometimes I throw up when I eat too much candy, too.”

Jake started calling him your bodyguard.

James puffed his chest with pride every time.

Sometimes, when the nausea got bad enough, Jake would carry you to bed, settle behind you, and James would crawl in on your other side and whisper stories to the baby. “Today I drew a robot. When you come out, I’ll draw you, too.”

It was in that moment that you realised you had won in life.

.

☆.

Valentine’s Day wasn’t usually a big deal for the two of you.

You’d never been the candlelight-dinner, wine-glass-clinking, heart-shaped-everything type of couple.

Your love was built on early mornings and grocery runs, on whispered goodnights and holding hands during hospital appointments, on parenting and partnership and choosing each other again and again, even on the days when your patience was thin and the dishes were stacked high in the sink.

But this year felt different.

You woke up to the soft creak of your bedroom door opening and the quiet shuffle of socks across the floor.

Your belly was heavy, so round and taut it felt like you were a balloon stretched to its final inch of give.

And you were tired. So tired.

But when you opened your eyes, you saw them— Jake, holding a bouquet of slightly squashed red roses, and James peeking from behind his leg with something hidden behind his back.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Jake murmured, kneeling on the edge of the bed and brushing a kiss against your forehead.

James stepped forward, biting his lip, then presented you with…a crayon drawing of what looked like three lopsided people holding hands. “This is us,” he explained proudly. “That’s you, and that’s Daddy, and that’s me, the little one in your belly is a circle. I didn’t know if it’s a girl or a boy.”

You took it like it was the most precious thing in the world. Maybe it was.

Jake handed you the flowers with a sheepish smile. “James wanted to get you chocolates, but I told him flowers are important too.”

“Mommy should have both,” James declared.

“You taught him well,” you said, kissing your husband’s lips. Then you reached under in the bedside table drawer and pulled out a wrapped box you’d hidden last night. “And so did I.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “What is this?”

“Open it.”

He unwrapped it to find a tin of dark chocolate truffles and a new pair of wraps for training —embroidered with Best Father Farter across the edge.

His smile cracked wide. “Oh my god.” he laughed loudly “I love them!”

James clambered onto the bed between you both. “Can we eat cake now?”

“After lunch,” you said, laughing. “But yes. Later, we’ll eat cake.”

Jake cooked lunch while you sat on a stool in the kitchen, rubbing your belly and trying to ignore the low ache that had been bothering you all morning.

James danced around in his socks, insisting on wearing a tie for ‘the special day’c and you let him because he looked too cute not to.

The cake was store-bought, a simple one with little pink sugar hearts, but James was excited about it like it was some magical treasure.

You stood up to grab a knife to cut the first slice.

You didn’t even make it to the drawer.

Pop.

The sound wasn’t loud, but you felt it in your body, a deep, sudden release of pressure.

Warmth gushed down your legs.

You froze.

Jake, mid-laugh, stopped. “Did you— did you drop something?”

You looked down at your soaked pants. Then up at him.

“Oh my god.”

Jake’s eyes widened. “Is that—? Is it happening?!”

“Yes! Jake, yes— go grab the hospital bag!”

James gasped, horrified. “You peed yourself?!”

“I didn’t pee myself, baby,” you said through gritted teeth as the first cramp twisted through your belly. “The baby’s coming.”

James blinked. “Now?”

“Yes. Now.”

Jake was moving at light speed— or maybe no speed at all.

He dropped the bouquet. Nearly tripped over James.

Grabbed his phone, then the car keys, then forgot both again.

“Okay, bag— hospital bag, where’s the— where did we—where did you put it?”

“By the door, Jake!” you snapped. “Where it’s always been.”

He stumbled off, yelling back, “I knew that! I’m calm!”

“You’re not calm!”

James was clinging to your leg like a baby koala. “Is the baby falling out right now?”

“No,” you hissed, hand gripping the table as another contraction hit, sharp and fast. “But soon if we don’t move.”

“Should I call someone?” Jake shouted from the hall.

“Yes! Call Yunjin. She needs to come stay with James!”

“I’m already on it!” he yelled back, fumbling his phone.

Yunjin picked up after two rings.

“You’re gonna want to get here,” Jake said, voice too high. “It’s happening. She’s— her water broke. Like actually broke. It’s go time.”

You grabbed the phone from him as he rushed back in. “Yunjin, please— just get here.”

“I’m on my way, don’t panic,” she said, though you could hear the smile in her voice. “Tell James I’ll bring candy.”

“I’ll tell him if I survive.”

You handed the phone back to Jake, your hands trembling. “Get the car ready. I’ll get shoes.”

“You’re not getting anything. I’m carrying you.”

“Jake—”

“I’m carrying you,” he repeated, gently but firmly.

James watched the whole scene unfold like a movie, his eyes wide. “Will it hurt?”

You knelt down, wincing, brushing his cheek. “Yeah, honey. It’s going to hurt. Daddy’s going to be with me, don’t worry. you’re gonna be the best big brother ever.”

He nodded, lip trembling. “I’ll tell the baby that I love her.”

Jake kissed his forehead, voice thick. “You tell her that in person. We’ll be back with your sister soon.”

The hospital was a blur of fluorescent lights and quick footsteps and voices that felt like they were underwater. m

The pain hit in waves, and each time it crashed, you wanted to scream— but you didn’t.

Not yet. Not until it got worse.

And god, it got worse.

Nine hours of it.

Jake never left your side, not for a second.

You yelled at him at least three times.

“Stop talking,” you growled at him during hour five, when he was trying to distract you with some nonsense story about his first amateur fight.

He shut up. Immediately. Nodded like a soldier.

Later, when you were gripping the rail of the bed so hard your knuckles went white, you hissed, “I hate you.”

“I know,” he said.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Got it.”

“Wait, no— touch me again.”

He grabbed your hand without hesitation. “Right here.”

You screamed. He let you crush his fingers.

And when it finally happened,.

the world shrank to pressure and burning and breathless, broken sounds, you gave one last push and everything stopped.

Then—

A cry.

High and raw and brand new.

They placed her on your chest, and your hands shook when they curled around her tiny, wriggling body.

She was pink and warm and squalling like she was furious about the whole ordeal.

You sobbed.

Jake sobbed more.

Your forehead pressed to hers as you whispered, “Hi, baby. Hi, Jane… Hi, Jiheon.”

Jake kissed your temple a hundred times, his face wet with tears. “You did it. You did so good.”

“She’s so small,” you whispered.

“She’s perfect.”

You looked at her again, this little piece of you and Jake and everything that had ever been good between you.

You were exhausted, ripped open and aching, but she was here.

Your daughter.

And she was worth it all.

☆.

The world came back slowly.

Not in one clean breath, but in fragments, blinking against the dim hospital room light, the hum of machines, the sterile scent of disinfectant layered beneath something warm.

Familiar.

Jake’s cologne.

Your throat was dry, lips cracked, body heavy— wrecked didn’t even begin to describe it.

Your stomach ached with the aftershock of labor, your muscles trembling in the stillness, and for a moment, you couldn’t even tell what time it was.

Everything had blurred together into hours of pain, blood, cries, and the weight of her tiny body on your chest before darkness finally pulled you under.

But now—now it was night.

The sky outside the narrow window was ink-dark, the city lights dulled by the thickness of the glass.

You shifted just slightly, wincing at the soreness that radiated through your hips and spine, and turned your head.

He was there.

Jake was sitting in the corner chair beside your bed, hunched forward with a blanket cradled against his chest, shoulders curved inward like a shield.

His hair was a mess,, and his eyes were fixed on her with an expression so full of awe it punched the breath right out of your lungs.

He was crying. Quietly.

Not the dramatic, shaking kind of crying— just slow, steady tears, running along the curve of his jaw and down to his neck as he stared at his daughter.

“Jaeyun…” Your voice cracked like ice underfoot.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even look at you at first.

“She’s sleeping,” he whispered, brushing one callused thumb over her cheek, his voice so soft it barely stirred the air. “She has your nose.”

You watched him from the bed, your vision still cloudy, but yourr heart was awake now.

He looked so still, so unlike the chaotic Jake you’d known for years.

Not the boy who forgot his keys five times a week.

Not the man who cheered too loud at James’s school recitals. This was something different.

This was a father. Again.

You reached out with a hand that shook from effort. “Let me see her.”

Jake finally turned, startled like he hadn’t realized you were awake.

He sniffed, blinking hard as he carefully got up. “You’re awake,” he said, voice cracking. “God, you— are you okay? You fainted right after they took her. They said you were just exhausted, but you were out. I thought—” He paused. Swallowed. “I’ve been watching you sleep for hours.”

You blinked slowly. “You’re not supposed to say that like it’s romantic, stalker.”

That got a breath of laughter out of him, ragged and wet. He came to the side of the bed, kneeling so he could ease Jane down into your arms. “Here,” he murmured. “Hold her again.”

You adjusted your pillow, barely able to sit up.

But he helped, supporting your back, brushing the strands of hair away from your damp forehead. And then she was there, small and warm and impossibly real in your arms again.

“Hi, baby,” you whispered. “Hi, little Jane.”

“Jiheon,” Jake added softly. “That’s what I’ve been calling her. She likes it… i think. She keeps making this face when I say it— look.” He leaned in and repeated it again in a whisper, “Jiheon.”

Jane shifted slightly, scrunching her face before relaxing again. A barely-there smile tugged at Jake’s lips.

“You look like a dad of two now,” you murmured, brushing your finger along her hair. “There’s something different in your face.”

“I feel different.” He pressed his forehead to your shoulder and just breathed there for a second. “Like… more breakable.”

You rested your cheek on top of Jane’s head and closed your eyes. “You’re not. You’re stronger than you think.”

He pulled back and sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle either of you. “Do you remember what you said during hour seven?”

“Which part? I said a lot of things.”

“You said if I ever touched you again, you’d break my nose.”

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Still stands. For a while.”

Jake grinned and leaned closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “Fair. I’ll wait.”

You both sat there for a while, in the stillness that only came in the dead of night, surrounded by beeping monitors and the soft breathing of your daughter.

After a while, he reached out and brushed the back of his finger over Jane’s tiny fist. “She’s got my ears.”

You snorted. “Poor girl.”

He laughed, pulling the blanket higher around your shoulders. “James is gonna love her.”

“He already does,” you said. “He kept talking to my belly like it was a walkie-talkie.”

Jake smiled again, softer now. “He’s gonna be the best big brother.”

You were quiet for a while.

Just breathing. Just holding her.

And him holding you.

Then, your voice cracked the silence, barely a whisper.

“Thank you.”

Jake blinked. “For what?”

“For giving me them.” You looked down at Jane. “For giving me you.”

His face crumpled a little. “You gave me everything back.”

☆.

Coming home was a blur of motion and scent and warmth—soft clothes, white noise, the lingering chill of February air clinging to your coats and hair as you stepped into the house with a car seat cradled between both hands.

Jane was still asleep.

That delicate, floating sleep only newborns seem capable of, where their tiny chests rise like feathers and fall again, their mouths puckering occasionally, eyelashes still damp against their cheeks.

Your arms ached from holding her, your legs felt like jelly, and your stomach was a quilt of stretched skin and healing muscle, but lord— you were finally home.

Jake carried the bags in with one arm and hovered behind you like you might fall at any second.

His hand was low on your back. “You okay?”

“I’m… tired,” you admitted, your voice raspy with lack of sleep and recovery, but your eyes were clear. “But yeah, I’m okay.”

“Good. I want this moment to be good.”

You looked over at him. “It will be.”

James had been waiting by the window.

The second you stepped inside, his feet came skidding over the hardwood floors in his socks, eyes wide, mouth hanging slightly open.

“Where is she?” he breathed, like he was waiting to see a mythical creature.

Jake gently nudged the car seat toward him. “She’s sleeping. Be soft, okay?”

James crouched like it was some sacred ritual, his tiny fingers gripping the edge of the blanket.

He peeked in with a squint, nose wrinkling, face twisted in deep thought.

He blinked.

Then frowned.

“…She’s kind of ugly,” he declared.

Jake choked on a laugh, reaching to ruffle his hair. “Hey.”

“But it’s okay,” James continued with a shrug. “She’s a baby. I heard some people get plastic surgery when they grow up. She can do that if she wants.”

You pressed a hand to your mouth, stifling a snort. “She’s not ugly.”

“She looks like a wrinkly potato.”

“That’s cause she just came out,,” Jake said solemnly, kneeling beside him. “She’ll look better after some milk and sleep.”

James tilted his head, clearly unsure how to feel. “She smells like butt.”

You bent down beside them both, the ache in your legs sharp but ignorable.

Jane stirred a little, her mouth making a soft sucking noise, her hands twitching. “You smelled worse when you were born.”

James’s eyes widened like you’d just told him he was adopted. “No way.”

“Yes way,” Jake chimed in. “You pooped on me twice in the first week.”

James’ face lit up. “Can I hold her?”

“In a bit,” you said, brushing your fingers along his hair. “After she’s fed. And once we’re on the couch.”

He nodded, serious. “I’ll wait.”

☆.

The days passed like smoke curling around your head—soft and slow and smothering all at once.

Jane didn’t sleep unless she was on someone’s chest.

Your chest. Jake’s chest. Occasionally James’s, when he insisted on sitting perfectly still on the couch, puffed up with responsibility.

Your nights bled into mornings, your mornings into afternoons.

You could barely tell what day it was anymore. You were always either nursing, changing, soothing, or trying to catch a moment of quiet to breathe.

But even in the chaos, there were moments that glowed— small, quiet glimmers of peace.

James tiptoed more than he used to. He would pad into your bedroom at two a.m., rubbing his eyes, clutching his dinosaur plushie under one arm.

“Is she okay?” he’d whisper.

“She’s just hungry,” you’d whisper back.

Sometimes he’d crawl into the bed next to you and lie on Jake’s other side, close enough to reach for your elbow. He didn’t ask for lullabies anymore. Just your presence, closeness.

Sometimes he’d doze off again before Jane had even finished nursing.

Other times, he’d stay awake. Just watching.

“I think she likes when you sing,” he murmured one night.

You paused, fingers stroking Jane’s back. “You think?”

He nodded seriously. “Even if you’re a little out of tune.”

And Jake— Jake was different, this time.

The first time around, he’d tried. He really had.

But he was younger, more nervous, too rough around the edges, and there were nights when you’d cried in the shower because you were the one holding everything together.

But not now.

Now he was soft in the ways that mattered.

He remembered the towel you liked best and warmed it in the dryer before you bathed.

He memorized your medications, prepped your bottle without you asking.

He rubbed your feet while Jane fed, whispered affirmations when you broke into tears at 3 a.m. for no reason except that your body wasn’t yours and your brain was drowning and you missed sleeping for more than two hours at a time.

He wasn’t perfect.

He still forgot to put lids back on properly and he still knocked over the baby lotion bottle three times in the same week.

But he had learned you. Learned your limits. Your moods.

What words would help and which wouldn’t. He never made you feel like a burden. Not once.

And when you had nothing left to give— he gave you back to yourself.

You came down one night after a long nap you hadn’t even realized you’d taken, hair sticking to your forehead, your robe askew.

You expected disaster. Bottles unwashed, a screaming baby, maybe Jake asleep on the couch with James up way too late playing video games.

Instead, you found the living room lit in warm lamplight, quiet.

Jake was shirtless, Jane pressed to his chest in the baby wrap, bouncing slightly on his feet as he whispered a lullaby in half-Korean, half-english.

James was curled on the rug with dinosaurs his book, whispering the words to himself, a blanket pulled over his lap.

Your heart cracked open.

Jake looked up and smiled. “She just finished feeding. I pumped from the stash in the fridge, you looked like you needed rest.”

“I did,” you whispered.

“Go back up,” he said. “I’ll bring you tea.”

You hesitated. “I feel guilty.”

“Don’t. You gave her a whole body, we’ll take care of you now.”

You did cry then.

And when Jake wrapped you in his arms that night, you believed him.

You believed that this family, this messy, tired, beautiful family, was being held together not just by your hands, but by all three of theirs.

And that was everything.

☆.

Two years later, the kitchen smelled like strawberries and sunscreen.

It was a Sunday afternoon in early June, sun slanting through the window blinds and painting long, golden stripes across the tiled floor.

The fan hummed softly in the corner, spinning slow circles that barely stirred the air, and Jan e your little girl with her chubby hands and mismatched socks was sitting in her high chair, smearing strawberry juice across her cheeks like war paint.

Jake was crouched beside her, wiping her chin with one of the soft, floral-patterned cloths you insisted on keeping in the drawer.

His hair was still damp from the hose-outside chaos that had been an hour ago— James, laughing as Jake sprayed him down while Jane screamed and clapped from the porch.

Now everything smelled of damp grass and sweetness.

You were at the sink, rinsing a bowl, humming under your breath, tired but soft around the edges with that summer kind of fatigue that didn’t bite.

James sat at the kitchen table, arms folded, face twisted in a look of intense concentration, like he was on the verge of solving the meaning of life.

“Dad?” he said suddenly, sharp like a question he’d been chewing on all morning.

Jake looked over, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, bud?”

James tapped a finger against the table. “How did you and Mom meet?”

You froze mid-rinse, hand still under the stream of water.

Jake blinked, clearly not expecting that. “Why do you wanna know?”

James shrugged, suddenly bashful, eyes darting to the side. “Just curious.”

But you saw the pink flush in his cheeks.

The way he pressed his lips together.

You turned the water off, grabbing a towel, and leaned against the counter just to watch it unfold.

“Wait.” Jake narrowed his eyes playfully. “Did something happen at school?”

James groaned. “Noooo.”

Jake smirked. “Oh my god, it did. Who is she?”

James covered his face with both hands. “Dad, no.”

“She sits next to him,” you supplied, grinning into your towel. “Pretty little thing with the pigtails and glittery pencil case, right?”

James dropped his head to the table with a muffled moan. “You guys are the worst.”

Jake cackled, reaching out to flick his son’s ear. “Okay, okay. I’ll tell you how we met, but only if you promise not to laugh.”

“I won’t.”

“You will.”

James lifted his head, expectant. “Tell me anyway.”

Jake stood, walking toward the fridge to grab a handful more strawberries, before leaning his hip against the counter and settling into storyteller mode.

Jane babbled, still chewing her fruit with delight.

“Well,” Jake began, “your mom hated me.”

“What?” James blinked. “Why?”

You crossed your arms. “Because he was cocky. And late. Constantly.”

“I wasn’t that late.”

“You were twenty-two minutes late to our first study session.”

“Okay, one time—”

“Every time.”

Jake huffed dramatically. “Anyway, we were in college. Same class, I noticed her first. She had this oversized hoodie and earbuds in every time she walked into the lecture hall, and she never talked to anyone.”

“I was tired.”

“Exactly. So mysterious.”

James giggled.

“I tried to sit near her a few times,” Jake continued. “You know, see if I could catch her attention, but she never looked up. So I asked to borrow her notes.”

You raised a brow. “You mean you spilled coffee on your own notes and then cornered me after class.”

Jake grinned at James like it was a badge of honor. “It worked.”

James’ eyes were wide now, totally absorbed. “Then what?”

“She agreed to help me study,” Jake said, placing a hand to his heart like he was reciting poetry. “And the rest… is history.”

“That’s it?”

“Well, it took a while,” Jake added. “Your mom wasn’t easy, she made me work for it.”

“Darn right I did.”

“But then we started spending more time together,” he said. “And she started smiling more. Laughing, she used to pretend she didn’t like me, but I could tell.”

“I didn’t like you.”

Jake shot you a look, grinning. “Tell that to the time you skipped your morning class just to meet me for coffee.”

You scowled playfully. “That was one time. And you had a cold.”

“You brought me soup.”

“Because I’m not a monster.”

James cut in. “Did you kiss?”

Jake opened his mouth, smirking, his eyes shining as if to say and not just that.

You threw a towel at him. “Don’t you dare.”

Jake caught it, snorting. “Yes, we kissed. A lot.”

James made a face. “Ew.”

“And we fell in love,” Jake added, softer now, his smile turning real, almost quiet. “Like, the kind of love where you still want to see their face even when they’re mad at you. The kind where everything feels like home when they walk into the room.”

Your chest squeezed a little.

“She’s still my best friend,” he added. “Even when she makes fun of me for how many times I lose my keys.”

You rolled your eyes. “He’s gotten better.”

“Only because you put a tracker on my keychain.”

James giggled again.

“And then,” Jake said, grinning now, “we had you.”

“Wait— how did that happen?” James asked innocently.

Jake froze. You shot him a warning glance. He paled.

“Uh—well, that’s a whole other story.”

James squinted. “Why?”

“Because it’s for grown-ups.”

“But—”

“Nope,” you said firmly, swooping in to pick Jane up from the high chair as she started getting fussy. “You’ll learn in science class.”

James groaned. “Ugh. But science is so boring.”

“Not always,” Jake said under his breath.

“Jaeyun.”

Jake raised both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay!”

Jane curled against your chest, sticky hands tugging at your shirt, and you kissed her forehead before shifting her to your hip.

“Is that really how you fell in love?” James asked quietly, looking between you both.

Jake looked at you, and you looked at him— and your heart did that warm, foolish little flip it had been doing since the first time he held your hand, since he first made you laugh until you cried.

“Yeah,” you said, brushing your fingers through James’s hair as you passed. “It really is.”

Jake came up behind you, his hand sliding to the small of your back. “Still in love, too.”

You looked up at him. “Even after I threatened to cut your head off if you gave me another baby?”

“Even then.”

James groaned. “You guys are so embarrassing.”

☆.

It was past midnight and the rain hadn’t stopped all day. It tapped gently against the window, like fingertips drumming over glass, soft enough now that it no longer sounded like thunder, but like a lullaby to the tired world.

The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the streetlight that spilled in from between the curtains.

The warmth of the bed wrapped around you both like a cocoon.

The scent of rain still clung faintly to your skin from earlier— just from standing by the door too long, shoes soaked, children loud and chaotic and cooped up.

You were fast asleep now, curled beside Jake under the heavy blankets, your body drawn instinctively to his.

Your hand had found its way to his chest, fingers splayed just over where his heart beat steady.

He could feel your breath on his collarbone, soft and rhythmic, your nose cold against his neck.

He didn’t move. He never did, not when you laid like this.

He only let his arm fold around you tighter, holding you like something sacred.

His eyes didn’t close.

It had been a long day, sure— Jane had tried to flush her brother’s dinosaur down the toilet, James had gotten stuck halfway under the couch trying to retrieve a Lego piece.

But that wasn’t what was keeping Jake awake.

It was your sigh. The small one you let out just minutes ago, right before curling closer to him in your sleep.

It had sounded like comfort. Like home.

And that’s what triggered it.

That memory.

The one he couldn’t forget, even if he tried.

The one from before the house, before the kids, before everything.

The night he almost lost you.

It had been raining then, too. Harder than this. Sharper.

You stood in the middle of a soaked parking lot, your hoodie clinging to your skin like paper, hair plastered to your face, eyes wet with more than just the downpour.

You had just stormed off, away from him.

Jake had followed you out of the gym, his steps echoing behind yours, water sloshing in his shoes, fists clenched at his sides.

“You’re not listening to me!” you shouted, spinning around to face him, voice breaking over the sound of the storm. “You never listen to me!”

“I do!” Jake yelled back, stepping closer, teeth clenched. “I always do! But you’re asking me to be someone I’m not!”

“I’m asking you to stop killing yourself in the ring every weekend!” you cried, your voice raw. “I’m asking you to choose something, anything, that doesn’t make me wonder if I’ll get a call saying you won’t come home!”

Jake’s jaw tightened.

Water ran down his face, indistinguishable from the tears in your eyes.

His chest heaved, soaked through, breath misting in the cold air.

“This is all I know,” he said. “Boxing is all I have.”

“No,” you snapped, stepping toward him. “You have me. You have someone who stands outside every goddamn fight praying you don’t bleed out, you have someone who waits up, and worries, and loves you so much it hurts.”

Jake blinked at you, and for a second, he looked like he couldn’t breathe.

And you shook your head. “But maybe that’s not enough. Maybe I’m not enough. Maybe this… us, was a mistake.”

The silence that followed made the rain sound louder. It filled the space between you like a wall.

Jake stepped forward, one slow step at a time, until he was standing in front of you, his hands shaking.

“Don’t say that,” he whispered.

You stared at him, your face trembling, your eyes full of everything you couldn’t say. “Jake—”

“I know I’m reckless, I know I’m a mess, I know I don’t always think. But you…” His hand rose, not touching you yet, hovering like you were a flame he wasn’t sure he deserved to touch. “You’re the only thing that ever made me want to slow down.”

“I’m scared,” you whispered. “I’m so scared of losing you.”

Jake’s hand finally reached you.

His fingers slid into your hair, soaked strands between his knuckles. He leaned in until your foreheads touched.

“I’m scared, too,” he said, eyes shut tight. “Of not being enough. Of being too broken to hold onto you.”

“You’re not,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You’re not broken.”

“I am,” he said, voice cracking. “But I’m better with you.”

The rain came harder then, a sudden gust slamming sideways into your bodies, but neither of you moved.

You were shivering. He was freezing.

The whole world felt like it was falling apart, but Jake looked at you like he’d found the eye of the storm.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t clean.

It was desperate and messy and full of everything you’d both been trying to say. His mouth found yours like he’d been drowning and just found air.

Your hands clung to his soaked hoodie, your body pressed to his like you’d never let him go.

Jake remembered how your tears had mixed with the rain, how his fingers gripped your waist too tight, how you’d gasped his name between kisses like it was a lifeline.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you’d whispered into his mouth.

“You won’t,” he’d vowed, breathless. “Not ever.”

And even back then, before promises and rings and babies with strawberry-stained mouths, he had meant it.

Now, in the warmth of your shared bed, he felt you sigh again.

Just a soft one. Almost imperceptible.

Your leg slid against his beneath the blankets, your head nuzzling deeper into the space between his shoulder and neck. Your fingers curled softly against his chest.

Jake swallowed hard. His hand moved to your back, rubbing in slow, gentle circles, his lips brushing your hair.

He breathed you in.

You were here. You were warm and whole and safe.

And so was he.

☆.

The light was soft when you stirred awake.

You shifted, your body stretching slow beneath the blankets, the cotton sheets warm from shared heat. And then you felt him.

Jake.

Pressed against your back, his chest bare, skin hot and solid.

His arm was around your waist, the other resting on the pillow beside him.

Your hand reached down, brushing over the blanket until you found his fingers resting over your stomach.

You laced yours through them, holding him there. And then you turned, slow and gentle, so you wouldn’t wake him. But he was already awake.

His eyes were open, dark under the faint shadows of morning. He was lying on his side, hair mussed from the bed, jaw dotted with the faintest stubble.

His eyes met yours right away.

“Hey,” you whispered.

“Hey.” His voice was husky, low from sleep… or maybe lack of it.

You frowned softly, reaching up to brush a lock of hair from his forehead. “You didn’t sleep.”

He didn’t answer. Just watched you. As if he was trying to memorize the curve of your cheek, the way your lashes cast shadows beneath your eyes.

You let your palm slide down to cup his cheek.

“What’s on your mind?” you murmured.

He hesitated.

Then, finally: “Nothing I can say without sounding selfish.”

Your brows drew together gently. “Try me.”

But instead of answering, Jake looked down. And you followed his gaze.

The scars. They were always there— some faint and faded, some newer. One near his ribs from that one brutal match three years ago.

Another near his shoulder, still pinkish, like a memory that hadn’t finished healing

You reached out slowly, letting your fingertips trail over the ridges of old pain, old bottles.

He didn’t flinch. He never did, not with you. But his breath did hitch slightly, the tension in his body curling tighter.

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the one just below his collarbone. “I love these,” you whispered.

Jake’s throat bobbed with a swallow.

“They’re ugly,” he muttered, half-hearted, like he’d already lost the argument.

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. “They’re proof you survived. Every one of them means you came back to me.”

Something in him broke a little at that. His mouth opened, maybe to argue, maybe to say something tender, but the words didn’t come. His hand came up instead, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing over the apple of it.

“I thought about you last night,” he said softly. “Back when you almost left. Out in the rain…. that fight.”

You nodded, heart aching at the memory. “It was a long time ago.”

His hand slid from your cheek to your neck, fingers splaying out along the curve of it, then down your spine, slow and reverent. “I didn’t sleep because I kept thinking what if you had left. What if I’d pushed it too far, if we never made it here.”

You shifted closer, pressing your body to his fully, your forehead resting against his. “But I didn’t. I stayed. You fought for me.”

His lips touched yours then— barely. A brush, but it was enough to make your stomach flutter.

Even after all those years.

Your hand slid down between you, over the swell of his chest, your palm flat and warm against his heartbeat.

“Still fighting for you,” he whispered, eyes on yours.

And it was then, without another word, that you leaned in and kissed him.

It was soft at first. Slow. Like a secret.

Your lips moved over his with a quiet kind of hunger, not the desperate kind from that night in the rain, but something deeper.

The kind that comes after years of waking up next to each other. After babies. After late nights and early mornings and scars.

Jake kissed you back like he needed you. Like you were the only thing keeping him grounded in that moment.

His hand slipped under the fabric of your shirt, finding the skin of your back, pulling you closer until not even air could live between your bodies.

You pressed yourself to him, your hand roaming his torso, fingers tracing over his skin like you were memorizing the feel of him.

He let out a shaky breath against your lips, his hips shifting forward just enough for you to feel the truth of his want, hard and insistent against your thigh.

“I missed you,” he murmured, kissing along your jaw. “Even with you right next to me.”

You shivered under his mouth, threading your fingers through his hair, tugging gently to bring his face back to yours. “Then take it,” you breathed. “Take me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

Jake rolled you onto your back slowly, carefully, his body hovering over yours, warm and heavy and familiar. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world and you let him, eyes fluttering shut, breath uneven.

His hands slipped under your shirt and you arched into his touch, letting him pull the fabric up and over your head. He looked down at you like you were art.

You tugged his mouth back to yours.

When he finally slid inside you, it was slow and careful. You both gasped— every time felt new, felt real, like the first and last and only time.

You clung to him, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, legs locked around his waist.

He rocked into you gently, his mouth finding every part of you he could reach: your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your breast.

“Still with me?” he asked, voice hoarse, forehead pressed to yours.

“Always,” you whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth.

The rhythm between you built slowly, nothing rushed. You moved together in sync, bodies finding each other like they were made to.

You moaned softly into his ear, hands trailing down his back, nails digging in just enough to make him shiver.

“Lord, I love you,” Jake breathed, pressing his hips deeper. “I love you so much it scares me.”

“I know,” you whispered, blinking through the haze of your pleasure. “I know, baby.”

You held on to each other through it all, the high and the fall, the quiet panting breaths after, the way your hearts beat wildly in sync beneath the mess of limbs and blankets.

After, when your breathing slowed and he was still inside you, arms wrapped around your waist, face buried in your neck, you stroked his back softly.

You didn’t say anything. Just kissed the top of his head.

And somewhere down the hall, a floor creaked.

You both froze.

Jake groaned into your shoulder. “Ten dollars that it’s Jane.”

You smiled, lips against his hair. “Or James looking for cereal.”

Jake sighed. “We need a lock on this door.”

“Yeah,” you chuckled, pulling the blanket over both your heads as if it could delay reality for just a few more minutes. “Later.”

“Later,” he agreed, pressing one last kiss over your heart.

[spideyjimin]

Break my heart | jjk

—  pairing: jungkook x female reader 

—  genre: college au, roommates au, friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, kind of friends to enemies, and enemies to lovers, fluff, angst, and smut 

— rating: 18+ 

—  summary: jungkook, a mask, and a party. three things that made you weak enough to break all the rules of friendship. you did with him what you usually do with strangers… but he was never supposed to be a one-night stand. there’s too much history. too much comfort. and now, the aftermath of that wild and steamy night has made living with him unbearable, but also impossible to walk away. because you’re falling. fast. deep. and maybe deep enough to let each other break your own hearts.

—  words: 18,123

—  warnings: implied sex, mention of alcohol, heavy sexual tension, so much teasing, strong language, lots of kissing, swearing, oral (f. receiving), penetrative sex, protected sex, mention of sex, kind of heartbreak, crying, fighting, mention of masturbation, flirting, mention of bathroom sex, oc throws very bad jokes at him, mention of toxic relationship, some jealousy, fingering, handjob, and multiple sex scenes

—  author’s note: the fic is finally out!! i’ve had so much fun writing it & i hope you’ll enjoyed it 🥰 i know i said that i was taking a break but i had some days off & my hand is finally getting better so i just wrote 🫣 this is also like a “thank you” fic for all the milestones i reached in the past months i really appreciate you all & thank you so so much for everything 🩵🩵 hope you’ll enjoy this fic ✨

— playlist: OTRO CAPÍTULO | QUE HACES | sports car | railway | die for you

MASTERLIST

As you step inside the impressive ballroom, your eyes look around. The room is already full of people, which doesn’t surprise you, and it’s quite dark. Since it’s a masquerade ball, every single person is wearing a mask. Some are fancier than others, but in general, everybody looks fantastic with their masks on.

You turn to your left, your eyes meeting Jungkook’s before you look down at where your left hand rests on his strong arm. Your best friend looks incredibly well in his black tuxedo and with his phantom half mask. It’s rare to see him wearing such a classic outfit. He usually goes with jeans and large shirts.

“Let’s go?” he asks with a growing smile.

You simply nod. This isn’t the type of party you usually go to. Most of the time, it’s just a random party organized by a student, and you’ll get drunk before getting laid. Or you’ll simply get laid. But tonight is different. You’re not even sure what you’re supposed to do or how to act. You don’t envision flirting with someone like you used to at “regular” parties.

As you make your way to the crowd, you text your friend Lena to check where she is. She told you a couple of minutes ago that she was already inside with her boyfriend, Hoseok, and Jin, another friend of yours.

“Lena told me to join her at the bar,” you say to your best friend, your eyes detaching from your phone.

You and Jungkook walk side by side, your feet moving in sync. Strings of colorful lights illuminate the room, but you’re focused on finding the bar. Your fingers tighten around his arm. Not because you might trip or lose your way, but because, for a split second, you’re afraid he might let you go.

When you reach Lena, your face breaks into a real smile, the kind that slips out before you can stop it.  

“You both look stunning!” she exclaims, her eyes sparkling beneath her mask.

She throws her arms around you without hesitation, and you laugh as she pulls you into a hug. As her arms slide around your neck, you loosen your grip on Jungkook’s arm. But the absence of this warmth doesn’t go unnoticed. Not by you. And not by him.  

“Ready for tonight?” she asks in your ear.

You simply nod while your arms wrap around her waist to hold her close.

“I’ve already noticed some handsome men you might want to end up with tonight,” she whispers.

You chuckle. She always does this when she arrives at a party before you, scouting the room like your personal wingwoman. She knows how you like to flirt with a man or two before settling on the one you’ll take home.

“You’re unbelievable,” you say, shaking your head.

She steps back, meeting your eyes with a grin.

“I’m saving you some time. You’ll find your man quicker.”

“Yn doesn’t need help finding her night companion,” Jungkook says. “Give her ten minutes, and she’ll be whispering the dirtiest things in some poor guy’s ear.”

“Eeeh, like you’re any better,” you try to defend yourself.

“I never claimed otherwise,” he smirks, completely unbothered.

You shake your head; they are both annoying.

Lena leads you through the crowd toward a corner booth glowing under soft string lights. Jin and Hoseok are already there, drinks in hand, their laughter spilling over the music. You greet them with easy smiles, sliding into the seat beside Lena. A couple of minutes later, more familiar faces join you. Taehyung, Jimin, and Mara, Taehyung’s girlfriend.

The table fills quickly with chatter and laughter, a rhythm you know well. You let yourself lean into it—the comfort of inside jokes, the clinking of glasses, the way someone’s always teasing someone else. Being with your friends always warms your heart. It feels like time completely stops when you’re with them.

A few guys glance your way. One even makes a move to approach. But you don’t engage. Not because no one’s attractive. Not because you don’t know how. You just don’t feel like it. Your attention stays anchored at the table, where the people know you, where nothing feels like a game.

And somehow, that’s enough tonight. More than enough. The idea of flirting, of peeling yourself open for a stranger, even just for fun, feels tiring in a way you can’t explain. So instead, you laugh at Jin’s stupid jokes. You steal a sip from Jimin’s drink to hear him complain. You keep catching Jungkook’s eye across the table for half a second too long. And then you look away.

Before you even have the time to process, Jungkook is standing next to you, his hand on the small of your back, his lips close to your ear.

“Would you like to dance with me?” he proposes.

A smile appears on your face, your eyes meeting his. You nod, but the motion falters when you realize that he’s close. Too close. Close enough that his breath, warm and laced with mint, brushes across your cheek. It catches you off guard, not because Jungkook hasn’t been in your space before, but because this time, it feels different.

Your heart beats extremely fast in your chest, and you swear you can feel your cheeks burning. But you brush everything away as he guides you to the dance floor, where tons of students are dancing like the night is still young.  

Soon enough, you’re both dancing in the middle of the crowd, your gaze locked on his. The world around you completely disappears. There’s only you and Jungkook. You dance like you always do. Like two crazy kids. Nothing makes real sense, but it does to you and him. You giggle when he does silly moves.

This isn’t something new. You always dance with Jungkook at a party. You always enjoy each other's company before finding somebody to spend the night with.

When the music changes to Die for You by The Weeknd, the entire mood shifts in the room, especially between you and Jungkook. Neither of you moves. You simply stand there, in front of each other, and caught in each other’s gaze like the song was meant for this exact second. 

Just as you start to turn, deciding to go back to the table with your friends before things get too heavy. Jungkook’s hand wraps gently around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. When you turn around, your eyes meet his intense gaze. Your heartbeat increases drastically when you realize how close you are.

Your eyes look down for a second at his lips, his hot breath brushing against your cheek. His hand places yours on his shoulder, bringing you even closer to him. His other hand finds its way to the small of your back, pressing your body against his.    

“What are you doing?” you ask with a shaky voice.

“Dancing with you,” he replies, his dark eyes staring deep into yours.

His body starts to sway, quietly inviting yours to follow him. Your gaze never leaves his as you let him guide you, your steps syncing instinctively with his. The bass pulses beneath your feet like a shared heartbeat. You don’t speak; there’s no need to.

His hand finds your waist, light at first, then firmer as you settle into the rhythm together. His chest nearly brushes yours with each slow step, and his thumb traces the fabric of your dress like he’s memorizing it. And your heart hammers.

You can smell the same familiar scent he always wears, but tonight, it hits differently. Tonight, it feels dangerous. 

He leans in, just barely, his mouth near your ear.

“Still want to walk away?” he murmurs, voice low and almost smug.

You exhale, shaky but defiant. You swallow with difficulty as you realize who you have in front of you. You have the flirtatious version of your best friend. The guy who flirts with any girl he meets. But this guy, you never got to meet him because there was only friendship between you.

Tonight, everything is different. You noticed it the second you stepped out of your room. You noticed it when his eyes devoured you back at your shared apartment. You noticed it when you did the same. Tonight, there’s an unexplained longing between you. You ignore where this comes from, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want him to be your night companion.  

“Maybe I just needed a reason to stay.”

His eyes say more than words ever could. They are locked on yours like you’re the only thing that exists. He wants you. Desperately. He craves you with his entire soul. And he doesn’t mind as well if you’re his night companion this evening.

And from the way your pulse jumps, the way you look at him, he knows. He knows that you want this too. His hand shifts, his fingers grazing your waist. A light touch, but enough to send a wave of heat through you. Your breath catches. And he notices. Of course he does.

Then, that slow and wicked smirk of his forms. The one that screams trouble. The one he gives to his flirts. The one that usually makes you laugh because it was never meant for you. But now, it doesn’t make you laugh. It makes you weak. It makes you an easy prey for him.

“And what’s that reason?” he murmurs, leaning in, voice thick with heat and tease. “Is it the suit?” he pauses. “I noticed the way you looked at me at home.”

You slowly slide a finger along the lapel of his jacket. You’re trying to hide the fact that this man right here is making it difficult for you to remain composed. How can you resist him? Honestly, now you understand why there isn’t a single woman who can resist his charms. You used to make fun of them, but now, you understand them.

“Should I remind you of the way you looked at me?” your voice is also filled with heat and tease.

He leans in. Closer. His lips hover just beside your cheek, near your ear, but he doesn’t touch.

“I’ve never seen anyone as beautiful as you,” he confesses.

Your fingers move down, tracing now invisible circles on his chest while your bodies keep moving at the music’s rhythm.

“Such cheesy words,” you reply, a smirk arising on your face. “That’s what I deliver to the men I want in between my legs.”

Jungkook’s lips curl into a mischievous smile, his eyes darkening even more.

“Maybe that’s what I want.”

This makes you go still. Although it’s written all over his face that it’s what he wants, hearing it out loud makes it real. And if this is real, it means your friendship will never be the same anymore. It means that you’ve ruined the friendship. There won’t be any coming back after this night. You won’t even be able to blame it on the alcohol. You barely drank anything.

The music continues around you, bodies moving on every side, but your world has narrowed down to him. His breath. His stare. The way his hand flexes, like he’s seconds from pulling you in. Jungkook doesn’t hesitate a second when the next words leave his lips.

“Say the word,” he breathes. “And I’m yours tonight.”

You don’t say anything for a moment, trying to process what he just said and what is happening. Your fingers resume brushing over his strong chest. Both your hearts are beating extremely fast. If you say yes, you’ll both leave this place and go to yours to have the most mind-blowing sex ever.

“You already are,” you whisper, your eyes dropping to your fingers playing on his chest. “You became mine the second your eyes devoured me back at home.”

Jungkook freezes entirely, as if he fears that moving too quickly will ruin the moment. His breath catches, and for a heartbeat, he doesn’t speak. He just stares at you, like he’s seeing something he’s wanted for far too long.

Then, slowly, his eyes flick to your lips. And when they return to yours, when he sees you looking at his mouth, not pulling away, not breathing, that’s all the permission he needs.

His hand slides to the side of your face, fingers brushing your jaw with aching care. And then, he crashes into you. His lips find yours in a kiss that’s not soft or tentative. It’s fierce. Hungry. The kind of kiss that comes from too many stolen glances.

You answer it instantly, hands fisting in his jacket, body leaning into him like you’ve been waiting forever. His other hand finds your waist, pulling you flush against him like he wants to feel every part of you.

You gasp when his teeth graze your lower lip, and he takes that moment to deepen the kiss, his tongue sweeping in. This is overwhelming. Way too overwhelming. Jungkook is by far one of the best kissers you’ve got to meet. His lips are addicting, and his touch is fire. You don’t want to let go. You don’t want to ever let go of him.

Although this is overwhelming, it’s not enough.

A little moan escapes your mouth as the kiss gets more and more desperate. A moan that Jungkook swallows. It’s getting clear that you crave more than just a kiss. It’s clear you want him between your legs.

And before you start to give too much of a show, you break apart. You’re both breathless, foreheads resting together, and chests pressed together. Neither of you speaks at first. The only sound is the distant throb of music from inside and the rush of blood in your ears.

Jungkook’s thumb brushes your cheek slowly and tenderly. A sharp contrast to the fire in his kiss. Amidst this overwhelming desire, it’s remarkable that he manages to be gentle.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he whispers.

Your eyes take him in for a moment. His eyes are filled with lust, his lips are swollen, and his breathing is erratic. Your lips get closer, brushing against his, but you don’t kiss him. Not yet.

“Why?” you whisper.

“We’re friends,” he instantly answers.

Jungkook is trying to resist the urge to kiss you once more. His entire soul wants to do it, but he isn’t sure if he should.

“It’s too late now,” your tongue tards out to lick his lower lip. “We have already ruined our friendship.”

Your eyes never leave his. Although desire is written all over his face, there’s also worry. He’s worried about losing you, but now, no matter what happens, it’s already too late. He’ll lose you if he chooses to.

“I’m all yours tonight, Jungkook.”  

He doesn’t respond right away. He simply stares at you like you’ve knocked the air out of his lungs. Like he’s not sure he heard you right. His hand, which was resting on your waist, pulls you in closer, pressing your body even more against his.

“Say it again,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your cheek before going down to your jaw and throat.

“I’m all yours,” you repeat, softer this time.

As he hears your words, he lets out a low, shaky breath against your skin. It sounds like half a groan and half a surrender.

“Let’s get out of here before I rip this dress off you,” he mumbles as he presses a gentle kiss on the crook of your neck.  

“We need to tell our friends,” you tell him as you take a step back. “Lena will get worried if I disappear just like that.”

“Okay,” he nods.

You both head back to the table, your fingers entwined together as you navigate through the heavy crowd. The second your eyes notice Lena, you let go of Jungkook’s hand. Somehow, you don’t want her to understand what’s going on between the two of you. You know she’ll dissuade you from doing it, and you don’t want it.

“We’re leaving,” you basically scream in her ear.

“Getting bored?” she asks.

You nod. What you ignore at that moment is that she saw everything. She saw the way you danced, the way you kissed, and the way you almost fucked each other in the middle of the crowd. But she isn’t going to say anything. She’s just surprised this moment didn’t happen earlier. A fuckboy and a fuckgirl living under the same roof, it was honestly bound to explode at some point.  

“Text me when you’re at home,” she asks, although she’s certain you won’t do it, too busy to get railed by Jungkook.

“Can you let the others know?” Jungkook asks her.

She nods, and you both leave in a hurry. Jungkook drives as fast as he can, your heartbeats going crazy and your bodies aching for each other like never before. This new sensation is scary, but also so damn good at the same time.

The moment the door to your apartment shuts behind you, Jungkook pushes you against it, his forehead pressed to yours, both of you breathless, like you ran the whole way there, which isn’t far from the truth.

“You sure?” he whispers, his hand finding yours again, grounding himself in your skin.

You nod, not needing words, because tonight, nothing’s uncertain anymore. Tonight, you want him, not a stranger.

“Absolutely,” you answer.

Your lips press hard against his, your hands move to his head to cup his face. You bite his lips lightly, so he opens his mouth, and your tongue finds his quickly. You passionately kiss each other while you’re pressed against the entrance door. Not the way you picture things, but having his lips on yours feels like a dream.

When you break the kiss, you take his mask off to get a better view of his face. Following your lead, he removes yours. And just like that, there’s nothing left to hide behind. No mystery, no playful distance.

Just him. Just you. Bare and exposed in the soft light, no excuses or costumes between you anymore.

His gaze lingers on your face like he’s memorizing the version of you he knows best. The one without masks, without armor. Then, gently, he leans in and presses a quick kiss to your lips. Not hungry. Not desperate. Just soft and certain. And your heart stumbles in your chest.

“Much better,” you whisper as you take him in without the mask.

A slow smile curves his lips, like he’s about to do or say something reckless. And he is. Without giving you a second to breathe, he leans in and crashes his mouth against yours again. His hand cups your jaw firmly, grounding you as his lips move against yours.

When your mouth parts in a soft gasp, his thumb is already there, brushing your bottom lip before gently tugging it down. A low sound rumbles in his chest as he deepens the kiss, slipping his tongue inside like he owns the right to.

You melt into him, fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer—closer than you should. But right now, there’s no space between you. No masks. No rules. Just heat and need.

His hands hold you tight against him as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear. This kiss is desperate and wild, but so desperately wanted. When he pulls back, you’re both breathless, and his dark eyes lock with yours. Your hands remain fisted on his shirt.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he murmurs, his fingers leaving your body to gently caress your cheek.

“Wait till you see me without this dress,” you whisper, your eyes never looking away.

“Can’t wait,” he smirks.

He presses a quick kiss on your lips, his hand moving to your back to pull you closer so you can feel his growing desire against your belly. You instantly moan at the sensation. Man, you’re desperate to feel him.

“I can see that,” you mumble against his lips.

Before you can comprehend what’s going on, Jungkook drags you to his bedroom, closing the door behind him. There’s absolutely no need to do it, but in some way, it makes this moment even more intimate. It doesn’t feel like you’re about to have sex with some random guy you met a couple of hours ago.

This is your best friend.

He’s the only man you ever trusted, apart from your father. You’d give him anything, even your heart, if he asked. You’d even let him break your heart.

His mouth finds yours for another kiss while your fingers find their way to his hair to play with it. The kiss quickly deepens, leaving no room for doubt about what is about to happen. His fingers move to the straps of your dress.

“Undress for me, baby,” he commands.

You nod, then reach for the side zipper, taking all your time to remove the dress to give this man a little show. The fabric slides down your body and pools around your feet, leaving you in nothing but your underwear. The second you unveil your body, you notice his jaw flexing.

“Fuck,” he swears in his breath. “You’re no joke.”

“Told you,” you smirk and wink at him.

Jungkook has already seen you like this before at the pool, in summer clothes, and lounging around the apartment, and it never seemed to faze him. But right now, with the way he’s so desperate to touch you, his eyes look at you very differently. His eyes are full of hunger and are looking at you intensely.

You’re not just attractive. You’re irresistible.   

He bites his lower lip while his hungry eyes roam over your body. You’re a fucking dream. He wonders how on earth this didn’t happen before.

“Sit on the bed,” he instructs.

You follow his instructions, sitting at the edge of the bed. The man kneels before you, his hands spreading your legs to give him a view of your core. His face gets closer to your thigh, pressing a featherlight kiss on it. His warm lips move up, getting dangerously close to your wet core. His breath is hot against your skin, which sends shivers down your spine. Jungkook stops when he reaches your clothed core.

His fingers hook beneath the waistband of your underwear, slowly pushing the fabric down. He takes his time, while his eyes are locked with yours. He’s so hot, no doubt that he can easily get any girl he wants at his feet.

And yet, he’s here. With you.

It’s wild to think about it. You’ve known each other for years, and he’s been your go-to person for everything. When you were sad, he’d bring you food and sit in silence beside you until you were ready to talk. When you were bored, he’d annoy you on purpose. You always felt safe around him because he’d let everything down when you needed him. He’d drop any girl he’d be flirting with if you called him.

You’re not supposed to be here, your legs spread with his head so fucking close to your core. You’re not supposed to be ruining the friendship. You’re not supposed to sleep together.

But who cares? You both want this.

And it leaves you wondering. Was there something stronger all those years beneath the friendship? What if you always loved each other? What if this was supposed to happen?

All your thoughts are pushed away when your hungry eyes look down at the man so damn close to your core.

Jungkook leans back in. His lips graze your skin as he presses another kiss to the inside of your thigh, the warmth of his breath brushing over you and making your muscles tense.

“You’re so pretty, baby,” he mumbles more to himself than for you. “The prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen,” his eyes meet yours again.

For a second, his gaze moves down to your core. Jungkook has seen many of them in his life, and although he found them all appealing, yours is even prettier. And he’s so damn excited to taste you. His hard dick is the proof of it.

His fingers dig into your hips, holding you firmly in place as his lips finally taste you without hesitation. Jungkook initially teases you, his eyes looking up at you to catch your reaction. A smirk grows on his face when you arch your back and moan. This is exactly what he wanted.

Without wasting more time, his lips seal around your sensitive bundle of nerves. A strangled gasp escapes your mouth as pleasure takes over you. Your eyes look down at the man pleasuring you. It’s a fucking sight you never imagined you’d ever witness in your entire life. He’s eating you out like a starving man.

“Fuck,” you moan.

As you moan, he can’t help but moan back. He loves hearing you moan, especially knowing it’s because of him this time. He’s heard you before, but those moans were for other men. It might sound weird to think that he already heard you moan, but it isn’t for him. You’ve both brought many night companions home, and let’s just say, the walls are thin.

The vibration of his voice sends a wave of pleasure straight through your body. Your hips buck forward, pushing his face closer, and your fingers find their way to his hair as a trail of moans falls from your lips.

His mouth works you over with hunger, tongue torturing you like never before while his lips seal around your clit. His nose presses into you, dragging against your cunt with each movement.

Your eyes flutter shut as you enjoy every second of his mouth on your pussy. You throw your head back while moans flow out of your mouth. The growing pleasure is overwhelming but in a fantastic way, and your body trembles beneath his relentless tongue.

Jungkook is savoring every second, and if he could, he’d make the whole world hear you moan. A satisfied hum vibrates against you, sending shocks through your core, and when your fingers tighten in his hair, he takes it as encouragement, deepening his devotion, and pushing you further.

“Oh, Jungkook,” you moan.

The way you say his name makes him grow harder in his pants.

“Tell me, baby,” his eyes look up at you.

“I’m gonna cum,” you manage to say between moans.

Before you even realize it, your orgasm violently hits you, your legs shaking, and your walls clenching around emptiness. Even though you’re coming hard against his lips, Jungkook doesn’t stop lapping at your juices falling all over his tongue. He savors every drop because damn, he’s never tasted something as addicting as you.

You can tell without any doubt that this man is the first one to eat out dreamily. Many guys did it before him, and a lot of them were great, but Jungkook surpasses them all. For sure, his experience with girls is a plus right now.

Once you come down from your high, he pulls away. His face glistens with your slick, his lips swollen, and his eyes dark with hunger. Jungkook stands up, a bright smile on his face, before he pushes down his pants and boxers. A sigh of relief leaves his lips the second his cock is finally free. It was getting pretty painful to keep it inside his pants.

You lean back as you hold yourself with your upper arms, your eyes hungrily admiring the man who his stripping for you.

“Already hard?” your eyes look up to meet his.

Jungkook gives you a little show while he removes every piece of his black tuxedo. Your eyes admire the way his muscles flex. You’ve already seen him with only is underwear on, but this time, you can’t help but find him so damn attractive. Suddenly, his tattooed arm becomes a massive turn-on.

“You taste like heaven. I could come in my pants while only eating you out,” he admits.

Once he’s fully naked, his right hand finds its way to his cock, stroking himself. He’s not even sure he’ll last long. His grip tightens around his cock, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You’ve a pretty cock,” you wink at him. “No wonder every girl wants to take a ride,” you tease him.

Jungkook has quite a slightly bigger dick than average. You’ve seen many cocks of all sorts. Big, thick, small, long, and tiny. Jungkook’s dick is of average length, but he’s a bit thicker. But over the years, you’ve come to realize that the size isn’t what truly matters.

What matters is how the guy uses it, and also all the other aspects of a sexual moment. There’s the flirting, the teasing, the oral sex. And for you, that is what makes sex better.

“Of course, what did you think?” he answers. “There wouldn’t be this fuss if it were tiny.”

You shake your head with a smile on your face.

“Now it’s your time to take a ride,” he winks at you.  

He gets closer to you, his free hand gently pushing you down on the mattress of his bed. And then, his lips crash against yours while his hand leaves his cock so he can cup your face. His body presses flush against yours, heat radiating between your bodies as he deepens the kiss.

When you break the kiss, he opens the drawer of his nightstand to grab a condom. Even though he’d like to really feel you, it’s better to use protection. Let’s avoid getting you pregnant. He knows you’re not on the pill, you never liked it, but you keep good track of your cycle. And he knows you’re on your ovulation period; you told him this morning.

Once the condom is fully on his cock, he holds you open as he guides the head of his cock into your sopping entrance. For a moment, he teases you first, dragging the tip through your slick folds, spreading your arousal before finally pushing in with a slow, deliberate thrust.  

A deep moan leaves your throat as he stretches you open. Your walls clench around him as his dick makes his way inside your pussy. Your back instantly arches, your thighs trembling around his waist as he buries himself deeper.

“Fuck,” he mumbles the second he looks down, watching the way your body takes him in.

Neither of you expected how incredible it would feel to be connected like this. Jungkook pushes himself further until he bottoms out. The second he’s fully inside, he halts to give you both a moment to adjust.

Having him still inside you is torture. You can’t handle staying like this, you need him to move and fuck you like there’s no tomorrow.

“Jungkook, move please,” you beg him.

“As you wish, baby,” he teases as he slowly pulls back.

He pauses for a second when only the thick head of his cock remains inside. Without any warning, he pushes back. Feeling his thick shaft pushing deeply back into you is beyond satisfying. Damn, it even makes you see stars. Both of you moan loudly as he starts pounding into you. This man right here just knows how to screw you.

Throughout the past few years, you’ve gotten to taste different dicks. Usually, they knew how to use it; some were really bad, but Jungkook surpasses them all by far. And it’s only the beginning. You don’t want to imagine how you’ll feel when you come around his thick shaft.   

His pace is restless, and his hands grip your waist tightly. The room quickly gets filled with the slick sound of your moans, of the headboard hitting the wall, and of your bodies slapping together. The heat builds in your core as he slams into you, filling you completely with each thrust.   

Your hands grip the sheets as hard as possible to steady yourself from Jungkook’s hard thrusts. His lips meet yours for a sloppy kiss while his thrusts grow rougher and quicker.

The familiar coil of pleasure tightens in your stomach while he moans your name. Hearing him pronounce your name this way feels wonderful. You’ve already heard him moaning a lot of times, but now that you’re the reason behind it, it tastes wonderful.

Jungkook is getting more and more lost in his pleasure. The only thing you’re both focused on now is chasing your high, and the heat between you is unbearable. You both know you won’t be lasting much longer. 

“I’m not going to last much longer,” you manage to say, the desperation filling your voice.

His cock twitches inside you at your words, and well, that action causes your orgasm to crash over you. When your orgasm hits you completely and violently, your walls squeeze him tightly. Jungkook groans when he feels your wall clenching around his cock.  

His thrusts get more desperate as he chases his own high. He’s so fucking close. Jungkook closes his eyes because the simple view of your face contorting with pleasure is just too much. Your walls keep tightening around him, a torture you impose him to help him cum.

“Fuck,” he groans.

And then, with one last thrust, he falls apart. Deep groans fall from his lips as he releases his hot semen inside the condom. His hands tighten around your waist, holding you still while he releases himself. He looks incredibly sexy when the orgasm hits him. Jungkook collapses next to you in bed.

For a moment, neither of you speaks, both trying to catch your breath. Your eyes are completely shut, while his are fixed on the ceiling of his bedroom. Slowly, he removes the condom, makes a knot, and throws it in the trash.

“Let’s take a shower,” he tells you as he stands up.

You open your eyes to be greeted with his sweet face. He looks adorable with his big doe eyes. How can a man looks so cute after fucking the shit out of you? And to think that this is what all the other girls got to see.

Jungkook offers you his hand to help you stand up, and you gladly take it. His fingers intertwine with yours while he guides you to your shared bathroom. You shower in silence, your arms wrapped around his body with your head pressed against his chest. You only focus on his heartbeat while the water falls over your bodies.

You try to push away all the questions that start to arise in your mind, but it’s hard to suppress them. What will happen now that you broke all the rules of friendship? Will you pretend that nothing ever happened? Or will you keep fucking around?

You’ll have to wait until tomorrow to have the answers to your questions. For now, you just want to stay in this little bubble.

When Jungkook wakes up, he realizes that you’re not in the bed. He instantly imagines that you might have gone to the bathroom or might be in the living room or something like that. But when he doesn’t find you in the apartment, he finds it weird. Where could you be?

By instinct, he calls you several times, but you don’t pick up. He’s starting to worry about you. You’ve never disappeared like this. Well, he can’t say that you never did it because it’s the first time you shared an intimate moment.

He tries to tell himself you had something urgent, or maybe just needed space. But the silence on the other end of the phone, the absence of a note, a message, or anything, feels too familiar. Too final.

A heavy weight settles in his chest as he walks into the apartment, running a hand through his hair. He frowns as he wonders why you left without a word. He gets back to his bedroom and sits on the edge of the bed. He glances at the rumpled sheets, still warm from where you lay hours ago. The echo of your laughter, your breath, the way your fingers clung to his skin, it’s all still there, as vivid as a memory can be.

But you’re not.

Jungkook exhales sharply, frustrated by the ache creeping up his chest. Last night didn’t feel like something casual, at least not to him. You looked at him like he mattered, like it was more, like it meant something.

So why does this feel like goodbye?

He stands up and starts pacing the apartment, checking again the kitchen, the balcony, even the laundry room. Maybe you just went out for coffee? But your keys are gone. Your coat too. He notices it now. A pit opens in his stomach.

And then, it hits him.

You’ve done to him what you do with the others. You slept with him and now, you ran away before he even got to wake up. It hurts him that you saw last night as a one-night stand because he loved every second of it. He wouldn’t have flirted with you if he didn’t enjoy it. But somehow, deep down, he hoped this wouldn’t be a one-time thing.

He secretly hoped for more.

“Fuck,” he mumbles to himself before collapsing on the couch.

Then, his phone starts buzzing and he quickly grabs it, hoping it’d be you. However, his hopes are broken when his friend’s name shows up.  

“Hi Tae,” he says when picking up.

“Hi Kook,” he says. “How was last night with yn?”

Jungkook instantly freezes.

“How…” he begins, but his friend interrupts him.

“We all saw it,” he answers. “Man, you were kissing her like a starving man in the middle of the dance floor. And then, you left with her so no need to be a genius to know you fucked her.”

Jungkook groans while rubbing his face. This is what he wanted to avoid. He’s frustrated because you left him like a dirty sock, and all your friends saw you last night. They will for sure tease the two of you forever with that. And he knows that things have forever changed. Nothing will ever be the same now.

“Yeah, we did it,” he admits without really answering the question. “But let’s forget it.”

“Why?” his friend sounds confused.

 “She was just a booty call.”

At that exact moment, you walk into the apartment with the brightest smile on your face, and with some pastries in your hands, but when you hear your best friend’s words, your entire world falls apart.

How can he say that? Why is he even saying it?

You thought last night meant something, that he enjoyed it, but after all, he seemed not to reciprocate. And it hurts.

“So you’re telling me you two just hooked up for fun?” his voice cuts in, sharp with disbelief. “There were hundreds of people you could have slept with, Jungkook! Why her?”

Taehyung sounds angry, and honestly? He should be. Jungkook should never have touched you, not like that. Now everything blew up, and he’s never going to be able to look at you without feeling a bit of pain.

Yeah, the sex was great. Actually, more than great, but the aftermath isn’t.

“Look, I don’t know,” Jungkook admits. “She was there, I knew I could have her, so I did.”

“For fuck’s sake, Jungkook,” he swears under his breath. “Friends don’t do that even if they are into casual shit.”

Jungkook perfectly knows that he screwed up, but he didn’t expect the fallout to feel this awful. He thought maybe, somehow, everything would go back to normal. But he was dead wrong.  

Jungkook’s words hit you harder than you expected. Sleeping with him was different than with any other guy. But now? He proved to you that he’s just like every other guy. Only thinking with his dick. Taking what he wants and moving on without a second thought.  

And just like that, ten years of friendship feel like they’re cracking under the weight of one moment, one mistake, he can’t take back.

You disappear into your room to do something you never did before. Crying over a man. But you promise yourself that it’ll be the first and last time.

A week later

Things with Jungkook have gotten worse. You’re not able to speak without fighting and insulting him, but you know that’s because you’re hurt. You never imagined your friendship going down this badly. You always loved him, you still do, but he hurt you like nobody else ever did.

“Jungkook!” you scream as you pound on the bathroom door.

The man has been inside for like an hour. You need to take a shower before going out. You’re going to a party with your friends, and Jungkook will also be there, but who cares? You’ll only get there to find your night companion, and forget about what Jungkook did to you.

“I need to shower!” you continue.

“Not my problem,” he shouts.

You roll your eyes, but there’s no way you’re going to wait any longer. You take the spare key before opening the door and storming into the room. Jungkook is fully naked, but you couldn’t care less. For a moment, your eyes quickly scan him. He’s still incredibly hot.

“Leave,” you order flatly.

“No,” he shoots back without missing a beat.

You let out a heavy sigh, growing increasingly annoyed by this man's attitude. This man’s been testing every ounce of your patience since that night. You swear, if he keeps this up, you might actually smack that smug face of his.

“Dickhead,” you spit.

“You should find another nickname,” he says, unfazed. “You’ve been calling me that for a week now.”

You roll your eyes.

“Asshole. Is that better?” you say, crossing your arms against your chest.

“Slight improvement,” he smirks.

“Now, if you would kindly get the fuck out of this room, asshole, that’d be great,” you emphasize on ‘asshole’.

“I already told you, no,” he replies while applying moisturizer to his face.

You throw your arms up.

“Okay, fine,” you say.

Instead of making him leave, you turn the water on and undress. There’s no way you’ll wait any longer because he’s decided to ruin your life. He has already seen you naked, so no need to be shy around him.

Jungkook’s eyes widen, not expecting this at all, but he doesn’t move. His eyes even dare to stare at your body, one that has been driving him crazy for a week. He’s stopped counting the times he’s been stroking his dick while thinking of you.

“Didn’t know you were desperate to let me fuck you again,” he teases you.

“Yeah, yeah,” you mumble while shaking your head. “Only in your dreams, idiot.”

“Wow, another cute nickname,” he pretends to be excited. “You’ve improved in the span of five minutes. I’m proud of you, yn.”  

You roll your eyes, not caring at all about his stupid words. You get inside the shower and clean yourself while Jungkook is still in the bathroom. He doesn’t move, continuing to get ready for tonight’s party. This is the first party since you fucked, and even though he wished things were different, he will do everything in his power to at least come back home with a random chick to forget about last week.

After the shower and getting dressed, you wait for Lena to come and pick you up. She knows about this damn tension between you, and she isn’t really happy about it. She’s mainly sad that your ten-year friendship with Jungkook got blown up because of sex.

For now, and until you patch things up with him, she’ll gladly pick you up. She’ll also do everything in her power to get things back to how they were. So, she’ll push you to sleep with random guys. She believes it’s the only way to make you forget that night.

Lena arrives around 10 pm and drives you to the party. Jungkook left with Taehyung in order to avoid being with you in the car. There’s no way he’s staying around you tonight. He wants to dance, get drunk, and have sex.

“How are things going at home?” she asks while driving.

“As long as I don’t see him, fine,” you reply.

“If it’s too much, you can come to mine for a while. I wouldn’t mind,” her eyes quickly leave the road to look at you. “My parents would also be happy to have you around.”

“I’m not going to leave because of him,” you mutter. “If he’s not happy, he can leave. I’m not holding him hostage.”

She shakes her head.

“For how long will you keep acting like that?”

“Until he stops being a jerk.”

Lena really doesn’t understand how things went this wrong. You both said it was a one-night stand, but you’ve been acting like it wasn’t. You’ve been acting like you’re both hurt. She’ll try to help as much as she can, but you both need to solve your problems. Otherwise, it’ll just blow up one day, and it’ll be bad.

“I never imagined you’d ever call him a jerk,” she tries to lighten the mood. “It’s so weird.”

“Me neither,” you mumble to yourself. “Let’s not speak about him anymore. I want to party and have fun.”

She simply nods, and you talk about something completely different for the rest of the drive. You quickly reach the house where the party is taking place. There are already many people. Most of them are already completely wasted. They most probably drank before joining the party. People do that a lot.

You and Lena make your way inside the house while you hold each other's hands. Hoseok, her boyfriend, isn’t coming because he’s sick. He hasn’t been feeling well for the past two days, but he still encouraged her to join the party.

As you walk, your eyes instinctively look for Jungkook. It’s a habit anchored in yourself so deep that even if you’re on bad terms today, you still do it. Very quickly, you find his broad back. Even from behind he looks great, and fuck, you wish he could be protecting you from the crowd while whispering the dirtiest shit in your ear.

There’s absolutely no way you’ll survive this party without this deep desire to spread your legs for him once more.

Easily, you find Mara. Obviously, she’s with Tae, her boyfriend. Jin and Jimin are also with them, and you greet them all. Nobody says a damn thing about you and Jungkook which is honestly a relief for you.

However, as much as you love them, you want to get ruined tonight, so you try to look for a man. In a matter of seconds, you find one who’s hungrily looking at you.

“This is my guy,” you tell them. “See you tomorrow, guys!” You wave your hand before walking to this hot and sexy guy. Unfortunately, he isn’t as sexy as your infamous roommate.

“Stop thinking about him!” you mumble to yourself. “You’re not going anywhere like that…”

When you reach the guy and start talking to him, you feel burning eyes on your body. For a moment, you ignore it, but at some point, you turn your head. Your eyes instantly meet Jungkook’s. They are dark as hell, and a smirk arises on your face before you throw a middle finger at him.

Then, you resume flirting with the guy and start to dance to the loud music. As you move your body around him, your eyes are glued on Jungkook. Just like the girl grinding her ass against his hips, you do the same with the random guy you’re with. That position makes you face your roommate.

This is dirty and wild.

The man behind you is long forgotten. Your entire focus is on Jungkook, and nobody else. You keep dancing and drinking. The guy behind you sometimes whispers dirty words into your ear, but you barely register them. He doesn’t even seem to realize that you don’t give a shit about him.

His hands slide on your hips, bringing you closer to him and making you feel his growing erection. You almost moan when you feel it, since your mind actually imagines it being Jungkook. Jungkook’s eyes get darker, and he swears he was about to moan when he notices your fucked up state. You both crave each other in an unhealthy way, but you perfectly know that nothing is going to happen. At least not tonight.

You both know you'll end up sleeping with the person you're dancing with, even though your minds will be somewhere else. You'll be thinking about each other, about how good it felt when your bodies were connected. You'll remember the moans, the whimpers, the way you came undone together. You'll be replaying every moment, every touch, every gasp. Because the sex wasn’t just great, it was unforgettable.

Tonight, none of you felt like bringing someone to your place. So you had sex in this exact house, in the bathrooms, to be more precise. It was great, but it couldn’t compare to how it felt last week. You know nothing will ever come close to the way you felt with each other.

Two weeks later

For the past two weeks, things have been getting more intense with your roommate. You’ve been avoiding each other at all costs at home. You’d both prefer being out than inside. The casual hookups with random people kept going, just like nothing ever happened.

But it wasn’t true.

Jungkook couldn’t kiss a girl without comparing her to you. You couldn’t open your legs without picturing Jungkook in between them. Every single hookup was a reminder of that night. And because of that, you even increased the number of men you slept with. You just wanted to forget that night and at the same time, relive it all over again.

The worst part was when you’d stumble upon your roommate. You’d fight over silly things, but it was your only way of communicating. Well, it’s still the case. You’re unable to look at this man without wanting to strangle him.

While you’re preparing your breakfast, Jungkook makes his way inside the kitchen. He’s wearing a black t-shirt with a pair of dark blue jeans. His tattoos are on full display, and even though you’re not going to say it out loud, you absolutely like it.

“Will you be home at two?” you ask as he walks past you.  

“Why?” he says, opening the fridge and grabbing the milk like he couldn’t care less.

“Some guy is coming,” you answer, your eyes following his strong figure.

You watch his muscles flex as he reaches for a glass. It’s almost unfair how someone so infuriating can look that good. Buff. Strong. Dangerous in all the right ways. If he weren’t such an asshole, you might just let him ruin you again.

“Who?” he asks without looking at you.  

“Why do you want to know?” you counter, eyes glued on him.

He avoids your gaze, pouring the milk like the carton suddenly became fascinating.

“Because you’re the one talking about it,” he mumbles

A devious smirk grows on your face as you step closer—dangerously close now. He straightens up, facing you, eyes finally locking with yours.

“Are you looking for a guy?” you ask, cocking your head with a teasing grin.

“What?” his scowl is immediate, and you try as hard as possible to repress the smile growing on your face.  

You almost laugh at his expression. It’s ridiculous how easy it is to rile him up. But you hold it in. No cracks. Not yet. You're about to push him further. Annoying him is your new favorite pastime.

“I didn’t know you were gay,” you tease him.

Thank God he wasn’t drinking his milk. Otherwise, he would have choked. His brows draw together, clearly caught off guard.

“I’m not gay,” he says flatly, casually even, but his tone is clipped.

“Jungkook,” you shrug innocently. “You can be whoever you want. I support you, bestie.”

He rolls his eyes and drinks a sip of milk from the cup. Despite being annoyed, his heart skips a beat when you call him ‘bestie’. He hasn’t heard that nickname since that infamous night. You’ve called him jerk, asshole, idiot, stupid, fuckboy, dickhead, and many other things like that for the past three weeks.

“Why are you insisting?”

A little mustache of milk forms on his upper lip when he removes the cup. He looks absolutely adorable, like a little boy trapped in the body of a man who could destroy you with a single touch.

“Because I get it,” you smile. “I like men too.”

He wipes the milk mustache off with the back of his hand, but this time, the playful glint in his eyes disappears. He’s serious now.

“Stop it, yn,” his voice is sharp, like a warning. “You know I don’t like men.”

“Me?” you pretend to be innocent. “I don’t know anything. You’re very mysterious lately.”

Without a warning, he steps closer—your heart hammers in your chest with this sudden proximity. The air thickens between you, and you feel his hot and minty breath against your cheek. This reminds you of that wild night in the ballroom

“Yes, you do,” he whispers, voice dropping into something husky. His lips graze your ear. “And if you’ve forgotten, I can remind you.”

His fingers brush your cheek, sending shivers down your spine.

“I can make you moan my name again…” he pauses for a split second. “Or scream it, if you’d prefer.”

He tilts your face toward his, gaze locked on yours—intense, unreadable, and full of heat. He’s daring you to push back, to test him again. Your breath hitches.

Is he serious right now? Or just playing another dangerous game?

You don’t get the chance to answer because suddenly, Lena pops up in the kitchen.

“Yn!” she screams cheerfully, unaware of the storm she just walked into.

Jungkook instantly steps back, reaching for his glass of milk like it’s some sort of shield. He takes a sip, pretending he has been drinking it all this time. But his eyes remain on you like he’s unwilling to break whatever had just almost happened.

Lena pauses, her gaze flickering between the two of you. She’s not stupid. She saw how close your faces were. She saw the heat. And above anything else, she can feel the heavy tension in the air.

“Seems like…” she stutters, clearly caught off guard. “Seems like I interrupted something.”

She half-turns like she’s going to walk back out, giving you and Jungkook some space.

“I’ll leave you two to what you were doing,” she gestures vaguely at the doorway.

“No need,” you answer while never looking away from Jungkook. Your voice is cool, calm, but laced with something pointed. “I was just about to leave.”  

You hold his gaze a second longer—daring him to stop you, say something, or do something. But he doesn’t. So you walk away, pulse pounding, and the confused silence trailing behind you. You want to look back, but you don’t dare to do it, knowing perfectly how weak you’d look.

You’re at Mara and Taehyung’s place for a girls' night with Lena and Mara.

Taehyung is out of town, and his girlfriend immediately organized a little pajama party for the three of you. It’s been a while since you haven’t spent some good time with just the two of them. Life always seems so busy between classes and exams.  

“So any life updates?” Mara asks.

“Not really,” Lena answers. “With Hobi, we’re considering moving together, but we still need to find something.”

Hoseok and Lena have been together since they were sixteen, so it’s been like five years. They still live at their parents’ houses, but now that you’re all reaching the end of your college years, they’ve been considering moving in together.

“You definitely should!” Mara replies with enthusiasm. “It’s so great.”

She’s been living with Tae for three months now. Since she lives far away from college, she was sleeping in the dorms, but after a while, her boyfriend suggested they could move in together. At first, she was hesitant because they’d been together for like two years. She was scared to move on too fast, but then, she decided to go for it.

“You get to have sex whenever you want,” she wiggles her eyebrows in a teasing way. “And cuddles when you desperately need one.”

“I know, but it makes me nervous, too. Like, my parents will freak out. Jennie is still at home.”

Jennie is her older sister. She’s twenty-six, but she doesn’t seem to want to move out of her parents’ place. Lena always believed the first child should be the first to get married, have children, and move out. Jennie is far away from that. She doesn’t even have a boyfriend yet.

“This is your life, not hers,” you tell her. “If you feel ready to take that huge step with Hobi, then do it. Your parents will understand you, I’m sure of it. You’ve been with him for so long.”

You’ve known her parents since you were a baby. They might appear as strict parents, but they are pretty cool. You don’t doubt they’ll let their daughter move in with her boyfriend. They adore Hobi. Who doesn’t?

“Let’s see,” she mumbles. “I still need to speak with them about it.”

You totally understand her nervousness. You felt the same when you told your parents you’d be moving in with your best friend instead of going to a dorm. They took it well since they already knew Jungkook and appreciated him. You wanted to have a bit more privacy, although back then you weren’t hooking up with random guys. You’d also feel safer coming home to a friend instead of a place full of strangers.

“And you, yn?” Mara looks at you. “Any news from your side?”

“No,” you shake your head without even thinking twice.

Lena chuckles. “No?” she raises an eyebrow. “You’re such a liar, yn.”

You frown with confusion, not understanding what she’s referring to. Is she thinking about one of the many men you slept with? There’s nothing to say about it. You barely remember their names, and you lost track of how many you hooked up with lately.

“I just caught you kissing Jungkook,” she continues.

Your eyes widen while your mouth falls open. Mara starts laughing. She’s surprised it only happened now because the tension between you and Jungkook is thick as fuck. All of your friends noticed how you now “flirt” at parties. They saw how you absolutely don’t give two shits about the person you’re with because you’re both too focused on each other. It’s like you’re flirting through Bluetooth.  

“That’s not true,” you reply.  

“Not true?” Lena repeats, and you nod.

Well, on this one, Lena is totally wrong. You weren’t kissing Jungkook, but there was no doubt that it would have happened if she hadn’t shown up.

“Aren’t you tired of playing cat and mouse for weeks?” Mara asks.

You take a sip of wine in an attempt to cool down. This is a very sensitive subject. Jungkook makes you feel hot and bothered, especially after the kitchen incident of earlier.

“Something has been going on between you for almost a month,” she adds. “Admit it.”

You try to act like it isn’t true, although you’re dying on the inside.

“Look, I’m just staying because the wine is good,” you inform them before taking a sip.

They chuckle because they know you’re trying to avoid answering them.

“We’ve been tiptoeing around you and Jungkook, but damn, you should fuck again because the tension is unbearable for everybody,” Lena adds.

“And let’s not speak about the flirting at the parties.”

Your eyes widen even more, and you’re sure you’ll die right here with their comments. They laugh even more at your reaction.

“You thought we didn’t notice?” Mara adds. “It’s honestly amusing, even though I feel sorry for the people you use.”

“You’re saying nonsense,” you shake your head while lying to their faces.

“Really?” Lena arches a brow. “Then, at the next party, I don’t want you to eye fucking him.”

“You’re crazy.”

She’s actually not joking.

“I’m serious, yn,” she continues. “Either you stop or you finally flirt with him like a normal person.”

“Okay, I’ll stop it.”

You would rather die than flirt with him, and you’re sure you can go through a party without eye-fucking him. Or at least, you want to convince yourself of that.

The next day

You’re studying in your bedroom for the upcoming exams with some background music. You’re one of those people who cannot study without background noise. It might be weird, but it isn’t for you.

Your entire life, you grew up with constant noise at home. With four brothers, one sister, and a niece, it makes a lot of noise, but you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. The house was so alive with all of you. However, being nine people living together under the same roof also made you move in with Jungkook for your college years.

It wasn’t an easy choice, but it was in your best interests. You constantly miss your family, and sometimes, it feels too quiet. You know that you’re partying because of that. You’re partying to be surrounded by people. Being alone isn’t for you. And that’s also why you have tons of hookups.

The idea of being alone for the rest of your life frightens you more than it should, but you also don’t ever want to be in a relationship. People find it odd because your parents are the perfect example of a successful marriage. They’ve been together since high school, got married after graduating from college, and had their first kid right after. They’ve been together for almost 35 years. It’s a lot.

However, your reason is simple. You’re afraid of falling in love. Your oldest sister, who’s ten years older than you, got into a very toxic relationship when you were still young. She was constantly crying and arguing with her then-boyfriend. He knocked her up at eighteen and disappeared under the excuse that he wasn’t ready to be a father. That broke your heart for her, but at least you got to grow up with a niece. She’s thirteen now, and you absolutely adore her.

Nevertheless, that vision of love showed you how messed up it can be when you fall for the wrong person. Your sister has moved on and is now in a perfectly healthy relationship, but you still don’t want to make the same mistake.

Hooking up makes everything easier. You have sex without any commitment. You take the best without falling in love, and that’s perfectly fine for you. At least, it was until recently.

But right now, with what’s going on with Jungkook, sometimes you wonder if you have feelings for him. You wonder if you’re falling for him, but you brush it off. He’s been your best friend for ten years. You’ve basically known him for half of your life. His friendship has always meant the world to you, but since you’ve broken all the rules of friendship, everything is just so different with him.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re falling for him. Falling very hard.

Honestly, never in your entire life have you imagined yourself developing feelings for him. He was the neighbors’ youngest kid who simply wanted to play with you. Being around him made you genuinely happy. You’d go to school together, come back together, and play in front of the houses while your mothers would speak together.

A day without him felt faded, and it still does.

For ten years, you’ve always been together. There hasn’t been a day when you haven’t seen him. Even now that you hate each other. And you can’t imagine yourself going through a day without seeing him.

Suddenly, the doorbell interrupts your focus, and you stand up. You’re not sure if Jungkook is at home, so it’s best if you go open the door. As you make your way to the entrance, you notice your roommate walking to the door as well.

He’s wearing loose clothes, and somehow, you find him ethereal. His black hair hangs messily, his t-shirt barely hides his tattooed arm, and his black jogging pants suit him perfectly. From afar, you simply admire him. And you wonder how you haven’t ever found him so attractive.

No wonder all the girls want to be seen with him or spend a hot and steamy night with him.

All of a sudden, his face turns, and your eyes meet.  

“Did you order something?” he calls out, his tone curt, his jaw tight.

“Mmm yeah,” you respond, trying to remember if you were expecting something today. “Maybe something from Amazon.”

You decide to get closer, next to him. A delivery guy stands awkwardly in the hallway, box in hand, eyes flicking between the two of you. There’s a brief moment of silence, and you don’t really know what to say.

“Who’s the pack for?” Jungkook asks.

The guy turns his head while bringing the box closer to his face.

“Miss yn,” he says, trying to pronounce your name correctly.

“It’s for me.”

Before you even get a chance to grab the package, Jungkook takes it with a quick thank you and shuts the door before the guy can say another word. His eyes land back on you, dark and unamused.

“You’re so fucking rude,” you huff while trying to tear the package from his hand. “And that’s mine.”

But of course, he doesn’t let go. Jungkook is way stronger than you and doesn’t want to give it to you. The package stays firmly in his grip as his dark gaze is on you, causing you to shiver, and instantly, you back off. Even if you like to tease him and all that, you’re not really in the mood for one of your usual verbal duels. Maybe because you’re quite nervous about the upcoming exams.

“Your fucking delivery disturbed me,” he growls.

“I didn’t know something was coming,” you admit.

He shakes his head, and he’s fighting the urge to smile. You’ve always been like this. You order some shit but then forget you did so when it’s delivered, you don’t remember it. But he has to admit that he always enjoyed watching your reaction when you’d unpack the box. You always seem so surprised and happy.

“You never know,” he mumbles. “You order half of Amazon and forget every time.”  

“Not my fault,” you shrug like it’s not a big deal.

He rolls his eyes.

“It is,” he shoots back. “Try keeping track of what you buy, maybe?”

“I do as I please,” you tell him. “You’re not my dad.”

“Thank God I’m not,” he says without missing a beat. “No way I could deal with someone like you as my daughter.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you cross your arms while narrowing your eyes.

Jungkook takes a slow, deliberate step closer, and suddenly his presence is overwhelming. His tall, broad frame towers over you, radiating heat and intensity. The space between you evaporates, replaced by a charged stillness that makes your breath catch. His body feels dangerously close, like he’s daring you to move or daring you not to.

“That you’re a pain in the ass.”  

“Wrong person,” you roll your eyes. “You’re the asshole here.”

“Oh, we’re back to ‘asshole’?” he smirks. “I thought it was the week of ‘jerk’.”

You take a deep breath, trying to remain calm because you’re so close to snapping his angelic face. He’s so fucking annoying.

“Give me my package,” you say with a sharp voice. “I’m not in the mood to deal with your bullshit today.”

A chuckle escapes his pretty lips.

“Oh, you can’t handle me now?”

His voice drops, and his body remains close. Way too close. You roll your eyes and try to snatch the package, but Jungkook lifts it above his head like you’re a child.

“Jungkook,” you warn.

“What?” he grins, enjoying every second. “If you want your order, you’ll have to come get it.”

“You’re a dick.”

You have zero patience for this. If he doesn’t hand you the package, you’ll just go back to your bedroom and leave him alone.

“Asshole, jerk, and now dick,” he says. “Which one will be next?”

You don’t even try to give him an answer. Instead, you try to reach for the box again, moving closer to him. You can’t possibly be closer to him. Your chest is basically pressed against his while you tiptoe. As much as Jungkook enjoys this proximity, he takes a step back.  

“Seriously, give it to me. I’m not in the mood.”

Jungkook takes another step back, but that’s too much. You leave him there, turning your back on him while you walk to your bedroom.

“Keep it,” you scream as you move away from him.

“You’re so sensitive.”

You give him a middle finger before slamming your bedroom door. Jungkook laughs and decides to put the pack down in front of your door.

Two days later

As you’re walking on the campus with Jimin and Lena, you notice Jungkook from afar. He looks busy with some girl, and she’s giggling like a schoolgirl while he’s smiling. Pff, he looks pathetic with her.

When you focus again on your friends, you end up meeting Chris, a cute guy you sometimes speak with. He was in a relationship not so long ago, and you’ve already slept with him once. He’s one of the very few guys you've stayed in touch with. He’s nice and easy to talk to.

“Hi,” he offers you a smile when he’s in front of you.

“Hi, Chris,” you smile back at him.

Your friends greet him as well, and you speak about classes and all that. After a while, Jimin and Lena leave you alone with Chris.

“So how’s life going?” he asks while he resumes walking.

Beyond being cute, Chris is a very handsome guy who happens to hit the gym quite often. He’s well built, and sometimes, you wonder how his ex-girlfriend ever broke up with him. If you were to ever settle down with someone, you might choose him. After Jungkook, your subconscious tells you.

“Fine,” you shrug. “Nothing special has been going on lately.”

“Still partying and hooking up?” he asks.

“Yeah, pretty much,” you nod. “What about you?”

“I’m working hard, trying to hide the heartbreak behind books, but it’s not easy every day. Sometimes, I wish I could be like you, and get my dick wet to forget how I feel,” he confesses.

“A guy like you shouldn’t be hooking up,” you offer him a smile. “You’re the type of guy a woman wants to marry.”

Your words warm his heart.

“And believe me, sleeping with someone doesn’t help with a heartbreak.”

You don’t really know how it feels to be heartbroken, but you know damn well that sex doesn’t make you forget your emotions. Obviously, for a brief moment, you forget about everything, but it’s temporary. That’s why you like it. You don’t commit to anyone. You don’t fall in love. You just get a one-time thing with a guy you’ll forget about the day after.

Chris seems to hesitate about his next words, but you don’t push him. If he doesn’t want to say what’s on his mind, you’re not going to force him.  

“Rumors are saying something is going on between you and Jungkook.”  

For a moment, you close your eyes. You can’t believe people are already speculating about what’s going on between you.

“How?” you ask.

“Apparently, he was with a girl at a party. She was having fun with him, but she noticed he’d never look at her. He was looking at you and you were looking at him too with burning desire,” he explains.

Fuck, other people noticed it too! You place a strand of hair behind your ear while you try to calm down. In a way, it makes sense. If your friends noticed it, everybody else did too, especially the people you’d be “flirting” with. But this is something you didn’t want to hear.

“And she also said that they never fucked although he brought her to his place.”

You frown. This doesn’t sound like Jungkook at all. He’s never done that before, and it doesn’t make sense. Why would he bring someone home if it wasn’t to have sex with her?

“She’s lying,” you instantly reply. “She’s probably frustrated that he didn’t give her what she wanted, so she started spreading nonsense.”

“Well, it’s just rumors,” he says, looking at you for a second. “Nobody said it was the truth.”

When you look over to where Jungkook was standing just minutes ago with his new girl, you find the spot empty. He must have taken her somewhere more private. That thought makes you feel weird. Almost as if you’re jealous of the girl. Oh God, this is not good! You can’t be jealous!

“Well, I want you to know that it’s not true,” you offer him a smile.

When you reach the lecture hall, you attend the classes with him. The class was quite interesting. Thankfully, Jungkook doesn’t share this class with you, so you didn’t get to see him. It was a relief, honestly.

After that, Chris walked you home. Nobody ever did this to you, except for your friends, which includes Jungkook. He’s such a sweet guy.

“Thanks,” you say once you’re in front of the complex. “It was nice to speak with you,” you offer him a smile.

“It definitely was,” he smiles as well.

There is a little non-awkward silence between you. Your mind keeps wondering how it would feel if you ever decided to take this any further with him. For sure, it’d be great to have him as a first real boyfriend.

But you know you can’t do this. You’re too fucked up and you don’t want to hurt him. He deserves to have a nice girl with him. Someone who would be able to love him as he deserves. And that can’t be you…  

“I have to go,” he informs you. “My shift is starting in thirty minutes.”

Chris works in a coffee shop as a barista. You should definitely stop by one day to try one of his coffees.

“We’ll see each other tomorrow, I guess?” you say with some uncertainty.

You definitely wouldn’t mind spending more time with him.

“Yeah, if you want,” he smiles.

You get closer to him before you press a gentle kiss on his cheek.

“See you tomorrow then.”

You get inside the building complex, but you never look back. You want to, but you don’t do it. You’ve learned over time that it’d be a sign that you’re interested in someone, and you never want anybody to discover who you’re into. No matter how nice and charming the guy might be, you’ll never do it.

Seconds later, you’re walking into your apartment. You’re welcomed by a Jungkook walking past you.

“That was the guy you saw the other day?” he stops right in front of you, making his strong scent wrap around you.

“You’re spying on me now?” you say, taking your shoes and coat off.

“I have more interesting things to do,” his eyes lock with yours, and a shiver runs down your spine when his deep stare meets yours.

“Like what?” you raise a brow. “Promising a good fuck to a girl and then leaving her hanging?”

“Who told you that?”

The rumors are then true. Jungkook definitely brought someone here, but never slept with her. That’s new, but something you can now use against him whenever he’s being too annoying.

“So you’re not denying…” you smirk. “Never picture the big bad Jungkookie doing that.”

His eyes look away for a moment before his gaze locks with yours once more. Damn, this look makes you weak. You’d get down on your knees right now if he asked you.  

“It’s not true,” he mumbles.

“That she’s not what she’s saying,” you keep teasing him.

Jungkook takes a step closer.

“I don’t care,” he says.

You chuckle.

“You’re such a jerk,” you shake your head. “Can’t even admit you let down a girl.”

The other day’s conversation is brought back to your mind. And man, you have to tease him even more.

“Was it because you’re into guys now?” you raise a brow. “I’m warning you, I don’t like sharing.”

Jungkook steps even closer, his face is a breath away from yours. Your heart is beating at a crazy pace in your chest. His eyes are dark, which makes you understand that you’ve pushed him to the edge. If you say one more word, he’ll explode. And that’s exactly what you want.

“I already told you that I’m not gay,” his voice is so deep.

“I’m starting to doubt it,” you smirk.

“Yn,” he warns you. “Stop it.”

“Why would I do that?” your eyes scan his face. “I’m having fun.”

“You’re having fun calling me gay when you know perfectly well I’m not?” he asks, clearly irritated. “What kind of fun is that?” he mumbles, but you don’t hear it.

“Yep. Just like you had fun when you fucked me.”

You regret the words the second they leave your mouth. Jungkook’s brow furrows in confusion.

“What?”

“You heard me,” you snap, pushing past him, desperate to escape.

But he doesn’t let you. His hand grabs your wrist, just like he did a month ago.

“Yn,” he says, his voice softer now.

“Let me go,” you plead, yanking at his grip. “Please.”

You can’t do this. You can’t fall apart in front of him. If you do, he’ll know how much he hurt you. He’ll know the power he has, and you hate that.

“Not until you repeat what you said.”

“You heard me,” you say through gritted teeth. “I’m not repeating it.”

He rolls his eyes.

“You’re so fucking stubborn.”

That’s it. You snap.

“Fuck you,” you nearly scream.

You try to pull your wrist from his grasp, but he doesn’t let go. Not harshly, but firmly, like he needs you to stay. Like if he releases you now, something between you will unravel for good.

He’s stronger than you—physically, yes—but right now, he also has the upper hand emotionally. And he knows it. Still, his grip isn’t meant to hurt you. It’s to hold you in place long enough for the truth to rise to the surface.

Your eyes lock with his, and for the first time in a long time, you feel completely exposed. Stripped bare. Not because you’re angry, but because you’re heartbroken. You’ve been pretending you’re fine, like none of this mattered, but here, under his gaze, there’s nowhere left to hide.

No man has ever made you feel this raw.

You realize with terrifying clarity: you’re falling for Jungkook. Maybe you always were. Maybe all these years, under the laughter and sarcasm and closeness, it was already there, waiting to bloom.

You want to blame him for everything. For that night, and for letting the air between you become so sharp and bitter. But the truth is, if it were just sex, you wouldn’t be hurting. You’ve slept with others before. They were bodies, motions, and noise. Nothing stayed.

But him? He stayed. He’s under your skin. And that night? It meant something. It wasn’t just heat and skin; it was more. It was the way he kissed you with passion, and the safety in the way he held you after.

Your voice trembles, but you say it anyway.

“I said… you had fun when you fucked me.”

The words don’t explode. They land softly. Bitter. Tired. But not accusing. Just honest.

Jungkook is close. So close you can feel the faint warmth of his breath on your cheek. One more step and his lips would meet yours. He doesn’t move. He just looks at you like he’s really seeing you for the first time—not the shielded version of you, not the flirty, not the sarcastic girl who throws jabs to hide her pain. He really sees you.

At first, he says nothing. Because at first, he doesn't understand. He’s thinking of that night, how it felt like the most natural thing in the world to have you in his arms. Of course, it was fun. But suddenly, he realizes this isn’t about sex. Not even close.

You weren’t saying it was fun. You were saying you meant it. And that it broke you to think he didn’t. He lets go of your wrist. But his eyes never leave yours.

“Yn,” he breathes, voice low. “You think I didn’t care?”

“That’s what you said,” your voice almost sounds childish.

“I never said that,” he frowns.

“Yes, you did,” you reply. “You said those words the morning after.”  

He remembers. He said those words to Taehyung when he didn’t find you the next day. He thought you had run away like you did with the others. For a brief moment, he closes his eyes, blaming himself for all the chaos he caused.

“I was hurt,” he confesses. “I couldn’t find you, and I thought you considered me as a one-night stand.”

You surprise yourself when your hand lands on his cheek to stroke it. This comforting gesture makes him rest his face on your hand. He missed your warmth. He actually missed you.

“I have to confess that at first I ran away,” you admit. “I was scared about what happened and what it meant, but then, I decided to pick up some croissants for breakfast. When I came back home, I heard you, so I went to my room because those words hurt me.”

What you both realize now is that you’re both stupid. This was all a misunderstanding.

Surprisingly, Jungkook chuckles as you lay your forehead against his chest. His strong arms wrap around your body, holding you close against him.

“We’re so stupid,” he whispers.

You groan against him before wrapping your arms around his waist. You’ve spent this past month hating him unnecessarily. If he was a dickhead, then you were an asshole.

“More than stupid,” you mumble.

You lift your head to look at him. His gaze is different now. It’s not filed anymore with that hatred you’ve gotten to see for the past weeks. And you want to get lost in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he apologies. “I’m so sorry,” he says while his hands cup your face.

His face moves dangerously closer to yours until you feel his hot breath on your skin. Your heart hammers faster and faster in your chest, and for a brief moment, nothing else matters. His nose brushes against yours, his warmth pulling you in, and your lips are a breath away from meeting. But you’re interrupted by the doorbell. You both close your eyes before stepping back.

“I had invited Taehyung to come over,” Jungkook informs you.

You nod.

“I’ll go to my room then.”

And without saying anything else, you disappear into your room while your roommate opens the door to his best friend.

The next morning, you don’t see Jungkook at your place, but you don’t overthink it. You’ve been texting Chris the entire night, even though your mind was occupied with someone else—Jungkook. You’re nervous about meeting him again because you’re unsure of what to say or do.

Now, you’re walking with Chris through campus. You agreed that he’d pick you up and walk with you until the campus. You actually really like him, but only as a friend. There’s no way anything happens with him after yesterday’s conversation with your roommate.

Suddenly, the said roommate appears in front of you.

Jungkook.

He doesn’t say a word at first, but you can tell he’s not very happy to see you laughing and talking with Chris. His eyes shift to your friend for a moment, and a smirk appears on your face. Jealousy does look good on him, and there’s absolutely no way you’re letting this moment slip away without teasing him.

“What do you want?” you ask, crossing your arms and pretending to be indifferent.

“To speak with you,” he flatly replies, his tone clipped and jaw tight.

“I’m with Chris right now,” you say, looking at your friend. “So wait for your turn.” 

Jungkook rolls his eyes, and you want to laugh but bite the inside of your cheek to hold back. He’s so easy to rile up, so you’re not giving in just yet.

Your roommate looks at the man next to you. His gaze is sharp, and he’s not subtle in the slightest. He’s practically shooting daggers at Chris with his eyes, and Chris definitely notices it. The tension between them is thick enough to slice through.

“Please leave us,” you add, your voice deliberately nonchalant.

Jungkook’s eyes move back to you, and man, you have to hold it together before you burst out laughing.

“I’m not leaving until I’ve spoken with you,” he insists, his voice lower now but even more dangerous.

You give him a look, mirroring his stubbornness.

“You’re so fucking stubborn,” you say, throwing his words from the day before right back at him.

Just like that, you catch that flicker in his eyes. He knows exactly what you’re doing, and it hits him dead on. His lips twitch like he’s trying not to smile.

Chris looks between you two and sighs.

“I’ll leave you two,” Chris eventually says. “Seems that you have a lot to discuss.”

Chris feels like he’s in the way, so he thinks it’s best to leave. You don’t stop him; there’s no need. Jungkook will stay, no matter what.

“See you later, then,” you offer him a smile.  

Once you’re alone with Jungkook, a wide grin spreads across your face. No matter what happens between you two, you’ll never get tired of teasing him. Watching his reactions is just too entertaining.

“Are you jealous, Jungkookie?” you ask while getting closer to him.

He looks at you with a gaze that burns.

“Is it a bad thing if I am?” he doesn’t even hide how he feels.

“No,” you honestly answer.

Your face gets closer, your lips brushing against his ear. You notice the way he shivers, and man, this feels like the biggest win of your life.

“You look hot when you’re jealous,” you whisper.

When you slowly step back, you press a kiss on his cheek, but he turns his face to bring his lips closer to yours. It’s undeniable that he desperately craves to kiss you. Just like you.

“Not here,” you end up saying. “Don’t want to break hearts.”

Jungkook chuckles before shaking his head.

“Can’t wait to be home, then,” he presses a gentle kiss on your cheek before disappearing into the campus.

This man will be the death of you.

The second you arrived at your place after classes, you looked for Jungkook in the apartment. He was sitting at the kitchen table, just finishing eating. In seconds, the plate was pushed away, your body was trapped between the table and him, and his mouth devoured yours.

“Fuck, you’re so damn addictive,” he whispers against your lips.

His hand cups your cheek with a tenderness that makes your breath hitch, his thumb brushing softly beneath your eye. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer. For a moment, his eyes are simply lost before he kisses you again.

His other hand slides to your waist, while your fingers curl into the hair at the base of his neck. The kiss quickly deepens as all the tension from the weeks of distance, teasing, and denial erupts between your mouths. You both lean into it, mouths parting with the same hunger that once tore your clothes off, but now, there’s something else. Something careful. Something aching.

You gasp softly into him, and he swallows the sound, kissing you harder. It’s messy, and it’s heated. No doubt that this kiss will turn into him in between your legs, fucking the shit out of you. Just like it happened a month ago. However, this time, things will be different. You know that after this intense moment, Jungkook won’t get back to being an asshole to you. Well, at least that’s what you wish.

Jungkook’s hand wastes no time traveling down your waist to the side of your leg. He places his hand underneath the bottom of your dress and begins traveling upwards to feel how wet you are. You let out a soft gasp as his fingers begin traveling up the side of your leg.

“Tell me, baby,” he says, stepping back to take a full, hungry look at you. “How did it feel to provoke me every day for the past month?”

A slow smirk curves on your lips as you remember every time you pushed his buttons, every look, every comment.

“Fantastic,” you reply. “Honestly? I could do it forever.”

He leans in, his voice low, his breath grazing your ear.

“Then I guess it’s my turn to make you pay for it, isn’t it?”

You feel the shiver run down your spine, the air between your bodies thick with the kind of electricity you’ve both pretended not to feel for weeks.

“Oh yeah?” you breathe, your hands sliding up his chest. “And what exactly do you plan to do, Jungkook?”

He grins, that cocky smirk you’ve both hated and loved, and pulls you flush against him.

“Something that’ll make you think twice before you ever call me gay again,” he whispers, eyes locked on yours with a heat that makes your knees weak.

His mouth crashes into yours. There’s no hesitation this time. His hands grip your waist, yours bury in his hair. His kiss is fire, but it’s not just lust. It’s anger, tension, longing, all tangled up in the month you’ve danced around this.

You break apart for a second, breathless, lips tingling.

“Still want to tease me?” he growls softly.

“Always,” you whisper.

Then his lips are on yours again. He begins rubbing you over your underwear, which makes you gasp. His other hand makes its way to your breast and begins caressing you over your dress.

“Jungkook…” You moan, and this time you feel him pull his hand away.

He takes a step away from you and slowly drags his eyes over your body. He can’t believe that this is truly happening. For the past month, he’s been dreaming about it, and he has also masturbated himself a lot while thinking about you.

“Sit,” he says, motioning for you to move backward to sit on the kitchen table. He comes in your direction and takes a proper look at you. “Now, spread your legs.” 

As you open your legs a bit, you feel your dress going up, revealing a bit more of your skin to your roommate. 

“Wider, I want to get a good look at you.”

You do as he says and feel the hem of your dress rise up to the top of your thighs. As he kneels down in front of you, Jungkook pulls the hem of your dress up to your stomach and reveals your lace panties.

“Wow, I love these panties,” his eyes look up at you with the biggest smile on his face.

“I only wear pretty stuff, Jungkookie,” you smile back at him. “You should already know that.”

He rolls his eyes before he places his hands on your thighs and slowly begins kissing his way towards your aching core. His face meets your clothed folds, and he bites his bottom lip, definitely very impatient to taste you. 

“Fuck, I can’t wait to taste you all over again,” he whispers, his voice rough with anticipation.

“Then, do it,” you murmur, breathless.

He lets out a low chuckle, brushing his lips near your neck.

“Somebody’s desperate,” he teases, the smirk in his voice unmistakable, while his hands rest on your thighs. You feel goosebumps rise up when his fingers linger on you. 

His fingers slowly dance up and down your thighs, and you lean your head back and close your eyes, loving the feeling of his fingertips on your skin. Jungkook leans closer and suddenly brings his lips to your other thigh, sending shivers down your spine. 

Your hands find their way to his hair, your fingers intertwining with his dark locks. You need him inside of you now. His mouth, his fingers, his tongue, just something.

One of his fingers brushes against your already soaked panties, and he groans against your skin as he feels your arousal.

“Mmm, baby,” he starts saying against your thighs, “you’re turning me on with how wet you already are.” 

Suddenly, he removes his lips and fingers, and that feeling makes your walls clench around emptiness. Damn, you’re dying to feel him touching you again. You suck in a deep breath as you feel him slowly pulling your panties down your legs.

“Shit, I missed this pretty little pussy,” he admits.

There’s absolutely no doubt that you missed each other over the past month. Not just in the heat of lust or the craving of skin on skin, but in the quiet spaces too. You missed the way he made you laugh without trying, and the way his presence used to make the world feel a little lighter, a little less cruel. He missed the way you used to nudge him when he was too serious, how your eyes sparkled when he’d throw a bad joke, and how your voice always cut through the noise in his head like clarity.

You both felt the void in different ways—him, in the silence of midnight when he couldn't sleep; you, in the middle of a crowded room where no one quite made you feel as seen. No hookup, no distraction filled that emptiness.

And now that you’re standing this close again, feeling the heat of each other’s breath, the truth crashes in like a tidal wave: you didn’t just miss the sex. You missed him. And he missed you. Deeply. Desperately.

But right now, all you want is to feel his touch and to feel his long fingers inside of you. You spread your legs wider, hoping he’ll give you something, anything. A smirk appears on his angelic face, clearly understanding how desperate you are for his touch. 

He trails a finger up and down your slit. His touch is featherlight and simply not enough. You want more than that. You want him to finger you until the only thing that can come out of your mouth is his name. 

You let out a barely audible moan when you feel two of his fingers slowly spreading you open, exposing your heated core. His fingers gather your slick and rub it around your pussy before you feel the tip of his fingers slipping into your core. He flicks his thumb over your clit before softly rubbing. 

You quietly move your hips, trying to urge him to go deeper into your core. Jungkook heeds your wants and slips his fingers in slowly until he reaches his second knuckle.

You grab the edge of the table and open your legs fully as you keep moaning like a mess. Your breath slightly quickens as you feel Jungkook pump his fingers in and out of you without any shame. Your roommate looks up at you, enjoying seeing you twitching with pleasure. 

His lips find their way to your wet core before he slowly starts licking at it. This is already too much for you, but you’re loving every second of it. You pull his hair quite harshly, making him groan against your clit and his groan echoes in your body. He takes your nub between his lips and softly flicks his tongue against it, causing you to see stars. As he hears your breathing quicken, he can tell you’re getting close.

“Jungkook,” you moan.

“Tell me, baby,” his eyes rest on your figure.

“I need you inside me,” you mumble.

“What if I want to tease you a little longer?” he says while adoring the way you’re writhing with pleasure.

“Then do it,” you instantly reply.

Jungkook stands up, his fingers still inside you, to kiss you. His lips are covered in your arousal, and fuck, he looks like an absolute god. This vision alone can make you come. He presses a sloppy kiss against your lips.

While kissing him fervently, you grab his shaft and massage it through his pants. A deep groan falls from his lips. A smirk grows on your face when you catch his instant reaction.

“Teasing”, you begin, “is a game I can play too,” you whisper in his ear before biting the lobe with your teeth.

In no time, you’re unbuckling his pants to push them with his underwear. Your hand fully holds his cock, his mouth finds yours, and you both pleasure each other at the same pace. It’s incredibly hot, and something you never knew would happen in your entire life.

Jungkook closes his eyes, enjoying the feeling of your velvety walls around his fingers and your hand on his dick. You’re both so lost in your own pleasure, but that isn’t enough. You both need more.

Suddenly, he removes his hand and quickly spins you around until your back is pressed to his chest.

“You’ve been driving me crazy for the past month,” his lips press a gentle kiss on your neck.

You close your eyes as he gently kisses your neck, his hands moving along your body. His lips and hands make you shiver.

You close your eyes, surrendering to the feeling as his lips slowly and gently kiss your neck. The soft brush of his mouth sends a shiver down your spine, awakening every nerve under your skin. His breath is warm against your neck; man, he’s driving you crazy. Not the way around.

His hands travel your body, fingers tracing the curves of your waist before gliding up your sides. The contrast of his rough palms and your sensitive skin makes you shiver uncontrollably. It’s as if he’s relearning you, mapping you with touch, memorizing every reaction.

He pulls you a little closer, and your body molds instinctively to his. His kisses deepen slightly, his mouth lingering longer, his teeth grazing ever so gently against your neck. A soft gasp escapes your lips when you feel his growing erection against your ass, and you feel his grip tighten just a little in response.

“Flirting with guys right under my nose,” he whispers against your skin. “And constantly teasing and provoking me.”  

“Do I even need to talk about you?” you say, his hands still moving along your body. “You’d eye fucking me while dancing with random chicks.”

“Well, how couldn’t I when you were looking at me with so much hunger?”  

Jungkook carefully bends you down over the table. His very hungry eyes take a quick look at your body. Your ass is now on full display for him, and fuck, he adores it.

In no time, he grabs a condom from his pocket to put it on his length. Seconds after, you feel his hardness lining up behind you, rubbing at your wet folds.

“You look pretty like this,” he says while bending to press another kiss on your neck.

“I’m always pretty,” you clap back.

“I’m not saying the opposite.”

Since you’re soaking wet, he buries himself easily and in one motion. Both of you hold back your moans. 

“Fuck, yn!” he gasps and gives you both a moment. 

He has been dying to do it for the past month, and he feels euphoric to finally do it. His hands grab our waist as he slowly moves out of you, leaving only the tip of his length inside. He slams his cock inside of you with a harsh thrust, and you don’t hold back your moan as your arms give out and you fall forward flat on the table.  

“Fuck, this is better than in my dreams,” he whines as he sets a pace. 

“In your dreams?” you even manage to tease him while he’s fucking you hard on the kitchen table. “You were that fucking desperate…” you smirk.

Instead of replying, he just goes harder, showing you no mercy. Your ass meets his hips and claps with each thrust. The kitchen is only filled with the sound of his hips meeting your ass as well as the creaking table underneath you. Both you and he moan louder and louder, and man, this is more than wonderful. It’s ecstatic, it’s addictive, and it’s overwhelming.

His grip on your waist is strong as he fucks you deep and relentlessly. After all this time, after all this pent-up tension, you’re both getting lost in this moment. It feels beyond great. Nothing has ever felt as great as this right here. No other hookup can even come close to this moment.

Your eyes roll back into your head at how well he works your body. His thrusts become more and more brutal and deep, and you swear that you could feel him in your stomach. You slowly feel your orgasm building within you.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum, baby,” he warns and feels your walls clench around him. “Fuck, don’t tease me.”

“Or what?” you dare to tease me.

“You’re such a fucking tease!” he groans.  

Your hand slides down to your clit as you want to cum as soon as possible. Jungkook pumps into you even harder. You know that in a matter of seconds you’d be creaming his cock.

“Kook, gonna cum!” you try not to scream but it’s basically impossible with the pace and strength that he’s fucking into you. 

Next thing you know, you’re coming and pulsating around his thickness. He keeps fucking you through your high and he looks with marvel how you’re creaming his length. His breathing is heavy and you can feel that he’s about to cum. And it doesn’t really take him long to fill the condom up with his cum.

“Fuck!” he breathes as he finally comes down from his high.

Your face is resting on the cool surface of the table as your breathing slowly settles back to normal. Jungkook pulls himself out of you, throws the condom in the garbage, and helps you to clean.

“That was fucking good,” you whisper, still breathless, as you pull your panties back on and glance over at your roommate.

Jungkook chuckles lowly, his smile lazy and satisfied. He buttons his jeans and walks back over to you, pressing a few soft, lingering kisses to your lips.

“It was,” he agrees, his voice warm and quiet.

You both collapse onto the kitchen chairs, the air between you thick with everything that just happened, and everything it might mean. Neither of you speaks at first, both staring blankly ahead at the kitchen sink, like it somehow holds the answers.

After a few beats, you finally break the silence. “Just so you don’t freak out after,” you begin, your voice tentative but steady, “I’m not going anywhere.”

You reach for him, your fingers finding his and intertwining naturally, like muscle memory.

“I’m staying… if you want me to,” you add.

He turns to look at you, and that familiar, boyish grin spreads across his face, his doe eyes glowing with something tender and real. “If you’re staying,” he says, squeezing your hand gently, “then I’m staying too.”

A week later

Things with Jungkook are completely different now. He isn’t just your roommate anymore. He’s way more than that. He’s back to being your best friend, but he’s also your fuckbuddy and the man you constantly kiss because you’re so damn addicted to him. It’s been hard to keep your hands to yourself when he’s around, which means all the time.

On campus, you’ve been trying to act like nothing is happening because you don’t want people to talk about you. It was already enough that they were saying you were into each other because of how you were acting before at the parties.

However, it’s been hard not to feed the rumors. When you’re off campus, you don’t hide. You hold hands, kiss in the streets, and tease each other. Anybody with two eyes can see how much you’re into each other. And when you’re partying, it’s even worse. You dance like you’re about to fuck in front of everybody.

But you’ve never been this happy.

You’re cleaning the living room with your Becky G playlist blasting in the background. You’re obsessed, constantly listening to her songs, and Bad Bunny’s too. You even managed to convert Jungkook to liking their songs.

While cleaning, you dance too and sing out loud. Thankfully, Jungkook isn’t home because he would have gotten mad. You’re always too loud—even when you have sex, but he doesn’t complain there—but you don’t care at all. You’d scream in his ears if he complains.

“No digas que no si sí,” you sing out loud. “Si te llamo tú vienes donde mí.”

You turn around in the living room with a cloth in your hands. You’re smiling while singing and dancing, it’s a song that you like a lot.

“Si no me extrañas ahora, ahorita sí,” you continue. “No digas que no si sí.”

“We can hear you in the streets,” Jungkook’s voice suddenly echoes in the room.

You don’t stop, not caring at all about his words. The song is almost over, and you want to enjoy it until the end. Once the song ends, it switches to OTRO CAPÍTULO—your favorite. A smile tugs at your lips as you immediately start dancing in Jungkook’s direction. That familiar, adorable grin grows on his face the moment he recognizes the track.

You sway in front of him playfully until he pulls you closer, his hands finding their place on your waist. You loop your arms around his neck, and the two of you start moving together, perfectly in sync.

“This one’s my favorite,” you murmur with a soft smile.

“I know,” he replies into your hair. “You play it all the time.”

Dancing with him always feels easy, natural, even magical. It feels like home.

“It’s starting to become mine too,” he admits after a moment. “Taehyung won’t stop teasing me about it.”

You laugh, letting the sound float between you.

“Guess I’m a good influence.”

“Not sure I’d go that far,” he teases, though his smile says otherwise.

Still holding your hands, he spins you gently before bringing you back to him. Your fingers stay laced together as they settle at the level of your waist, and your bodies keep moving to the rhythm, wrapped in shared warmth and something deeper neither of you dares to name out loud yet.

Then his voice drops, quiet but certain.

“You’ve broken my heart in ways no one else ever could.”

You blink up at him, surprised but not hurt. There’s a softness in his gaze that tells you it’s not blame. It’s love.

“What a privilege,” you tease, smiling to hide the sudden lump in your throat. “Might have to keep breaking it, then.”

Of course, it’s the last thing you’d ever want. Hurting Jungkook would destroy you.

“Go on, break my heart,” he says, more serious now. “Just promise you’ll be the one to put it back together.”

Your throat tightens. You nod.

“Only if you promise the same.”

Neither of you stops dancing. Even with the seriousness hanging between you like an unspoken vow, your bodies move as one. The music plays on, but all you hear is each other.

“I’ll always pick up every piece,” he says softly. “No matter who breaks it.”

“And I’ll do the same.”

The moment stretches—intimate, quiet, wrapped in the soft pulse of your favorite song. And maybe that’s what love is. Not a grand gesture or perfect timing, but dancing in your living room with someone who sees every part of you and still wants to stay.

This is how two best friends stop pretending. This is how a real love story begins.

And if letting Jungkook hold your heart means he might break it? Then, so be it. Because he’s also the only one you’d trust to put it back together again.

[iamthatonefangirl]

grumpy x sunshine but filthy smut where reader is just his wittle baby :( loves and does anything for her and she’s the same for bucky

baby - nsfw bucky barnes

this might be the softest smut I've ever written in my life. totally got away from me.

(lmk if you'd like to choose an emoji, I'd love to hear more from you 🤍)

~~~

you're wrapped up in his arms, the lights dimmed low. the soft, warm luminescence from the lamp makes you glow like an angel, he thinks.

you are an angel. you have to be, because how could you be real?

you are ethereal, a beam of joy and happiness for him in a world that is otherwise nothing but a void of endless nothingness and despair. you can do absolutely no wrong in his eyes; he'll defend and protect you until the day that he dies.

he's got you in his lap, wrapping his arms around your torso to keep you close. you dangle your arms over his shoulders, lazily wrapping them around his neck.

your foreheads are pressed softly together, the act so intimate and full of love it makes you feel like you’re one.

he's just barely moving you back and forth, keeping you oh so close to him while you moan lowly at the pressure of him buried inside you.

he breathes in your scent, just feeling the way you make his whole body soar with love and the surge of happiness that runs through him like a never-ending jolt of electricity.

~~~

when you met him, you were told to expect the worst. you were briefed that he doesn't talk to anyone, doesn't leave his apartment except for work, etc. you were mentally prepared for the antisocial homebody you had been forewarned about, but you weren't nervous. you would just be yourself and hope for the best.

but when you met him, he wasn't staring at you like everyone said he would. yes, he was staring at you, but not with the rage of a thousand suns like you anticipated. his eyes were wide open in... curiosity?

he was shy, but he shook your hand no problem.

internally, he was a wreck. he was melting just from seeing your smile, something that had never happened to him before. he was stunned into silence. sure, he never really made the effort to speak to anyone else anyways, but you?

how was he supposed to talk to a pretty girl like you?

he would only embarrass himself, or look like a pathetic loser, or maybe you had made your decision about him before you met him. maybe you already hated him, and he didn't even stand a chance.

he knew how his demeanor came off; he didn't care what people thought of him. ideally, they wouldn't perceive him at all. the dream life would be to work, stay in the shadows, and never have to speak to another soul again.

but you... god, you were just something else. he wanted to say more to you than he had, he wanted to prove to you that he was more than the angry, people-loathing person everyone else probably told you he was.

after your first meeting, he felt a fool. he blubbered and stuttered like an idiot, and Sam smacked his shoulder and chuckled as you walked away. he scowled at him and stalked off, as usual.

he was just a hateful person. no reason for you to think he could be more than that.

~~~

"you're so pretty, sweetheart," he whispers to you, taking in the sight in front of him. your eyes are shut so softly, relishing in the way he's making such gentle love to you. it's almost sickening how sweet the scene is.

he brings a flesh hand to your cheek, cradling your face in his palm. brings new meaning to "his whole world in the palm of his hand."

"oh, baby," you mumble to him, moving your hips against him a little, neediness taking over your mind. "Bucky, baby, my baby..."

"come on," he whispers. with your eyes closed, you don't see the way his face pinks up. "I'm not a baby. you are my baby," he says, adjusting his grip on you, keeping his hands pressed against your soft skin. his fingertips dip into your flesh ever so softly, making sure not to hurt you. he'd go to the ends of the earth to protect you, rip out anyone's spine for you...

"but you are my baby," you whisper back to him, eyes still shut. your voice is a soft whine as you slowly move back and forth. "you’re my baby, Bucky. my baby, my Bucky, all mine..."

your words send him into a spiral. him? your baby? he's fucked.

"would... would you say it again?" he says, so low in the back of his throat, the words are barely audible.

"you're my baby," you repeat, and he somehow pulls you even closer, as if you're not already as close together as humanly possible.

"and you’re mine, sweetheart,” he tells you as he begins to move you both, still keeping you pressed tightly against him as he lays you on your back and begins to move his hips between yours so slowly and perfectly. “god, I love you,” he breathes.

you let out a soft little cry. "shh, pretty baby, I'm here," he says to you, his tone just a little higher, the way it shifts only around you. "you know I'm here. I'll always be here. just let me take care of you, my baby.”

~~~

every time you spoke to him him after your initial meeting, he felt like his entire reality was warped. time seemed to speed up, moving way too fast whenever he got the chance to speak to you. it was never enough time.

he found himself smiling, even blushing around you. everyone else was shocked, wondering if the man was on drugs or something with the way he seemed to perk up around you.

but no, no drugs.

you lit up something in his soul that he didn't know was possible.

no matter how scared he was, how convinced he was that you were going to say no, he knew he cared too much about you to not make the effort. he was so deeply in love with you to not ask you.

and if you said no, he would deal with it the same way he dealt with everything else: by pretending he didn't care and falling deeper into his hatred for the world.

lucky for the both of you, when he asked you out, you said "yes!" with a vibrant smile and a small spring in your step. he thought he would never be happier than he was in that moment.

oh, but he was wrong. that moment when he got down on one knee, and saw the way your face lit up in pure delight and excitement as you exclaimed, "yes, yes, yes!" over and over again?

that was the happiest moment of his life.

~~~

he reaches down to where your hands are now interlaced, running his fingers over the metal band on your ring finger. he proceeds to bring your hand to his lips to press a kiss to your knuckles, to the permanent mark he's now left on your skin, forever.

a beautiful diamond for the most beautiful girl in the world.

having you, here, under him. it's the biggest privilege of his life to call you his, and he's going to spend the rest of his life trying to prove that he deserves to have you.

"you feelin' good, baby?" he whispers to you, cupping your face in his hand once more. "tell me what you need. anything at all, it's yours."

you shake your head. "it's perfect, baby..." you whine, lifting your hips to meet his.

"you ready for me to make you come, baby?" he asks, pushing a strand of hair out of your face.

"yes, please, James," you ask him, and he brings his lips to your neck.

"no need for pleas, baby, I'm gonna give you everything you want for the rest of our lives."

he moves your legs to wrap around his waist and kisses your neck up to your jaw, doubling down on his efforts as he fucks you so sweetly.

"that's my girl. my baby, my fiance," he whispers as though he's speaking to himself. "you're doing so well, babydoll. come for me."

your legs tighten around his waist, trapping his hips against yours as you bear down and reach your release with a cry of his name.

"so beautiful, that's it, baby," he whispers, holding you through it.

"I love you, James," you whisper as you find your breath again.

"oh, baby, you'll never know how much I love you. how much you've changed my life for the better. how afraid I am of the feelings I have for you... and how I'd rather die than run away from the feeling, no matter how much it scares me."

your eyes well up with tears of joy, and he wipes them away with a soft brush of his thumb.

"I'm yours, forever, babydoll," he whispers, and leans in to kiss you like the world depends on it.

because it does. you are his world.

~~~

who am I and what have I done with horny bri. I guess I'm a softie now

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[daryltwdixon]

𝕲𝖎𝖇𝖘𝖔𝖓 𝕲𝖎𝖗𝖑

Summary: During the day, the Boston Quarantine Zone buzzed with life. People worked, slaving away under the military grip that kept order. But at night, deep in the underbelly of a crumbling hotel, was an entirely different ecosystem that thrived in the dark. One that was draped in lace and velvet, thick with smoke, sweat and secrets. And Joel Miller could always be found in the same room at the same time every night, though he never touched and he barely spoke. But he made sure that he was the only man you ever saw. || smut MDNI 18+ dark!joel x reader, QZ!Joel, reader is a sex worker (though there is only 1 scene with any semblance of 'work' with a customer that isn't joel), joel goes by 'hazel eyes', reader goes by the stage name 'kitty', dark themes, brothel, power imbalance, size difference, kind of innocent!reader, possessive!joel, jealous!joel, angst?, joel miller is a dangerous man, actually he's pretty scary too, touch her look at her and you die, pinv, grinding, lap dancing, fingering, f!recieving oral, some rough sex, missionary, stoic joel but he gets a filthy mouth when he's turned on, pet names, reader has no physical description but is starving from poverty, reader is afab, tension tension tension || a/n: where my dark joel girlies at? this is completely a self indulgent fic because all I want is joel miller to be obsessed w me inspired by ethel cain's gibson girl word count: 12k (got a bittttt carried away)

To the untrained eye, the Boston Quarantine Zone looked dead in the middle of the night. 

Not quiet, but dead. The kind of darkness that pressed against your eyesight, the stillness of not a soul to be seen. Up in the dark windows of the buildings, curtains were pulled shut and lamps turned low. Burn piles still steamed into the late hours, the flickering buzz of lamplight the only relief from the night. There was no chatter, no footsteps, just the hum of rotting infrastructure as the last signs of life slipped from sight.

It wasn’t really empty, of course not. FEDRA trucks groaned past every five minutes like clockwork, their engines coughing and tires crunching on debris that littered the cracked pavement. Headlights broke through the darkness and swept across the concrete walls still stained with blood and protest graffiti that the painting crew had yet to cover. Soldiers sat in their trucks with their machine guns at the ready across their laps, eyes heavy from long shifts but nonetheless always watching. 

Sometimes you wondered if they secretly hoped for someone to catch. 

Most people knew better than to be out after curfew, that’s how you stayed breathing, after all. That was how you kept what little you had—your rations, your apartment, your teeth. You didn’t wander, didn’t make noise. You didn’t exist.

But underneath it all, in a velvet-walled hotel basement on the east side of the city, was an entirely different world. One that came alive at night.

It wasn’t exactly a secret. Even off-duty soldiers were easy to spot—feet kicked up, watching girls sway under low red lights, the walls draped in black and crimson fabric. The place still smelled like mold and musk, but there was something else too. Something smokey and warm. Almost inviting.

You remember the first time you were brought down there, and how it felt like stepping into another world.

You’d noticed the girl before, usually she was casually propped against a brick wall or street lamp, soldiers flirting with her and leaning into her as she smirked up at them. She was cleaner than most, her cheeks full, a softness to her stomach that only came from regular meals and hot water. Her raven hair caught the light in a way that made it gleam indigo in the sun. But you never saw her when the sun went down.

Until tonight.

Hiding in the darkness as she headed in the same direction as you, she moved with purpose. Her gait was graceful if not a little rushed to get out of sight. So, with all the courage and desperation you could muster, you matched her pace, asking her where she was from, where she got her nice clothes. She smirked at your questions, eyes raking over you, and tipped her chin to keep up.

She told you about how you could make good income if you were willing. Ration cards by the day, sometimes pills and booze. Even new clothes, if you earned them.

And so, desperate and dizzy, minutes before curfew when your options would shrink even further, you followed her.

You hadn’t expected the noise. It had been so long since you’d heard music like this, and it blasted from rusted speakers while men laughed and yelled and clapped as girls twirled on tiny stages or dropped into their laps. You watched black market currency being exchanged, a man flaunting a rolled cigarette for a girl to take from his fingers with her mouth, a few extra ration cards pushed into a black bralette, an unmarked bottle sliding across a table to another.

“Stay here,” the raven haired girl said, holding her finger up. 

As soon as she left your side, you felt it. A presence, a pair of eyes on you.

Most of the men were too drunk or high to care, but someone was watching like a ghost in the shadows. You turned slowly, gaze scanning the dark corners of the room, but you saw nothing. Still, there was a prickle at the back of your neck that wouldn’t go away.

Then the girl returned with a man trailing behind her. Tall, lean, arms like coiled rope. He wasn’t unpleasant to look at, not with that sandy blonde hair and sharp blue eyes. But there was something sour under the surface. Something that made you tense.

You knew a rat when you saw one.

“This is Gage,” she said. “Gage, this is my new friend. Cute, right?”

His eyes dragged down your body, slow and assessing.

“Very cute,” he said. “Though it’s hard to tell under all that shit on her face.”

You grimaced, knowing you must’ve looked rough. You hadn’t bathed in days because you couldn’t afford the bathhouse, not even close. You probably stank. Probably looked like hell.

“She wants to work,” the girl added, smiling at you with something sly in her eyes.

“Does she now?” Gage purred, hands on his hips. “You ever been here before, doll? Know what we do?”

You had a pretty good idea, but you still shook your head as you looked up at him.

“You got a name?” he asked, amused at your wide eyes.

You told him, and the girl giggled. The man reached out to you, and you cowered slightly, realizing now what this was, “That won’t do,” he said, twirling a piece of hair between his fingers, “But we’ll think of somethin’ for ya. Somethin’ real cute.”

He jerked his head toward a hallway lined with curtains. “Come on. Let’s talk.”

And for whatever god awful reason that probably had everything to do with the hunger twisting your guts, you followed.

By the first week in the place, you were already in debt.

A long, scalding bath, clean clothes, makeup, a bed to sleep in had all come at a cost. You hadn’t even had a warm meal yet, and already you owed.

But it was better than where you came from, and so you stayed. 

Trixie, you’d come to learn was the girl’s name, or, at least her given name, taught you the basics as she tailored you into the perfect succubus. She waxed and tweezed every inch of hair left on your body until you were raw and smooth like you hadn’t been in years. She said smooth sold better. So you let her. You let her show you how to apply eyeliner without shaking, how to paint on a smile that looked nearly real. She even shared a few bites of her lukewarm oatmeal when you were close to fainting.

Now, on your first working night, you stood in front of the chipped mirror in the communal girl’s waiting area, pink gloss shaking in your hand as you brought it to your lips. You didn’t recognize your reflection anymore, though you often tried to avoid it anyway. Everything about you had been softened, plucked, painted. Your sweatshirt and jeans were gone, replaced by a thin slip the color of wine.

Trixie appeared behind you, her fingers settling lightly on your shoulders. Her eyes met yours in the glass, dark and rimmed in smoky shadow. The corner of her lips lifted with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

“You have a customer.”

Your hand froze. “Already?” You hadn’t even gone out to line up for the potential suitors. You hadn’t been seen by anyone since you arrived a few days ago.

She nodded once, then leaned in closer, like she didn’t want the other girls to hear what she was about to say.

“I need you to listen to me.” Her voice had lost its usual lilt, the teasing edge flattened out as she spoke with her lips to your ear, tucking a piece of hair behind it. “You do not fuck around with this one. Don’t play dumb, don’t try to be cute. He doesn’t like games, and he definitely doesn’t like the whole bambi thing you’re giving me right now.”

Your stomach turned as you trembled, searching her darkening eyes in the mirror. “W-what does he like?”

Her gaze never left yours, “Quiet, obedience, and no talking. Not unless he speaks first.”

You swallowed hard. “How—? It’s my first day. How did he even know I’m here?”

Trixie’s voice dropped lower. “Gage says he saw you when I brought you in. Asked when you’d be ready.”

The ghost in the shadows. The eyes you felt, but never saw.

“Kitty!”

Gage’s voice cracked through the room, sudden and booming. Everyone flinched, heads turning. His eyes were locked on you.

Right. The new name.

You stood, hands clammy as you smoothed invisible wrinkles from your dress.

Trixie reached out, her thumb swiping gently at the corner of your mouth where your gloss had smudged.

“Be a good girl,” she said, soft and sweet, like this wasn’t your initiation by fire.

The light was dim out in the hallway, humming overhead with a sickly yellow buzz. You followed the narrow corridor past drawn curtains and closed doors, the floor sticky in places, soft in others. You wished you could afford some shoes after they took your crappy canvas sneakers. Another thing to be earned. 

Your eyes stayed locked on the planes of Gage’s back as he led you further in, stopping outside a door near the end of the hall. He knocked twice, then opened it. He didn’t step inside, didn’t speak, only gave a nod for you to go in.

The air in the room was warmer than the hallway. Still and thick with a mix of smoke and something sweeter like candle wax, maybe cologne. A few small candles burned low on the tables around the couch, casting flickering yellow light across the room just enough to see. 

You stopped in the doorway, breath catching.

A man sat at the center of the room like it was built around him. Like it was waiting for him to fill it. Legs spread, boots planted wide on the rug. One arm rested along the back of the loveseat, fingers curling slightly over the worn wood, the other loose beside his thigh. He didn’t move when you entered. Didn’t shift or adjust. He took up the space without question.

His shirt was black, the fabric thinned and faded, stretched slightly over the broad cut of his chest. It hugged the curve of muscle beneath his arms, which were thick and heavy with the kind of strength that didn’t come from anything but hard manual labor. 

He was equally terrifying and beautiful all at once.

As you stepped inside, you traced him in pieces. The width of his shoulders, the slope of his neck. The rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. You weren’t sure why you were doing it. Maybe to delay the moment when his attention reached you. Maybe to understand the shape of something that could so easily break you in half. 

His face was hewn from earth and fire, no softness or youth left in him. Features strong and severe, cut from time and consequence. A thick beard framed his jaw, dark with streaks of gray that caught in the candlelight. And a scar, jagged across the bridge of his nose only made him more striking. The sudden thought of running the tip of your finger across it flitted in your mind. Of asking him where he got it. If the other guy got to walk away.

Quiet. Obedient. Don’t speak unless spoken to.

So you gathered the courage to look at his eyes instead.

They were already on you. You hadn’t even noticed when they landed. Deep and shadowed, colored with something in between green and gold and something even darker. They moved slowly across you. He didn’t leer or oggle. They were empty, void of emotion or feeling.

And still, he said nothing.

So you stood there. Letting him look. Letting him see.

You tried to hold his gaze while your stomach coiled tighter, while your knees threatened to buckle. You drank him in like he was the only thing left in the room. And as his eyes met yours, steady and unblinking, you got the feeling he was doing the same.

“Close the door.”

Even his voice was low and controlled, vibrating in his throat like gravel and honey. You obeyed without hesitation, grateful for the excuse to break his gaze. Turning slowly, your shaking fingers found the knob, pulling the door shut behind you with a quiet click.

When you turned back, you didn’t meet his eyes. Your hands fidgeted at the hem of your dress, nerves coiling through your stomach until you thought you might be sick.

“Sit.” 

You blinked, glancing up at him. He gave a slight tilt of his head, and only then did you notice the chair across the room—plain, wooden, placed just far enough from him to maybe let you breathe. You hadn’t noticed it before. You hadn’t seen anything but him.

Slowly, knees wobbling, you took a seat, crossing your ankles in the demure fashion Trixie taught you, fingers intertwined with each other in your lap. 

You sat like that for a while. So long, in fact, you had to uncross and recross your legs multiple times, pins and needles vibrating through your muscles each time from lack of use. He stayed in his seated position, eyes on you, arm still hooked behind the back of the loveseat, never saying another word. 

It was odd. You were warned about him, about this brutish, intimidating man, and yet… he did nothing. You knew what this job was—the physical aspects of it. And you’re certain he knew as well, since everyone seemed to know who he was, what he was capable of. 

An hour later, three short knocks rapped on the door. You had been taught different knocks meant different things, and this one, short and quick, meant you needed to wrap up, that the buyer only had a few more minutes left with their purchase.

That was the first time he moved. He leaned forward, arm sliding down to reach for his pocket, eyes finally leaving your figure. You watched him closely, barely breathing. There was a grace to it, an ease that didn’t match his size. Like a predator stretching after a long rest.

He pulled out a few ration cards, and stood. His boots crossed the floor in slow, solid steps towards you, and your back locked straight against the groaning wood of the chair. He stopped in front of you and held the cards out.

“I–” your throat cracked with lack of use, and you gently cleared it. Don’t speak unless spoken to. But he hadn’t spoken to you. 

“I’m not supposed to take p-payment.” you managed to say quietly, head ducking.

“I’d rather not give that prick anything I don’t have to.” he ground out, and you looked up at him then, at the clear disdain for the man who clothed you and put you to work, and his eyes were burning into you as he added, “Take it.” 

“I didn’t…do anything.”

He still held out his hand with the cards. 

After a beat, you gave in and reached for the cards, careful, trying not to touch him. But your fingertips just barely brushed his, and you flinched like you’d been burned.

If he noticed, he didn’t show it. Or maybe he was just used to it.

You sat frozen, heart hammering, heat crawling up your neck. Your legs pressed together beneath your dress, muscles tight with something you weren’t sure how to explain. Embarrassment. Tension. Fear, probably. 

When you looked up at him again, his eyes were as unreadable as ever. 

And without another word, he walked toward the door.

But the next morning, you had your first warm meal in weeks.

The next night, Gage came for you again.

He didn’t say who was waiting. Just jerked his chin like before and started walking, expecting you to fall into step. You did.

The corridor hadn’t changed. Same buzzing yellow lights overhead, same warped floor beneath your bare feet. The walls felt closer than they had the night before. Closer, or maybe just quieter. No voices behind the curtains. No music bleeding from the lounge. Just that thick, stale air.

When you reached the door, Gage opened it and gestured you inside. He didn’t follow. And this time, he shut the door behind you.

You turned, and froze.

He was already watching from the same position on the couch. His legs were spread, the faded denim stretched along his broad lap, posture relaxed as his arms bracketed the couch behind him. His gaze was steady on yours, though just as unreadable as ever. 

“You again.” you said before you could stop yourself. It wasn’t sharp or even shy, just curious. You could almost swear there was a twitch of his lips. Nearly a smile.

You didn’t wait to be told. You crossed the room, the creak of the floorboards the only sound beneath the moth eaten rug, and sat in the wooden chair facing him. You kept your knees close together, hands folded tight in your lap.

“I was told not to speak to you,” you said, keeping your voice steady. Testing the line again, just to see if it would hold. You wondered how far you could push, how much you could get him to say. Since, after all, if this was going to be the same as last time, you’d be sitting in an hour’s worth of silence.

He didn’t look away. “That so?”

You nodded once.

His hand lifted to his face, slow and deliberate, scratching at his beard. The sound was rough, a scrape in the silence.

“Probably for the best,” he said. He was so hard to read. You couldn’t tell if it was amusement or dismissal, but clearly an end to the conversation. You pressed your lips together and didn’t say anything else.

So, you sat there while he watched you. Your skin burned with the feeling of his eyes on you, though they weren’t necessarily invasive. He seemed to be taking inventory, a slow assessment of the woman in front of him. The way one might watch a trapped animal so it would stay calm instead of bolting at the first sign of movement.

You didn’t speak for the rest of the time together.

But when he got up to leave at the sound of the three knocks, he walked across the room to you once again, and offered you more ration cards.

“Get some damn shoes.” 

For the next week, he became part of your daily life.

The hazel-eyed man would come and sit with you. No touching or requests. Just silence stretched over an hour while his eyes stayed steady on you.

You learned to use the time as best you could. Some days, you let your mind drift, finding stillness in the quiet. Other times, you watched him in return—studied the slope of his shoulders, the line of his jaw, the way his hand always curled slightly when it rested on his thigh. When your eyes needed a break, you counted the amount of sun baked flies in the tiny window, the uneven cracks in the wall. Anything to keep from unraveling beneath the weight of his gaze.

At the end of every visit, without fail, he would stand, walk over, and hand you a small stack of ration cards.

And you would eat.

Every day now. Real food. Enough to soften your stomach, enough to put color back in your cheeks. The blush Trixie used to paint on was barely necessary anymore. Some of that was from the food. Some of it was from something else entirely.

Sometimes you caught yourself flushing before you even entered the room.

Because somewhere along the way, you started thinking about him in the hours outside of your time together.

Not obsessively. Just… quietly. The way you might recall a scent or a line of music. A flicker. A shadow. He’d become part of the rhythm of your days, and you didn’t know what that meant. At least, not in a place like this, doing a job like yours.

But you didn’t worry about other clients anymore. Gage hadn’t sent you to anyone else. Maybe because this man paid every day, maybe because he never asked for someone else.

Still, for all the time you spent together, he hardly spoke.

You’d managed to learn that he was from Texas. That he had a brother. But that was it. Two facts about him. Not even a name, no stories he was willing to tell. Nothing you could hold onto. He was a sealed vault, and you hadn’t even touched the lock.

“I’m putting you out in the lounge tonight,” Gage said, barely glancing at you as he counted the ration cards from your last session with your new regular. You always went straight to him after, paying down your debt of the room and board, of your clothes and makeup used each night. There was always something hanging over your head.

“In… the lounge?” you echoed, eyes widening, heart sinking as you stood in his office that night. The lounge was where women danced in scantily clad lingerie, music blaring and contraband was traded. You’d seen it the first night you were here, but never ventured out on the nights since. It felt…nerve wracking. So many eyes, so many wandering hands and snake-like smiles. 

Gage gave a quick glance up, just long enough to show his annoyance before settling back into the creaking chair behind his desk.

“Yes, the lounge,” he said, bored. “You’ll need something new to wear.”

Then his eyes lifted again—this time slower, meaner. He held up the stack of ration cards between two fingers and smiled, all teeth.

“Guess that means I’ll keep these.”

He chuckled at your silence.

“Whatever tips you make tonight, those are yours. If you can manage to catch any of those creeps’ attention.”

You nodded. What else could you do?

He waved you off like a nuisance, and you left, swallowing against the lump in your throat, blinking hard to keep the tears from coming. That money had been your first real hope of paying anything down. Now it was gone.

More currency lost. Which meant the longer you had to stay here.

This place was a pit you were never crawling out of. But it was still a bed. Still a place to bathe. Now that you were eating regularly thanks to Hazel Eyes, it didn’t always feel so bad. Especially since you hadn’t needed to use what god gave you to make the money. 

That night, Trixie came to your room with a bundle of black fabric draped over her arm.

“Suit up,” she said, tossing it to you.

You unfolded it, blinking. Your fingers ran over lace, sheer flowery mesh, and thin straps that tangled like spiderwebs.

“I-I’m supposed to wear this?” you stammered.

“It’s lingerie,” Trixie said with a sigh, already annoyed. “You’ve seen the other girls. Don’t shoot the messenger. Gage said you’re in the lounge tonight, so I brought you something to wear.”

Your skin prickled at the thought of putting it on. Of walking out there with nothing to hide behind. Dancing in the least amount of fabric you’d ever seen. Being seen.

Trixie rolled her eyes, grabbed you by the shoulders, and turned you toward the folding divider in the corner of your room. “Change. Now. We still have to fix your face.”

You ducked behind the divider, fumbling with the fabric, trying to figure out where each strap belonged and how to stretch it over your skin. Your hands shook as you hooked it around your waist, tugged it high over your hips. It barely covered anything, every inch of you feeling exposed.

“What’s wrong with my face?” you called out, your voice tighter than you meant it to be.

“Nothing,” Trixie snapped. “But hurry the fuck up. Since when did you get an attitude?”

“Since when are you so stressed?” you muttered more to yourself.

When you finally stepped out, she let out a low whistle.

“Oh hell yes.” she said with a smile.

You tried to return it, but it was more of a grimace. Your stomach twisted as her gaze swept over you, and instinctively your arms came up to cover yourself. She pulled you in front of the large cracked and dusty mirror, smiling over your shoulder as you looked at the reflection. 

You were downright sinful.

The black bodysuit clung to you like it had been sewn in place. Lace traced every inch of the bodice, delicate patterns sweeping across your ribs and dipping down the center of your chest. It tapered high at the hips, the fabric thinning until it disappeared between your legs. Thin straps hugged your waist, another set wrapping around your hips like they were the only things keeping the sheer fabric attached to your skin. (inspo)

But Trixie’s smile faltered. Her brows pinched.

“What?” you asked quickly, covering your chest with both hands. “What is it?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her hands dropped to her hips as she studied you.

“Haven’t you had the same customer these past few days? The one I warned you about?”

You nodded, turning around. “Y-yes.”

“It’s just…” She tilted her head, lips pursing.

Your heart thudded. Had you done something wrong? Was there a mark on your skin? Something that gave you away?

She shook her head. “Let me just say—every other girl I’ve seen come out of a room with him? They never walk out without bruises.”

Your eyes flicked down your own body. No black and blue hues, no soreness. Nothing but nervous sweat and hollow hunger.

“Bruises?” you asked.

Trixie raised an eyebrow, then smirked. “On their hips, their waists. Their legs and arms. I’m sure in more in places that I don’t want to see.”

Your stomach turned.

She leaned in slightly, voice dropping. “You know. From him.”

But you didn’t. Your face must’ve said as much.

“He’s not exactly gentle,” she added, blunt now. “Well… at least not with the others.”

You didn’t know how to respond.

Because you hadn’t told a soul. Not a single person in this place knew that he’d never laid a hand on you. That he barely spoke. That every time you stepped into that room, he looked at you for a while… and then handed you cards when it was time to leave.

You didn’t understand it. And you weren’t sure you wanted to. Because it’s not like it was a bad deal. You didn’t have to trade your dignity for the payment, and he wasn’t terrible company, although he was mostly silent. But still, there was something in the back of your mind that wriggled, that taunted you, that begged the question. 

Why hadn’t he wanted you like he wanted them?

Trixie squinted, like she was trying to figure something out. Like she was running a tally in her head you couldn’t see.

But you just stood there in your little black nothing, skin flushed, heart pounding.

“Oh,” you finally said, voice quiet.

That was all there was to say.

You’d forgotten how loud the music was in the lounge. It throbbed through the floor and up your legs, filling your chest and head with a hazy, heavy rhythm. Red light drenched everything—the stage, the couches, your own skin. It pooled in corners and spilled across the leather, catching in the smoke that hung like a veil over the room. Everything smelled like sweat and perfume, sticky-sweet and cloying, with something sharper underneath.

You were pulled onto one of the smaller stages by a girl whose name you couldn’t remember. Some kind of gem. Ruby? Diamond? Probably Ruby. She always wore that firetruck red lipstick that smelled like cherry wax.

She pressed against you, laughing into your ear, her hips rolling as she ground herself into your lap. You held onto the cold metal pole behind you, using it more for balance than performance. The heat of her body against yours, the rhythm of the music, the way your knees brushed together, all blurred together in the dim light.

You weren’t sure if you were supposed to enjoy it or just make it look like you did. She was so good at pretending, her smile never slipped, and her eyes glinted in the dim lighting with a look that said you were doing fine. You weren’t, but she let you have it, and you appreciated the lie.

Ruby flipped her hair over one shoulder, hands skimming your waist. But then her attention snagged on something behind you. Her eyes lit up, lips parting in a sly grin.

You followed her gaze just in time to see a man leaning against one of the couches, waving a hand in the air, fingers pinched with a freshly rolled cigarette, mouth grinning like he already knew she’d come.

“Kitty,” she purred, breath brushing your cheek. “I’ll be right back. Keep dancing.”

She didn’t wait for your answer. She slipped off the stage, hips swaying as she sauntered over to him, arms already lifting to drape around his neck as she threw her leg over his lap. He welcomed her with a hand at her waist and a toothy grin.

And just like that, you were alone.

The red spotlight shifted slightly, catching on your skin, suddenly feeling like a heat lamp above you, all exposed and alone. You adjusted your grip on the pole and swallowed thickly. You didn’t know where to look. The stage felt too high. The eyes in the crowd felt too sharp.

You started to slide toward the edge, ready to duck off the platform and disappear into the hallway. Maybe no one would notice. Maybe you could vanish before someone else pulled you back up.

But then you saw him.

He was a shape at first—broad, still, shadowed. But then your eyes adjusted, and the shape became a man. Him. Sitting low in one of the booths, half-lit by the glow from the bar, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. Watching.

He wasn’t relaxed. Not like he was behind closed doors with you, in that worn-out loveseat that creaked under his weight. No. He looked different here. Bigger, hardened, his mouth in a flat line and his jaw was tight.

And he did not look pleased.

Heat crawled up your throat, settling in your cheeks as you began to cross the room, hips dipping gently with each step. Your new shoes caught the light overhead, glittering with every movement. The lounge pulsed around you, smoke in the air, bass in your chest, but your focus tunneled on him, on the weight of his gaze and the line of his mouth.

Every step felt so loud. So heavy. You didn’t know what this was, what you were walking into, but at least he was familiar, and right now, that felt like enough.

When you finally stopped in front of him, his gaze never left you, and you said, voice shy and quiet, “Hi.”

He leaned back, slow and steady, pressing his hands into the velvet cushion on either side of him. His knees spread slightly, posture settling into something wider. Bigger. And still, he said nothing.

Maybe this was a mistake. 

You cleared your throat, fingers fidgeting with the dainty lace edge at your hips. His gaze flicked away for just a moment—scanning the room, taking in the space around him like he was cataloguing exits. Then his eyes came back to you, sharper than anything before.

“Sit.”

You hesitated. Because, truthfully, there were two ways you could go about this. Since there was no familiar wooden chair for you to place yourself, to cross your legs and wait for your timer to go off. No, you had the couch beside him…or his lap. 

The smoke in the air curled in your lungs, the lights felt too warm, and a strange heat swam just under your skin. You weren’t sure if it was courage or just a lack of sense.

You knew him. Well enough. And it was time to push boundaries and see if it got you killed.

So, you climbed on top of him. Your legs bracketed his denim clad thighs, just hovering, poised just above his lap, waiting for a reaction.

But one never came. If anything, you saw the muscle of his jaw tick, but other than that, he stayed locked on you, not giving anything away. So you hovered there for a moment, uncertain. 

You wanted something. So you let your hands slide up his shoulders, fingertips brushing the coarse fabric of his shirt. He was so warm, so broad and strong, and your fingers felt so dainty against the black of his shirt. You started to move, slowly rolling your hips in a soft rhythm against his lap. Testing the waters. Testing him.

His expression didn’t change. But his eyes stayed on yours, sharp and heavy, drinking in every breath you took.

"You’re mad at me." you stated, though you meant it more as a question, a tether. Your voice was barely audible above the music and you leaned in a little closer, pretending not to notice the way your heart kicked in your chest.

Still, no answer. Just that stare.

You swallowed and let your hands trail down his arms, forcing your voice to stay light even as your mouth went dry, continuing to dance on him.

“I’m not afraid of you, you know.”

A lie. 

And you both knew it.

Slowly, his wide, warm hands found your hips.

The contact was light at first, barely there. But the moment he touched you, your breath hitched.

It was like every nerve in your body lit up at once.

Broad fingertips pressed into the bare skin of your hips, rough and warm and impossibly steady. It wasn’t a grab or anything forced like a warning. It was a claim. Quiet, controlled, and unmistakable.

You felt the heat of it crawl up your spine.

And your body—stupid, traitorous thing—moved into it. You shifted closer, just a fraction, your thighs tightening where they straddled him. Your hands slid onto his chest without thinking, palms flat, searching for something to hold onto.

Every other girl that comes out of that room never walks out without bruises.

And suddenly, the green eyed monster that lived dormant in your body roared to life.

You wanted them. You wanted to feel what it was like to have his fingers digging into your flesh, taking you, making it clear who you’d been with, keeping you there for hours instead of just staring and never saying anything.

You felt his thumb brush against the skin of your exposed ribs, thick and calloused, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. 

He leaned up a little, lips at the shell of your ear, making your skin prickle like it had been licked by flame. You didn’t dare move. 

“Seventeen.” 

His voice was low, nearly drowned out by the bass, but the words sliced clean through the noise. You froze.

He didn’t shift or raise his voice, just spoke like he was telling you about the weather, like the number didn’t matter. But his hand flexed once on your hip tighter.

“I counted seventeen men who looked at you like they’d already paid for a turn.”

He paused, letting it sink in, making all the blood in your body roar in your ears.

“I’ve been sittin’ here,” he went on, his mouth near your ear, so close the heat of it crawled down your neck, “wonderin’ how many of ‘em I could blind with my bare hands before anyone got the nerve to stop me.”

His breath ghosted over your cheek, warm against your skin, sinking into your hair, trailing down the curve of your throat.

“Would you be scared then, darlin’?”

Your throat went dry, your tongue sitting heavy behind your teeth as something kicked heavy in your chest, close to panic but you kept still above him. 

Your mind felt like it was pulled by the jaws of two creatures. One was the lamb– the instinctual, fearful part of you that whispered to run, to scramble off of him and race back to your room, bolting the door locked and staying there, never to see or speak to him again. The lamb that cowered like a scared little cat. Like a Kitty.

But then, there was the panther. The thing with yellow eyes and gleaming teeth, the darkness you’d never quite understood but always felt. The one who curled its tail around your desire and need. The one who dreamed of him, hands between her legs, waking slick and aching in the dark.

You felt his hands move on you then, not restraining or trapping, but actually loosening. Like he was offering you a window out, letting that stray cat out who cowered and ran out into the street where she belonged. You could’ve moved, could’ve bolted like your instinct told you to. 

But you didn’t. Maybe you should’ve.

Instead, you leaned forward an inch, your breath caught between your ribs as your heart constricted on itself. Every part of you was too warm, too aware of how close he was. He felt larger than life beneath you, your thighs aching with tension, a thrum in your legs that had turned molten. 

You rocked your hips against him. This time, slower, firmer. No longer that teasing hover from before.

Your voice was a thread when it came. “No.”

Maybe a lie, maybe a partial truth. You knew, for a fact, as if it was clear all along, that he’d never hurt you. No matter how many girls he’d bruised or bent in half, you were different. He coveted you, protected you, watched you.

He didn’t break the silence again for a while, and so you moved again, letting your hips sway over him, lowering into his lap further and further until you could feel him beneath you, hot solid and growing. Something you’d imagined so many nights, chasing the ghost of it with your own fingers. And now, it was real. Now, your skin was burning, your breath turning shallow. That pulse between your legs grew meaner with every second of silence, every beat of his eyes locked on you, every time your body tried to interpret the weight of his attention.

When you finally dared to glance up again, his eyes were already on you. Nearly blown black with his widening pupils, drinking you in. And there was something else. Something that crinkled at the corners of his eyes, that glinted in the light. 

A smile.

Crooked and proud, he grinned up at you and his fingers suddenly tightened where they laid against your hot skin, so broad and warm and rough to the touch. His half lidded eyes were sparkling with something like pride. Like satisfaction. Or maybe it was just the pleasure of watching you shivering above him.

His touch stayed steady on you, though it didn’t guide or move you. Just held you there while you moved on your own, swaying in his lap, brushing soft lace against rough cotton. Your nipples stiffened from the friction, every pass of fabric sending heat crawling across your chest.

“Go on then, pretty girl.” he murmured, “Show me you ain’t scared.”

You’d been thinking about him all day.

The weight of his hands on your hips. The quiet threat in his voice. The way his mouth had tugged into that barely-there smile, like he was just starting to enjoy watching you come undone.

It had been days since you’d seen him, but your body still remembered the heat of his touch. The pressure, and every inch of skin still hummed with the ghost of him. You’d been dreaming of him just last night; waking up with your thighs pressed together, breath shallow, shame curling low in your stomach. Not because of what you’d done, but because of what you wanted next.

You hadn’t seen him since. He’d tipped you enough to cover your room for days without working. That should’ve been a gift.

But instead, you missed him.

And tonight, you had a feeling. A curl of something low in your stomach told you it would be him again. That maybe this time, he’d say more. Maybe he’d touch you again. Maybe he’d let you touch him back. Maybe—stupidly, hopelessly—you’d learn his name.

You pictured the way it would happen.

He’d already be there when you walked in, sitting back in that same seat, legs spread, arms loose, watching you like he always did: like no one else in the world existed. You’d climb into his lap again, more confident this time, ready to feel him shift beneath you, ready to let things go just a little further. His hands would find you without hesitation. Maybe he’d speak to you, really speak to you. Let you hear more than one line at a time. Let you know something real.

And if he smiled again, that crooked one he had shown you in the lounge, you were pretty sure you’d come apart without him even having to try.

So when Gage leaned through the door to the girl’s communal area and called your name, voice sharp and flat, your pulse kicked up. 

“Kitty, let's go.”

You stood too quickly and smoothed your hands over your maroon slip dress. You didn’t even try to hide the way your breath came in short gasps, already walking toward the hallway, already picturing him on the other side of that door.

You opened it with your heart halfway in your throat.

But it wasn’t him.

It wasn’t Hazel Eyes.

It was a stranger.

Thin, wiry, and twitchy-looking, like he couldn’t sit still for long. His shirt clung to him from sweat, not size, and his fingers rubbed obsessively over his thighs like he was trying to wear holes into them. He grinned when he saw you—a crooked, eager smile that didn’t come close to reaching his eyes.

Your stomach twisted.

He sat in the same place he always had, lounging back like he thought the pose gave him power. But there was nothing intimidating or steady about him, nothing nearly as controlled. His eyes darted all over you as you stood in the doorway, to your neck, your chest, your bare legs. His pupils widened as they moved quickly over you, so eager that you felt stripped bare before you’d even taken a step. He wasn’t much older than you, but he still was like a nasty stray dog with a piece of juicy steak held in front of his nose.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said, patting the spot beside him on the velvet couch. His voice had that high, weaselly edge, “Come sit.”

You blinked, frozen. Your hand was still on the doorknob, and for a second, the thought of shutting it again flashed through your mind.

But instead, you stepped inside.

You walked like you were sinking through water, slow and stiff, every step a betrayal of what you'd hoped for. Gage hadn’t said who was waiting, but you hadn’t needed him to. You’d assumed. You’d hoped.

How stupid.

How foolish of you to think this job would ever be anything but what it was. You weren’t special. You weren’t different.

What were you expecting? That the man with hazel eyes would be waiting for you every night like it meant something? That your bravery and the slow, desperate grinding had gotten to him somehow? That behind those sharp eyes was a heart that cared?

He had a life outside of this place, unlike you.

You sat on the far edge of the couch, keeping a careful space between you. Hands folded, spine stiff, your eyes stayed  on the curtain pooling in the corner of the room.

The man’s gaze didn’t leave you.

“Don’t be nervous,” he said, his grin tightening. “Promise I’ll be real nice.”

You didn’t answer. Just kept your eyes fixed on the corner of the room, on the red velvet curtain pooling on the floor.

He laughed, a jittery sound. “Shy one, huh? That’s alright. I like shy.”

His hand moved before you saw it coming, just a light touch on your arm, but enough to send a bolt of discomfort straight through you. His fingers were cold, too light, too lingering. You tensed, but didn’t pull away.

This was the job. You reminded yourself again. Over and over.

You stayed still. Because that’s what you were supposed to do.

He must’ve taken it as permission.

His hand drifted higher, fingers brushing your shoulder, fumbling awkwardly against your collarbone. Then, with one finger, he hooked the strap of your slip and pulled it down, slow and teasing, letting it slide along your skin until it fell limp against your upper arm. Not enough to show anything, but easy enough to pull down if he wanted to.

You swallowed hard, throat bobbing, the sound loud in the tight silence. Your skin crawled.

“MILLER!”

The shout cracked through the hallway like a gunshot.

You jumped so hard you nearly knocked the man’s hand away from your chest, your whole body stiffening as the hair stood up on the back of your neck.

The man jolted too. “What the fuck?”

The voice echoed again, louder, angrier.

“She’s with a customer, jackass! BACK OFF!”

It was Gage’s voice, pissed and scrambling. Heavy footsteps thundered down the hall. Suddenly, the door burst open so hard it bounced off the wall with a groan of the hinges.

It was him.

Hazel Eyes was in the doorway. Big and broad and absolutely fuming. He looked like he was burning from the inside out. His chest heaved beneath his flannel, shoulders rising and falling like he was holding something back with every ounce of strength he had. His eyes landed on the hand that was hovering just over your arm, fingers touching where the strap had been pulled down.

He didn’t speak, he barely even paused. But instead, he moved. Crossing the room in three long strides, he grabbed the man’s collar with a brutal grip, yanking him up off the couch like he weighed nothing.

The man barely got a yelp out before he was slammed into the wall hard. The plaster cracked on impact, the entire room shaking. Candles toppled from the tables, wax spilling across the floor as a side table crashed and splintered.

You barely could move, hands gripping the edge of the sofa seat as your heart flew to your throat. 

The man stammered, trying to raise his hands. “Hey! What the–what the fuck, man?!”

But then Hazel Eyes grabbed the man’s wrist, fingers wrapping around his hand. The one that had touched your skin.

And without a word, without a warning, he snapped it.

The sound was sickening. Bone against bone, cartilage tearing, sharp, wet and strong.

The man screamed a high, pathetic sound as he crumpled at his feet, clutching his wrist with the other hand, body folding inward like he might disappear from the pain.

Hazel Eyes didn’t even blink.

“Jesus!” Gage gasped from the doorway, and your eyes darted between them, panic and something else spiraling through you—terror and relief tangled too tightly to separate.

He stood over him, chest heaving, jaw locked, face dark with fury that wasn’t theatrical, it was real. It was ancient and seething.

In the doorway, Gage still stood frozen, his eyes wide and mouth half-open like he was considering stepping in, but wasn’t nearly stupid enough to try.

“Next time you touch her,” he spat, “I’ll crush the whole fuckin’ arm. Now get the hell out.”

The man scrambled. Clutching his ruined wrist, he stumbled through the doorway, nearly tripping over himself in his rush to escape. Gage chased after him, still muttering something useless like an apology.

Then, Hazel Eyes turned to you.

You felt like you couldn’t breathe.

His eyes were still burning, his chest still rising and falling. He crossed the room again, slower this time, not saying a word. You stared up at him, your heart trapped in your throat.

His fingers, those same ones that had just broken a man’s hand, reached out. And gently, almost reverently, he lifted your strap. He pulled it back into place on your shoulder, and instead of pulling away, his fingers brushed over your cheekbone with the barest graze.

And despite it all, you leaned into it, eyes fluttering closed. His hands were warm and rough. Capable of so much violence, and yet touched you with gentleness.

His eyes moved over your face, taking in every part of you, but giving nothing away. He looked unreadable, steady as ever. As if he was unmoved by what had just happened.

Then his voice came, low and even.

“You’re done here.”

You stared up at him. The words didn’t make sense at first. Your brain caught on them like fabric on a nail.

“What?”

His jaw twitched, but his gaze didn’t shift, “I’m takin’ you out of here.”

You blinked, the words hitting harder the second time, but they still didn’t land right. You shook your head once, slowly, not understanding.

“You can’t. That’s not—”

“I can,” he said, cutting through your protest with the same cold certainty that had shattered a man’s hand only minutes before. “I did.”

He stepped back just enough to reach into his back pocket. The motion was calm, deliberate. He pulled out a folded piece of paper, yellowed at the edges, and dropped it beside you on the couch. You stared at it without moving.

“Debt’s paid,” he said. “Room, contract, clothing and late fees. All of it.”

You didn’t touch the paper. Your chest rose and fell, shallow and fast.

“They’ll come after me,” you said, hating how small your voice sounded. “You don’t get to just walk out of a place like this.”

“I’d like to see them try.”

Your stomach twisted. You couldn’t look away from him. His presence filled the entire room. The walls felt smaller with him standing there, blocking the door, shoulders squared like he’d made peace with violence a long time ago.

“Why?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Why would you do that?”

He looked at you for a long moment. You could see it behind his eyes, the thoughts moving like slow machinery, everything measured, deliberate, exact.

Finally, he spoke.

“You don’t belong here.”

“W-where…where am I supposed to go?”

His eyes softened a bit. You were slowly realizing this was the most he’d ever spoken to you before. 

He turned toward the door, glancing into the hallway. It was quiet now. The chaos from earlier had died down. Gage was probably still occupied with damage control, or maybe trying to figure out if anyone would report what happened. Hazel Eye’s hand hovered just above your shoulder, not touching, but close enough to guide.

“Come on,” he said.

And so, you followed him. 

The city air was cold and wet outside, heavy with the stink of rain and smoke. You walked close to him as he led you through the side streets, cutting between buildings and sticking to alleys, always with one eye on the shadows. He knew the back alleys, knew how to hide from the FEDRA trucks that grumbled by in the dead of the night. It was so dead, like the city was holding its breath right along with you.

Eventually, he stopped in front of a building that looked abandoned from the outside. The windows were dark, one of them cracked. The metal door was rusted at the hinges. He pushed it open with the weight of his shoulder, held it for you without speaking and led you up the stairs.

You made your way down the dark hall and he opened the door to an apartment. It was clean but bare. The furniture was minimal, just a couch, coffee table and a small radio in the corner. The kitchen was small but organized. There were bottles of booze littered around and bags of contraband. But it was still homely, with boots by the door and a jacket hanging to dry from the rain.

He locked the door behind you, then turned the bolt. You stood in the center of the room, your body suddenly aware of how thin your dress was, how quiet the space had become.

“You’re safe here,” he said, “You can…stay as long as you want.”

You nodded numbly, arms crossing over your chest and rubbing your bare arms.

Seeing you shiver made him move toward the closet at the far wall and pulled the door open. You could hear the scrape of hangers, the rustle of fabric.  He offered you a plain black t-shirt. Faded and worn, it looked enormous in his hands. He crossed the room and handed it to you, then turned to rummage in a drawer. When he came back, he was holding a pair of loose cotton boxers, the waistband stretched from wear.

“They’ll do for tonight,” he said. “I’ll get you somethin’ better tomorrow.”

He turned his back without asking, giving you a quiet moment to change. You slipped the dress off slowly, your body still running hot and cold, nerves frayed and pulsing. You pulled his shirt over your head, fabric falling to your mid-thigh. It swallowed your frame completely, the sleeves hanging low on your arms. The boxers were baggy and soft at your hips, barely visible under the cotton shirt. You smelled like him now. Like woodsmoke and earthy musk, it was intoxicating against your skin.

When you turned around, he was waiting for you to move, his back to you. But as he turned, his eyes were a different shade of darkness.

His jaw was tight. His mouth didn’t move, but his stare dragged over every inch of you like a hand. He didn’t speak or compliment. He just looked. Like he had no language for what he was seeing, like it made something burn in his chest he didn’t know how to smother.

You felt your cheeks go hot.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he said finally, voice low and strained as he turned away to walk to the sofa in the middle of the room.

You shook your head, reaching out for his wrist, “No, please.”

He looked down at where your fingers wrapped around his skin, then back up at you.

“Please,” you said again, quieter this time after releasing his wrist. “I don’t want to sleep alone.”

Maybe that was what finally broke something in him. You couldn’t tell for sure. His expression didn’t change in any obvious way, but his shoulders dropped slightly, his posture shifting as if he had let go of something he’d been holding in too long. He didn’t answer you aloud, just turned and led you through the doorway to the right. The bedroom was simple, almost austere. A mattress sat on a metal frame just high enough to keep it off the floor, with a small table at the side and a folded blanket at the foot of the bed. It didn’t feel like a space made for comfort, but it was clean, private, and quiet.

You climbed in first, sliding under the blanket and pulling it up over your legs. The sheets were cold at first, but soft from repeated washing. You lay on your side, leaving space beside you, waiting without looking to see if he would follow. He stood at the edge of the bed for a moment longer, watching you. Then he sat down slowly, lowering himself onto the mattress with a weight that made it shift beneath you. He didn’t press against you right away. He lay still, close but not touching, his back against the pillows. But the silence stretched too long, and the ache in your chest pushed you to move first. You shifted closer to him, slowly, inch by inch, until you could curl into the crook of his shoulder and let your head rest against the steady rise and fall of his chest.

Surprisingly, his arm came around you with ease. There was no urgency in the way he held you, no claim, no demand. Just heat and pressure and stillness. His hand settled low on your stomach, warm and broad, his palm covering the soft cotton of his shirt stretched over your skin. You didn’t tense. Your muscles, for the first time in days, started to release. Your breathing began to steady. You felt the weight of your bones return to your body in a way that told you you’d been floating for too long without realizing it. The room was quiet except for your joined breathing, the low hum of something electric behind the walls, and the rustle of fabric where your legs shifted to tangle lightly with his.

After a long stretch of silence, your voice came barely above a whisper. “What’s your name?”

Because how long had it been since you met him? And you had no idea who he really was, not beyond the heat of his stare or the weight of his hands or the way he watched you. You wondered briefly if he even knew your name, or if it was just Kitty to him, like everyone else.

“Joel,” he said finally, his voice quiet, rough at the edges.

“Joel.” you repeated, testing it on your tongue. His fingers moved lazily against your side, tracing light strokes through the thin cotton of your borrowed shirt, and you looked up at him with a small, tired smile.

“Pleasure to meet you,” you said, and then offered your own name. Your real one. The one almost no one used anymore.

He didn’t answer, not in words. Instead, his fingers shifted to your chin, rough fingertips catching gently beneath it, angling your face back toward his. His eyes lingered on your mouth for a moment longer, heavy with something you didn’t quite have a name for yet. Then, slowly, with no rush at all, he leaned down.

His lips brushed yours, warm and soft despite the roughness of everything else about him. You felt the scratch of his beard, the tension in his jaw, the restraint in his body as he held himself still. You kissed him back, just as softly at first, your hand lifting to find his face, your palm resting against the edge of his cheek where his beard was sharpest. The moment stretched, quiet and close and steady. Not desperate or greedy. Just two people locked in something real for the first time, with no one watching and no price on your time.

And when you pulled away, breath catching in your throat, your lungs were already straining like they couldn’t get enough air.

But then, his mouth followed yours again, like he couldn’t get enough, catching your next inhale with another kiss. This was more urgent, deeper and needier. His hand lifted, cupping the back of your head, fingers sliding into your hair. The pressure was firm was still so careful, thumb brushing the curve of your skull and angling you just the way he wanted. He kissed you like he needed you, like he’d been starving for it.

Your lips parted beneath his and he groaned, low in his chest, the sound vibrating through your ribs. The weight of him shifted, one hand bracing beside your head, the mattress dipping under him as he climbed over you. His body covered yours, solid and warm, blocking out the cold air and the rest of the world all at once.

You reached for him without thinking, both hands on his back, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his shirt. Your legs shifted beneath the blanket, one thigh slipping up along his side until it hooked over his waist, drawing him in closer. Your bodies aligned easily, like you’d done this before, like you were made to fall into each other this way.

The kiss deepened again. His hand moved from your hair to your jaw, holding your face steady as his tongue slid against yours, slow and hot. He tasted like whiskey and mint, like the only thing you ever wanted to taste for the rest of your life. You were arching up into him, chasing his tongue for more, desperate for him.

The blanket slipped down your hips. His weight settled over you more fully, and everything inside you went tight and hungry at once. You could feel him now, aligned with you, settling between your legs but kept apart by fabric. Your hips rocked up into him, letting yourself glide over the heavy outline of his cock. Something inside you shivered at the sheer thickness of it.

There was no hesitation anymore. Not from him, and certainly not from you. The air between your bodies had turned thick with it, every part of you alight with need.

Your fingers slid beneath his shirt and he grunted softly against your mouth, then broke the kiss only long enough to strip it off over his head. His chest was solid and scarred, his skin hot to the touch, and as he leaned back over you, he pulled the hem of his t-shirt—the one you were wearing now—up over your hips. His hands were large, his touch rough but reverent as he peeled the cotton away from your skin.

He sat back for a breath, eyes dragging over your body with a weight that made you feel flayed open, every inch of you exposed under his gaze. But he didn’t just look. He took it in, like he’d been waiting for this, memorizing you piece by piece. His jaw was clenched tight, his nostrils flared, his breathing heavy. The muscles in his arms twitched like he was holding back something animal.

“Been thinkin’ about this since the first time I saw you, baby,” he muttered, voice low and nearly wrecked. His hands slid up your bare thighs, spreading them apart with slow pressure.

His fingers trailed higher, brushing over the thin waistband of his boxers on your hips. He hooked a hand into the fabric and dragged them down your legs, letting them fall to the floor.

"Thought about it every time I sat with you," he said under his breath, "Every. Time."

You opened your mouth to say something, but the words didn’t come. You couldn’t believe how talkative he was suddenly. You didn’t know how to respond as your breath caught in your throat as he moved between your legs, lowering himself until he was staring up at you from the center of the bed, shoulders broad and looming. His hands slid up your thighs again, thumbs parting you gently, reverently.

“Wanted to kill Gage for puttin’ you in that frilly little outfit on stage,” he said, quiet, almost absent, like it wasn’t a confession but just a fact. “Still might, for lettin’ that fucker touch you tonight.”

His hands guided your trembling legs over his shoulders as your back arched against his touch. You were already panting, your hands fisting in the sheets, your body betraying how desperately you wanted this, how long you’d been aching for it.

He gently worked the pads of his fingers over your center, trailing over the lips of your cunt, studying you, reverent in his worship of your most sensitive parts. His thumb rubbed brushed over your clit before running tight circles over it. And then, thicker than anything you’d felt before, his fingers stretched you open, slick sounds of your arousal filling the air along with your soft, needy gasps.

“Look at you,” he murmured, admiration deep in his voice, "So goddamn pretty,"

You reached for him blindly, one hand on his forearm, the other finding the dark hair at the top of his head. He kissed your pussy gently, a groan escaping him at the taste, his tongue working around your clit as your hips rocked against his fingers.

Your breath hitched, your thighs twitching around his wrist, and your voice broke open on a gasp. “Joel–oh my–”

He groaned into your slick center, the sound low and thick like gravel, like it pained him to know how much he loved his name on your lips. His fingers curled inside you, dragging slow and deep, curling just right against your velvet walls. 

“I know, baby,” he murmured, voice muffled against you. “Gotta open ‘er up for me a bit. Don’t wanna hurt ya.”

You whimpered, legs falling open wider. “I can take it,” you breathed, barely able to think around it. “I can take all of you—please, I need—”

You couldn’t stop the tightening in your spine, the way your thighs began to tremble, muscles tensing as the heat surged higher and higher. Joel groaned against you, tongue flattening as he worked your clit faster, more focused now, unrelenting. His free hand slid up your body, warm and rough, until it cupped your breast, fingers spreading wide to hold you there.

But just as you were about to snap, about to feel those stars sparkling behind your eyes in white hot euphoria, he stopped. He didn’t pull away fast, just kissed your clit once, soft and slow, almost reverent. Then he slipped his fingers from you with care, even as your body cried out for more, your whine sharp in the silence he left behind.

Your body twitched in protest, hips still rolling gently like you could summon the friction back with enough desperation. Your breath came in quick, uneven pulls as your chest rose and fell, your fingers curling into his shoulders like maybe you could hold him there, force him not to stop.

He moved over you with predatory grace, his body eclipsing yours as he braced his arms on either side of your head. His eyes swept your face, studying the wreckage–flushed skin, parted lips, pieces of your hair sticking to your face with sweat.

He tilted his head slightly, and there was something in his expression that looked almost concerned, but there was a twinkle to his eyes as he cooed again, “I know, I know,” he cupped your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek as he leaned in, lips brushing yours as he said, “But I need to feel it. Wanna feel you come around my cock, baby girl. Been damn near dreamin’ of it for too long.”

You whimpered, nails digging into his upper arms as Joel sat back on his knees, his hands moving to the backs of your thighs, guiding your knees higher, folding them gently against your chest. His eyes dropped between your legs, and his jaw flexed hard. You could see the way his breath hitched when he took you in, saw the slickness coating your thighs, how it glistened where your folds opened and dripped on the dark fabric beneath you. He ran one hand from the inside of your knee down to your thigh, slow and warm, grounding you.

“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath. “Look at this fuckin’ mess.”

He took himself in hand and stroked slowly once, then again, watching you the whole time as he pressed the head of his cock to your entrance, rubbing it through the wetness before pushing just the tip inside. You gasped, the stretch already enough to make your eyes roll slightly. His hands moved to your legs again, steadying you.

It was slow. Achingly slow. Not because he was teasing but because he was savoring it, watching every inch disappear into you, watching the way your mouth opened, your body pulled him in, your fingers curled into his arms again and clung there. Your thighs shook in his hands, breath hitching on every inch. He stretched you, nearly feeling like his cock split you in half over him.

“Sweetest pussy I've ever had, feels like a goddamn vice around me, darlin',” he whispered, voice cracking a bit. His eyes watched himself disappear inside of you, and not until he was fully sheathed, his coarse dark hair tickling your mound, did he look up in your eyes, hand moving to tuck a piece of hair out of your face, “Talk to me, how’s that feel, hm?”

“S-so-ooh– feels so big,” you barely manage to get out between heaving breaths. 

“I got you” he said, soft now, low and steady. “Gonna take real good care of you, sweet girl.”

He started to move slowly, hips rocking into yours with deep, steady thrusts, each one sinking further, stretching you wider, the warmth of him sinking deep in your belly with every push. His body was all heat and weight, his breathing loud in the room, his scent clinging to your skin. His hands never stopped moving—one dragging down the length of your thigh, the other brushing damp hair back from your forehead, his thumb stroking just beneath your lower lip as he stared down at you.

“You’re takin’ me so good,” he murmured, voice soft but ragged. “Like you were made for it. For me.”

You mewled beneath him, overwhelmed by the fullness, the rhythm, the steady pressure that refused to let up. He let your thighs fall open wide, folding you beneath him with ease, his body dropping down to press chest to chest. The coarse hair on his skin rasped against your nipples, the friction stoking another wave of heat between your legs, and you gasped as he moved deeper still.

“All mine,” he whispered, breath hot against your throat, his mouth trailing to nip at your jaw.

“Yours,” you breathed back, barely able to speak. It wasn’t just a word. It was a truth, dragging itself out of you like a prayer. You’d been his since that first night.

You moaned into his mouth when he kissed you again, your hands moving to his back, clawing at his skin as he fucked you slow, deep, steady. It was overwhelming in a different way—intimate, almost unbearable in how much he felt like he was giving you, how much of him you were taking in. It was too much and not enough all at once, every thrust dragging out a little more desperation.

The pressure was already building again, slow and thick between your legs. You wrapped your arms tighter around his shoulders, burying your face against his neck, thinking about what you heard. What you knew he was capable of. Wanting to see more, to feel more. That green eyed monster in your chest still growled, teeth bared, wanting to know. Because you wondered if he was hiding it for your sake, so you wouldn’t turn tail and run.

“I want more,” you whispered, breathless against his skin. “I want more, Joel. Please.”

He groaned at that, his hips faltering for just a second, and then he was pulling back, just far enough to look down at you again.

“Yeah?” he asked, voice soft but dangerous. He kissed your chin, then the tip of your nose, and finally your lips. “What do you want, pretty girl? You gotta tell me.”

Your lip trembled, part nerves, part anticipation. “I want to know what it felt like.”

You reached up, hands cupping the back of his neck, and pulled him close again, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “I want you to show me what it felt like when you wanted to blind every man in that room. When they looked at me and you were just sitting there… watching. When you thought about me in our room. In your head. Show me how it made you feel, Joel.”

His entire body went still.

When he pulled back, it was slow and measured. His eyes found yours and they were no longer soft. His pupils had gone so wide that the golden hues were barely visible, just the thinnest ring around a black center. His expression had darkened, jaw tight, mouth a flat, unreadable line.

“You don’t know what you’re askin’ for, baby” he said, voice low, quiet enough to be a whisper, but with none of the tenderness from before. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

You stared up at him, breathing hard, trembling slightly beneath his weight.

“Yes,” you whispered. “I do. I want it, Joel. Please,”

His hands tightened where they held you. One slid up to your wrist, pressing it gently, then pinning it against the bed above your head. The other gripped your thigh, rougher now, fingers digging into soft skin as he pushed your leg higher, spreading you wider beneath him.

The next thrust was suddenly brutal—deeper, faster, his hips slamming into yours with bruising force, his control unraveling in an instant. You screamed in bliss, head rolling back into the pillow, pleasure laced with shock at the sudden shift.

“You wanna see what it felt like?” he growled, voice gravel-dark as he fucked into you again, harder this time, his body moving with full weight of his fury now. “That rage you pulled outta me? That’s what it was. Every second I sat there, watchin’ you parade around for them, knowing you belonged to me.”

Your mouth fell open in a moan, your free hand clawing at his back, and he caught it too—both wrists pinned now, his body caging you in, his mouth just above yours.

“I watched them eye you like you were for sale. Like they could afford you. And all I wanted was to rip their eyes out and break their jaws for it.”

He leaned in, teeth scraping your jaw.

“I thought about this,” he said, biting your skin just hard enough to make you whimper. “About gettin’ you open and writhing under me. About markin’ you, makin’ sure they knew who you belonged to.”

You cried out as he drove into you again, deeper than before, pain and pleasure spiking hard through your core.

“You like that, baby?” he growled. “You like knowin’ what you do to me?”

You weren’t sure you could form a coherent sentence let alone a thought, so all you could do was chant yes, yes, yes, your voice high and wrecked, your body trembling beneath him, skin trembling where you stayed pinned open under his hands.

Joel shifted his grip, so he could hold both wrists in one broad hand above your head and against the pillows, the other moved to your face, cupping your jaw until he lightly wrapped it around your throat. He barely added any pressure, but the feeling of his rough fingertips around your neck made your eyes roll.

He leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear, his breath scalding against your skin, “If you hadn’t been in that room tonight,” he said, voice flat and deadly, “after I saw his hands on you—I would’ve killed him.”

Your breath caught, your body arching toward his. You didn’t even realize how much you wanted to hear it until the words landed.

“Would’ve snapped his neck. Maybe I should’ve.”

He kissed just beneath your ear, and his fingers flexed slightly around your throat.

“You get that? There’s nothin’ I wouldn’t do for you. No one I wouldn’t put in the ground. I would do anything.”

The monster in your chest stretched its claws. It purred at the sound of the quiet fury in his voice, at the fire lit behind his eyes. It licked at your wounds, lighting a fire in your bloodstream. Your blood roared with it, and your body surged up into his.

You cried out his name, back bowing as heat crashed over you. White-hot stars burst behind your eyes as your orgasm took hold, walls fluttering and gripping him tight, pulsing around the thick stretch of him inside you.

Joel let out a sound that was barely human—a ragged, guttural snarl as his hips snapped forward once, twice, then buried deep. His cock twitched inside you, his grip tightening around your wrists as he came with a low, broken groan, his mouth catching yours in a rough, gasping kiss.

You could feel the heat of him, the long ropes of his release spilling into you, the weight of him collapsing on you as he trembled, chest heaving, forehead pressed to yours.

His grip on your wrists loosened, hands sliding free, only to curl around your waist, holding you close as he pressed his lips against yours, this time with gentleness.

Eventually, after the both of you caught your breath, he rolled off you slowly, your hips twitching as he pulled himself out of you. The bed dipped and creaked beneath his weight, but he didn’t move away. His arms found you again, broad, and thick, and pulled you with him, tucking you into the space over his chest with ease.

You let yourself be pulled into him, boneless and raw, your cheek pressed against his skin, still slick with sweat, the steady beat of his heart echoing beneath your ear.

Outside, the city moved on. Somewhere in the distance, a truck rumbled past, making its rounds through the dead of night. But the room around you stayed dark, quiet and warm.

After a long stretch of silence, you looked up at him. The question had been sitting in your chest for weeks, “Why didn’t you ever talk to me?”

His eyes, now hazel and soft in the low light, found yours. He didn’t answer right away.

“When you’d come see me…” your voice trailed. “You never said anything.”

He watched you for a second longer, then exhaled through his nose, the sound quiet, like the words tasted off on his tongue.

“Didn’t want to scare you.”

You didn’t say anything, just let him keep going.

“I didn’t know I had it in me, not like that. Not ‘til I saw you.” His hand moved absently, tracing your side. “There’s a part of me that ain’t ever really stopped wanting to burn the whole fuckin’ place down.”

Another beat of silence passed between you.

“I didn’t want you to see that,” he said. “Didn’t want you to know what I’d do.”

He didn’t say for you. He didn’t have to.

You already knew.

And when you closed your eyes and drifted off to sleep, you didn’t need to dream of him. He was already there.

taglist: @fridayf1ghting, @lizaispunk, @yourgirljasmiin, @ivuravix, @televangrl, @nymenate, @magicxmiller, @catch1ngmoths, @shivispunk, not sure if you wanted to be on the taglist but you did comment so: @aureatelys, @weirdoneattheparty, @gojosanna, @mani-pedro, @tobesolovelysstuff, @lowrisemiller, @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucuflfluclu, @sweetlylcv, @94namkooksworld, @lady-djarin

[sparklingchim]

reckless | jjk

pairing: idol!jungkook x producer!reader

word count: 3.8k

tropes: idol!jungkook, producer!reader, established relationship, childhood best friends

rating: pg

warnings: smooches!!, jungkook’s being very touchy <3, smoking, lots of pda, one (1) butt squeeze, lots of teasing n flirting (they're in love ur honour), mentions of jk being on a diet, mentions of oc being bullied in the past, just soft lovesick jk <3

summary: a casual date, the skirt’s a little too short, the night a little too quiet, and jungkook's hands on you like he's never going to let go.

a/n: writing this was so therapeutic im this 🤏 close to breaking no contact ❤️ (also dare i say this is the maybe in another universe couple <3)

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

When you round the corner of the building, it’s not hard to find Jungkook.

He’s leaned against his Harley, dark clothes hanging easy on him, making him blend into the night. He has a faint frown on his face as he scans the empty street, toying with his lip ring like he’s lost in thought.

Once he spots you, though, everything softens. His eyes go all boba-round and warm, crinkling at the corners as a smile stretches across his face. That stupid pretty one that makes your chest feel full. He straightens up a little.

“Sorry for making you wait,” you say when you reach him, rising on your toes to wrap your arms around his neck. You hug him tightly. You melt into him without thinking. His hands naturally land on the small of your back, holding you close in his embrace.

“It’s okay, baby.” Jungkook leans back just enough to press a little kiss to your lips.

One of his hands dip even lower, brushing over the curve of your butt and the light fabric of your skirt. It doesn’t take long before he grazes bare skin, catching just the edge where the hem ends and you begin.

“How did it go?” he asks.

“Oh, it was so fun!” you beam, hands coming together in an excited little clap in front of your chest. You bounce slightly.

It had been a long day filming at one of the major companies in Seoul, part of that new show about the behind-the-scenes process of producing k-pop songs. The set was huge – too many lights, too many people, and so many cameras that you couldn’t even look around without feeling watched.

Everything felt loud and fast and intimidating, like you were going to mess up just by standing there.

“I was still really nervous in the beginning because there were a lot of people, but I did what you told me over the phone this morning and reminded myself that just being there already meant I belonged. That in a little while this would be just another thing that I’ve overcome.”

Dare you mention that just this morning, you felt like throwing up at the thought of today’s schedule – and yet, somehow, it turned into something you ended up loving. Getting to work on something you’re genuinely passionate about, surrounded by new people who love it just as much as you, felt amazing, inspiring.

“I told you it wouldn’t be as bad. You wanted to call in sick,” Jungkook reminds you, teasing you with an arched brow.

“I felt so anxious this morning!”

“You underestimate what you’re capable of.”

“Anyways.” Your shoulders slump slightly. “I’m exhausted now.”

“We can just go to my place if you want.” He gently tucks your hair behind your ear, cupping your cheek.

“No. I wanna go to the Han River with you,” you say, lips tugging into a pout.

Jungkook grabs the collar of his hoodie and pulls it over his head. A glimpse of his toned abdomen flashes before his black tee falls back into place. He swings the hoodie around your waist, draping it carefully before tying it snug at the front.

“Can’t drive my bike in a short skirt like this,” he explains in a mumble, smoothing the hoodie down over your butt.

“You helped me pick out this outfit this morning.”

If you’d been left alone in your anxious spiral this morning, you probably would’ve just thrown on whatever comfy thing was closest. But after Jungkook talked you down over the phone, his voice all soft and steady, you felt a little more okay. Okay enough to want to feel pretty, at least. So you stood in front of your overflowing closet, doors hanging open, letting him help you pick something out over facetime.

“Yeah well. You look pretty. I wasn’t thinking about logistics.”

You roll your eyes, but your face warms anyway. “You’re the logistics.”

“Sue me for getting distracted.” He pecks your temple, grinning as he pulls back.

Then he crouches next to the Harley, lifting the seat to reveal a small storage compartment. With a bit of manoeuvring, he pulls out a black helmet, matching his own.

He turns back to you and holds it out like it’s something delicate. “C’mere,” he murmurs, brushing your hair back gently before slipping the helmet over your head and securing the strap under your chin.

“Too tight?” he murmurs, adjusting the strap with the pads of his fingers.

You shake your head.

He grabs his own helmet from the handlebar, slipping it on with practiced ease. The engine rumbles to life with a twist of his wrist, loud and steady. He swings one leg over the bike and settles in before turning to glance at you over his shoulder. He holds his hand out to you.

“Hop on, baby.”

You take his hand, grabbing his shoulder with your other one for leverage as you climb on behind him. Your hands move to circle his middle once you’re properly sitting.

“You good?” He cranes his neck back to you, looking you over.

“Yes,” you reply, hugging his back. “Drive safely, please.”

The engine hums beneath you, the vibration slipping through your legs and settling in your chest as Jungkook coaxes the Harley onto the road.

The wind rushes past in silky ribbons, threading through your hair and curling under your skirt, making you curl closer into his back. His hoodie sways around your legs, and his scent, clean laundry and the last bit of cologne clinging to his skin, fills your lungs. You rest your cheek against the strong curve of his back.

Seoul twinkles around you in bits and pieces, like someone sprinkled glitter across the skyline. Streetlights blink down like stars with somewhere to be.

At a red light, Jungkook reaches for your hand without even looking, like it’s second nature. His fingers find yours and give them a slow, reassuring squeeze that makes your chest flutter. Then his hand drifts upward, trailing a lazy path along your arm before slipping behind him. His touch lands on your thigh, gently brushing his thumb over your skin. It’s just a small stroke, but enough to send a little spark dancing up your spine.

Eventually, the buildings thin out, replaced by the open stretch of the Han River, glistening under the city’s glow. Jungkook rolls into a quiet patch near the railing and cuts the engine.

“My mum would kill me if she knew I was riding a bike with you,” you say.

Jungkook huffs a laugh as he slips off his helmet. With a little shake of his head his hair falls back into place. “My mum would kill me for letting you ride it with me.” He turns slightly to look at you, flashing his soft dimple as he reaches to unclip your helmet.

“And yet,” you retort as he helps lift it off your head, “here we are.”

“Reckless,” he grins, brushing your hair back into place. “But cute.”

~

After a quiet walk along the river, you settle onto a bench facing the water.

“I even got a bit of the lyrics done for the song we finished producing,” you say, tucking your hands into your sleeves

Jungkook hums, slinging his arm over the back of the bench and letting it rest behind your shoulders, pulling you closer. “You need to let me listen to it.”

“I’m not giving you the song.”

“Ah, it’s always worth a try.”

“I’ll start working with you when you guys are over this...era of music you’re in right now.”

“Era of music?” Jungkook scoffs. “You find new words how to describe the fact that you don’t like the new music every time.”

“That’s not what I meant,” you whine, falling into his teasing. “It’s not that I don’t like the new music. It’s just not my type of production,” you quickly defend, truthful.

“At least let me listen to it.”

“When I’m finished you can.”

He lets out a small groan. “I’m terrible at being patient.”

“Oh, I know. Don’t have to remind me.” He’s an impatient boyfriend disguised as your number one fan (which, let’s be honest, he is). Always acting like he’s not trying that hard – when really, he’s the most obvious about it.

You roll your eyes every time he launches into a totally casual, totally unplanned, “hey, wanna show me a little something?” but you love it, every time. You love the way he sneaks into your world like that. Softly, stubbornly.

The sneaky bribes, the casual shoulder nudges, the way he tries to coax you into playing something, anything, even if it’s unfinished. Even if it’s messy. Even if it’s just a late night, the two of you curled up on the couch, guitar perched on your lap, him humming half-written lyrics with his knees touching yours and a smile tucked into his voice. Songs that only live between you two.

“I’ll show it later to you,” you finally say. There’s not much of a fight when it comes to Jungkook. “Missed you.” You rest your head on his shoulder, hugging his arm.

“We should do something before my schedule gets crazy again.” Jungkook pats down his front pockets. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. “Like a small vacation?”

“I’d love that.”

You eye him as he slips a cigarette between his lips, cupping the flame with one hand as he lights it. The cigarette glows at the tip, smoke curling past his cheekbones and drifting in the opposite direction as he tilts his head to avoid blowing it your way. You still wrinkle your nose and lean your head away, your clutch around his arm loosening.

“You’re buying me ice cream for smoking next to me,” you mutter, half playful, half serious.

He exhales to the side again, then flicks the ash off the end with a small grin. “I was already gonna.”

You give him a look. “Not the point.”

“I know.” He tilts his head toward you, eyes tracing your face like he’s trying to read something only he can see.

When you saw Jungkook smoke for the first time while he was waiting for you in the dark, after not seeing each other for a very long time, you felt something twist in your chest. A mix of anger, sadness, and the sick realisation that time had changed him in ways you hadn't been there to see.

It messed you up a bit. Realising he changes in little ways when you're not around to witness it. It made you wonder if he's still the same Jungkook you've always known. If he's still your Jungkook.

Upon talking with him the entire night you quickly came to the realisation that Jungkook will be as much yours as you're as much his for the rest of your lives.

Maybe not in loud, dramatic ways, but in the quiet constants.

There is no version of your life where he doesn't exist - you're too intertwined with each other.

You sigh, the slightest hint of annoyance seeping through, but your fingers find his again anyway, slipping between them. He’s warm, even with the breeze coming off the water. The smoke lingers in the air between you, but his scent cuts through it – familiar, stupidly comforting.

“I say we go on a weekend trip to Jeju,” Jungkook says, his gaze fixed ahead.

Your head pops up. “That seafood restaurant,” you gasp, eyes widening.

He watches you, smiling at your excitement.

“We have to go,” you say, tugging his arm. “I still think about that abalone porridge from that tiny place by the harbour, you remember? With the old lady who called us lovebirds.”

“How could I not?” Jungkook laughs. “She told me to marry you or someone else would.”

You laugh too. “She wasn’t wrong.”

Jungkook snorts, flicking the half-smoked cigarette away and stubbing it out under his shoe. He turns back to you, and you feel his finger brush over your ring finger – it's a subtle, fleeting touch, but you wouldn’t dare miss it.

“I wouldn’t ever let that happen.” He leans in, catching you in a warm kiss.

“I love you,” you murmur against his lips, then pull back slightly. “But don’t kiss me after you’ve just smoked.”

Jungkook sighs like you’ve wounded him. Dramatically. Then he leans back in, peppering kisses along your cheek, down the slope of your jaw, and onto your neck, ignoring your protests with every one.

“Jungkook,” you warn through laughter, swatting at him half-heartedly. “We’re not at home.”

“But I still love you the same.” It’s a gentle murmur against your neck, nuzzling the skin there before leaving one last kiss just below your jaw.

“Jungkook.”

He finally pulls back, just enough to meet your eyes, and his teasing fades into something more softer, more quieter.

“I love the way you say my name.”

His mouth curves into the faintest smile, just slightly lifting the corner of his lips. But his eyes hold the sincerity behind his words, the soft glow of them making you feel like you’re the prettiest girl he has ever seen.

Every time Jungkook says this, you’re reminded of when you still wore uniforms and shared secrets in the quiet spaces between classes. When he said it for the first time, you thought he was poking fun at you like the others for pronouncing words differently because you grew up abroad, in the US.

He told you it sounded softer, rounder, like it meant something more when it came from you. He said it made him feel like someone safe. Someone yours.

He doesn’t say it often, but every time he does, you’re reminded of the past. And a soft, nostalgic feeling settles in your chest at the memory of fifteen-year-old Jungkook and you falling in love for the first time. It’s a bittersweet ache because when you think of that time, all you see is blue, but Jungkook was the one thing that still felt warm. Like hope tucked into a person.

And now, years later, even with everything you’ve both grown through and grown out of, that version of him still lives in moments like this. In quiet confessions and shared glances.

Heat nestles in your cheeks. You look away – straight at the river with the twinkling lights reflecting off of it. They remind you of his eyes.

“What?” His voice carries a teasing lilt, like he can’t quite place where your sudden shyness is coming from, but he’s definitely enjoying it.

“I dunno,” you mumble under your breath, hiding your face on his chest while keeping your eyes trained on the water. “I just get overwhelmed sometimes.”

“By what?”

“By how much I love you.”

“Wanna know something?”

“Hm?”

“I do too.”

You smile into his shirt, warmth blooming in your chest.

He presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “You really know how to kill a man,” he murmurs, voice low and a little awed.

You look up at him at that.

“I love you more,” he says eventually, like it’s the simplest truth. “Like... stupid amounts. Heart-aching amounts.”

You giggle, nose scrunching. “You’re so dramatic.”

“You started it.” He peers down at you, eyes soft. “Now let me be in love with you in peace.”

“I’ll let you love me in peace after we get snacks.”

“Will I ever witness a day where you don’t want something sweet?”

“Nuh-uh.” You shake your head with exaggerated seriousness. “The day can’t successfully end until you’ve had a sweet treat.”

“I actually think you’re singlehandedly keeping the candy industry alive.”

“I should be thanked, honestly.”

You rise to your feet, brushing invisible dust off your skirt as you stand in front of him. Jungkook doesn’t move right away. His eyes trail down to your legs, then to the hem of your skirt, fingers reaching out to tug it just a little lower with that automatic protectiveness he tries (and fails) to hide.

“You’re not cold, baby?” he asks, nodding toward his hoodie tossed over the bench behind him.

“No, I’m okay.”

Still sitting, he tugs you gently by the hips until you’re standing between his knees. His hands find your waist like magnets, thumbs stroking slow circles against the sliver of skin where your top has ridden up.

“I like this spot,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your stomach, right above your belly button. You flinch a little, giggling, fingers slipping into his thick hair.

“You’re such a menace,” you say, voice light, but you don’t pull away.

“And you’re so pretty,” he says, looking up at you from where he’s still crouched against your tummy. His eyes are warm, sparkling. “Like... dangerously pretty. You know that?”

You bite your lip. “Stop.”

“I’m serious.” He rests his chin just above your waistband, arms looping around the back of your thighs like he’s not letting go anytime soon. “Sometimes I think you’re not even real.”

You roll your eyes, trying to hold back your smile. “That’s what people say right before they do something stupid.”

He grins up at you, squeezes your thigh just enough to make you squeak. “Then I must be about to do something really stupid.”

“I feel like that’s something for home. Not public.”

“You think so?” He tilts his head slightly.

“Jungkook.” It’s meant to be a chiding. But instead, it escapes softer than you intended, more like a puff of air. Like we shouldn’t but I wanna know anyway. Like stop talking... but actually, no – keep going please.

Instead of backing off like any reasonable person would, he smirks, then has the audacity to give your butt the lightest squeeze, fingers quick and shameless.

You squeal, jumping back. “Jungkook!”

Flashing you a smile that’s somehow both innocent and guilty, he casually grabs his hoodie from the bench and stands up.

You stare at him, half scandalized, half trying not to smile. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Come on,” he says, slinging the hoodie over one shoulder glancing over at you with that smug softness that drives you crazy. “You wanted snacks, no?” He grabs your hand.

You narrow your eyes, but your feet already fall into step beside his.

~

It’s not a long walk until you reach the next convenient store.

“It looks kinda busy in there,” you tell Jungkook, peering through the glass. “I’ll just run in real quick. You can wait out here.”

Jungkook squints into the store, brows furrowed. “Who’s in there? I don’t want you going in alone if there’s some creeps.”

You roll your eyes and nudge him with your elbow. “It’s just a group of girls. Relax,” you say. “What do you want?”

He pulls his black card from his pocket. “Nothing for me. Just treat yourself, baby.”

You snatch the card from his hand. “Don’t mind if I do.”

~

You exit the store with a slightly overstuffed plastic bag tugging at your wrist. Being a girl who loves snacks, is hopelessly indecisive – and has her boyfriend’s black card – is a dangerous combo.

Jungkook tilts his head, trying to sneak a look inside the bag. “What’d you get?”

“Too much to name,” you say breezily, fishing out the ice cream resting right on top. “Got this for us, though.” It’s the ice cream that comes with two sticks so you can snap it in half and share. “I always think of you when I see this,” you admit, passing him one half after cracking it down in the middle.

“Ah, I didn’t want to eat any sweets today.”

“Too late,” you tease, nudging it closer to his mouth. “You already kissed me, so that’s off the table.”

He lets out a soft laugh. “That counts?”

“It absolutely does.” You raise your brows. “Now eat, please.”

He leans forward and takes a small bite straight from your hand. “Happy now?”

“Very much so.” You swipe the pad of your finger over a smudge of ice cream at the corner of his mouth, then lick it off with a grin.

He huffs a quiet laugh, head tilting as he watches you with that impossibly fond look. “You’re trouble.”

“Says you!”

With a sigh, he takes it from you. “You’re only getting away with this because you’re cute.”

“I know.” You smile around the ice cream in your mouth. “I can’t have a boyfriend who says no to a sweet treat.”

You fall into step beside him, walking slowly as you both nibble at the halves in your hands.

“I’m dieting.”

“For what?”

He doesn’t answer, just shrugs, proving your point.

That’s when your mind slips, just a little, to all the ways you used to be like this. All the self-destructive habits he had to gently pry from your grip. Jungkook has saved you many times. And you want to be there for him just as much he was there for you when no one chose you. When he was the only one who saw you – really saw you – and still chose to stay.

You reach for his hand, linking your fingers through his.

“I feel like sometimes you live your life like it’s harder than it has to be. Like you’re holding yourself back, setting rules that you don’t have to follow.”

Jungkook lets out a quiet breath. “I know,” he mutters, squeezing your hand. “You’re the first person who made me think maybe I deserve ease too. You make it feel okay to slow down.”

“Am I?” you ask sceptically. You hope you do, but are you actually?

He tips his ice cream in your direction.

You laugh. “Baby steps.”

You glance up at him. He’s licking his ice cream, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth like he doesn’t even realize it’s there. It makes your chest ache a little. In that sweet way.

“Jungkook?”

His head turns slightly, face lit soft by the golden glow of a nearby streetlamp. His eyes flick to you, a soft, curious glint catching in them as your gaze meets his. You lean your head against his arm.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for sticking with me through every version of myself.”

It’s a thought that catches you off guard – maybe not entirely, you’re not sure – but suddenly it’s there, clear and undeniable. A reminder that, through every change, every version of yourself, he’s never left. Whether you’ve been at your best or your worst, he’s always stayed. And sometimes, it’s hard to wrap your mind around the fact that someone can love you through all of that.

“There’s never been a version I didn’t love,” he says quietly, like it’s not something he even has to think about.

Your heart stumbles a little, eyes stinging in that warm, fuzzy way that only he can cause.

“You make it really easy, you know,” he adds, brushing his thumb gently across the back of your hand. “Loving you. I don’t even think about it. I just do.”

You blink up at him, lips twitching into the kind of smile that only he gets to see. “I still don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

He tugs you closer to him, your sides brushing with each step.

“You existed.”

[garden0fyves]

joel miller hcs ♡ pre-outbreak

sfw

boyfriend!joel who feels his pretty young girlfriend is too good for him. he sees the way your eyes light up at the most miscellaneous of things and simply adores the way you’re the sunshine to his rainy day. he feels that you should have a chance to get settled and be happy, not be with your neighbor that just-so-happens to be an old man in need of a break. his feelings don’t matter, though, because everytime you come back from work you’re immediately at his house, smiling sweetly at him and pressing the softest of kisses to his lips.

boyfriend!joel who can’t take his eyes off of you while you take care of his sarah. the way you cook breakfast for her in his shirt and some shorts and dance around with his little girl while listening to “hey ya!” by outkast. sarah dances while mixing the pancake mix you’d ask her to, and you take care of the eggs and bacon. joel’s heart hasn’t felt this full since sarah was born. it’s on this day that joel realizes he wants to marry you. give you the kids you wistfully speak about while watching sarah fall asleep between the two of you. he wants to give you the family you deserve.

boyfriend!joel who glares at sarah’s soccer coach that keeps ogling you everytime you come to watch his little girl play. he doesn’t care what you wear, the short shorts and replica of sarah’s jersey are the least of his concern. it’s the eyes of the coach, amongst other fathers attending the game, that pisses him off. he knows not to make a scene because sarah would kill him, probably wouldn’t speak to him for days, but he can’t help the way his fist clenches and his teeth grind together. his anger clears when your sweet giggle floats through his ears, and your free hand that you’d been holding a sprite in tangles with his own. “you can’t possibly be jealous, baby.” you’d purred, grinning up at your boyfriend. “i’m goin’ home with you and my little girl after this. don’t worry about who’s lookin’ joel, they can look all they want.”

boyfriend!joel who takes pride in his girlfriend having a better job than him. you’re 28, fresh out of medical school with a doctorate in orthopedics. you work at the hospital down the street from sarah’s school and joel swears he has never been this attracted to scrubs before. he remembers the time you had to bring him lunch because he’d left it, and he can only presume you were on break or didn’t have any patients because you’d arrived in your scrubs with a happy smile on your face. “joel ‘s that your girl?” “mmmhm, that’s my doctor.”

boyfriend!joel who cannot for the life of him keep his hands to himself. it doesn’t matter what you’re doing, joel is going to have this hands on you! when you’re going grocery shopping his hand is settled on you waist, walking in step with you as you browse the aisles. sarah usually trots ahead of you two while talking about soccer or her school day if you’ve gone afterwards. when you’re at home, even if you’re just watching a movie or cooking, he’s kissing the side of your head and asking you the most miscellaneous of questions. you’ve discovered his love language is physical touch. (as if you could miss it)

nsfw

boyfriend!joel who eats you out like he’s never eaten before. he’s dragging his tongue through your folds while his fingers busy themselves with rubbing your puffy clit. he’s made you cum once already by ordering you to use him, to move your hips as you needed to cum on his face. now he’s ignoring your cries for him to slow down, your soft cry of “‘s too much” only fuels him further, makes him eat your pussy like a madman. joel knows what makes you tick, he knows what spots to hit to make that pretty cunt clench and he does it for you every. single. time.

boyfriend!joel who can’t help but to fuck you dumb. he’s never trying to overwhelm you, to make you go stupid on his cock. no that’s never his intention. but he can’t deny how pretty you look with your eyes glossed over, fingers digging into his back, and your lips parted in nothing but ecstasy. he enjoys the way his smart girl loses all her senses with a little dick. he enjoys knowing his smart girl is just a slut with a degree, and it makes him harder the more he thinks about it. 

boyfriend!joel who couldn’t control himself after you mentioned wanting kids. you’re talking with your friends that’d come over for a bit, and the statement comes out soft and sweet. “i want kids, i just don’t know if joel wants to start over.” you’d hummed, smiling softly at your friend’s 6 month old daughter. the evening passed quickly after that, and with sarah gone with her friends, joel has the entire night to make sure you have that baby you want so badly. it isn’t long before you find yourself in full nelson, pussy gushing and tears falling from your eyes. “joel- oh-” you gasp out as your eyes roll and your pussy tightens around your boyfriend’s dick. joel groans from above you, pulling his hips all the way out to snap them back against you. “aht, baby, you gotta take it all. you wanted a baby, i jus’ gotta give it to you. take it pretty mama, take this dick.”

boyfriend!joel who talks you through every orgasm. either the sweetest of phrases leavehis lips or the nastiest. joel likes to watch you fall apart with a satisfied grin on his face. “that’s it, my good girl. mmhm, let go f’me sweet girl. that’s it- jus’ like that baby.” and he’s leaning over to kiss you softly while your body shakes from your orgasm, your eyes are closed to prevent them from rolling and he finds it cute because he can still tell. he knows how good he makes you feel. it’s his pride and joy.

boyfriend!joel who knows how to use his accent. he knows you aren’t originally from texas and that southern accent simply do something to you. you believe it to be the huskiness of his voice mixed with the deep rumble of the sheer power of his voice, it all melts over you like a blanket. joel likes to whisper in your ear, deep and low. “thas’ my pretty slut, hm? takin’ this dick like she’s a professional.” and you’re moaning, clenching the sheets as he presses down on the middle of your back. his voice only becomes clearer with each stroke, and he’s practically splitting you down the middle while whispering in your ear. “come now, darlin’. there’s no way you’re cumming offa listening to me.” he laughs this low and raspy laugh that is so sexy to you. you can only whine in response, glancing over your shoulder with a little pout decorating your puffy lips. “can’t help it, baby.” you whimper out, not a thought going through your mind save for joel joel joel.  

[dalishious]

The Sanitized Lore of Dragon Age: The Veilguard

Tevinter is the heart of slavery in Thedas. This lore has been established in every game, novel, comic, and other extended material in the Dragon Age franchise to date that so much as mentions the nation. But in Dragon Age: The Veilguard, when we are finally able to actually visit this location for the first time… this rampant slavery we’ve heard so much about is nowhere to be found. It’s talked about here and there; Neve mentions The Viper has a history of freeing slaves, as does Rook themselves if they choose the Shadow Dragon faction as their origin, for example. But walking down the streets of Minrathous, you’d never know. Because Dragon Age: The Veilguard, for all its enjoyment otherwise, has one glaring issue: It’s too clean.

The world of Thedas is full of injustices. Humans persecute elves, fear qunari, and belittle dwarves. Mages of any race are treated like caged animals in most places. The nobility is corrupt. Although, Dragon Age has not always handled these injustices well, mind you. Many, many times I’ve found myself frustrated with moments that just feel like a Racism Simulator. But what makes it worth it, is when you can actually do something about it. These injustices are things that a good-aligned character strives to fight back against, maybe even for very personal reasons. Part of the power-fantasy for many minorities is that this fight feels tangible. I cannot arrange the assassination of a corrupt politician in real life, but I sure can get Celene Valmont stabbed to death in Dragon Age: Inquisition, for example. Additionally, these fictional injustices can be used to make statements on real life parallels, like any source of media. For example, no, the Chant of Light is not real, but acting as a stand-in for Catholicism, through a media analysis lens we can explore what the Chant of Light communicates on a figurative level.

When starting Dragon Age: The Veilguard and selecting to play as an elf – this should be unsurprising to anyone who is familiar with my bias towards them – I was fully prepared to enter the streets of Minrathous and immediately get called “knife-ear” or “rabbit”. But this did not happen. I thought perhaps it was just a prologue thing, but returning to Minrathous once again, there was not a single shred of disapproval from any NPC I encountered that wasn’t a generic enemy to fight. And even the generic enemies, the Tevinter Nationalist cult of the Venatori, didn’t seem to care at all that I was a lineage they deemed inferior before now. This is a stark difference from entering the Winter Palace in Dragon Age: Inquisition and immediately getting hit with court disapproval and insults. Are we now to believe that Tevinter has somehow solved its astronomical racism and classism problems in the ten years since the past game? Or perhaps are we to believe all the characters who have demonstrated Tevinter’s systemic discriminatory views were just lying or outliers? Because it makes absolutely no sense at all for this horribly corrupt nation to not have a shred of reactivity to an elven or qunari Rook prancing around. But here were are, and not a single NPC even recognizes my character’s lineage. And because this is so different from every single past game, it feels weird.

As an elf, you have the option to make a comment about how “too many humans look down on us” in one scene early in the game. You can also talk to Bellara and Davrin, the elven companions, about concerns that people won’t trust elves after finding out about the big bad Ancient Evanuris… but this is presented as if elves don’t already face persecution. It’s all so limited in scope that it could be all too easily missed if you are not paying very close attention, and coming into the game with pre-existing lore knowledge.

All this made it easy to first assume that the developers simply over-corrected an attempt to address the Racism Simulator moments. And if that was the case, than I would at least give credit to effort; they did not find the right balance, but they at least tried. However, the sudden lack of discrimination against different lineages in Dragon Age: The Veilguard is not the only sanitized example of lore present.

In Dragon Age: Origins, Zevran Arainai is a companion who is from the Antivan Crows; a group of assassins. He discusses in detail how the Crows buy children and raise them into murder machines through all kinds of torture. The World of Thedas books also describe how the Antivan Crows work, echoing what Zevran says and expanding that of the recruitment, only a select handful of those taken by the Crows even survive. When you start Dragon Age: The Veilguard as an Antivan Crow, you immediately unlock a re-used codex entry from the past, “The Crows and Queen Madrigal”, that says the following:

“His guild has a reputation to uphold. They are ruthless, efficient, and discreet. How would they maintain such notoriety if agents routinely revealed the names of employers with something as "banal" as torture.”

Ruthless, efficient, and discreet. Torture is banal. This is what the Crows were before Dragon Age: The Veilguard decided to take them in a very different direction. The Antivan Crows in this latest game are painted as freedom fighters against the Antaam occupation of Treviso. Teia calls the Crows “patriots”. And while I can certainly believe that the Crows would have enough motivation to fight back against the Antaam, given that it is in direct opposition to their own goals, I cannot understand why they are suddenly suggested to be morally good. They are assassins. They treat their people like tools and murder for money. Even as recent as the Tevinter Nights story Eight Little Talons, it is addressed that the Antivan Crows are in it for the coin and power, with characters like Teia being outliers for wanting to change that. It makes the use of the older codex all the more confusing, as it sets the Antivan Crows up as something they are no longer portrayed as.

I personally think it would have been really interesting to explore a morally corrupt faction in comparison to say, the Shadow Dragons. Perhaps even as a protagonist, address things like the enslavement of “recruits” to make the faction at least somewhat better. (They are still assassins, after all.) Instead, we’re just supposed to ignore everything unsavory about them, I suppose…

We could discuss even further examples. Like how the Lords of Fortune pillage ruins but it’s okay, because they never sell artifacts of cultural importance, supposedly. Or how the only problem with the Templar Order in Tevinter is just the “bad apples” that work with Venatori. I could go on, but I don’t think I have to.

It is because of all this sanitization, that I cannot believe this was simply over-correction on a developmental part. Especially when there is still racism in the game, in other forms. The impression I’m left with feels far deeper than that; it feels corporate. As if a computer ran through the game’s script and got rid of anything with “too much” political substance. The strongest statements are hidden in codex entries, and I almost suspect they had to be snuck in.

Between a Racism Simulator and just ignoring anything bad whatsoever, I believe a balance is achievable; that sweet spot that actually has something to say about what it is presenting. I know it is achievable, because there are a few bright spots of this that I’ve encountered in Dragon Age: The Veilguard too. For example, some of the codex entries like I mentioned, and almost all the content with the Grey Wardens thus far. It is a shame there is not more content on this level.

Dragon Age: The Veilguard is overall still a fun game, in my opinion. But it’s hard to argue that it isn’t missing the grit of its predecessors. The sharp edges have been smoothed. The claws have been removed. The house has been baby-proofed. And for what purpose?

-----

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[ughdontbeboring]

Let Me In

Smoke X Black/WoC Reader X Stack (👀😮‍💨🥵)

A night at the speakeasy that changes y’all lives forever

warnings: uh angst? and twin Mike’s lol (I wish there was smut but maybe once I see the movie idk)

( SONG FROM SOUNDTRACK BY MY FAV MUST LISTEN 😭

so I just had to come back here and update with a song by Tanrélle for the soundtrack!! I just heard it and it soooo the soundtrack for this scene I wrote OMG I CANT DEAL )

side note: not sure if I even wrote that out correctly but the twins share reader there is no incest in the pairing. I thought about this late at night after seeing the trailer that just dropped and yea lol I haven’t been in Mike’s fanfic section in a while and all my Killmonger fics I never post so funny enough without the movie even being out this is my first fic for Mike ever posted.

I may follow up and do more after the movie drops and I see more of their personalities only time will tell. I’m def playing around with something a little prequel just to show their dynamic a bit but again time will tell 🥵

it’s so early on idk what to even tag this 😭 is anyone even reading this now or are we waiting on the movie to drop??

❤️💙

Smoke stood there yelling trying to calm down the group of hysterical night goers who now found themselves in an impossible situation. A situation that shouldn’t be a reality but let the old tales tell it, it was just as true. 

And now your small group of survivors is finding that out. 

The lively party under the moon light quickly taking a turn after unwanted guests arrived odd and full of smiles. 

It started with that Mary woman who had flirted her way in. She was out of place here and maybe that’s why Stack seemed so intrigued. He never could turn down a mystery, your wild boy.

Now there was no way out that any of you could see just yet but you knew Smoke would think of something, he always did.

Pearl wailed in front of everybody, her body shaking uncontrollably as the other women rushed surrounding her, trying to give some comfort.

You seen Delta take that moment to approach Smoke who was deep in thought, closer to the front door than anyone else. That far away look on his face when he was racking his brain for a solution. 

The realization that Stack had become a night creature, a vampire from the folklore of time immortal, from tales stretching across the world in different cultures, different languages was unfathomable. He had become whatever they were and it was settling into the group with dread. 

But none more devastated than Smoke and you. 

Now while Smoke was thinking of this with the rationality of surviving you just couldn’t accept this. 

“Smoke what we gon’ do without Stack?” Delta tried to whisper. He was unsuccessful because you could still hear him even with the group of women between y’all. 

You feel the room spinning again and you just need a moment. Hearing him speaking of Stack in that way had the air rushing from your lungs. No not Stack. You thought. Not like this. 

You know Smoke said for everyone to stay together and away from the walls, the doors, the windows any part of the foundation but you just need a moment because you feel like you can’t fucking breathe. 

Everyone is occupied when you slip away silent in your kitten heels you had choose for the night, your careful to not make noise with your form fitting dress that’s decorated with beadwork at the hem. All night the dress had swayed and shinned in the low lit speakeasy. You had danced all night your dress adding its own sound to the lively music with the heavy beadwork while switching between the strong arms of your boys during every song when the other wasn’t busy. 

Stack danced with you and Smoke would just hold you and kinda sway as you danced on him. Ever the serious one. 

You find yourself in the smaller back room that’s used for storage with a back entrance. Even though you needed a moment the small space was quickly becoming suffocating causing your grief and disbelief to swell within you. It choked you. Now you felt like you were standing out in the fields on a hottest summer Mississippi day. You felt like you were dying.

You quickly realized you were hyperventilating. You needed air. 

Over your deep breathing you hear softly yet unmistakably beyond the door “It’s ok baby”. Your blood goes cold and your body freezes. 

“Stack?” You question softly as your eyes start to water while staring straight ahead of you. 

“Yea, it’s me baby” He says in his familiar thick accent. 

“Ho-how?” You stutter in disbelief. How’d he know you were back here? Out of everyone it could have been how’d he know it was you? Was he alone? So many questions ran through your head without ever making it to your lips.

“Baby I knew it was you. Don’t cry babygirl just open the door fo’ me” He coo’s softly. 

“I-I can’t” you replied sounding even unconvinced to your own ears. It feels wrong to deny him. 

“Why? Baby I don’t wanna be out here no more all alone. let me in so I can get away from these crazy crackers” He mutters a little bit impatiently. That bit wasn’t your Stack. Stack out of the both of them always was patient with you, it was almost sickening how he caved for you. 

His patience’s with you gave people the false hood of a saint when his reality was he could flip in a moment. Just like Smokes quietness and how gentle he was with you gave people a false impression of calm man. They were both ticking time bombs on any given day, at any moment. 

“And it’s really you Stack?” You ask again begging your mind to believe what your heart does. That he’s still in there somewhere. 

It’s quiet for a moment before he's able to muster an almost forced reply. “Of course-“

“The hell you doing?” You hear barked behind you in that deep Mississippi drawl. 

It’s not even seconds later when you feel his presence behind you and his large hand gripping your arm yanking you slightly back.

“It’s Stack! We have to help him! Let him in! Please Smoke!” You beg facing the other half of your heart, staring up into Smokes eyes. You seen the anger and the hurt swirling in the deep brown.  

“It ain’t him!” He yells down at you as he towers above you. His handsome face menacing as always. 

You’re not sure if everyone had come back with Smoke or if they’re just getting there but you feel everyone’s eyes on you. You know they must think you crazy. You seen what everyone else outside the speakeasy did to eachother yet here you are begging for Smoke to find a way to save Stack, bring him back to you.

“Oh come on now no fighting with our babygirl, just open up fo’ me twin” Stack taunts from the other side of the door. 

The sound of his voice has you staring at the door with your conviction growing before Smoke is pulling your attention back to him. 

“Aye. Hey baby look at me that’s not Stack. Not no more” He tries again with concern flickering in his eyes. He’s not sure what will happen if he can’t get you to accept it. His stomach turns with the thoughts of all the possibilities. He can’t loose you too. Not now not never. 

“Please! Please I can’t-I can’t leave him out there!! He’s not safe” You begged staring up at him. Your eyes pleading with him to understand. 

But that flicker of concern is quickly extinguished by the anger that replaces it in his brown eyes. He’s shaking you as he turns you to face him. He needs you to understand.

He yells your name full of anger. “You’re not safe if you let him in! He’ll kill you and everyone else in this fucking place!” He roars at you. 

It’s starting to dawn on Smoke he may have to take more precautions if you don’t show him you’ve accepted what has happened to Stack.

You’re not sure why he allows it or if you’ve just caught him off guard but you yank your arm away and move near the door. 

You can feel the tension in the room at your sudden proximity to the door. There’s a small opening in the door just about your eye level in your short heels. It’s about the length of your middle finger and horizontal. 

“Stack pl-please baby please tell me it’s really you. You’re still my Stack, right?” You beg softly as you stare at Stack’s throat that you can see through the opening. Your fingers inching up to right below the hole.  He’s some how closer and your pointer finger ventures outside just barely to run along his full bottom lip. You shudder at the feel of his skin and how it’s something between hot and cool but not warm. It was odd and unsettling.

There’s a long pause and you can feel Smoke slowly move closer to you. 

The silence is deafening to you as your heart starts to pick back up. 

You see him shift a bit and when you crane you neck your able to see his eyes. You couldn’t see Stacks eyes before, not this close anyway since he changed.

They’re grey almost sliver and mostly lifeless, the brown warmth from them missing. But the guilt that flickers across them fans the embers of your hope. 

What is said next is so soft you almost don’t hear it if it wasn’t for the view you also had of his lips with the way he’s tilted his eyes to look down at you. 

But the rasp of his voice is unmistakable when he whispers “I love you” 

Your heart can’t take it and even if his eyes are different your Stack is still in there somewhere. Your hand rushes the door handle. 

It’s not Smokes booming voice behind you yelling “NO!” that startles you, it’s the earth shaking bang on the door in-front of you when you can do longer see Stack’s eyes that freezes your movements. Your hand inches from the handle.

The bang comes again as Stack yells “Let me in!”. Your body feels like you were just dumped into the Mississippi during winter. The cold realization settles over you. No he’s not your Stack, not fully at least.

Had he not banged on the door startling you, you would have surly opened it and thrown yourself into his arms. This was his way of showing you, your Stack that was still in there was trying to get through to you over the force that was consuming his body. He was trying to scare you.

The next bang is just as loud and aggressive and it causes you to stumble, falling back, your hands breaking the fall and scraping against the wooden floor as your bottom takes most of the impact. 

Your heart is racing faster than you thought possible as you stare up wide eyed at the door Stack continues to bang against 

“LET ME IN!” 

You feel Smokes rough hands wrap around your waist pulling you up. His arms wrap around you as you snob in your hands. His full soft lips at your neck shhing and comforting you.

“It’s ok baby, gonna be ok, you safe with me” Smoke whispers softly against you. 

They always had their different ways of dealing with you and it just worked having both of them. It wasn’t unusual for Smoke to be so soft with you but it didn’t happen as often as it did with Stack. Smoke was definitely your grumpy one, hardly if ever smiling if it wasn’t for you. 

They both came in your life at the same time sweeping you off your feet without even trying, They both pulled you in in their own way true to their own personalities. When you realize that you couldn’t choose you decided you would walk away, and they refused to let you go. They decided it was only right to share you with boundaries in place over loosing you. It was by far nothing any of you had experienced before or would have been willing with anyone else. But here the three of you were years later. You never looked back. 

“You and your man could be together and even better if you come out or let us in little lady” It’s another voice the room full of people hear, his voice, the white man who brought this hell to their little speakeasy paradise.

“Such a pretty pretty thing, we’d make you a queen” he continues with a groan almost like he was thinking of how your blood would taste or maybe even more sexual thoughts. Either way it caused you to shudder in Smokes arms pressing more into him. 

You know you aren’t mistaken when you hear a familiar growl. It’s not him it’s Stack. The sound causes your stomach to turn a bit knowing that’s the part of him that’s still Stack. He was always so jealous it was a wonder he was able to handle the relationship of 3. Even turning didn’t seem to change that in him. It was a sound you heard many many times before. A man any man would be beat within an inch of his life for disrespecting Stack or Smoke by gazing upon you for a moment too long. 

You’re not sure if you should be happy or devastated by the realization. Apart of you wants to be with him, be whatever he is now. Stay by his side like he had always been by hers. 

But then you feel the warm squeeze of Smoke’s arms behind you and his hands turning you into his chest as the tears you didn’t notice start again keep falling. 

Smoke’s large hands grab your face softly and his thumbs wipes the tears away. You couldn’t give up, not when you still had your Smoke. You had to fight for him even if that meant letting go of Stack or whatever Stack had become. 

His face is close to yours making you hold eye contact. 

“Shh baby m’ here, you safe. Just stay here with me” He says watching you, you nod finally giving him some relief you’re starting to accept this night and the twisted turn of fate. “If that was still Stack he’d want you safe baby. We both know that. He’d want you safe and with me.”

You shake your head in understanding but it doesn’t stop the tears. He leans in to softly kiss them away. 

“We gon’ be good. Ight baby? I got you.” He promises holding your eyes in place with the conviction in his. 

And you believe him. Not matter how impossible the situation seemed you believed him to always come through for you. 

“Did y’all hear that? Where’s that coming from” Delta panics leaving the room to search for the source. 

You steal a glance back and notice that Stack is still staring through the opening as Smoke pulls you away. 

“I love you” you whisper back with a finale look before turing into Smoke’s embrace as he leads you safely away from the temptation of his twin. 

Smoke knows that Stack is still in there somewhere but his bloodlust seems to be his main controller and  he can’t let you hold out on hope and get yourself killed or worse turned trying to prove your love. Trying to prove Stack is still in there. 

So he keeps you close as possible as they enter the main room following the rest of the group. 

“I love you Smoke” you say softly as you stop and look up at him. 

Smoke knows you do just as much as you love Stack, you’ve never shown favorites. He loves you more than he’ll ever be able to say, you both know that. After tonight though he might have to work on being able to tell you just how much he does. 

Smoke doesn’t care what happens tonight as long as he gets you safely away from this. Not only for himself but for Stack too. 

❤️💙

[sailorsoons]

Amnesia (c.sc)

PAIRING: Choi Seungcheol x f. reader

Summary: Choi Seungcheol has never been the type to commit to relationships - casual is more his thing. You’re fine with that - except you and Seungcheol seem to be terrible at casual when it comes to one another. 

WC: 11,920

GENRE: Friends with benefits to lovers 

AU: Smut, Angst if you squint 

RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

WARNINGS: Under the cut

A/N: This fic was posted on my original blog which has been deleted. I am now reposting it. I hope it does half as well as it did when I originally posted this story - thank you to everyone who left amazing feedback the first time. It genuinely made me so happy and I am so sorry that it got sent to the moon where I can no longer read it.

A/N 2: Thank you @yoongukie-ff for sending me your original reblog of this to pull the summary information from. I appreciate you and I love you!

MASTERLIST | PERMANENT TAG LIST | ASK | PLAYLIST

Warnings: Recreational drinking, mild jealousy from both reader and Cheol, themes of self doubt/relationship doubt, light depictions of anxiety regarding ambiguous relationships, explicit language, Cheol and reader are both idiots, explicit sexual content including oral (f. and m. receiving), vaginal fingering, nipple stim, breath play if you squint, unprotected vaginal sex, a lot of bodily fluids like spit and cum, multiple smut scenes, hair pulling, light spanking, sub-space adjacent feelings, being a lil silly goofy during sex sometimes, stupid ass nicknames at the end because I’m a millennial and I’m cringe sometimes. 

DAY ONE

YOU'RE A GONER AS SOON AS YOU LAY EYES ON HIM. You know it before Jeonghan properly introduces you, shouting over the rock music that is blaring in the dive bar you like to hang out at on Friday nights. The neon from the sign creates a blue silhouette around Seungcheol as he smiles and holds a hand out to you. You can barely pull yourself together to shake his hand - warm, firm - too busy staring at his face. 

Choi Seungcheol is what your best friend Vin likes to call pretty motherfuckin handsome. He’s got dark, warm eyes that light up playfully when they meet yours, full lips the color of crushed rose petals, a square, firm jawline and silky dark hair that falls in his eyes when he tilts his face down to hide a smile at something Jeonghan says. 

Crushed against the wall of the booth, you feel the cold glass of your beer warm against your palms as you steal glances at Seungcheol. He’s directly across from you, angling his broad shoulders to fit snug into the corner of the booth, lounging backward as he observes the argument brewing between Joshua and Jeonghan. 

He even dresses well. Fitted t-shirt paired with light wash jeans and boots, a fancy watch reflecting the burning neon on the wall next to him, delicate chain necklaces tucked into the collar of his shirt. 

It’s the way he wears them that speaks to you, though. 

“Do they do this often?” his deep voice drags you from your reverie. You blink, gathering yourself when you realize he’s leaning forward a little, addressing you. He sips his beer before tilting the tip of the bottle toward Jeonghan and Joshua. “It’s like they're married.”

“You have no idea. Wait until game night.” 

“Oh yeah. Jeonghan told me about game night.” Seungcheol’s mouth twitches in a smile. “You’ll be there?” 

“Every Sunday. Do you like games?” 

Something about the glint in his eye makes your stomach flip. You sip your beer just to give you something to do, feeling more drunk off the easy confidence he exudes as he shrugs. “Depends on the game. I’m competitive.” 

“So am I.”

He grins. “I look forward to it, then.” 

Warming up to Seungcheol is easy. He’s the new hire at Jeonghan and Wonwoo’s office, and they both felt confident enough to bring him into the fold. You can see why - he’s kind and funny, and there’s a charm to him that draws the people around him like moths to a flame. Even with just the four of you sitting in the booth, you feel the magnetism. 

Friday nights at Rusty’s has been a tradition with Jeonghan and Joshua since you had been in college, filling yourself on five dollar wings, three dollar beers and occasionally lukewarm mozzarella sticks. Normally Vin, Wonwoo and Mingyu would be around, but tonight it’s just the smaller group. 

Jeonghan and Joshua slide out of the booth to play darts, shoving one another back and forth, the drink in their step making them a little off balance. You smile fondly as you pluck another beer out of the bucket of ice, struggling to pop the top, your wet hands sliding against the metal cap. 

Wordlessly, Seungcheol holds his hand out. Flushing from the neck down, you hand it over to him with a silent thank you. He pops the top easily, bicep flexing for a moment before he passes it back over, shooting you an award winning grin. 

“Wow, so strong.”

He pouts and you swear you see stars. “Hey, I am strong.” 

“No, no, you are. Thank you.” 

“You shouldn’t tease me. I’m new.” 

“Huh.” You sip your beer, letting the cool liquid slide down your throat. It does nothing to soothe the heat spreading over your skin under the sole attention of Seungcheol. “I don’t remember that being a rule.” 

“I never was one to play by the rules anyway.” 

“Oh, so you’re saying you cheat at games like Jeonghan does.” 

“I like winning.”

You roll your eyes. From the edge of your vision, you see people leave the pool table. Eager to stand up and stretch your legs, you start to slide out of the booth, the wood grain scratching against your jeans as you do. 

“Come on then, cheater. Let’s play pool.” 

“I’m down.” 

Seungcheol follows you. Your fingers grip the glass of your drink tight, knuckles straining. You move around tables and duck around other patrons, hyper aware of the way Seungcheol keeps close to you, the heat of him against your back. 

Next to the rows of dart boards are two pool tables, the felt a faded green with beer stains and other mysterious smudges on the surface. You grab a cue from the rack on the wall, spin it in your hands, and hand it over to Seungcheol. He eyes it, running his fingers along the splintered and dented wood.

Grabbing your cue in one hand and the triangle rack and set it on the table while he collects the balls from the table and the pockets, rolling them over to you. A few feet away, Joshua is already accusing Jeonghan of cheating. You don’t know how you cheat in darts, but you do know if there is a will, Jeonghan will find a way.

“Dangerous to let them have sharp objects,” Seungcheol notes, sliding the last ball over to you. You huff out a laugh, rolling the rack of billiard balls back and forth to set them. “You’re not going to get violent with me, right?”

“I don’t know, are you going to cheat?”

His smile is wicked. “Me? Definitely not.” 

“Hmm. Not convincing.”

Seungcheol presses the flat of his palm over his chest, drawing your eyes to how thick he is in the chest area. You swallow thickly as he says, “Cross my heart.” 

“Whatever you say. What are we playing for?” 

“What will you give me?” 

You look up at the shift in his tone. Dark. Flirty. He leans against the pool table, resting his hip casually as he crosses his arms over his chest. You ignore the way his arms flex, totally focused on the way his eyes are only for you. Intent. Meaningful. 

A warning goes off in your head. You already feel the pull to him, the innate attraction that has your heart hammering. You should brush off the flirtation, move on to other things. Relationships aren’t really your thing, but there’s something about him that makes you know you’ll want more. 

You already do want more. 

“What do you want?” you ask softly, ignoring your better judgment. 

When Seungcheol smiles, you know you’d give him anything. Everything.

“I can think of something, I think.”

-

DAY SEVEN

“I like this,” Seungcheol says, voice rough from use. He buttons his jeans, looking over at you. You’re still half-alive on your bed, a sheen of sweat covering your body. The sheets stick to you when you roll to look at him. “Are you good with casual?”

You’re only half listening, too distracted by his flexing abs. “Hmm?”

Seungcheol looks good tonight. He looks good every night, but tonight he’s in dark jeans and a white sweater. The sweater looks soft like his hair, which has grown longer and hangs in his eyes as he looks down to slip on his shoes. 

“I’m not really looking for a relationship at the moment but this,” he answers, flicking his fingers between the two of you. “It’s good.” 

“Agreed. I’m good with casual. I’m a little too busy for anything more.” 

It’s not a lie. You are too busy to really commit to someone. Again, a warning goes off in your mind like that first night you met him, screaming danger. You ignore it, not ready to give up Seungcheol just yet. 

He grins, pulling his short back over his head. “Cool. If you ever don’t want to or whatever though, let me know, yeah?”

“You too.” 

-

DAY TEN 

Seungcheol [2:06 AM]: Come home with me You [2:06 AM]: Everyone would notice Seungcheol [2:07 AM]: Tell them where you’re going who caaaares Seungcheol [2:08 AM]: Unless you don’t want to tell them then that’s ok Seungcheol [2:08 AM]: I personally don’t care if they know I’m rearranging your guts most nights :)  You [2:10 AM]: CHEOL You [2:10 AM]: Fine pls hold my hand while I do this. They’re going to roast me Seungcheol [2:08 AM]: Holding your hand sooo tight Seungcheol [2:08 AM]: But from like over here tho  You [2:19 AM]: That was so embarrassing. Where did you go Seungcheol [2:19 AM]: She’s so brave, she’s well behaved Seungcheol [2:19 AM]: Standing outside hurry it's cold as dick out here

Seungcheol [4:38 AM]: Don’t forget to text me when you make it home  You [4:52 AM]: Home safe!  

-

DAY TWENTY THREE

You [11:10 PM]: Wyd Seungcheol [11:34 PM]: Need it that bad? You [11:39 PM]: Wow goodnight!!!!! Seungcheol [11:39 PM]: Nah come back Seungcheol [11:43 PM]: COME BACK Seungcheol [11:43 PM]: Omw. Unlock the door You [11:45 PM]: Need it that bad?  Seungcheol [11:45 PM]: Yes actually :) 

-

DAY THIRTY

You slide your finger across the phone, curious as you pick up Seungcheol’s phone call. “Hello?”

“Are you hungry?” 

You look at your watch. It’s almost one in the afternoon, your stomach growling as it realizes that yeah you are kind of hungry. “Actually yeah. Why?” 

“I had to run errands and I’m by your place and starving. Wanna get lunch?” 

Your lips twitch in a smile. Leaning against the counter, you press the phone against you a little closer. “Sure, what did you have in mind?” 

“Do you like Greek?” You hum in assent, chewing on your fingernail nervously. You can hear him get into his car, pausing momentarily as he starts it and curses at how hot it is. You can’t help but laugh. “Alright, pick you up in ten?”

“Alright.” 

-

DAY FORTY THREE

He’s not yours. You tell yourself that over and over again as you try not to look across the bar where Seungcheol is sitting for the nth time. You’d noticed him immediately when you and Vin walked in, clocking his wide frame and familiar laugh with a precision that makes you curse yourself.

Now, Seungcheol is leaning against a high top, talking to a pretty girl sitting on a stool next to him. He’d waved at you earlier and shot you a smile and a wink, but he’s with friends you’re unfamiliar with tonight, and hasn’t come over.

Not that you expect him to. He isn’t yours and the casual thing you’ve got going means he can do whatever he wants, no strings attached.

So why is your heart in your throat as you glance over to see the girl laughing at something he’s said? They’re not alone but somehow that isn’t comforting at all. You pick at the varnish on the table to distract yourself, suddenly interested in the splinters and not the man across the bar from you.

Finishing the rest of your beer, you pull out another, hoping that the hoppy taste erases the icky feeling that settles on your skin. You’re not participating in conversation much, but if your friends notice, they have the decency not to call you out. 

At least Vin knows what’s up, checking on you every once in a while. Thankfully she doesn’t say anything, occasionally giving you a squeeze instead. She knows the deal, understanding the irrationality between wanting to control something that isn’t yours to control. 

Halfway through your beer, your phone vibrates. You flip it over and your heart starts pounding when you see Seungcheol’s name come across the screen, a message waiting to be read. With a shaky hand, you slide your thumb across the screen to unlock it, the message popping up.

Seungcheol [12:13 AM]: Wanna come back to mine? 

Surprised, you look up from your phone to where he’s still at the high top. His phone is in his hands and he’s looking right at you, flashing a grin when you meet his eyes. The girl is still sitting next to him, but his attention is entirely on you now, pinning you to the spot. 

Your phone vibrates again and you glance down, your phone’s brightness stark in the gloom of the bar. 

Seungcheol [12:13 AM]: You’re cute when you’re surprised You [12:14 AM]: What, the girl you were talking to said no? Seungcheol [12:14 AM]: I didn’t ask her. I asked you Seungcheol [12:14 AM]: Omg wait are you jealous?? You [12:14 AM]: No You [12:14 AM]: Definitely not  Seungcheol [12:17 AM]: Hateful to me is Hades for a liar or whatever You [12:17 AM]: Hateful to me as the gates of Hades is that man who hides one thing in his heart and speaks another, loser Seungcheol [12:18 AM]: Same thing Seungcheol [12:18 AM]: But seriously, I have no interest in her. I’m asking YOU Seungcheol [12:18 AM]: Will beg from my knees in this bar Seungcheol [12:19 AM]: Even tho the floor is kind of gross You [12:20 AM]: I mean, if you’re offering to get on your knees…

You’re not sure if you trust his answer about not being interested in the other girl, but it doesn’t matter. You still end up leaning against him in an Uber, his hand squeezing your thigh playfully as he leans his forehead on the window, eyes closed to enjoy the cool glass. 

He is so handsome, face glowing red as the car stops at a stoplight. You examine him closely, eyes dragging from the soft curve of his mouth to his impossibly silk lashes. You’d told him once that most girls would kill for those lashes, and now he likes to bat them at you every time he wants something. 

The car starts moving and you look away from him, taking in a deep breath. Seungcheol isn’t yours, but you’re starting to think you want him to be. 

DAY FIFTY TWO

“Is it weird if I bring a bag of shit to stay?” Seungcheol’s voice is shy over the receiver. You grip your phone tighter, biting your bottom lip to hide your smile as you roll onto your side in bed, snuggling into the pillow more. It smells like him, bergamot and cedarwood. “You can tell me if that’s weird.”

“Not weird at all,” you say carefully, too nervous to scare him off. “You usually end up sleeping here anyway.” 

Usually really means always. He’s been doing that more recently, crashing at your apartment after coming over and vice versa. You’ve gone from Uber rides home at dawn to waking up curled into his back. He’s the first person you’ve ever let loiter in your space as much as he has, but you try not to think about it too much, as though just the acknowledgement might spook him.

Whatever thing between you feels fragile, a rare, glass menagerie set that can shatter if handled wrong. Friends with benefits is what you call it, but you’re not quite sure if that’s what it is.

“Okay cool. Waking up at the ass crack of dawn to go back to my place and shower sucks.” 

“I do have a shower.”

“Oh I’m aware. It’s one of my favorite places in your apartment.” 

Your stomach flutters and you clench your thighs together. Looking at the clock on your nightstand, you realize it’s getting late. “Better hurry,” you murmur. “I might be too tired for a shower when you get here.” 

His chuckle is deep. Throaty. “I’ll speed, then.” 

After hanging up, you toss your phone to the end of your bed and stare at the ceiling. Outside, the city hums beyond the window of your apartment. The lights in your home are mostly turned off, a single lamp providing low light in the living room so Seungcheol can see when he comes in, and a flickering candle on your nightstand and in the bathroom. 

Your bed is warm and you do feel sleepy, but the excitement of seeing Seungcheol keeps you awake well enough. You try not to think of that too much, either. He was just there a few nights prior, and already he’s on his way back. Like it’s common. Routine. 

And it sort of is, you guess. You hangout with Seungcheol almost more than you see Vin and Jeonghan these days, and you’re almost always spending the night together. You know his favorite late night snacks, you know the type of coffee he likes to make in the morning before work, and you know about his family, his stresses at work. What makes him tick. 

It’s more than you ever thought you’d know about him when you agreed to keep your sex life with him casual and at a distance. He is anything but at a distance. 

Seungcheol must speed, because it feels like hardly any time has passed when you hear your apartment door open and shut, the sound of the deadbolt clicking. You lift yourself up to lean on your elbows, watching from your bed as he enters your line of vision, a backpack over one shoulder. 

He’s dressed in a long t-shirt and sweats, cozy and warm and still unbelievably good looking. He grins when he sees you, eyes creasing at the corners as he enters your room and drops his bag by your door. 

Without saying anything, Seungcheol crawls onto your bed, the mattress sinking under his weight as he inches up over you. Falling backward onto the mattress, you let him loom over you. Heat radiates from his body, warming you up. Your heart thuds as he ducks down, his hands bracketing your head as he cages you in. He brushes his nose against yours and you feel sparks, trying to regulate your breathing. 

“Hi,” he whispers. 

“Hi,” you whisper back, reaching your hands up to rest on his hips. He reacts, pressing his waist into yours a little, making you bear his weight. “Ugh, heavy.” 

“Too bad.” 

Seungcheol’s teeth nip your jaw, making your hips twitch upward. You can feel the smirk against your skin as he presses a wet kiss under your ear, moving his way to your neck. 

“I was promised a shower.”

“Maybe I’m too tired,” You murmur.

He hums, leaning more of his weight into you. It’s comforting, not crushing, and you can feel the way his heart is beating wildly in his chest, in tune with yours. You smell bergamot and cedarwood, making your thoughts dizzy and scattered while he whispers, “I’ll wash your hair.” 

“Hmmm. I’m listening.” 

He presses a wet kiss to your pulse point, tongue laving against your skin. Your fingers twist in his shirt, your muscles tensing as you fight off a shiver. You can hear his soft breath, the way the sheets shift under the two of you, the way your heart hammers.  

“I’ll massage your shoulders…” 

“Hmm.” 

His teeth scrape against your throat and you sigh, arching up into him, eyes closed. “I’ll eat you out.” 

Fuck. You’re putty in his hands. Seungcheol could get you to do anything he asked. You don’t know if he knows - you’re too afraid to show him, to let him in on the secret out of fear of what it would mean to him. If it was too much, too deep.

But like this, it’s hard not to hide it. Especially when his filthy mouth hits a weak point in you, turning you thoughtless as you nod your head in response, nails digging into his hip bones through the fabric of his shirt. He makes a noise in response, leaning up off of you reluctantly but pulling you with him. 

Dropping his hands, you head to the bathroom, feeling uneven. Seungcheol whines and grabs you to pull you back toward him. He wraps his arms around you, squeezing tightly. 

“You haven’t even given me a kiss,” he pouts, looking down at you through long, dark lashes. “I want a kiss.” 

This is the problem with Seungcheol. He says things like this when you’re supposed to be casual, something easy and without feelings and without strings. But this feels like something, it feels like there's a thread connecting you, tugging your mouth to his because of course you indulge him.

You always do. 

Seungcheol’s lips are soft and taste faintly of his cherry chapstick. You smile into the kiss, standing on your tiptoes to press closer to him. He kisses you back eagerly, slotting his lips against yours and humming with delight. When you pull away, he’s smug, grinning happily. 

“Come on,” he urges, now leading the charge as he pulls you by the hand toward your bathroom. 

Instead of turning on the light, Seungcheol uses the glow of the burning candle on the counter to navigate. He drops your hand to open up the cabinets and pulls out two towels as you trail to the shower, opening the glass door to lean in and turn it on. 

Steam starts to fill the room as you close the shower door and turn to him. He sets the towels on the counter, not bothering to shut the door to the bedroom. Instead, he grips the bottom of his shirt and peels it upward and over his head, revealing all toned muscle and tan skin. 

He momentarily distracts you. Seungcheol is a work of art, equal parts rippling muscle and soft skin. You slide your shorts down, distracted by the way he looks in the golden shroud of the candle light, sliding his sweatpants down his legs. 

Sensing your eyes, he lifts his head as he kicks off his sweats, briefs slung low on his hips. “Admiring me?” 

“Shut up.” 

Looking away, you take off your shirt, feeling the heat flush from your cheeks down to your neck. He chuckles, peeling off his briefs before kicking them toward the sink and striding toward the shower. He stops to kiss you on the cheek as he pulls open the door. 

“I don’t mind,” he teases. “I like it.” 

It’s true. Seungcheol has always had the easy confidence of someone who is comfortable in their skin. You admire that about him - and envy him a little. Seungcheol never seems to worry what others think of him, nor does he seem embarrassed or concerned about making the wrong move. Saying the wrong thing. 

Steam hits you full on as you step into the shower. Seungcheol is already standing under the spray of water, his back turned toward you. For a moment you admire him again, watching the way the water sluices down his broad back and narrow waist. 

Your eyes drift to the tattoo at his neck, the branches of the tree stretching toward his shoulders. You’ve traced that tree with the tips of your fingers and tongue over and over again, fascinated about the way the ink flexes when he moves. 

A chill catches you, making you shiver and step toward the heat of the water. He senses your approach, turning his head to the side to look at you over his shoulder. He grins, reaching a hand back toward you to pull you close. You lace your fingers, letting him pull you into him as he turns. 

Hot water hits your skin, immediately soothing. You sigh, leaning into the firmness of him, Seungcheol’s arms wrapping around you. He catches your mouth again, your eyes fluttering shut as he kisses you slowly, tongue lazy as he licks into your mouth. 

Seungcheol’s hands spread across your back, fingers digging in a little as he starts to explore, one hand surging up and the other down. You moan into his mouth as the hand that drifts down grabs a handful of your ass, squeezing a little. His mouth curves into the kiss and you feel his teeth pull at your bottom lip, something he knows you love.

As always, you’re a goner. You don’t stand a chance with him. Not that first night and not now when he kisses you like something more. Not when he slides his hand around to your front, pressed between your bodies to run his fingers up the wet folds of your pussy. 

He groans into the kiss that has turned sloppy, hungry. “Fucking wet.”

“We’re in the shower.” 

He growls and pulls his mouth from you to attach to your neck, biting and sucking harshly. You let out a breathy sound, head tilting back heavily as you feel his tongue lick the water from your skin. “Don’t take away my credit.” 

“The only crime is pride.”

The pads of his fingers press into your clit, making your knees knock together and the breath leave your lungs. He smiles against your neck, humming. “Which classic are you quoting at me today?” 

“Antigone by Sophocles.” 

“What’s that one about?” 

Finding words is nearly impossible. The heat of the shower has you flushed and distracted, the steam making it harder to breathe, thoughts sticky as Seungcheol continues to tease you, fingers dragging down to your clenching entrance to press his fingers in slightly before dragging them back up.

Your nails bite into the back of his neck, clinging to him for life as he holds you up, one arm looped around your back to press you to him while the other makes all your thoughts scattered. 

“Come on,” he urges gently, bringing his face to yours. He brushes his nose against yours, nudging. “Tell me.” 

“She was a tragic character in a play written by Sophocles,” you sigh. “She was the daughter of Oedipus.” 

“The guy who fucked his mom?”

Your laughter bubbles out of you. He laughs too, his hold tightening. “Yeah, Cheol. The guy who fucked his mom.”

“Craaazy family.” 

“Do you really want to talk about Greek tragedy incest right now?”

“Nope,” he says happily. “I do want to eat this pussy though.” 

Seungcheol flips gears so quickly that it’s hard to keep up. He swings you toward the glass wall of the shower, pressing your chest against it. You moan loudly, startled by the cool glass against your hard nipples. The contrast of hot water and the cool glass feels good, your eyes fluttering shut as Seungcheol drops to his knees behind you. He gently presses the inside of your knees, urging you to spread your legs. 

“Just like that,” he encourages, hands ghosting upward to squeeze your ass. He pulls your hips away from the glass and toward him, groaning as he comes face level to your cunt. “Fuck.”

Your breath fogs the glass. It’s cold when you press your palms against it, holding yourself up as Seungcheol dips forward, running the flat of his tongue down your slit. You let out a pathetic sound and he laughs, fingers squeezing your flesh. 

Everything feels like an exposed nerve. You melt, knees shaking and unsteady as Seungcheols tongue leisurely explores your folds, dipping into your entrance before dragging up to circle your clit. 

One of your hands leaves the glass to reach back, sinking into the wet strands of his hair and holding him to you. He grunts in pleasure, the buzz of his mouth adding to the simulation as he fastens his lips to you, sucking gently. 

Seungcheol’s mouth is a weapon. You fall apart under the warmth of his lips, the softness of his tongue. He sucks at your core, greedy and pleased, fingers digging into you as he presses in further. He can never get enough, the wet sounds of his hunger making your toes curl.

“Feels so good,” you pant against the glass. Your nails scrape against his scalp and he moans loudly, muffled by your cunt. “Your fucking mouth.” 

“Mmm. Love you like this.” His tongue flicks expertly across your clit and you feel your thighs clench, legs shaking as your orgasm spools inside of you. “God this shower hurts my fucking knees though.”

“You wanted to eat me out in the shower.”

A hand cracks across your ass cheek, making you arch against the glass. He chuckles, tongue diving back, words slurred as he mutters, “And I’d do it again.”

Seungcheol’s mouth feels divine. You go quiet as he sucks at you, focused on the warmth spreading through you and the way your breath starts to stutter, limbs locking up. 

When you come, you go boneless. Seungcheol holds you up, pressing you against the glass as he licks you through your orgasm. You twitch against him, nails dragging in his hair, your other hand sliding against the glass as you fight to grip anything to ground you.

Breathing raggedly, you sag when he pulls his face from you and stands. He groans and you grin, knowing his knees hurt from the tile of the shower. He doesn’t care, though. He crowds you in, cock pressed against your backside as his arms loop around you. 

“Kiss me.” His voice is soft, needy. 

Turning your face over your shoulder, you let him catch his mouth with yours, all tongue and cum and spit. You don’t care, pushing into him. One of his hands slides down between your legs, making you whimper into his mouth as he slides his fingers through your sticky folds to press two of them into your entrance. 

Seungcheol is a giver. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve slept together or had brief, fast encounters, he always makes it a point to please you. To go out of his way to make you shake against him, like he needs it. 

He keeps your mouth melded to his as his fingers fuck you slowly. You clench around his fingers, moaning his name as he presses them against the soft spot inside of you. You see stars, panting into his mouth as he strings you along, dragging you toward another orgasm. 

It’s slow. Intimate. His mouth is hot and wet, sucking at biting at your bottom lip. His other hand snakes up to your throat, not applying pressure but gripping you, holding you to him. If he didn’t have you so tightly pressed to the glass, you think you’d collapse.

“You won’t fall,” he breathes into your mouth, reading your mind. “I’ve got you.”

“My knees are fucking useless right now.”

“You’re tough. Come on, I know you can give me more.” 

You’ll give him anything he asks. You feel your heart slamming in your chest as he works you up again, feel the ragged breathing until you momentarily stop, everything tense and suspended as you clench around his fingers, shuddering violently as you come. 

“Knew it,” he murmurs. “Good girl.”

A whine leaves you at the praise, head shaking back and forth a little as the oversensitivity makes you squirm. He works you through it, mouth pressed to your ear, whispering to breathe, baby as he strokes you gently until you’re leaning against him heavily. 

Seungcheol removes his hand but keeps holding you up, letting you catch your breath. He peppers innocent kisses along your shoulder, lips brushing your skin tenderly. When you stand up with more strength, he pats you on the hip, gentle.

“Good?”

“Mhmm.” Craning over your shoulder, you catch his chin with your mouth, kissing softly. You press your ass into him, feeling his straining cock. “Come on.” 

“Yeah?”

“All good.”

“Thank fuck. Thought I lost you.”

“I’ve had worse,” you grin, a little tired.

He kisses you, patting you approvingly before he grinds the tip of his cock between your legs. He groans deep in his chest, grip on you tightening for a moment. You reach behind you, gripping the base of his cock firmly, stroking gently before lining him up with your entrance. 

Seungcheol pushes in, both of you whining in harmony at the feeling. It feels good, your pussy throbbing around him as he presses in slowly, letting you feel the stretch. He clings to you, trying to keep it together as you flutter around him. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, more to himself than you. “Shit.” 

Gently, Seungcheol starts to fuck you against the glass, strokes deep and slow. It’s mind-numbingly good, your cheek cool and pressed against the shower wall, Seungcheol’s face buried in your neck, breath puffing against your skin. 

He holds you reverently, both hands on your hips to keep you where he wants you. You reach one hand behind your head, holding the back of his neck, nails digging into his skin. He hums happily, always pleased when you bite and scratch him.

That had been a surprise. You always thought he wouldn’t want you to mark him, that he wouldn’t want evidence of your time spent together. Seungcheol is the opposite though, urging you to rake your nails across soft skin, to bite at him and bruise him. 

Your feet slide apart a little as he strengthens his thrusts. You squeal, hand smacking the glass to hold yourself up. He lets out a loud laugh, pausing to let you fix your stance. He taps your thigh in question and you nod, lifting your leg a little to let him slide a hand under your thigh to press it against the shower wall for better grip.

When he rolls his hips into you this time, it’s deeper, making you tremble against the glass. A groan drips from Seungcheol’s mouth as he sets his pace, pinning you between him and the glass with nothing to do but to take what he gives you. 

“Can you do another?” he asks, breath shaky. His fingers squeeze your thigh for emphasis, the snap of his hips getting stronger. You nod, unable to answer verbally. He huffs, half laughter, half something else. “Yeah you can.” 

And you can. Seungcheol can pull pleasure out of you like thread from a loom, his skilled hands guiding you where he wants you to go. It’s easy for him, the way he knows your body so acute and familiar that the thought alone makes you unravel a little, your whines muted by the glass. 

He makes you come like that, stuck between his warmth and the cold, the two contrasts keeping you suspended as you seize up around him. He grunts at the feeling, hips sloppy, losing their rhythm until he clenches up, growling your name into your neck as he tips over the edge after you. 

For a few moments, you remain melded together, panting in time. Seungcheol makes no rush of peeling himself away from you. Instead, he’s content to mouth at your shoulder and neck, running his nose along your throat. You squirm and laugh, ticklish. 

Grinning, he does it again, nuzzling into you and making you laugh, sound echoing in the shower. “Seungcheol!”

“It’s cute.” 

“Come on,” you urge. “You said you’d wash my hair.” 

He steals a kiss. “Alright, alright. Pass me the shampoo.” 

-

DAY FIFTY SEVEN

“Who is that?” Seungcheol asks, jerking his head toward the bar. You turn and follow his gaze to see Seokmin standing at the bar, ordering drinks. “Never seen him before.”

“Jealous?” You tease, leaning forward and batting your eyelashes at him. Seokmin is just a coworker, but it doesn’t mean you can’t poke Seungcheol a little. Except Seungcheol doesn’t laugh, leveling you with a stare, lips turning downward. “Wait, you actually are.”

“Don’t push it. It was just a question.”

“We work together,” you clarify, immediately turning off the charm when you recognize he’s not amused. “Actually I think he sort of has a thing for Vin, which is why he’s here.” 

Seungcheol hums, sipping his beer and looking away from you. Licking your lips, you reach out a hand and touch his gently, bringing his dark eyes back to you. He looks serious - more serious than you’ve ever seen him, face blank, eyes unreadable. 

“I mean it.” You squeeze his hand, trying to comfort him. “We’re just friends.” 

“Alright.” 

“I feel like you’re mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad?” 

You shrug, struggling to articulate. He still has that expression you can’t read, something stark and closed off. “Just seems like it.” 

He shakes his head again, but you don’t think he’s telling the truth, watching the way his eyes shift to watch Seokmin approach. “Just tired, I think I might head out.” 

Panic grips you and you say the first thing you can think of, throwing caution to the wind. “Want to come over?” 

That gives him pause. He studies you. You feel a tightness in your throat under his scrutiny. His mouth twitches and he nods. “Alright,” he says softly. “If you want me to.”

“I do.” You squeeze his hand again. “Really.”

-

DAY SEVENTY EIGHT

“Want to do me a huge favor?” 

You look up from your spot on your couch. Seungcheol is in your kitchen, using his hip to close the door to the fridge. He lifts the lid on the package of grapes, plastic cracking loudly as he does. Leaning against the counter, he pops one into his mouth, crunching happily. 

“Besides giving you my grapes?” you ask, deadpan. He grins around them shrugging happily as he eats another. You roll your eyes, turning back to the laptop carefully balanced on your knee. “What’s the favor?” 

“We have this giant New Years Eve party at work in two weeks and I need a date.”

That gives you pause. You stare at the computer screen but you can’t make out anything on the screen. You don’t dare to turn and look at Seungcheol, fearful that the feelings his question brings out will be right on the surface of your expression.

Date. It’s a scary word. You and Seungcheol sort of go on dates all the time, but they’re not really dates. At least, not from your perspective. If you were to ask Jeonghan, he would launch into another lecture that you should just put a goddamn title on this thing. Vin happily agrees, both of them hammering you on calling the thing between you and Seuncheol what it is.

But it’s friends with benefits. Friends go out to eat meals together and go shopping together - they hangout. The benefits are the sex. It’s the pressing you against your mattress as he maps your body with his mouth, it’s the way you sink to your knees for him after he’s had a bad day at work, taking him into the heat of your mouth to make him forget. 

So yes, you’ve gone places together alone and as a friend date. But somehow this feels different, and you don’t think it’s supposed to. 

Carefully, you ask, “Your date, huh?”

“Mhmm. Free drinks and apps, and it’s at the top of that fancy new hotel. We can stay the night so we don’t have to pay for an expensive as fuck Uber” 

Not for the first time, you find yourself unsure where the line is with Seungcheol. You’ve agreed multiple times that this is just casual, a shared benefit between friends. And yet every time you feel confident in what you are, the line blurs. 

You’re as guilty as he is, you know. On more than one occasion you’re the one who has crossed the line, messing up the clear boundary the two of you have had in place for weeks. Somehow, you both manage to be utterly terrible at casual, but you’re too afraid to say something about it. Too afraid to ruin it. 

“I suppose I can be convinced.” 

“Oh? What can I do to convince you?” 

You look up as his tone turns to velvet, that voice he uses when he’s coaxing you into his lap, or when he’s- 

“It’s really hard to be sexy when there’s grape juice running down your chin, Cheol.” 

He pouts, grabbing a paper towel to wipe the lower half of his face as you laugh. He’s cute, pink lips downturned and eyes round as he sulks. “Don’t make fun of me. Just say yes to being my date.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll go.” 

His grin is burnished gold, the sun breaking for first light over the horizon. “Thank you.” 

“Mhmm.” He crunches into another grape and you scowl. “Stop eating all my fucking grapes!” 

-

DAY NINETY TWO

“Holy shit,” Seungcheol mutters when you step out of the hotel bedroom. He feels his heart start to pound in his chest from where he stands in the kitchenette, fingers squeezing the glass of whiskey he poured himself earlier. “You look unreal.”

And you do. You always do. It was one of the first things he noticed about you when Jeonghan and Joshua introduced the two of you that first night at that shitty bar you like to go to on Fridays. The real kicker had been your personality, though. Warm, kind, quick wit. A bit of a history nerd, which is his favorite thing. 

Honestly, he loves a lot of things about you. He knows that he has to do something about that. Knows that this stopped being casual a long time ago. Seungcheol has no problem with casual hookups and keeping people in a rotation, but when it comes to you… he just wants you. 

It’s like he has no idea how to keep his distance, how to keep his feelings out of it. He doesn’t mind, but he needs to figure out how to tell you. How to take that next step and move you from friends to more - if that’s what you want, anyway. 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you say back neutrally. He can see the way your eyes linger on him though, your gaze betraying the calmness of your voice, as always.

You don’t get it, though. Seungcheol cannot keep his eyes off you, dragging them from top to bottom. The black dress is snug on your frame, his eyes tracing the swells of your breasts, the dip of your hips, the curve of your ass and thighs. 

Dragging his eyes back up, he meets your gaze. That is one of his favorite things. Your eyes, full of light and depth and thoughts that he always wants to fall into. There is so much simmering under the surface that you don’t say and he’s never asked.

He wants to. 

Knocking back the rest of his drink, Seungcheol leaves the glass on the counter and walks over to you. You shift from foot to foot, eyes darting up to examine the ceiling. He smirks, feeling the nerves radiating from you as he approaches. 

When he reaches out, you don’t step away from him. You let him skim his hands up your sides, going until he’s running them over your shoulders and on either side of your neck so he can cradle your face. He turns your gaze back to him and you stare up at him through your lashes. 

He was a goner on day one. How ridiculous to think he’s not just made this real, told you how he doesn’t want a single thing to be casual and superficial between you. 

Instead of stealing a searing kiss and pushing you back into the bedroom like he wants to, Seungcheol presses a short kiss to the corner of your mouth. He’s too afraid that if he starts something that you won’t make it downstairs. 

Now isn’t the time for that, though. There’s a party upstairs and free drinks and he wants to spend time with his friends. Spend time with you.

The Seungcheol that existed before you is a stranger to him. He barely remembers what it was like to have people he wasn’t genuinely interested in, what it was like to show up alone at parties and take someone home. Hardly recalls pushing people away when they wanted too much. 

All it took was meeting you.

“Come on,” he urges gently, leading you from the room and to the elevator. 

Seungcheol slides his phone from his pocket in the elevator. You press close against him, your arm brushing against his as it fills up with people. He notes where Wonwoo tells him to meet and puts his phone back in his pocket, leaning into you a little.

You let him, making his mouth twitch upward. You always let him do what he wants, and when you don’t, an easy pout gets his way. He’s wrapped around your finger, too. He doesn’t know if you realize it, but he would give you anything you wanted without a moment's hesitation. 

When the elevator doors open, Seungcheol takes your hand. You let him pull you into the party teeming with people, the sound of music swelling over the dull roar of the crowd. You stick closer to him, fingers squeezing him tightly as the pair of you walk toward the check-in table. 

“This is beautiful,” you murmur to him. 

His first instinct is to look at you because you are beautiful. You’re not looking at him, your neck craned to sweep over the party. He smiles at you, watching the glow of your side profile, eyes wide with wonder.

Dragging his eyes from your face, he glances around the party. It is gorgeous, with views of the entire city glittering beneath the building like a bed of stars, shimmering decorations reflecting the golden lights, a giant clock to show the time, and massive flower arrangements. 

“It’s nice,” he agrees, shuffling to the table where he gives his name. “Choi Seungcheol.”

“Perfect, thanks.” The person working the table peels two wristbands and gestures for you both to hold out your wrists. You let go of his hand to do so, letting the attendant wrap your arm in a blue band. “Have a great night, Mr. and Mrs. Choi.” 

Both of you blink in surprise. You open and close your mouth as if you’re unsure how to correct them and Seungcheol laughs, shrugging as he takes your hand and leads you out of the line and into the party proper this time.

“This way, wifey.” 

You roll your eyes but grin anyway, looping your arm through his offered one and tugging him close. He’s satisfied, leading you through the tight crowd of people toward the south bar that Wonwoo had said their friends were waiting at.

Joshua spots you and waves you both over, making room at the bar for you to join. Jeonghan’s eyes flick to where your arm is looped through Seungcheol to Seungcheol himself, raising a brow. Seungcheol glares at him, urging him to shut up and Jeonghan grins, turning to order drinks at the bar. 

Wonwoo claps Seungcheol on the back in greeting before kissing you on both cheeks and letting you sit on the only barstool available. Seungcheol moves with you pressed to your back as he leans an elbow on the bar, keeping you close. You lean into him, earning a shy smile that he tries to hide behind the rim of the champagne glass that Jeonghan hands him.

He likes this. He likes being with his friends. He likes the way you laugh and lean back further into him when you do. He likes that his friends don’t bother the two of you about being attached at the hip. And he likes the way your face lights up every time he jokingly calls you wifey. 

Seungcheol wants this. 

He doesn’t recall the last time he wanted a relationship the way he wants with you. It doesn’t matter anyway. Everything before you is gone and forgotten, and what matters now are the things that are post-meeting-you. 

Plied with lots of champagne and your laughter, Seungcheol lets you drag him onto the dance floor, wrapping your arms around him as he spins you. He doesn’t know what has him more drunk, the alcohol or you. He thinks it might be you. 

The DJ announces that it’s one minute until midnight, making Seungcheol spin and look up at the clock. The partygoers cheer, clustering together to press toward the clock to count down. Seungcheol wraps an arm around your waist, keeping you close in the tight crowd. 

His heart flutters as he watches the numbers countdown, realizing he gets to kiss you at midnight. He’s kissed you over a hundred times by now, but the prospect makes him giddy. His heart races as the numbers drop and he looks at you from the corner of your eye.

You’re watching the clock, uncontrolled happiness on your face as you yell with the rest of the crowd, counting each number as it passes by. 

When the clock strikes midnight, you peer up at him, suddenly unsure. He can’t believe you don’t see it, that you’d doubt for one second that he wants you to be his first kiss of the year. His heart seizes, dipping down with a smile to press his lips to yours.

Your mouth is warm and champagne-sweet, making him groan in the back of his throat. Your fingers cling to his hip, holding him by the waist as he slips a hand up to the back of your neck to hold you in place, deepening the kiss. 

When you pull your mouth away, he makes up his mind. Fuck everything he said about keeping it casual - he doesn’t want to go another minute without you knowing what he wants. 

-

DAY NINETY THREE

“Be my girlfriend.”

The words that come from Seungcheol’s lips catch you off guard. A giggle bursts to your lips and you lean back, trying to examine him from a little farther away. You feel the glitter of champagne in your veins and the same buzz that comes with being near Seungcheol, wondering if maybe he’s had too much to drink.

“What?” you ask, examining his face. He’s flushed, lips pink and smiling, but his eyes are dark and serious.

“Be my girlfriend,” he says again, this time quieter. He leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours. His breath fans your face, warm and sweetened by champagne. “I know we agreed to be casual so if you don’t want more, that’s fine. But there is nothing casual about the way I feel about you.”

Heart thundering, you laugh and cling to him a little tighter. He nudges you with his head, as though asking what’s so funny. You don’t know how to put into words that you’ve wanted to be not casual for a long time, that you are dizzy with the prospect of being something more, that he’s just made the first minute of your year perfect.

Instead of trying to string together the words to tell him, you kiss him. His mouth turns upward, letting you press your palms to the sides of his face, holding him to your lips. There’s no one else but just the two of you, entirely in your own bubble on the rooftop. 

Relief mixed with euphoria floods your system. It’s a weight lifted off your shoulders, realizing that you’re not crazy, that nothing you feel about Seungcheol is casual and that’s okay. That he feels it too. 

Your fingers slide into the hair at the back of his neck, pulling slightly. He groans, separating your mouths to peer down at you, his lashes fanning when he blinks, dazed. 

“Don’t do that,” he whispers. “This is a work party. I’ll fold right here.” 

“So take me somewhere that isn’t here and fold.”

His gummy smile is blinding, your heart soaring. “Alright, wifey.” 

“Gonna need a ring pop at a minimum if you’re gonna keep saying that shit.”

He links your fingers together, stepping away from you. He tugs you after him and you follow. “Deal. What flavor?”

“Strawberry. I kind of want to suck something else right now, though.” 

Seungcheol groans and you laugh, loving the way he visibly struggles as your words land. He walks faster, a new pep in his step as you make your way toward the elevator. He shouts Wonwoo’s name as he goes, waving his hand to tell him that you’re leaving. 

Wonwoo’s grin is all-knowing as he throws two thumbs up, cheering happily. You tingle with a little bit of embarrassment, scurrying toward the closing elevator door to catch it. It opens again and you both slip inside, alone and buzzing from the party and your newfound status. 

The door closes and Seungcheol pushes in close. You press against the wall, looking up at his sharp grin, his nose nudging yours. His lips are almost on yours, the heat of them against your mouth making you dizzy and the heavy weight of his body against yours making your thoughts sticky. 

“Gonna suck something else, huh?” 

“Uh huh.” 

“Wanna do it right here in the elevator?” 

“Huh?” 

He bursts into laughter at your wide gaze, tapping the underside of your chin with his knuckle in jest. “I’m kidding. Unless…”

You shove him away and he starts laughing again, bending over with the force of it. You can’t be annoyed by his teasing, loving the way his eyes crease at the corner and how he laughs with the full force of his body. 

“You’re so annoying.” 

“You should have seen your face, though.” 

“I mean I’ll do it right now, if you want.”

His smile drops and he opens his mouth a little, shocked. “Wait, really?”

“No, but you should have seen your face.”

The elevator arriving at the appropriate floor saves him from answering. He scowls at you and you giggle, grabbing him and pushing him into the hall and toward your room. He turns on his heel, falling into step with you and fishing the room key out of his pocket. 

It’s cold in the room when you enter. Seungcheol had booked a one bedroom suite with a small living room and kitchenette. It was more than what you needed for the night, but it feels nice, like your own private getaway. 

Taking you by the hand, he walks backward toward the bedroom, pulling you along. His smile is beautiful and you wear a matching one. A thrill shoots through you when you realize that Seungcheol is yours. Really yours. 

Sitting on the bed, he pulls you into his lap. Your knees sink in the mattress on either side of his hips, ass resting on his thighs. Leaning over him, you link your hands behind the back of his neck, threading your fingers through the silky hair there. 

Seungcheol tilts his face up toward you, eyes fluttering as you play with his hair. His arms loop around your waist, squeezing you. 

“Hi,” he breathes. 

“Hi.”

Leaning down, you slot your mouth against his. He tastes like champagne, mouth warm. Kissing him takes your breath away, thoughts guttering out as he licks into your mouth hungrily. You lose yourself in the feeling of him, feeling like you’re on fire. 

Seungcheol falls backward on the bed. His lips are swollen and pink, eyes heavy-lidded as he stares up at you. He reaches for you but you give him a coy smile and slip from his lap, crouching to the floor and running your hands along his thighs, feeling them flex beneath your touch. 

You love Seungcheol’s thighs. Your nails drag across the fabric and he lets out a breathy sound. His muscles twitch as you reach to brush your fingers over his zipper, making sure to press into his cock. His hips jerk upward at the barest hint of stimulation and you grin.

“It’s no elevator,” you tease. “But will this do?” 

“Fucking anywhere will do.” 

Seungcheol has always been sensitive. He’s easy to rile, cock already firm by the time you’re undoing his belt and he’s helping you pull his dress pants down his thighs. You eye the dark patch in his briefs, proud that with just a little bit of kissing and some light touching he’s already leaking at the tip.

Sitting high on your knees, you lean forward, tongue pressing wetly to the tip of his cock through the fabric. A hand shoots to the back of your head, his fingers gripping you firmly as you laugh, tongue still pressed to him and soaking through his briefs.

“Don’t you dare tease me tonight,” he warns, voice shaky. “That is not wifey behavior.” 

You remove your tongue, pouting and moving to press a kiss to his thigh. “You never let me tease you.” 

“I’m not patient.” Your teeth scrape the softness of his flesh and his legs twitch, knees knocking your shoulder. “Baby, I am so serious.”

Biting your bottom lip to hide a smile, you give in. You know with certainty he’d let you drag this out if you really wanted to. Seungcheol is impatient and greedy and demanding, but he also lets you do what you want when it comes down to it. 

Instead of testing his grace, you peel his briefs down, freeing his cock. Your mouth waters at his thick length, your hand automatically reaching up to grab him. You swipe your thumb through the precum gathered, using it to slide down the full length of his shaft.

Seungcheol’s hips buck. You grip him properly, working him slowly as you shuffle closer on your knees. They already hurt, hotel carpet digging into them but you ignore it in favor of watching the way his fingers slowly undo the button of his shirt, needing to shuck the fabric off. 

“You’re pretty,” you note absently. His stomach flexes when he sits up to slide his shirt off of his shoulders. He looks down at you, pupils dilated. “Very, very pretty.” 

“You’re a work of art yourself.”

Instead of laying back down flat, he leans back on his palms, letting his head fall back. Seungcheol shuts his eyes, face tilted up at the ceiling as though in prayer. “Feels good.”

Humming happily, you lean forward and slowly run the flat of your tongue up the base of his shaft. That draws a low moan out of him, his chest rising and falling as he pants. You’re fascinated by his reactions, watching his face and body language carefully as you swirl your tongue around the crown of his cock.

He’s responsive, fingers digging into the sheets in an effort not to grab your head and take control. He’s testing his patience, letting you bring him into the wet heat of your mouth at your pace, sucking lazily. 

“Fuck,” he groans. You hum around him and he shakes his head, shivering. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Good you think, setting a proper place as you swallow him down, letting your spit pool to help make the glide easier. It’s messy and wet, just the way Seungcheol likes it, his moans backtracking the slick sounds coming from your mouth.

What you can’t fit in your mouth properly, you cover with your hand, squeezing periodically as you stroke upward, meeting your stretched lips. 

“God,” Seungcheol whispers. “You know how to suck cock.”

Pulling off of him with a wet pop, you grin, feeling the sting in your mouth from the stretch. Your lips are cum and spit-slicked, sticky as you continue to stroke him. 

“Thanks,” you laugh. “I heard I’m wifey material.”

“Fucking, shit, yeah a little bit. Fuckkkk, mouth please.” 

You comply, sucking him back into your mouth. He’s putty underneath you, hips twitching off the bed a little as soft sounds drip from his mouth. You watch, totally hypnotized by the way he moved, the way his hairline gets a little sweaty as he nods, encouraging you. 

Biting his lip, he lifts a hand from the bed to grab at you, pulling you off of him. “Come here,” he growls, opening his. 

Seungcheol pulls you to him, not caring that your mouth is a mess. His tongue delves in, exploring the mixed taste of champagne and precum, hands pulling at your dress to peel it off of you. 

“Let me sit against the headboard,” he pants, breaking the kiss to scoot backward. You peel your underwear off and toss them, following him across the mattress as he settles. He pats his lap and reaches for you. “Come here, baby.” 

You settle into his lap again, mouth melding to his. His hands explore you, gripping your ass, squeezing your waist, running up your front to pinch at your nipples. You moan into his mouth, carding your fingers in his hair and pulling at the stimulation, your head tilting back a little.

He takes the opportunity to attach his lips to your throat, biting sharply and soothing the sting with his tongue. Sinking a little lower, you feel your pussy brush against his cock and you sigh, gently rolling your hips to slide your sticky folds up his shaft. 

Seungcheol groans against you, mouth feverish against your skin. He maps your throat, kissing and biting his way to your chest, where he steals a pert nipple into his mouth to give a harsh suck. You squeal and he grins, plucking at your sensitive bud with his teeth. 

Holding onto him, you let him lavish attention to your tits the way he wants, hands squeezing, tongue flicking. It feels good. Aflame, you continue to roll your hips shallowly in his waist, just giving the barest of stimulation to you both.

A hand slides between your legs, his fingers finding your swelling clit, pressing against it. You whine loudly, fighting off a violent shiver. He grins where he has your breast in his mouth, sucking generously as he lazily circles your clit with his fingers. 

“Cheol,” you whisper-whine. “You said no teasing.”

“I said no teasing me.” His fingers slide backward and dip into your entrance teasingly. You clench around nothing, aching for him to do something. “Flustered, huh?” 

“Please give me something.”

He presses his lips against the side of your jaw, grinning. “Fine.” He sinks a single finger into you and you sigh in immediate relief. It isn’t enough but it’s something, your hips rocking to take him in deeper. “Better?”

“I can take more.” 

“Of course you can.” He pushes in another finger, the stretch so good. “You’re my girl. You can take what I give you.”

Dropping your head to his shoulder, you nod. You hide your face in his flushed skin, riding his fingers as he slowly slides them home, working you gently. They press against your sensitive spot and you curse, gripping him a little tighter. 

Impatient and needing more, you grind yourself forward, fucking his hand properly. He laughs, letting you take what you need, cupping you fully so the heel of his palm grinds into your clit. Your movements are frenzied, driven by the desire for him, the feeling curling inside you. 

“Just like that,” he encourages. “Fuck yourself on my fingers just like that.” 

You do, thighs aching and body shaking. The sheets stick to your legs as you work yourself up, sweaty palms sliding against Seungcheol’s shoulders. He whispers in your ear, voice low and scratchy, adding to the building mania inside of you. 

“Shit,” you hiss, feeling the tightness in your stomach start to boil over. 

“Come on, come around my fingers. You got it.” 

His gentle voice pushes you over all the way and you clench around his fingers, coming undone. Your hips stop moving and your legs squeeze around his as you seize up. Seungcheol is having none of it, taking the lead to drive his fingers up into you as you flutter around him.

“Oh,” you gasp as he finer fucks you through the rest of your orgasm, sucking at a tender spot on your neck until you’re trembling and a mess. “Okay, okay, okay.” 

Seungcheol takes it easy on you, pulling his fingers from between your legs with a slick noise. You heave against him, catching your breath while he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks obnoxiously. 

“Mmm.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” He smacks your ass and you squeak. “Ride my cock like that?” 

Huffing, you extend to your full height on your knees. He grabs the base of his shaft, eyes fixed on the mess between your legs as you sink down slowly. His tip breaches you, both of you letting out a sound as you keep going, holding your breath as he stretches you open.

Seungcheol taps your waist. “Breathe.” 

You do, inhaling a breath as you nestle in his lap, seated fully, clenching around him. “Thanks.”

“Mhmm.” 

Seungcheol’s hands move up your sides, his eyes drinking in every inch of you. This time, you know the look in his eye is real. His gaze is covetous, looking at you like you’re his because you are. 

You catch his hands with yours, linking your finger and squeezing. He smiles, looking up at you with dark locks of hair in his face. You smile back, starting to roll your hips, using his hands to steady yourself.

Everything feels like an exposed nerve. The cool air of the hotel room brushes across your back, making you shiver. The mattress dips under your movement, your thighs flexing to keep your balance steady, Seungcheol’s grip on you helping. 

“You’re so perfect,” Seungcheol mutters, using your linked hands to pull you toward him. Your hands slip from him, going to the headboard to help lift you instead. His grip finds your waist, aiding in your movement while his mouth finds your breasts. “God these tits.” 

An ache settles in your thighs but you ignore it, chasing an orgasm. You tremble in his hold, breath punching out of you as he mumbles your name, watching you with fucked out eyes and lips parted, like you’re giving him everything he ever wanted.

You kind of feel that way. The way he looks at you isn’t that different from before, but now you’re confident in it, realizing that everything with Seungcheol felt too intimate because it was. Casual was never the right name for it, neither of you having any idea how to really be no strings attached. 

“My fucking legs hurt,” you admit, panting. “Can you take over?” 

“Mhmm.” Seungcheol surges forward, knocking you backward onto the bed. You laugh, bouncing a little as he pulls out and helps maneuver you. “Turn around for me.” 

With shaking arms, you follow his instruction. The sheets cling to you as you roll, making you huff and swat at them. He chuckles, peeling them away from your sweaty skin while you settle on your stomach, arching your ass a little. 

He palms your left cheek, groaning and dragging his blunt nails down the curve to your hip where he grabs you. “Unreal,” he whispers, to either you or himself. 

You gasp when he thrusts pack in, punching the air from your lungs as he sets a sharp pace. You jostle on the bed, grabbing the sheets and knotting your hands in them to keep you in place, a stream of whimpers leaving you. 

A hand slips up your spine, pressing flat between your shoulder blades, pushing you down further into the bed. You gasp and nod, Seungcheol taking it as a sign to put more weight into it, angling his hips so he’s fucking down into you. 

It’s hard to breathe, the dizziness taking over as your skin starts to turn to static, orgasm so close that you can feel the buzz between your legs. He keeps going like that, pinning you hard to the bed as his hips crash into yours. 

His name leaves your mouth in a cry as you squeeze around him, letting loose. He curses, picking up his pace, ignoring the wet squelch as he does, palm pressing you harder into the bed as you come. 

You think you might disintegrate, unable to do anything but make broken sounds as he chases his orgasm. Just when you think you might not get another breath, he comes, the pressure on your back lifting a little. You gasp for air, feeling the room tilt as his thrusts slow, becoming gentle. 

Seungcheol’s hands are soothing on your back, fingers dancing up and down your spine, delicate. He’s muttering something to you but you can’t hear him, the pounding of your heart far too loud, pulse rattling in your ears. 

When his hips are still, his hands keep moving. He leans over you, careful not to put his weight on you, mouth kissing across your shoulders. Your cheek is pressed flat against the sheet as you pant, coming down from a fever pitch. 

“You okay if I get up and get you water?” the question is whispered across your cheek, where Seungcheol presses a tender kiss. You nod and he kisses you again before peeling away from you. 

Laying in the bed, you drift, listening to him shuffle around to the kitchen. You’re sleepy but more aware now. When the bed dips again, you crack your eye open, watching as he navigates carefully on his knees, two glasses of water in hand. 

“Can you sit up or do you need help?” You shake your head and muster the strength you have left to sit up. Your muscles spasm as you do, a groan leaving your mouth as the room spins from the change in perspective. “You okay?”

“Thirsty,” you rasp, reaching for the glass he offers. Gulping down the cool water, you’re aware of his eyes on you, watching you drain the glass as he sips his. “Thank you.”

He takes the empty glass and kisses your lips. “Mhmm. Need more?”

“No, I’m good. I just need to sleep for five hundred years, no big deal.” 

“Damn, five hundred goes crazy. Do you think we’ll have flying cars by then?” 

Seungcheol puts both glasses on the nightstand and peels back the covers of the bed. He slips under them, patting the spot next to him. You crawl over, limbs heavy and uncoordinated. He laughs at you and you scowl, but manage to clamber in next to him, warm beneath the blankets and tucked into his chest.

“Yes, definitely. And like giant sexy holograms advertising porn, probably.”

“That’s the first thing you think of in the future? Porn?”

“Listen,” you huff, laying your head against his chest and closing your eyes. “I’m still a little champagne buzzed and you just fucked me until I couldn’t breathe for a while. Cut me slack.” 

“Sure thing, wifey.” 

“Ugh. Is that our thing now?” 

“Mhmm. Everything pre-relationship has henceforth been replaced with the relationship-only era. Pretend you have amnesia.” 

A huff of laughter leaves you. “Sure thing.” 

“I mean I feel like I have amnesia.” You give him a questioning look. He’s contemplative, staring with unseeing eyes as he plays with your fingers. “I had an entire life and habits before you, and I swear it’s like sometimes my memory actually starts with that first night at the bar.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah. You’re just around a lot and I like to think it’s always been that way. And I’m kind of sorry for taking so long to admit nothing about this was casual for me.” 

You smile. “Wasn’t for me either.” 

“Good.” He snuggles into you, settling in silence for a few moments. “Thanks for letting me win pool that first night.” 

“I did not let you win that game, oh my god.” 

“Just admit it! You wanted to taste my goodies and you let me win.” 

“I’m gonna give you some damn amnesia,” you mutter, but grin as he hugs you tight.

“Sure thing, wifey. Sure thing.” 

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[cameronsbabydoll]

pervy!loser!rafe headcanons

rafe gets weird about you real fast. like not just "i wanna fuck her" but "i need her or i'll die" levels of obsession. thinks about kidnapping you when he’s high. imagines you tied to his bed in his shitty frat house, crying but still looking pretty, still his.

he watches you sleep sometimes. not even by accident. like you fall asleep on the couch at a party, curled up in a hoodie, and he just sits there staring. hard the whole time. thinking about sneaking his hand between your legs and seeing if you’re wet even in your dreams.

he follows you home after parties. parks down the street. jerks off in the backseat of his truck while he watches the lights go off in your bedroom. says your name under his breath while he cums all over his hand.

steals gross little things from you. a chapstick. a sock. a hair tie you left behind. keeps them in a drawer in his room like trophies. sometimes puts them under his pillow at night and humps the mattress like a desperate, sick puppy.

tries to gaslight you into thinking you’re into him. like corners you at a party and murmurs, "don’t gotta be shy, baby. i see the way you look at me. fuck, you’re makin' me crazy, playin’ hard to get like that. just let me have it, i’ll take good care of u, promise."

fantasizes about breaking you in. not even gently. wants you sobbing, trembling, clinging to him because you’re scared and too sweet to tell him no. thinks about stuffing your mouth full of his fingers so you can't say anything when he ruins you.

leaves bruises on you on purpose. little ones. grips your wrist too tight when he’s drunk and giggling. presses his fingers into your hips when he hugs you goodbye. stares at the marks later and jerks off to the memory, thinking, "mine, fuck, she's mine now."

goes crazy if he sees another guy even look at you. literally loses it. might grab you by the back of your neck at a party and whisper all nasty, possessive shit like, "who's fuckin' girl are you, huh? better fuckin' say it before i make a scene, baby. better say it now."

talks about you like you’re already dating when you're not. calls you "my girl" to his friends. posts blurry pictures of you on his story without tagging you. writes your name on his desk during lectures like a psycho.

secretly dreams about knocking you up. about trapping you. about you getting full with his kid and crying and begging him to take care of you. and he would. he’d be so sickly sweet while he rubbed your belly, whispering about how he’s gonna take care of you forever, how you're never getting away now.

rafe doesn’t just want you. he needs you like a drug. gets shaky and sick without you. thinks about taking you every night, pressing a pillow over your face to muffle your cries while he pushes in raw, whispering, "shhh, it's okay, baby, it’s just me, just makin’ you mine."

fantasizes about catching you drunk and sleepy at a party, scooping you up like a doll, carrying you upstairs and locking the door behind him. stripping you clumsy and rough while you whimper and twitch.

he wouldn’t even wait. he’d be huffing, panting, stuffing himself inside you while you begged him to stop, too high and weak to fight.

he gets hard at the idea of you crying. like not just crying — sobbing, hiccuping, clutching at his shoulders while he fucks you through it. it makes him crazy, makes him kiss your wet cheeks and coo, "feels good, huh? see, baby, your pussy knows who owns it."

he doesn’t use a condom. never would. never even thinks about it. in his sick little brain, you belong to him, and that means filling you up. stuffing you full until you're dripping down your thighs, knocked up, ruined for anyone else.

he presses his hand over your stomach after he cums inside you, panting into your hair, whispering, "gonna get you pregnant. fuckin' breed you like you’re supposed to be. nobody’s ever gonna touch you but me."

he says it over and over until you stop fighting. until you start crying softer. until you just lay there and let him do it again.

would tie you to his bed if he had to. wrist and ankle. keep you there for days. bring you water, kiss your forehead, tell you how good you’re being while he uses your pussy like it’s his personal toy.

gets mad when you cry too much. like after the third or fourth time he’s cum inside you and you’re still sobbing and begging for your mommy or daddy.

grabs your chin rough and growls, "nah, baby, you ain’t got a daddy anymore. you’re mine. i’m the only one that’s gonna take care of you now."

he records it. keeps videos of you broken and shaking and begging. watches them when he’s lonely. jerks off to them with tears in his eyes, swearing he loves you, that it’s real, that you’ll love him back eventually.

in his mind, this isn’t rape. it’s destiny. it’s love. you were just too stupid to see it. but that’s okay. he’ll fix you. he’ll make you understand!!

[bunnigumi]

─ FLUORESCENT ADOLESCENT

YOU KNOW HOW hormonal teenagers are. Especially the boys. They'll want to fuck anything; even their own sisters.

cw. megumi x reader , incest , porn with plot , reader described with small chest , brief mentions of drinking/smoking , Toji is referred to as dad/daddy (nonsexual) , light exhibitionism , dead dove

an. hi guys!! thank you!! for!! 600+ followers!!!!! i lowkey accidently edged you guys at the end srry in advance i didn't have motivation to write out a full smut scene and i hope theres no typos in this bc ill cry if i see it too late... happy reading ^u^ ^_<

There's a lot of things Megumi can't do when Toji's around. Shower for too long and use up all the hot water, sneak his beers. Get handsy with his sister.

But he seems to do the last one all the time, whether his dad is home or not.

Toji is always too loud watching baseball or horse racing on the TV to hear the noises you make when your brother tries to shove his fingers up your virgin ass for the second time. You chickened out the first because you heard the front door open, your dad coming home for the first time in weeks.

Thought he was going to walk in on the two of you. Ask how your day was, what you've been up to. Something along the lines of what a normal dad would do. All he ever does is mope around. She's dead and you're all grown up.

But Megumi likes to humor you, Let's do it under the covers then.

Especially when you're so irrational, Wanna feel good, right? He won't hear a thing by the time I get my fingers in.

Sometimes he's too passed out drunk to see the bedroom door open with Megumi's hands groping your breasts. They're too small to be properly fondled, but he's always liked girls with small tits. 

You've shared a room since forever. There's only two, one for you and Megumi, and one for your parents. But daddy spends most of the nights on the couch, never makes it a step past the living room.

It probably wasn't the best idea. Megumi started touching you all inappropriately at night, your stuffed dolls from family friends facing away when he fingers you, fucks you, kisses you.

You know how hormonal teenagers are. Especially the boys. They'll want to fuck anything; even their own sisters.

Your brother liked to kiss you a lot when you were younger. Regardless of where you were, who you were with. Simple, fleeting kisses on the lips. Your mom and dad would do it all the time.

Grown ups would fawn over how cute you were as children. How well you two got along. How they wished their children were as well behaved as you two were.

It's not all weird for their age. Shiu said it's just what kids do, kids are parrots, not that he has any. But'chya better teach ‘em it's not normal, or you’re gonna have inbred grandbabies. He says it with a quirked lip, chuckling, and a cigarette in between his fingers.

Your dad, unfazed, gnawed on his own, the sliding door open, summer on your face. Puppy stickers trailing up on the glass that don't make it past the handle.

On a good day, Toji's got a Playboy magazine in one hand, a cold bottle in the other. C'mere, boy. He likes to call Megumi from your room to taunt him. Don't she look just like your sister? Flat out drunk. Well, with that rack, it's more like your ma. See, now this one's more like your sister. Isn't that funny?

He tears out the page, careful to not cut through the model's hips, and tosses it in Megumi's direction. His eyes never leaving the magazine. Not even when he takes a swig of the bottle.

Don't fucking talk about your daughter like that. The hell's wrong with you? Megumi says it partially under his breath. And he says it like he isn't hard in front of his dad, like it's not because of the thought of his sister. 

His face twitches with mock disgust. It's as if he isn't folding the page and slipping it into his pocket when he heads back to your shared room.

It all went through one ear and out the other—television static. Toji doesn't look up, doesn't notice Megumi leave. The daggers stabbed into his hollow head. The hard on his son’s got at the mention of his sister. He never notices anything at all.

And it's whatever. You're waiting for him. You want to show him the new panties you bought when you were out with your girlfriends, the money courtesy of your brother. Not in exchange for sex, of course. He loves you more than to treat you like a prostitue. Plus, you'd do it for free, so that makes you a good sister slut.

Megumi doesn't like his new part time all too much. ‘Part time’ means being away from you, leaving you alone. Government code to keep families apart. Buy whatever you like. You're a people pleaser.

Your dad babies you a lot. He still doesn't understand how teenagers work. Coddles you to death like you're still five when his breath smells like spearmint.

It's about the same for Megumi, that kiddy treatment. Still offers runs out to the nearby store to buy ice cream, loitering for the air conditioning on days when cold baths with you aren't enough to kill the heat. Sticking their faces in freezers, your mom twirling you in circles. Letting you go like a wind up doll, spinning and spinning ‘till the world was dizzy.

You inherited her smile, her upturned eyes when you laughed.

And you hate the way Toji let himself go. The person he became. The safety, the warmth. Detached too early from nurturing. Spiraling all the way down from the tree, the nest.

You, me, your sister. Like we used to.

He never got his ass off the couch. Not for those recreational things at least. Everyone knows that, but Toji still tries.

Not to say that Megumi isn't a fan of tradition. Cold baths with you, having you warm his dick while he washes your hair with strawberry, 3-in-1 kid shampoo. Sucking your little tits and biting down on your tender neck. Rubbing your needy clit in circles, your hips bucking, water sloshing. Suds popping and flying in the air. Soapy residue clinging to tile walls.

Your dad doesn't question why you still do it together when you're in your teenage years, or how you two should have outgrown baths already. It's a win-win situation.

He never has a reason to leave; no wife to nag him about remembering to buy fabric softener at the store with the groceries because he forgot the last time. It's not that important, only sissies need soft clothes to survive.

When he does leave, it's for days on end. And you never really notice when he does until you’re on your way out the door to school in the early morning, and there's no one on the couch, not a note on the counter.

Tugging at the hem of your uniform shirt, slipping on your shoes and leaning on the door handle you’d drill holes into the Toji-shaped spot and the door is quietly shut behind you, your brother still asleep.

He's gotten into the college near home and has been taking on more night shifts. Most of his classes start in the afternoon and you miss walking with him to school.

Megumi's the one paying attention to you more, and even extra attention on nights when dad isn't home and he's back from work.

You can be as loud as you need to be, fuck as much as you want. You've grown to be one spoiled girl, that's for sure.

Toji saw him feeling you up once in the kitchen when he went to grab leftover takeout from the fridge. You thought he wasn't home. Turned out he hadn't left the house since yesterday, passed out in his room. Still smelled like a bar, nicotine, and a skank.

You think it's the first time he actually slept there since, well, you know. 

The hell you kids doing. It wasn't a question. He said it with a yawn, with glaring indifference in the base of his tone. Megumi ignored the way his shoulders were slumped over. How he rested his weight on the fridge handle.

And you could act like it didn't happen, like your older brother wasn't pressing up against your backside, trying to stick his junk inside of you.

Nothing, daddy. It's all in your imagination. Just playing. You've just been watching too many pornos. By the way, are you hungover? Your breath reeks of cumsluts and prostitute whores.

Megumi finds that Toji tends to only register the sound of your voice rather than your words. He'd gotten pretty good at that thing with your mother. When you hit puberty, you started to sound like her.

And it's easy for Toji to turn a blind eye. To forget and be at ease. Megumi could really just have continued to go and fuck you right there over the kitchen counter. You're real good at quick and dirty. There’d be the high pitch of your moans and Toji could care less.

It's what happens when you have a dead mom, a college roommate of a dad, and a touchy brother for a family.

Shiu managed to lure Toji out of the house tonight with the promise of girls and booze. Like a dog hearing the words ‘park’ and ‘treat’. Pathetic, is what it is.

You’re wrapping your hand around your older brother’s cock. Pressing your cheek against his thigh. Pleading eyes staring up at him because you’re unsure of how to start. Red knees on scratchy hardwood floor. It's been a while since you had time for foreplay more than kissing and fingering.

“Suck it like a popsicle. Careful with your teeth,” He says in a low voice. “Yeah, exactly like that.”

You've always been a quick learner. Daddy doesn’t know that. Grey rings on unopened report cards turned coasters.

But your brother sure does. He likes to encourage your learning with a hand tangled into your hair. And he’s not all too strict of a teacher, relenting in his grasp when you dig your nails into the side of his legs. Pulling off with saliva dripping down your chin. Lips pouty and shredded like paper, your jaw aching. Thighs rubbing together, always desperate for something more.

Megumi lifts you up onto his lap so that you're straddling him, and taking the initiative, you throw your arms around his neck—pressing your bodies together, grinding down on him and zealously chasing after his lips.

You love like it's second nature.

Intimately to the ideal of union. Crossing lines just to hear the way they snap, it's more satisfying from the other side. In privileged rebellion; the temptation that comes with this taboo of want.

He can taste himself on you, with notes of sugar from home baked cookies and cheap frosting on your tongue.

Megumi has to force you still, his hands squeezing tight around your waist.

Petulant like a child, a whine leaves your mouth at the halt of friction. He manhandles your position so that your back is resting on his chest. Legs dangling off the edge of the bed, kicking and making a soft thumping noise against its side. 

Lifting up the hem of your shirt, his shirt that you’re wearing, reveals nothing but white panties soaked wet from the way your brother nips at your bottom lip when you kiss, from humping him, the way he loves you, too.

He shoves your panties to the side, smearing your slick all over your cunt with his fingers, onto your clit. He rubs light circles, eliciting breathy moans from you before abruptly stopping to pull your underwear down the rest of the way, letting it fall carelessly to the floor.

Resting his chin on your shoulder and marking the dip between your neck and shoulder with red indents of his teeth, the sting of his canines, he slips his middle finger into your cunt. The ring, to stretch you out. Then the index, to see how much you can take.

Facing the open door, no one's on the couch while your big brothers got a hand between your thighs. The other sliding under your shirt, agonizingly slow up your chest in a way that sends shivers up your spine, translating into hunger for your brain.

You don't wear bras at home, but you enjoy wearing frilly, lacy ones. Little white bows on the center of your chest. Dolly and cute to the point it was sexy, but not overly so. In blue and pink pastels bordering white.

Megumi was always poked fun at for hanging out with you during lunch and breaks in middle school. Always badgered by his rag-tag group of friends. 

C’mon, Fushiguro. Hang out with us. Just for today at least. That pink haired one was always so whiny. Cute, maybe, but whiny. Or what about after school? You always go straight home. He got on your nerves. You hated him. 

Only sister fuckers hang out with them at school. The brunette was fairly pretty. Skinny legs, good tits. Glossy lips when she said her snide remarks. You always had this fear that Megumi would leave you for her. Irrational, did he mention? You shot her a glare, and hated her too.

You’d ask Megumi to follow you to the girls bathroom after lunch. Undoing the buttons of your blazer. The first, second, third one of your dress shirt—flashing starstruck eyes with a new bra. Arms pushing your breasts together, offering him a sweet smile. Lustful persuasion.

Then you would leave him for class and he'd have to jerk off to get rid of his boner. In a stall over the toilet, quick so no one hears him. Grinding his teeth together, biting down on his lip, chewing the side of his mouth to muffle the noise until it all hurt.

You’ve always liked to rile him up. To leave him high and dry, no hand holding on the way home, then give him all of you the second you step into the door without so much as a glance to see if anyone's in the house.

You like to tease him, even whenever Toji is near. 

Simulating the tent in his pants with your feet under the table while daddy is smoking with Shiu.

Staring at your brother from across with a glint of mischief in your eyes.

Waiting for his cool composure to break until he’s got only two options: Bend you over the table and fuck you right then and there, or play his little sister’s game, her rules. Puppy dog eyed, exhibitionist freak.

Your hips continuously grind up to meet his knuckles. Clutching his wrist, whispering as he curiously stops his attack on your neck, “More. Want more,” and you hold your breath.

You feel him smile on your skin. Without a word, he flips you onto the mattress, and knows exactly what you want, exactly what you need by the way you hook your legs over his back, locking your ankles together. Pulling him in closer. Effectively caging him in. The world can't have him. You've claimed your stake on him a long time ago.

And the words that leave your mouth feel nothing but natural. Your voice is airy, breathy. This insatiable desire tugs harshly at your heart.

Your lips purse together for a moment, just a single moment before the words seamlessly roll off your tongue. 

“I love you," like you were born to do.

[blueberrybirdsworld]

Plus one 4/9

Summary : When Lando Norris realizes he's the only F1 driver attending the Monaco F1 movie premiere without a girlfriend, he panics and convinces Oscar to help him find a last-minute plus one.

Author note : I get this story idea after the private projection of the F1 movie with all the drivers in Monaco (also can we imagine they weren't wearing their team kit and actually did dress up).

Genre : pure fluff

Serie masterlist

Main masterlist

The credits began to roll, and the house lights rose gently, flooding the once-cozy darkness with cold brightness. Applause echoed around the theater as the names of actors, producers, drivers, and directors lit up the screen. People stood, stretched, straightened their jackets.

And just like that, the spell broke.

The cocoon Lando and Y/N had shared in the dark, the stillness, the little glances, the quiet laughter during that scene, vanished like smoke. Their seats were just seats again. Her hand was no longer on his arm. And he didn’t know what to say.

He rose slowly, brushing invisible dust from his trousers, glancing toward her. She was smiling softly, still processing. He wanted to say something.

What did you think? or You okay after that hospital scene? or even just Thanks for coming but he didn’t get the chance.

Because Lily appeared instantly.

“Oh my God,” she said, looping an arm around Y/N’s. “That scene. I thought I was going to melt into my seat.”

Y/N laughed loudly, clearly relieved someone else had brought it up first. “Right? That was so intense. I didn’t know where to look. The sound design alone deserves an award.”

Lily grinned. “I could feel Carmen holding in her breath next to me. George was so uncomfortable. Did you see his face?”

They dissolved into laughter, already halfway down the aisle, wrapped in their own moment. Y/N didn’t even look back.

Lando stood there, still beside his seat, watching her disappear.

Oscar tilted his head. “Uh-oh. I know that look. You’re spiraling.”

“I’m not spiraling.”

“You are absolutely spiraling.”

“I’m not.”

“You look like you just got dumped by a girl who doesn’t know she was your girlfriend.”

Lando glared at him. “Well it's your fault, you didn’t tell her.”

“Tell her what?”

“That it was supposed to be a date. You said you’d explain!”

Oscar blinked. “I said I’d text her. Which I did. I said you needed a plus one. What more do you want? A powerpoint presentation?”

“You made it sound like I needed a replacement.”

Oscar burst out laughing. “Oh, come on. You’re blaming me because you suddenly fall in love after one movie?”

“I’m blaming you because she thinks this was a girl’s night out!”

Oscar shrugged. “To be fair, she had more fun with Lily than you.”

“That’s not helping!”

Oscar put his hands up. “What do you want from me, man? If I’d told her it was a date-date, she never would’ve agreed!”

“You don’t know that!”

“I do. I absolutely do.”

Lando crossed his arms. “She held my arm during the movie.”

Oscar gasped dramatically. “Oh my God! Call the wedding planner!”

Lando shoved his shoulder. “Shut up.”

“Maybe if you had told her she looked nice instead of staring at her, she’d have picked up on the vibe!” Oscar said, adjusting his jacket.

“I did tell her she looked nice!”

“When?”

“Before the movie.”

Oscar squinted. “No you didn’t.”

“I meant to.”

“That’s not the same thing!”

Lando groaned. “This is the worst night of my life.”

Oscar snorted. “You were literally on screen. A whole movie about your job. And you're out here pouting like someone forgot your birthday.”

“She called herself a fill-in!” Lando hissed.

Oscar wiped a tear of laughter from his eye. “You’re so dramatic. Do you want me to go over there and tell her for you? ‘Hi, Y/N, Lando caught feelings somewhere between the opening credits and the awkward sex scene.’”

Lando exhaled, staring across the room. Y/N was still with Lily, laughing about something. Probably about him. Or his tragic inability to flirt.

The after-party was in full swing.

The rooftop venue above the theater was everything you’d expect in Monaco: sleek lighting, a terrace overlooking the glowing harbor and champagne flowing like water.

Lando stood near a tall table, trying not to look as out of place as he felt. Y/N was laughing with Lily and sipping something pink from a flute like she belonged in this world, even though she’d insisted all evening she didn’t.

He hadn’t spoken to her since they left the theater.

Oscar, being a menace, appeared beside him with a wine glass and a grin. “So. What’s the hold-up now? You gonna make a move or just watch her from across the party ?”

“I’m waiting for the right moment.”

“She’s not a solar eclipse, mate. You don’t need to time it with the NASA.”

“She’s talking to Lily again.” Lando glanced toward the other side of the terrace. “They’ve been talking for twenty minutes. What could they possibly still be discussing?”

“I don’t know. Probably the sex scene again.” Oscar smirked and continue teasing him. “She did say it made her want to hide under her chair. Maybe you traumatized her by existing.”

Lando shot him a look.

Oscar shrugged. “Or maybe, and this is wild, she just doesn’t know it was a date. Because someone” he jabbed a finger toward Lando’s chest, “didn’t clarify anything. And someone else” he pointed to himself “may have been not clear enough in his text.”

Lando groaned. “Alright, fine. I’m going.”

“That’s the spirit. Please don't be awkward.”

Lando straightened his jacket, walked toward her, mentally rehearsing a million ways to start the conversation.

But before he could reach her, Lily spotted him.

She smirked. “Landooo,” she sing-songed, immediately elbowing Y/N. “Look who’s finally decided to say hi again.”

Y/N turned, smiling. “Hey! You okay? You kind of disappeared after the movie.”

“I didn’t disappear. I was... mingling.”

“Alone?”

He blinked. “Strategic mingling.”

Lily sipped her drink, clearly not buying it. “So strategic that you ended up standing still for twenty minutes behind the gelato cart.”

Y/N laughed. “Is that where you were? I thought I imagined that.”

“I was...thinking,” Lando muttered.

“About what?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“How do you feel about sunsets?” he blurted.

Y/N blinked. “What?”

Lando cleared his throat. “Sorry. I meant, sunset views. The view up here is really nice. I thought maybe you’d want to see it. With me. For a minute.”

“Oh.” She tilted her head. “Are we not already seeing it from here?”

“No, I mean… yeah, but like…just with me. Away from everyone else.”

Lily coughed into her drink to hide a laugh.

Y/N blinked again. “Sure?”

Lando exhaled through his nose like he’d just been given a time extension on an exam.

They stepped aside toward a quiet corner of the rooftop. The breeze was softer there. The glow from the city sparkled across the dark water. Romantic. Intentional. Perfect.

Lando tried to speak. Failed.

Y/N leaned on the railing. “It’s pretty.”

“Yeah,” he said. “You too—I mean—it’s pretty too. The view.”

She smiled, not really reacting.

He stared at her profile. “Did you have a good time tonight?”

“Yeah,” she said. “The movie was really good. Intense. But good.”

“Even the awkward part?”

She laughed softly. “Even with the awkward part. Do you liked it ?”

He nodded. “I wasn’t really paying attention to the movie.”

“No?”

“I was watching you.”

That made her glance at him, surprised. “Oh?”

He swallowed. “Yeah. You just… you looked so into it. Like your reactions to things were better than the film.”

She blinked. “Oh. That’s… sweet. I think?”

Lando looked down at his hands, then up at her, then… blurted it out.

“So, listen—I just… need to say something.”

Y/N tilted her head, sipping her drink, waiting.

“I kind of thought this was a date,” he said. “For me, I mean.”

Her brows shot up. “Oh.”

“I mean, I thought I was being clear. With the whole ‘plus one’ thing. And inviting you. Actualy Oscar propose it first and then I ask him to text you. Which—okay, that part was a bad idea, but I thought you knew what this was. I know we just met but I wanted you to come here with me tonight, not jus as a fill-in”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed instantly. She looked down, fiddling with her glass. “Oh. Oh God.”

“I didn’t mean to freak you out—”

“No! No, you didn’t! I just—Lando, I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t?”

She shook her head, groaning. “I thought you had an extra ticket. Like, your original date bailed or something. And Lily told me to come with her, and Oscar texted me like it was all casual, so I just figured… I don’t know, that you had no one else to bring.”

Lando blinked. “You thought you were a backup?”

“I thought I was here for the vibes!” she said, covering her face. “I was excited to see the movie and spend the night with Lily. I didn’t realize I was your date. That actually explains so much.”

He laughed under his breath. “What does it explain?”

She dropped her hands and smiled sheepishly. “Why you were acting weird. Like nervous-weird.”

“I was trying to be cool.”

“Well… you weren’t,” she said, then immediately added, “In a cute way!”

He laughed for real this time, warm and a little relieved. “You were so calm, though.”

Her face scrunched up. “I was not! I just looked like it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“I was freaking out inside,” she admitted. “I kept thinking, ‘oh my God, I’m sitting next to Lando Norris at a movie premiere, try not to say anything stupid.’ So I just… said nothing at all.”

He grinned. “If that’s you freaking out, I need lessons.”

She laughed, eyes crinkling. “I avoided you most of the night, didn’t I?”

“A little.”

“I was kind of… intimidated,” she said, almost whispering it.

“You were?”

Y/N nodded. “You’re you. You’ve got a Netflix special and a race car and a fanbase that tracks your every moves. I have a biology degree and anxiety.”

He looked at her, fond. “I’ve got anxiety too.”

“Well, great. We can panic in harmony then.”

They both smiled.

Then she paused, suddenly serious again. “Also, um. This is awkward, but… I kind of maybe have a crush on you.”

Lando blinked. “What?”

“Like, before tonight.”

“You do?”

“I did. I do.” She rolled her eyes at herself. “God, this is embarrassing.”

“No, it’s not,” he said, grinning now. “It’s not at all.”

She peeked at him. “Lily knows. So I think Oscar knows too.”

Lando laughed. “That little gremlin.”

“Right? I should’ve known it was suspicious when he asked me if I ‘liked red carpets.’ He was so casual about it.”

“So he did set us up.”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling. “And I didn’t realize it until just now.”

They stood in silence again, this time smiling like two people who finally figured out they’ve been reading the same book.

“Okay,” Lando said. “So we agree. This was a date.”

“Technically retroactively, yes.”

“And we’re both awkward.”

“Painfully.”

“And we both like each other.”

She looked up at him. “Seems like it.”

He grinned. “So if I asked again, clearly, directly this time, what would you say?”

She leaned in, her voice lower now. “I’d say yes.”

“To a real date?”

“To whatever you want,” she said softly. “Just... no matchmaking texts from Oscar.”

“I’ll block him.”

She laughed and bumped his arm gently with hers.

He glanced around. “You want to go? Grab real food somewhere that doesn’t sparkle?”

“God, yes. I’m starving. I’ve been pretending to like those fancy canapé things all night.”

“Same. I had three and still don’t know what any of them were.”

They turned together toward the stairwell, but not before looking back one last time.

The empty terrace. The glittering skyline. Their friends somewhere inside, probably watching through a window, smirking.

“They’re going to be insufferable,” Y/N said.

“They already are.”

“And you’re not mad they set us up?”

Lando smiled. “No. I think... maybe they were onto something.”

She looked at him, that familiar, quiet smile he’d fallen for all evening.

“Yeah,” she said. “Maybe they were.”

And together, under the soft Monaco night, they slipped away from the rooftop, not just as teammates’ friends or accidental plus-ones, but something quietly beginning.

Something real.

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