#boba's mouth: ''just shut the fuck up and take this thing i got for you''

[syn0vial]

being assailed by blorbo thoughts tonight folks

[idiswhadidis]

remind me why we're taking a break

ex-bf jungwon x fem. reader

sypnosis you both are taking a break - genre fluff, exes? to lovers - warnings a lil makeout session - wc 0,6k

a/n. hii, i'm still alive wohoo so i got a bit inspired by touch it by ariana grande but it's nothing like the song lol, anyways have fun reading it woop woop.

“remind me again why you two broke up?” Sunoo asks,  Jungwon pops his head up from the cafeteria table which he was slumped over 

“we didn’t broke up, we’re just taking a break” 

“i for sure hope you both get your asses back together cause the amount of complains i got from each of you is ridiculous” hearing his response had Jungwon ears perk up

“each of us? you mean?”

“of course i mean her who fucking else?”

“what is she saying about this uhm situation?” 

“not gonna tell you, you should go to her and talk things out cause taking a break is a shitty excuse for chickening out of your realationship problems”

 “well no need to call us out Sunoo” fake smiling at him

“all i'm saying is, if i hear another i miss her/him i'm gonna burn something up, definetly not because i'm too single for this shit but you both need each other so please make the first move cause we both know how stubborn Y/n can be”

nodding and standing up full of motivation “you’re right this is bullshit, i will go to her and talk things out, damn Sunoo didn’t know you are a motivation coach” 

“you’re welcome now get your girl” nodding his head with dedication in his eyes, turning around searching for you. 

you were leaning on your locker while talking to your friend until she fell silent and wiggled her eyebrows at you saying “target on six o’clock”,  turning around to see what she’s on about..

..your eyes going wide when you see him to slow to think where to go when he already has your hand interlocked with his, dragging you into an empty classroom, shutting the door and locking it

he turns around seeing you looking around the classroom nervously playing with your fingers

“let’s talk y/n” 

“about what?” 

“us” 

“we’re on break just like you wanted it” you state looking at him confused 

he shakes his head “i didn’t want that. never.” he walks to you, standing centimeters away from each other 

“but you said-” 

he takes your hands into his running his thumbs over your soft skin 

“i know what i said but i just said that cause i thought you would say we should break up so i suggested taking a break, and then you suddenly said yes which had my heart acatually break” staring at him like you just saw a ghost damn this was such a misunderstanding 

“are you aware that you actually never let me finish my sentence that day?” 

“what you mean?” looking at you with his boba eyes

“we should breath first and calm ourselves down? thats what i wanted to say but you asumed that the word breath would be the word break"

staring at you, mouth wide open in shock “you gotta be kidding” shaking your head “but why did you say yes when i said we should take a break?” 

“cause i didn’t want to lose you...” making his heart flutter “...i was afraid that if i wouldn’t say yes you would break up with me”  

shaking his head, grabbing your waist tugging you into him, lips not far away from yours

“god i'm so sorry for misunderstanding this i really should learn to let you finish your sentences..” putting his hands underneath your shirt kneading your skin lovingly

“..please tell me we’re done with this cause i'm going crazy without you and we can’t keep bothering Sunoo with it cause he said he would burn something up if he would hear one of us complain again” 

nodding and giggling while you tug him down by his shirt to finally kiss him, him immediately responsing and grabbing each of your legs wrapping them around his waist walking to a table letting you sit on it

trailing his lips down to your neck up to your cheeks your nose and your mouth again

cupping one of your cheeks while the other tucks your hair behind your ear, looking at your dazed state “god i love you” 

whispering against his lips “love you too”

[fifis-cosmos]

Peaches and Musk

Minho x Jisung

Plot: No real plot… Minho smells Jisung’s heat during a concert and then they fuck.

Warnings: A/B/O, BxB, male on male, dirty talk, dom/sub dynamics, swearing, semi-public sex, nicknames (Hyung, daddy, baby, mutt, omega, alpha, jagi, slut), idol AU, Jisung rambles a lot, jerking off, almost sort of subspace, mention of heat, anal fingering, thigh grinding/riding (I think that’s everything?)

Author’s note: This is a satire post, sort of? It’s something my friends and I wrote a while ago as a joke. Inspired by my peach scented chapstick because it smells soooo good… Usually I won’t do BxB but I got bored and writing something with a more unusual topic is fun. Also! I think I may have a memory of reading something like this before? I don’t remember what it was, but if I got a bit close to somebody else’s idea, I’m not claiming it as mine. And one last thing… I had no idea how to end this… so apologies for the shitty finish.

Also, this is unedited, and not proofread.

Minho knows he must be mistaken.

That light, peachy smell can’t be his boyfriend, standing a few steps away, who is bobbing his head to the rhythm of the music while he walks around the stage, waving.

It has to be something else. A body product, maybe Jeongin’s sweet smelling shampoo, but that’s not really realistic, is it?

When he inhales more deeply, he catches the giveaway. That telltale hint of spice behind the sweet scent, almost like nutmeg.

He turns to Jisung, sharp features accentuated by the concert lights, scanning the body of the man before him. He’s playing with his microphone, picking at the tacky jewels that surround the circumference of it.

Minho’s eyes narrow into a cat-like expression, the sweat on his forehead trickling down his temple in a glittery streak. He takes another whiff of the air.

It’s him.

His fingers find the little gadget in his ear and pops it out, covering the mic with the palm of his hand while he approaches his boyfriend.

He has to be discreet. There are too many fans. Prying eyes that are too eager and attentive. Endless cameras to catch a slip-up.

He taps Jisung’s thigh gently, and leans in to talk in his ear.

“…Jisung. I can smell you,”

Jisung offers nothing but a skeptical glance.

“That’s stupid, Hyung,” The boy says, eyes getting wider, almost comically. “I shouldn’t be in heat yet,”

He waves his hand, dismissing Minho, and turns to give a charming, gummy smile to the crowds. Minho grabs his wrist and speaks again.

“I’m serious, Jagi,”

Jisung looks at him sideways and rolls his brown eyes. His expression is almost pouty. He holds up his hand.

Minho wastes no time pressing the sharp tip of his nose to the soft flesh on the inside of his wrist, where his scent gland is.

Immediately his nose fills with the fruity, sweet smell of peaches. It’s delectable, makes Jisung’s soft, mochi cheeks look edible. It makes everything about him look edible.

Minho has to smack his boyfriend’s wrist away before he does something stupid in front of all these people.

“It’s you,”

Jisung’s pretty boba eyes get all big and wide, and he covers his wrist, as if it will help anything at all.

In a moment of reaction and panic, he holds his microphone up to his mouth and speaks.

“STAY! STAY, I’m so sorry… but I really, really have to go pee,”

He turns off the mic and runs backstage, laughs from the crowd filling the auditorium.

Minho just hopes Jisung can get it sorted quickly.

Jisung stumbles into the dressing room, and Minho follows right after, locking the door. They both smell like sweat, covered in it from preforming, and the heat of the stage. The adrenaline lingers, as well.

As soon as the door is shut, Minho latches his lips onto Han’s, clawing into his hips and licking at his mouth recklessly.

“Can’t even wait until we get home,” He growls, biting down on the boy’s pouty lips. “So impatient, Jagi. Not even that patch can satiate you, can it?”

At the thought of the little sticker, Minho’s hands start searching his boyfriend’s body, as if he will be able to find it through his clothes. His hands land mindlessly on Jisung’s ass, kneading it while he kisses even deeper.

“I put it on my back…,” He mutters in a whiny tone, pulling away to cross his arms in front of his body so he can peel off the shirt obscuring his access.

Minho’s eyes scan his body, cute little tummy exposed by the rising hem. His thin waist, the shadow of hair growing up to his belly-button. He tries to pull the shirt off, but it catches on his chin, and his nose, popping off of his head and leaving his fluffy brown hair a mess.

His stretches his arms back and tries to reach the little paw-shaped patch between his shoulder blades, the exact thing that is preventing his body from releasing pheromones. His chest flexes, and Minho can’t help but stare at the rounded, honey-toned expanses of skin.

After watching him struggle for a bit too long, Minho grabs him by the hips and spins him around so his ass is facing him.

“Pathetic. Let me get it, Jagi,”

His fingers grip the edge of the little tab, and he tears it away from the skin, fine hairs getting caught in the sticky residue meant to last a whole day. As soon as it’s off, he leans over Jisung’s shoulder and grabs him by the waist, pulling him closer, mouthing hungrily at the scent glad that rests above the dip of his collarbone.

“Wanna smell you,”

He grumbles against the hot, flushed section of chest, lips wet and darkened from rough kisses earlier. The patch is still stuck to the pads of his fingers, and he tries to shake it off.

His runs his teeth over Jisung’s glad. That tasty, peachy smell returns, starting to flood the room. It makes his mouth water, his eyes roll back. It’s filling his senses. He moans and nips at the skin, trying to stimulate more of that delicious satisfaction.

The patch unsticks from Minho’s finger, and flitters to the ground, forgotten as soon as it left his body. He’s already moved on to better things by now, like sucking a nice mark into his boyfriend’s flesh.

“A-ah… Hyung… mm,” Jisung whimpers, eyes squeezed shut, grinding his ass against the crotch of Minho’s leather pants. “N-no marks… you know we’ll get in trouble,”

At the comment, Minho laves his tongue over the spot, and detaches with a pop. A string of saliva connects his lower lip to the reddened spot.

“You know I don’t care about that…”

He growls, licking over the skin and inhaling the sweet scent. Jisung is starting to catch onto a familiar musk, almost resembling a pine tree, wafting from his boyfriend. He lets a particularly slow drag roll against Minho’s hard dick.

Minho ruts back instinctually, making both of their sweaty bodies jolt. All he can think of is the way Jisung smells, the way he feels and sounds.

He wants to be inside of him. The thought of claiming his boyfriend during yet another heat makes his cock twitch.

He needs release.

His clipped nails dig into the plush skin of Jisung’s torso, and he ruts a few more times. All he wants to hear is those cute sounds his baby always makes for him.

Quick thrusts turning into grinding sooner rather than later, and Jisung is already feeling a bit foggy. He whines and pushes back, trying to get any kind of friction on his hole possible. His boxers are already soaked with slick, he just needs something inside.

“H-hyung- please~ please…,”

He whimpers without thought. Minho nuzzles his nose against the now-wet gland.

“My jagi wants something in his greedy hole? Fuck yes…” His voice pushes out when Jisung moans and rolls his hips once more, gravelly and deeper than usual. “So fucking good… Your Hyung knows you so fucking good, doesn’t he?”

His hips buck, causing some of the friction Jisung needed. Just when the younger boy thinks he’s getting what he wants, Minho let’s go of him, crescent shaped marks on his skin from his boyfriend’s blunt nails.

“Hyung?”

“Shut your mouth,”

Jisung gets shoved onto the sleek leather bench at the back of the room, where he starts to climb onto it eagerly, ready to present his ass.

Instead, he feels a study arm wrap around his waist and pull him up onto his knees. His back is to Minho, and he’s facing the wall.

“Minho, what are you-“

“I told you to shut you mouth. Stop talking before I decide to leave you here. You wouldn’t like that, would you?”

Minho asks, palming his erection steadily.

Jisung would hate that. His leaking cock, more than that, his hot, slicked up asshole that clenches around nothing, need attention. There’s so much arousal drooling out of him, that there’s a wet patch on his the rump of his pants.

Minho delivers a swift smack to that exact spot, the tips of his fingers grazing his boyfriends balls at the lowly aimed attack.

“I asked you a question,”

“Ah! Y-yes! Sorry Hyung… no… I wouldn’t like it… I’ll be good,”

He wiggles his hips, which Minho finds indescribably cute, in an irritating way.

“Don’t move,” He commands with authority.

Before Jisung registers the lowly spoken words, he feels a toned, leather-clad thigh slip between his own. It nudges them apart, and drags against his dick a little.

The only reaction he can muster is a moan, and the action of grinding down on the expanse of muscle. He’s stopped almost immediately.

“I said stay still,” Minho breathes out. He gives Han a little push, forcing him to lean on the back of the couch with his palms. “You’re lucky I feel generous tonight..,” Minho cages his body in, and puts a palm beside Han’s left.

His lips attach to the dewy, tanned skin again.

“I’m gonna jerk you off, baby… Jagi..,”

He groans and ruts his hips upwards again.

“Oh- fuck yes- please?”

Jisung’s words are slurred, tongue thick with desire. His mind is foggy with lust, and the waves of heat washing over him. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Minho’s wandering hand finds the bulge in his pants.

At just the first touch, he lets out a loud moan, and bucks his hip fowards.

Minho growls, something almost mistakable as a laugh. “Oh, you like that, don’t you, Jagi? Want me to touch your poor leaky little dick?”

“Yeah-! Hyung- Daddy- please… wan’ it…,”

“You’re filthy,” The whisper comes harsh against the shell of his flushed ear. Of course, it only gets him off more. Minho begins to unbutton the clasp of his jeans.

Even such slight friction has Jisung whining and canting his hips, trying to chase the feeling. Minho shucks the blue jeans down, and takes the soaked boxers along with them.

Before his focus even comes close to returning to Jisung’s dick, his eyes land on a certain spot. He runs a digit over the wetness leaking out of his boyfriends asshole, smirking at the amount of slick that gushes at such a small touch.

“Look at you… so desperate, Jagi. Tell me you want it,” He demands, slowly rubbing his rim with his thumb.

Jisung jolts and moans loudly. His hole throbs, and he pushes back, trying to rub his legs together.

“I wan’ it! Oh god, alpha, please- I want it so bad- touch me-”

Minho hooks his thumb into Jisung’s hole. The amount of slick makes it an easy task.

“I said tell me you want it, not beg. Slut,” He quips, wiggling his thumb softly. Jisung bucks his hips backwards, and tries to grind back. Minho grabs his hips.

“Dumb mutt” He snarls, other hand leaving the couch to mark a ring with his thumb and finger around the base of Jisung’s cock. He gives a quick stroke with the tiny ring, and settles back at the base. When the omega below him moans, he finds himself smiling. “That’s all you are, isn’t it? A dumb mutt? Stupid little omega begging for something in its slutty hole,”

Minho slaps Jisung’s dick, making it sway, and the younger moans and pushes back again.

“I bet you want my knot, don’t you?” He gives another slow stroke along the length of his boyfriend. Jisung nods frantically, bucking forwards. “Too bad. You get my thumb, and my hand to fuck into. That’s it. Now spit on it,”

Jisung pants and tilts his head down, trying to drool down onto his dick while Minho holds it up for him. Minho slips his hand up and palms over the pink tip, spreading the spit around while it leaks down his shaft, settling in his dark pubic hair.

“Ah! Ohmygod-,” Jisung try’s to buck forwards again, his balls dragging delectably over the leather covering Minho’s thigh. The alpha pulls his thumb out and slaps his ass.

“How many times do I have to tell you to stay fucking still?” He growls. His body pushes against the back of Jisung’s, and he crowds him flush against the back of the couch, body shadowing over him. He starts to stroke his omega’s cock steadily. “You really are desperate, aren’t you?”

“S’ good… too good,” Jisung whines, trying his hardest not to move so he can please his alpha.

“Too good,” Minho mocks in a high tone, repeating the boy’s breathy tone. He stops stroking and takes to running his fingers lightly up the underside of his cock. “I bet it is, isn’t it? Too good? You’re such a stupid little thing. Begging for my hands,”

He swaps to rubbing his fingers over Jisung’s slit. His cock jumps.

Minho latches his mouth onto his neck again, sucking gently before nipping at his skin. “Bounce on my thigh,” He demands, breath hot on the sweaty field of skin, shaking his leg that is wedged between Jisung’s as if to show him what exactly what to use.

It’s like a spell has been put over the younger as soon as those words grace his pinkened ears. He starts frantically grinding against the meaty appendage that rests below him, dragging his balls over the rough material. It hurts, but that just makes it better for him. At this point he’s been reduced to breathless moans.

Minho spits in his hand and lifts Jisung’s hips to smear it on the black leather pants, just to make the slide a bit easier. It wasn’t really all that needed, considering the mass amounts of slick pouring from the younger’s hole, dripping down his balls and making an embarrassing puddle.

“There it is… good omega,” He growls, bouncing his leg a little. He strips Jisung’s dick, the wet sounds downright sinful. With this much attention, the boy can’t last much longer.

“I-inside. Want something inside, please,” He begs in a shaky voice, grinding down just a bit harder.

“Inside? This isn’t enough for you?” He tightens his grip around his dick.

“Mm- please! Please, hyung,” His legs are shaking now, and his stomach is twitching with every breath. Minho ruts his hips against Jisung’s ass, and reaches forwards to rub his lip with his thumb. He’s delighted to find drool covering it.

“Oh… poor thing… what makes you deserve it?” His hand reaches down and collects slick, teasing the younger’s rim.

“Ah! I’ll be good! I’ll be so good, please, just put it in- please,”

Minho brings his thumb to his lips and smears slick over it.

“You’ll be good? I guess that’s a pretty good reason,” He teases and reaches down. The way his finger slides in with such ease. Even better, how the second one follows, and they curve up into his prostate, is exactly what he needed to send him tumbling over the edge of his orgasm.

He doesn’t notice how he shakes. Hot white ropes of cum shoot onto the back of the couch. He can’t hear anything, all he can sense is the feeling of his orgasm, the explosion in his gut and the tingling of his body.

When he finally opens his eyes, the fullness of his boyfriend’s fingers are gone, as well as the warmth of his thigh between his legs. But his boxers are handed to him.

“You’re giving me head on the ride to the hotel. If you do good enough, maybe I’ll knot you when we get back into our room,” Minho cocks his head to the cum splattered on the couch. “Clean that up, Jagi,”

He turns to leave, but before he does, he leans over Jisung’s shoulder and plants a gentle kiss on his sweaty cheek.

“You did well. I’ll go get some fresh clothes for you. I love you, Sungie”

“I love you too, Minho,”

[thelaughtercafe]

Mr. Love Ler Headcanons

Tea Type: Brown Sugar Boba

Potential Triggers: 

Pairing: Kiro/F! Reader, Lucien/F! Reader, Victor/F! Reader, Gavin/F! Reader, Shaw/F! Reader

Length: 1.4l+

Summary: N/A

Kiro:

Omg Kiro as a ler is super playful and energetic. 

Likes to use his hands the most! Feels it’s the most intimate.

Does NOT shut up. 

Has known he was a Ler since childhood actually, unlike the others so he’s the most experienced with terms, tools and wrecking you. 

He sees it as a super fun way to break the touch barrier and also help lift moods or break a silence so he will just lunge at you out of nowhere while you’re chilling with him and just go to town.

“Aw c’mon cutie you can take a little more cantcha? Look at that beaming smile! 

King of teasing holy fuck he will make you red. 

Partial to coochie coos and tickle tickles to fill any moments of his own silence. 

Lives to see you afterwards, pink, discombobulated and pouting which leads to a quick scribble at your ribs to make you giggle again. 

“You know you love me~”

Cheeky little shit. 

Lucien:

OMG HE’S SO MEAN DON’T LET HIM FIND OUT YOUR TICKLISH PLEASE GOD-

He’s a man of science and you know what that means. 

Tickle experiments. All the time. 

And if he knows you like it? He won’t stop. 

And believe me…he’ll know. 

You won’t need to say a word. 

He’ll notice the way you arch into his touch, or the way you look away and blush when he makes an analogy about having a tickle in his throat and that’s all he needs to get curious enough to generate a hypothesis.

Once he tests it and just out of the blue while asking rapidfire questions under the guise of a game blurts it out in the same monotone voice as always.

“So I take it you like being tickled hm?”

“Yeah of course I-” 

He wished he had a camera to record the way your face had froze as you realized what had just come out of your mouth before you rushed to backpedal. 

“I-I mean-no I just-I th-thought you asked something el-”

Too late for that. 

He had already cornered you against the nearest wall and begun skating his fingernails under your shirt over your bare sides with a calm smile. 

“There’s no need to tell fibs now. I can see from how red you are that you like this whether you attempt to deceive me or not.”

He merely laughed as you groaned in embarrassment and hid your burning face in his lab coat. 

From then on, lots of experiments. He is a neurologist after all. What better way to test how laughter affects brain chemistry? 

Victor:

Opposite to Kiro; he’s cold and doesn’t open his mouth much besides to offer the occasional playfully degrading comment. 

“Ah, so this is your real laugh hm? Quite loud. I should be the only one to hear it.” 

He’s much more focused on your laughter and flustered reaction as well as what makes you give him the best reactions.

Always evolving his tickling style. Kind of experimental like Lucien but more spur of the moment and doing it to mess with you.

Quick, nimble, long fingers.

How else do you think he writes and types so fast as a CEO?

Uses his big hands to wrap around you and can tickle both your ribs and back at the same time. 

Finds a sadistic satisfaction in the way you jerk and let out a strangled sound of gaped laughter when he does it for the first time, eyes comically wide before you attempt to beg. 

Punishes you when you make him worry and when you go MIA in particular.  

Does it out of nowhere too, to catch you off guard. 

…Absolutely once called you to his office just to wreck you until you were in tears.

Goldman got some ideas after that day the poor secretary-

Gavin:

High school friend already knew you were ticklish, despite never having done it to you himself until now. 

He’s too shy for that now, c’mon. 

The sweet ler who’ll hesitate even when he’s got you pinned, his hands hovering over your skin after a playfight.

“J-Just call my name if you need me to stop okay?”

His softness is the last thing on your mind as he then roughly digs his fingers into your hipbones. 

When you burst into giggles, the smallest of smiles twitches onto his lips as he relishes in the sound of your laughter. 

Teases tentatively since he’s worried about pushing you too far. 

More innocent comments and him blurting out his thoughts that have the added bonus of flustering you to Hell and back.

“Heh…your laugh hasn’t changed a bit.”

“Man, look how red you’ve gotten.”

Will turn red himself when he goes to pull away, worried you’re not getting enough oxygen and you pull his hand back towards your body with a pout. 

Lets out the purest laugh when it clicks and turns a bit more teasy in reaction.

“Oh? You don’t want me to stop do you?”

*SPOILER CHARACTERS BELOW THE CUT*

Helios:

Hi. 

Remember how I said Kiro was a master ler? 

Take that; multiply it by 500 and you’ve got Helios. 

Fuck playful tickling. 

This man?

Gonna torture you.  

Kiro was very careful to never use his Evol on you, even if you said you didn’t mind or even wanted him to. 

Helios has no such qualms and relishes in the lack of control he can force on you. 

It’s a reminder to him both that he’s powerful and you’re safe not that he’ll ever admit as much.

Degrades just a tad when he lers. 

Makes fun of you for liking it

🥺

“Oh? What a naughty little tickle slut I’ve come across. Look at you barely struggling against me.”

Leans forward to hiss into your ear and you feel his teeth drag there. 

“Now if you don’t want me to stop…”

“Beg for it.”

Shaw:

The type to pretend he’d rather be literally anywhere else. Like he’s not the one torturing you and it’s this huge inconvenience as you lose it in his arms. 

“Damn your laugh is so squeaky. Ha! Did you just snort?”

Try to quiet  yourself and he’ll either pout or threaten as his 

“Did I say to stop?”

Omg absolutely the type to let you get away just to drag you back to him!! 

Doesn’t show it outwardly but freaking loves the chase and struggle under that tsundere ass façade. 

Possessive of his Lee.

He wants to be the only one to tickle them.

Especially in front of a certain brother

Generally enjoys tickling you in front of others despite his possessive nature since he views it as a declaration. 

Any of his band members from Loud House try joining in he will 1000% put you down to wreck them till they cry. 

“Oh you wanted to join in? Why didn’t you just say so?”

Oh shit wait that’s not playfulness that’s aggression in his tone run little drummer boy run!!

Absolutely no mercy. Follows through on making them cry and taunts them mercilessly about it. Never lets them live it down and threatens them with it again if he gets jealous. 

…no-one’s stupid enough to try again after that. 

Ares:

Once Lucien drops the mask? 

Much like Helios he’s worse. 

The only difference? His was done for manipulation against you rather than to protect you and he’s got even less qualms about using it to mess with you. 

He already did it as Lucien of course but as Ares? 

He’s so much crueler, and he’s not afraid to manhandle you either. 

Even if he wants to safeguard you, it doesn’t mean he can’t have some fun with you too. 

And maybe he misses your smile and laughter around him. 

Not that he’d ever tell you as much. 

He never got to show his annoyance as Lucien and as Ares he still mostly doesn’t. 

Until he does. 

You make one too many passive aggressive comments, roll your eyes one too many times and suddenly he’s got you pinned by your neck against the wall, grin more feral than you’d ever seen it with a glint in his eyes that makes your blood turn to ice. 

He clicks his tongue at you.  

“Tsk tsk tsk…not a very smart girl now are we?”

His voice is little more than a hiss. 

“This has been a long time coming. I hope you’re ready to be punished. Thoroughly.”

He leans forward to purr all too sweetly into your ear. 

“And I have just the method. Be a good girl and behave for me won’t you? I’d hate to have to gag you.”

His tone was so full of relish you know if you so much as try it he’ll follow through. 

[meili-sheep]

A Bird’s Bizarre Method of Conversation: How Hasn’t the Akademiya Kidnapped This Guy For Experiments on Animals and Intelligence Yet?

————

Bird: (in Kaveh’s voice) Who the fuck is this?

Kaveh: Language, you naughty bird.

Bird: (in Kaveh’s voice) Whomst the fuck is this?

Kaveh: (sighs deeply) I genuinely don’t know where he got that mouth from.

Diluc: (unconvinced) Mhm.

Falcon: (perched on Diluc’s shoulder, deeply unsettled)

————

Bird: (in Al-Haitham’s voice) I’ve never seen anything like this before. I can hardly believe it.

Kaveh: (intrigued) Oh? And what is this?

Bird: (in Al-Haitham’s voice) Kaveh is actually asleep at a reasonable time.

Kaveh: (offended)

Bird: (in Al-Haitham’s voice) If he asks about the blanket in the morning, he grabbed it before he passed out, okay?

Kaveh: I- (touched)

————

Yelan: (doing paperwork in some undisclosed location)

Bird: (lands on her desk, pecks at whatever)

Yelan: Huh? What is this?

Bird: (in Al-Haitham’s voice) I know you’ve been watching me. You’re good, but I could practically hear your fatigue from around the corner. If you’re going to try to do some reconnaissance on me, at least rest first.

Yelan: (blinks once) Okay. Two can play at that game.

(later)

Bird: (lands on Al-Haitham’s desk)

Al-Haitham: And where have you been?

Bird: (in Yelan’s voice) You’re a smart little birdie aren’t you? Tell him this: Bold of you to assume that that isn’t precisely what I wanted you to think. Also, if you haven’t noticed a pen or two gone missing, now you have and I totally didn’t have anything to do with it. Okay, there you go, you can leave now. The bastard really thinks he can one-up me, doesn’t he.

Al-Haitham: I don’t know how or why you relayed all of that at once, but color me impressed.

Bird: (squawks) (in Yelan’s voice) Smart little birdie!

Al-Haitham: (chuckles softly as he kisses the bird’s beak) Indeed you are. Good job. (hands the bird some seeds in his palm)

Bird: (happily pecks away at them)

————

Shenhe: Can you please shut this thing up before I have to kill it?

Bird: (in various voices) Help! Assault! Murder! I don’t want to die-

Ayato: (looks up from one of his reports) Perhaps you should release it from your hand?

Shenhe: (frowns) Then it will start to attack me again.

Ayato: (sighs) Okay, give it here. (gently takes the bird from Shenhe’s hand, cooing) It’s okay little one. You’re safe now. (allows them to perch)

Bird: (squawks, exasperated)

Ayato: Are you hungry? Do you want some food?

Bird: (in Diluc’s voice) I’m starving.

Ayato: (smiles) I thought you came from him. (pulls out boba tea from his sleeve) Here you go, all of the essential nutrients for a little guy like yourself.

Bird: (looks at the boba tea and then back to Shenhe, in Tighnari’s voice) Just kill me already.

————

This bird is one of the most entertaining and intellgent organisms in the entirety of Teyvat. And they choose to hang out with the two roomies that have all sorts of contacts. You can’t tell me that this bird isn’t there by choice.

Honestly, that bird would be the most loved and hated bird. Loved by Tighnari, Diluc, Kaveh, and Ayato Hated but Shenhe, Yelan, and Al Haitham.

Either way. No one can touch the bird without major consequences. As even those who hate the bird care about those who love it. The bird can pretty much fully communicate. Maybe it doesn't know what it's saying most of the time, but I think it gets people's tones. (I know nothing about birds)

Now I just imagine Diluc and Tighnari with this bird and just info dumping on each other about animals and plants.

[kithtaehyung]

friends (3tan) (m) | myg

title: friends (the week, pt. 1) pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) series: masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball | stay | sidewalk talk rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , fluff , smut ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: the week you get with yoongi has a few surprises. and one of them presents itself in the form of a phone call. warnings: cursing, tension, oc’s are introduced!!, oral (m rec), degradation, the amount of kiss scenes wow lol, power dynamics (cmnf), fingering, angst yeah i know, throat fucking, choking, rude yoongi :))), multiple orgasms, breast play, cum swallowing, the chains stay on😀😀😀, cunt slapping, sl*t/wh*re mentions, dirty talk, yoongi’s mouth in general, overthinking, doubt, head/hair pulling, body worship, praise, restraining via headboard a ha ha, this one is p angsty y’all😭 note: thank you to @sugakookitty​​ for being an angel beta !! i know this was super last minute i am so so sorry. i owe you some tangerines! note 2: and here we are again. i hope you all like this installment, and i wanted to thank everyone for being so patient and supportive. it truly means so much to me! if you haven’t gotten around to three tangerines yet, i highly encourage you to read the series first since this is from the same universe :D it would make more sense! word count: 15.6k drop date: april 26th, 2022, 7:17pm est

-

-

“Long weekend, huh?”

On instinct, you nudge Taehyung with your shoulder, hearing him laugh into his tea straw while the both of you amble down a dilapidated sidewalk. 

Despite its rugged form, the concrete path remains one of the cleaner ones in the city, hugging the longer side of an old shopping center filled with newer businesses. 

It’s one you remember walking down many, many times.

“I said shut up,” you emptily huff. “I’m not telling you shit.”

“You don’t have to, dude. The way you look tells me everything.” 

Afternoon traffic reaches your ears as you toss intrigue your friend’s way. “And what does that mean?” 

“You outshine the sun right now.” 

“Wow.” Taking a sip of your usual boba selection, you clear your throat to relieve yourself of the bits of embarrassment caught inside. “Shakespeare is quaking in his grave.”

Taehyung snorts. “Please. I’d run circles around that old man.” 

“Wouldn’t doubt that. You’re both lame.” 

“And you’re glowing but won’t spill. I dunno why you’re acting.” 

“Huh?”

A fiendish smile slips between you before he replies, “I know you’re dying to talk about it.” 

Fuck Kim Taehyung for being so right all the time. 

Because screw it, you really are. So much happened between you and Yoongi that you’re almost bursting at the seams with giddiness. The only thing dampening your mood is the fact that you can’t possibly let this secret out, as much as you want to shout about it from the rooftops. 

If you release whatever you have out in the world—even if just to one person—it may have a way of traveling a lot further than you planned. And with that comes certain risks. 

Like the risk of your brother finding out.

However, the person wanting to know is Taehyung. And he already knows the juiciest part. 

“Okay, fine,” you blurt, hiding your smile with another sip. “But not out here.” 

Your annoying best friend slowly scans around the empty area with intention, his gaze landing on a patch of shrubbery next to his knees. “Right. I would hate for these bushes to know your dirty little secret.” 

“Ugh! Just not in public. Let’s go to your place.” 

“Ah… Let’s go to yours.” 

Quirking a brow, you watch his steady features before relenting. The excitement to tell anyone outweighs your curiosity—for the time being, at least. 

“Fine. But let’s get food first.” 

“Oh my god, you’ve got it bad.” 

“Hey!” 

“Don’t rag on me for telling the truth!” 

You roll your eyes as you take another bite of your takeout. “You weren’t supposed to be so judgy.” 

“I’m not being judgy,” Taehyung laughs. “Just observant.” 

“Well, either way. It’s not true.”

Even though his mouth is full, you can clearly tell he calls “bullshit” through black bean noodles and meat. Watching the television in front of you, you decide not to offer any replies, simply observing the drama switch to another scene with telltale heart-filled filters. 

Admittedly, your vision seems to have that same effect. 

Because you can’t fucking stop thinking about Yoongi and the week you get him to yourself. 

You haven’t felt like this in ages, like your stomach can’t settle but your heart has it far worse—buzzing, tingling, fizzing all over. Thousands of butterflies occupy your chest, fluttering and beating so loud that they kept you up all of last night and carried you throughout your entire, otherwise shitty workday. 

Fuck, you wanna see him. 

“Like I said.”

Damn it.

“You got it bad.”

“Okay, okay,” you groan, setting your food down with a pout. “I may be into him a little bit.” 

Taehyung looks so affronted that you laugh, cheeks a little tighter than usual. 

At this, your friend regards you with scrunched brows and a grin, getting up from the floor to sit on the couch next to you. Cross legged and all. “Look at you! Okay, you’re hiding something. Spill.”

“I told you everything!”

“Liar.”

“I swear.”

“Get real.”

You start to vacate your seat when a large hand shoots up and grabs your wrist.

“Ah ah. Tell me, miss guilty. Whatever you’re hiding from me is huge.”

Plopping back down, you think about exactly what you want to say, knowing that you’re not giving that secret up. You divulged pretty much everything else that happened over the weekend: the way Yoongi came over, the way he took you back to his place, and everything that went down while you were there. 

But there’s one thing you are not going to uncover. 

And it’s safely hidden away in a jewelry box in your room. 

“I know what it is.”

Cocking your head, you observe your friend with narrow eyes, horrified for a split second that he’ll be right yet again. “What then?”

“He asked you out.”

And Taehyung finally misses by a longshot.

“Hell no!” 

“He did, didn’t he! I knew it. He has it even worse than you do.” 

A laugh leaves your throat before you can stop it. Your friend can say whatever he wants but that is certainly not the case. There’s no way.

Besides, the dating stage is a pipe dream, so there’s no need to even entertain that. 

This week is just… a separate timeline. Broken off from the normal passing of things and sectioned off for the two of you to play pretend.

“He does not have it worse than I do,” you finally sigh, placing your chin in a palm and watching a love confession unfold in countless pixels. “And he did not ask me out. You said yourself he doesn’t do relationships.”

“Technically, no. But it’s not like he hasn’t been in one before.”

That’s true. You remember Yoongi had a couple more-than-flings, or regulars as all your brother’s friends referred to them as. But even then, it seemed he kept his options open. At least, from what you somewhat gathered by passing rumors on the sidewalk and in several cramped garages. 

But him? With you? 

Fairytales aren’t real. 

Opportunities are. 

And the both of you just happened to seize this particular one by the throat. 

“I know, Tae,” you sigh as you turn away from the screen. Love confessions aren’t exactly real, either. Not like the ones in shows that seem to be perfect and timely and precede a happily ever after. “But you know how he is.” 

“Apparently not really.”

“What do you mean?”

“He cooked with you.”

“So?”

Taehyung shoots you a look that screams for you to get his point. “That’s some married life shit!”

“Stop!” you gasp, burying your head further into your hand. “It’s not a big deal!”

“When have you ever heard of him cooking with someone, let alone letting you stay after fucking?”

“I don’t keep tabs on him, Tae.”

“You should now. But ignoring that.” He flops his legs down on the ground and shifts himself forward, his turn to watch the aftermath of the confession. “I’ve never heard him do that with anyone ever since his last relationship.” 

“So?”

“I dunno. I just…” Biting a nail, Taehyung keeps his eyes unblinking. “It’s interesting. Since he practically swore off them since then.”

Ah. 

You didn’t know that.

You also weren’t exactly privy to his last real relationship anyway, since it happened while you were still in university. 

But you do remember your brother getting irritated and slightly annoyed that he barely saw him once he was in one. 

You wonder what Yoongi’s like with someone he’s willing to commit to. And you wonder if it’s even better than what you experienced yesterday. 

Fuck. Your heart starts to hurt at the prospect of that being true. 

Because yesterday was one of the best days of your life. 

“You look happy,” Taehyung continues, snipping your thoughts in two. “I won’t deny that.”

And you turn back to face the television and admit, “I am.”

“But I’m also trying to stay realistic.” 

“Yeah.”

“So if you ever feel like the ride’s too rough, get off.”

“…Yeah.”

It’s nightfall when you finally decide to flip open the jewelry box in your room, taking out the top layer to reveal its hidden section underneath. 

And the key that you were given twenty-four hours ago.

Your stare is long before you finally decide to fish it out, feeling all the possibilities that come with it in your fingers. All the doors that have been opened with this one gesture alone.

The spare is heavier now than when you first took it.

Gnawing on your lip, you bring it all the way to your bed, halfway sitting on the edge and contemplating whether to even use it or not. 

Do you give in the first night? Is that being too eager? Too clingy? It’s possible that Yoongi would think so even if he never said anything. Even though you were able to get to know him a lot more than you expected, that man is still a walking enigma. You still don’t exactly know how he truly operates.

…But what if you don’t use it tonight and he takes it the wrong way? 

That’s also a probable case. Maybe he expects you to use it already and, if you prove him wrong, he’ll come home to an empty apartment. How would he feel then? Would he even care? 

Frankly, would Yoongi even care whether you used the key or not? 

Fuck! 

A loud groan flies out of your throat and shoots through your ceiling, and you flop back onto your sheets, weighed down by the mountain of thoughts in your head.

There’s another reason why you haven’t reached a solid decision yet. 

Yoongi hasn’t texted or called since this morning. 

It was a quick conversation between the two of you, and the content wasn’t anything major. However, that was the last time you heard from him, even after you texted him to see how work was going, wondering if it was a hell of a lot better than your day.

And still, hours and hours later, nothing.

What Taehyung said earlier flashes in your mind with blinking red letters, but you shoo it away before you let it permeate further into your thoughts. Your week with Yoongi has only just started. No reason to get overworked with stress already.

In any case, maybe it’s best for you not to go over there until he texts back. Like he said before handing you his spare—though, you can only speculate because the entire night turned fuzzy after that—he didn’t know how the week was gonna go.

So it’s highly possible he’s just neck deep in work and can’t talk. And who are you to bother him?

You slowly get up to grab your phone before putting the key back in its hiding spot. Typing away, you create and delete and create and delete and finally decide on a message to send before getting ready for bed.

You [typing]: Next time!

You: 

You [typing]: You got this !!

You:

You:

You: 

You [10:33pm]: 😴

Tuesday hands you yet another rough day at work. 

Nothing seems to move in a positive direction; the leadership decisions make no sense; people are getting snippy. Everything is puncturing your brain to find its breaking point and quite frankly it’s gonna be found soon enough. 

What’s worse: none of your texts to Yoongi have been read. Not the text from last night, nor the short ones you sent this morning. 

Essentially, everything sucks right now. 

The last few hours of your workday crawl by, and you’re practically bolting out the door when it’s finally over. Hoping that you hear back from any of the jobs you applied for over the weekend. 

Thank god Yoongi told you to—

Yoongi: Incoming Call

Staring at your phone, your heart leaps out to get to your car before you do. 

What the hell? How does he manage to catch you at the most ideal times? You feel incredibly relieved just to see his name. 

As you answer the call, you wonder if you could ever have that same effect on him. 

“Hi.”

“Hey. Finally leaving the fucking studio.”

Oh, shit. He sounds downright pissed. 

Body alert, you open your car door and get inside. “Damn. You okay?” 

“Yeah.” 

Hold on. “When you say finally…”

“We’ve been in there since yesterday. I would’ve called you but Kook snatched up all our phones.” 

Holy hell. That explains the complete radio silence, at least. Your shoulders feel much, much lighter, despite your concern for Yoongi and all the crap he’s going through himself. “Oh, shit. You let him do that?” 

“He’s just lucky you picked up.” 

You laugh while feeling a strange bubbling in your stomach. “He���s also lucky I’m a forgiving person.” 

“So am I.” 

“But damn, I’m sorry—” Words die on your tongue. You almost said baby at the end of that sentence. Oh, fuck.

Tae was right. You’ve got it stupid bad. 

Your eyes squeeze shut at the thought of actually saying that out loud, embarrassment from something that didn’t even happen coating your entire body. Recovering as best as you can, you look to humor by default. 

“I should’ve gone over and made food again,” you joke after clearing your throat. “Then you’d never win against me.” 

“Maybe I don’t want to.” 

“Giving up already?” 

“I do that a lot.” 

You blow air out of your mouth as you pull out of the parking lot, relishing the orange and purple hues of late afternoon skies. “Lazy!” 

“Less work. And more food.” 

“You know what, you can make your own damn dinner. I’m tired of you.” 

A light chuckle fills your car’s speakers before Yoongi responds, 

“Don’t lie.” 

“Mm. I was gonna come over but now I think I’ll just stay home.” 

“Is that right?” 

“Yeah.”

“Then I’m coming over.” 

Your fingers immediately grip your steering wheel. “Wait! People could see.” 

“It’s one or the other, doll. Better choose quick.” 

“Okay, okay,” you rush out through a growing grin. “I’ll come over for a bit.” 

“A bit?” 

“Yes, for a bit.” As you make your way through intersections, you shake your head at how easy it is for Yoongi to make your day. You feel like someone shouldn’t get to have this power, and yet you are nothing but grateful for him. 

On your way past a line of restaurants, an idea comes to mind. “Did you eat yet?”

“Nah. You?”

“No, I’m starving,” you sigh, starting to suggest that he meet you somewhere before realizing that you can’t quite do that. Damn. “I can get food then head over.” 

“You sure?”

“Yeah. You got it last time.”

“Suit yourself.”

Swallowing the slight sadness you feel, you tell yourself to stay in the moment. Take advantage of this time you have with him without muddying it with future worries. Your voice comes out quiet when you let him go, 

“See you soon then.” 

And his comes out just as soft. 

“See ya.” 

It’s stupid. 

But you wanted to do it anyway.

Holding his spare key in your fingers, you rub its metallic surface, shaking your head at yourself for going all the way home just to get it before grabbing food. Doing so made the whole trip much longer, but at least it also gave you an excuse to change out of your work clothes and freshen up a bit before coming. 

Besides. When else will you get a chance to do this? When else are you ever going to get this opportunity again? 

Plastic bags rustling under your determined wrist, you slide the key in his lock, twisting it and hearing the mechanisms click.

Strange. 

Unlocking Yoongi’s door feels so significant, even though it’s such a mundane, everyday thing on its own accord. People do it all the time, and yet… Doing so gives you a feeling you can’t quite place. 

Swinging the entrance open, you expect to see it lit and have at least something happening. 

But you’re greeted with nothing. 

It’s enough to make you worry.

Were you gone for that long? Did he assume you weren’t coming anymore and already go to sleep?  

“...Yoongi?” 

No response cuts through the dark of the living room. In fact, there isn’t even a hint of activity following your question. For a moment, you think he didn’t even make it back—until the faint light and sound slipping under his bedroom door pull you in. 

Your bags shift as you tiptoe across the front area and, with each ginger step, you’re hoping that whatever greets you behind that wooden barrier doesn’t make you flee. 

But when you finally near the blocked entryway, you freeze with your hand on the knob.

Because the muffled sound you hear is not just noise.

But a recording.

It’s him.

In all the times you wondered about Yoongi’s music equipment and from what he told you about his job, you rarely thought about him doing anything other than production. Sure, you entertained the idea of him on a mic, but nothing you imagined sounded like what you’re hearing now.

Do you even go in there? 

Honestly, it feels like you would intrude if you did. 

But, knowing Yoongi, he would probably tell you to do it anyway. Or at least try to. 

So you set your stuff down on his kitchen table before going back to the door, slowly opening it and peeking your head inside. 

Oh.

Adorable.

Instead of seeing him tapping away in the dark on a keyboard or clicking buttons, all you see is his head buried in the crook of his sleeved elbow, his sleeping form faintly outlined blue by the light of his monitor. 

How long did you actually take?

Moving toward him, you try not to take in the looped recording too much to preserve that privacy he wanted. But damn it, the piece sounds incredible and you can’t help but feel proud of him for this one soundbite alone. 

When you approach Yoongi’s side, you swallow your selfishness and pause the music. 

And you already wanna hear him again.

Suddenly coated in silence, you lightly place a hand on his arm before whispering his name. After he doesn’t move the first time, you give him a gentle shake. “Yoongi?”

A deep inhale comes out of him before he lifts his head, and your brain practically resets when you notice he’s wearing the same glasses you saw months ago. 

He turns to regard you with sleepy eyes. “Hey, doll.”

“Hey,” you whisper, melting on the inside. “Come eat for a sec.” 

“Mmph.” Slowly, he turns his gaze to his monitor before squinting, bringing both hands up to rub his face afterwards. 

Giggling, your admiration for his groggy state comes through in your teasing, “Sleepyhead. Come on, it won’t take long. Then you can pass out.” 

Yoongi still doesn’t move, though he does offer you a nod. 

Looks like you gotta do this the hard way. 

Softly, you wrap your hand around his arm and pull upward, giving enough strength until he obliges and stands with you. 

And you don’t know why you do what you do next—the cute way he looks, the fact that it’s something you’ve been wanting to do for awhile now, whatever—but you do it without much thought. 

You slip your fingers down both his sleeves to take his hands in yours, telling yourself that you’re just doing it to get him across his room. 

From past experience, you know his palms are rough. But when you have them cradled in yours, you don’t expect them to also be warm. Maybe it’s all those hoodies and long sleeves he always wears. 

And it’s almost awkward to hold his hands, but a good kind of awkward. Just… different. New. 

With all these thoughts swirling around your head, you get thrown completely off guard when Yoongi takes your fingers in his and pulls you in and oh fuck his lips are on yours now what the—

Your surprise comes out muffled as you’re slowly backed up all the way to his open door, jumping a little in shock and something else when your shoulder blades hit.

But he’s undeterred. Yoongi’s deep, slow, determined kisses keep coming, even while he closes his fingers around yours and languidly pins a hand next to your ear. Breathing through your nose, you feel his beautiful weight on your chest and stomach, matching his lazy but full licks and sucks as best as you can muster. 

Why does this feel so good? Kissing had never felt this magical before. Every motion bends time itself and melts your legs into mush; heat and sparks erupt under your skin, your veins hot but never as molten as his. Smell, taste, touch. All of these are heightened and yet drowned in seconds. 

What is this feeling? What is this burning hearth in your chest? It’s nothing like you’ve ever experienced, and you know this is a moment you’ll remember for a very, very long time. 

But as all other good things do, this kiss comes to an end, surrendering to heavy breaths and a forehead pressing against yours.

“I’m so exhausted,” Yoongi murmurs. “But I can’t stop kissing you.” 

Fuck. 

Don’t give in. 

You just know it’s something he would say to anyone in your position. You can’t think you’re special. You just can’t. Not when your emotions are at their absolute peak after that stunning, incredible… 

Screw it.

“Then don’t.”

You initiate this time, capturing Yoongi’s lips so suddenly that he jerks back before gripping you harder. 

Whatever he attempts to say comes out in a groan instead, but he recovers to lean forward and pin you right back against his door. 

And the intensity jumps tenfold. The swipes he drags against your tongue, the thrust against your hips, the growls he slips into your mouth—all of them juxtapose how tired he looks. And you are absolutely caught in an inherent magnetism that only he can possess even on the verge of exhaustion. 

It feels like an eternity can pass and you would still be fine staying exactly where you are: right here, in his embrace, lips locked as tight as your hands. 

But reality starts to win as you both come down from your high—lowering, and lowering, and lowering—and Yoongi dips right back into his sluggish demeanor. 

Feeling his head droop onto your shoulder, you offer him a smile he can’t see as you pat his arm. “Eat. Then you can sleep.” 

“Mm.” 

“Come on,” you encourage through a whisper, and you once again guide him out of his room and to his kitchen table. 

Silently apologizing, you go to flip on the stove light to illuminate the area enough to see. As warm yellow spills into the small dining area, you walk back over to see Yoongi inspecting what you brought.

“I hope what I got is okay,” you say with little confidence.

You decided on a popular local chain, but you had to guess at what Yoongi would order there. Judging from the way he nods before digging in, you made the right choices. 

That’s enough for you. Smiling to yourself, you take a seat in the middle chair before unboxing your meal. 

“This is actually what I get from here.”

“Really?” you chirp as you smell the aromas coming from both dishes. “Dope. It’s what I get, too.” 

“You got good taste then,” Yoongi responds with a lift of his mouth, and you both huff out tiny laughs. 

At least a few parts of your day are going well. The kiss was enough to last you a lifetime, but getting Yoongi’s preferences right? Which happen to also be yours? You’re floating. 

But after a few minutes of silence go by, you start to sink back down to earth. Not because of the lack of conversation—it’s quite comfortable. You just start to move your food around more than eat it, thinking about your job and how you really don’t want to go back tomorrow. 

Normally, you would rant about work woes with your friends, or Taehyung. But can you do the same with Yoongi? Would he care to really listen to boring stuff like that? 

“You good?”

Snapping your head up, you see a concerned stare resting behind thin specs, fiery hair a bit dulled in the low lighting. 

“I’m good now,” you admit. “Work was just stupid.” 

“I feel that.” 

Nodding, you sigh before adjusting yourself in your chair, ultimately deciding to spare him all the dumb details about your day. 

Besides, he’s clearly tired. You don’t wanna give him more things to deal with. So you settle on something he already knows about and let it end there. “I just hope I hear from one of those listings soon.”

“You will,” Yoongi assures. “Give’em time.”

Not expecting any response from him at all, you trudge on before holding back. “Okay. I just don’t wanna be stuck, you know?” 

A small snort leaps from his seat. “Out of everybody I know? You wouldn’t let that happen.”

You can only stare at him before looking away. 

How is Yoongi able to quell your worries so fast all the time? Is he like this with everyone? If he is, no wonder he’s gotten so many people in the palm of his hand. No wonder every person on the planet wants to steal a bit of his heart. 

It’s one thing to be attractive physically. But Yoongi’s mental? It makes you have to stop yourself from launching across the table to attack him again.

Guarding your heart from getting ahead of itself, you put your chin in one of your hands. “Everyone should pay you for making them feel better all the time.” 

“Huh?”

“You always know what to say to people.” 

Without missing a beat, Yoongi responds. 

“I hate people.” 

“Liar!” you laugh out, inwardly sighing at the shit grin he beams you with. “You can’t be this nice and not like anyone.”

He simply shakes his head. When he starts to explain, his voice seems to drag across the ocean floor, 

“I don’t think you get it, doll.” 

“Hmm?”

“I’m not like this with just anyone.” 

Ah.

Roaming your eyes over his sure features, shyness quickly takes over and you become quite interested in the scratch marks in his table. 

“But I mean it,” Yoongi says. “Someone will be gunning for you any day now. Don’t worry about it too much.” 

A rueful smile slowly carves itself into your face. For someone that tends to overthink and wonder about every little thing, hearing things like this mean the world. 

Before, the only person that could really talk sense into you was Taehyung. But it didn’t even take a handful of times for Yoongi to fill that same kind of role, whether it’s been hours or months between the times you’ve seen him.

Frankly, it’s scary how quickly you’re able to feel this connected despite your different walks of life, and the overall feeling lodged in your chest is hard to describe. 

It’s like seeing a long lost friend that you were meant to find again.

Overcome with a swell of emotion, you stare at your finished food. Because there’s no way you can look anywhere else. The only thing you can get out of your slightly clogged throat is a tiny, 

“Thank you.” 

“It’s true,” Yoongi responds through a sudden yawn. Covering his mouth before rubbing the bottom half of his face, he exhales. “Honestly, I’m shocked you came back.” 

You regard him again. “Like this town?”

He nods, eyes already shutting.

And you hum in return, all the decisions you made in the past washing up in the forefront of your mind. 

You don’t think he’d want to hear any of that, either. So you simply sum it up with a much more succinct, 

“Me, too.”  

Closing your box, you put all the trash in one of the plastic bags, mind filled with your day and all the feelings you can’t come to terms with. So much is clouding your thoughts that you don’t realize that he’s dozing off in his seat until seconds later. 

Pausing in your movements, you whisper, “Yoongi?” 

“Mm.”

Technically, it’s not late, but you know he still has to wake up pretty early. And it doesn’t help that he probably didn’t get much rest while camped in the studio. 

Concern laces your voice as you ask, “You sure you can wake up on time tomorrow?” 

He inhales before sighing. “I dunno. But I gotta.” 

Damn. 

Whatever they’re working on must be incredibly important if he’s this determined. The late nights, the lockdowns, the taken phones. All of it must be weighing on his shoulders and yet he is the one making you feel better?

Maybe you can help him out. You can be his strength just as he can be yours. 

“I can stay. I just need to go home and get my stuff.” 

Yoongi shakes his head, hair slightly parting in the motion. “You don’t have to, doll.” 

“I have to get up early for work anyway. I’ll just leave from here.” 

Silent, you plead him to let you help. You’ve done it before to make sure your secret wasn’t blown, but this time is purely out of selflessness. 

And Yoongi grants you your wish when he sighs out a faint, 

“Okay.” 

The plan was to simply go home, get your stuff, then head back.

You did not plan to get a call from one of your friends on the way there.

Cursing at the caller ID, you compose yourself before accepting, eyes back on the road when not one, but three of them answer your greeting.

“Hey, babe!”

“Where are you? Come out!”

“We haven’t seen you in forever, bitch!”

Oh, shit. 

You tense, hoping they aren’t in a car and can see you driving back to your place. “I can’t tonight,” you finally remember to respond, mind whirling with possible escape routes because—

“Why not!”

“Where have you been!”

“You don’t have shit to do!”

Damn it, damn it, damn it. Gripping your wheel, you dart your eyes along the streets before swallowing your truths. 

If it were any other night, you would keep your secret under wraps and let Yoongi know the change of plans. You’d go out with them and make it up to him later. 

But not tonight.

Damn, why did they have to call now! 

Purposefully lowering your voice, you groan, “I’ve been sick. Stomachache… I’m sorry.”

“Awhhh, babe.”

“Wait, you sound like you’re in a car, though…”

Fuck! 

“Yeah, just getting stuff from the store. Don’t worry, I’m fine.”

The line has a bunch of hums and groans, and you know that some of your friends don’t buy it. But thankfully, they don’t pry tonight. 

“Alright, well let us know next time so we can get you soup or something.”

“Yeah, you know we got you!”

“Feel better soon, kay?”

You love them.

You hate lying to them.

“I’ll make it up to y’all, okay? Promise.”

“Oh, you’re good!”

“Feel better!”

“I’ll hold you to that, shit, forget about them.”

The laughs on the line welcome yours as you join them, and you thank everything out there that they let you go this time. 

But as you say goodbye and the line cuts out, your heart drops with a thud. 

This. 

This is what it would be like if the two of you keep seeing each other on the regular. 

You somehow avoided it for a couple days, but now reality is coming back to play. And next time, your friends may start to suspect something’s up. 

Which is why you need to make the most of this week while you can. 

Being in Yoongi’s bathroom a few times now, it’s a lot different when you’re in there to get ready for bed. 

After your friends gave you mini heart attacks, you were so frazzled that all you did when you went home was gather clothes and all your toiletries before hauling ass back out. 

Which lead you to having to get ready at the same counter that Yoongi uses everyday—minus the times he’s forced to stay in studios. 

But you go through your nightly routine, head filled with several thoughts and worries and feelings, the most recent being the way your chest constricted when you unlocked Yoongi’s door to find him sleeping in his bedroom. 

What would it be like to have that as your normal? 

How are you in this position at all?

Looking back at the very first time you trembled for minutes on his rude welcome mat, you cannot fathom how it went from that moment to this one. 

He gave you a key to the door that you were terrified to knock on. 

You still can’t believe it. 

Brimming with butterflies, you finish up and vacate Yoongi’s bathroom, rounding his bed to gently nestle into your side—moreso the least amount of space that you can muster. Setting your alarms, you rest your phone down before slipping your eyes shut.

You almost think about settling in closer, but you don’t want to cross any other boundaries that he could have. Accidentally hearing his recording was egregious enough.

But Yoongi’s croaky voice startles your bones.

“You didn’t have to do this.” 

“I didn’t. But this is much better than calling you.” 

He huffs out a low laugh. “True.” 

And you think that’s the end of your conversation.

Until he speaks again. 

“You gonna hang off the edge like that all night?”

“I…” 

“Come here.” 

Oh.

You turn under the covers to see faint moonlight reflecting in his drooping eyes, and you wonder how someone like him should even be allowed to exist.

Shifting forward, your chest rattles when Yoongi lifts an arm to bring you close, and he plants the softest kiss on your forehead before whispering gratitude again.

“No problem,” you sigh into the warmth of his covered chest, inhaling the scent around you that is purely him. 

Quickly after, Yoongi is lost to slumber.

So you couldn’t tell him how you just lied to your friends.

Goddamn, your alarm is annoying.

But it works like a charm.

Sleepily tapping it off your screen, you twist in place. “Hey,” you whisper with eyes half-closed, “You awake?”

“Mmhmm.”

The power of your obnoxious alarm. You’re actually embarrassed to wake another person up with it, but you chose to do this in the first place. 

“Good.”

Both of your voices are heavy with sleep as Yoongi rubs his eyes. “What time is it?”

“Five.”

“What time you gotta leave?”

“By six,” you yawn, unwittingly snuggling into his chest and hearing him softly laugh through his nose.

You feel a hand on your thigh before Yoongi lazily slings your leg over his, and your brain lights up at his admittance,

“I like you like this.”

“Mm,” is all you manage before your post-sleep brain rebels and says something else. “What else do you like…” 

“Hmm?” 

“You’re always asking me…” You breathe through your nose. “What do you like?” 

You only get silence, and it goes on for so long that you figure everything just happened in your own head. As you start to doze off again, Yoongi’s raspy vocals rumble under your cheek,

“Kiss me.” 

Lifting your head, you blink slowly before pushing up far enough to press your lips down onto his, breathing in deep through your nose. 

The same hand resting on your leg slips down to the curve of your ass, and you quietly hum before Yoongi pulls away slightly. 

“Kiss my neck.” 

Staring down at his lidded eyes, you nod before lowering your lips, feeling his heartbeat beneath your chest. As you latch lips onto his column, you shut your eyes and preen at the deep groan Yoongi releases. Its vibrations scatter across your covered skin, forcing your hand to come up and lightly clutch the front of his shirt. 

He cocks his head to the side to give you more room, humming low, “Mm. Just like that.”

His praise makes you bold, and you sleepily swirl your tongue over a vein before pressing deeper into his smooth skin. When he tenses, you keep swiping over that same spot, becoming more and more awake with each hiss he lets out. 

Suddenly, your hand is clasped before he lowers your fingers, and you flinch when you feel his hard-on confined by sweats. Your breath whooshes onto the expanse of his neck, and before you can grab at him, Yoongi guides your hand somewhere else. 

Somewhere much higher, and a lot more surprising. 

Pulling away entirely, you watch him with intent from above. At your curiosity, he simply explains,

“Choke me.” 

What?

Did you hear him right? Or are you still sleeping and all of this isn’t real?

With your fingers resting on the silky base of his neck, you blink. “You like that?” 

“Uh huh.” 

Well. You didn’t expect him to admit anything close to that, and his matter of factness is frankly attractive. 

Instead of obliging right away, you slide your hand down to rake your nails over his nipple first, offering a tiny, miniscule, sleepy smirk of your own as Yoongi does the same. 

Biting a corner of his lip, he warns, “Careful, baby girl.”

You chuckle as you bring your fingers to the base of his throat. “Or else what…”

“Or else—Fuck,” Yoongi groans with a sharp tilt of his head, feeling the sudden press of your fingers around his neck. 

You don’t choke him completely, having never done this before. But the pressure you give seems to be more than enough for him, and your eyes blow wide at the way his eyebrows knit in pleasure. 

Goddamn, he looks absolutely incredible like this.

Shrouded in sleep and lust, you swoop your head down to lap at his column again, letting instinct take over. 

Curses and hisses fly out of Yoongi’s lips, and you drink them in until you feel legitimately drunk on his reactions alone.

You didn’t expect to enjoy giving him pleasure this much. If you are truthful with yourself, you don’t want to stop. You almost want to keep him here and never let him go. 

“Fuck, hold on,” he hisses, suddenly gripping your wrist in frustration. And you relent. Though you aren’t happy about it. “I gotta go soon, doll.” 

As much as you want him all to yourself, to explore this new territory he allowed you to have, there’s no way you can keep him from what he needs to do. 

So you pull away, reveling in the angry, flushed appearance of his upper chest. You sincerely wish you tore off his shirt before everything started. 

If you get the chance to continue…

Smirking again and wondering if he’s rubbing off on you, you airily joke, “That’s too bad.. Looks like you’ll have to wait for the rest.” 

“What a tease.” 

“Learned from the worst.” 

You smile and he curves his mouth up in return. A squeak leaves you when he turns the tables with a flick of his hand, grabbing the back of your head to kiss your entire soul out.

Your eyes are still swirling when he pulls away, and you rise into a sitting position as he gets up with a laugh. 

Grabbing a necklace from his nightstand, Yoongi looks at you taking up the middle of his mattress. But he doesn’t say anything before heading to his bathroom. 

As soon as he’s inside, you expel all the air that you had been holding. All the pent up adrenaline that built while you were caught up in whatever just happened. 

You want more of that. So, so much more of that. 

And you also wanna stay in his bed, but you know that would be a little too much. Too domestic. So you scoot to the edge of his sheets and start to get ready for your own day. 

As you reach for your phone, you gnaw on your bottom lip out of pure giddiness, thinking about when and how to continue what you both just started.

Until you see the onslaught of notifications on your lock screen.

jackson trash [12:30am]: open the door !!!

dpr doormat [12:30am]: biiiish r u home? u better b alive

bibi’s whore [12:34am]: we brought u stuff<33 

Taeee😪[12:57am]: You at home?

Taeee😪: Missed Calls (3) 

Taeee😪[1:30am]: Pick up!

Taeee😪[1:32am]: Where are you??? 

Taeee😪: Missed Calls (3) 

Taeee😪[1:51am]: Bro pick up ur phone

Taeee😪: Missed Calls (2) 

Taeee😪[2:50am]: You owe me :|

Stare burning into your screen, your jaw hits the floor as your shoulders push upward in fear. Immediately, you lock all the way up, your reaction whooshing out in a low, sharp,

“Oh, shit.” 

“You good?” 

Snapping your head up, you see Yoongi standing just outside his bathroom, scratching one of his elbows. 

And you almost say that it’s nothing, that there isn’t anything wrong.

But then you remember the countless times he’s told you that you can tell him anything. And in your panicked state, you decide to take the plunge and finally give into his wishes. 

“Well, uhh. No, actually. It’s my friends.” You look back down at your phone, gnawing your lip. “I’m a little worried.”  

Yoongi crosses the room, rounding his bed while swiping a hoodie from his desk chair. “About?”  

When he walks right up to you, all you can do is stare. Just for a bit. Because even minutes after waking up, he looks so handsome. 

And looking at him is enough to calm you down.

But suddenly, he tosses his jacket onto the bed before bringing both hands forward, holding your hips and bringing you closer. “About what, doll?” 

Fuck. Get yourself together, get your thoughts back in order. Clearing your throat, you let out the rest of your problems, hyper aware of the way his fingers rest on your sides, “They might think I’m dodging them. I said I couldn’t go out last night.” 

Instead of pulling away, Yoongi simply leans in, latching velvety lips onto your neck and kissing your tension away. Small breaths leave your mouth before he mutters, “What did you say?”

“That I felt sick.” 

Huffs of small laughter tickle your column. “Guess they didn’t buy that.”

You sigh as he keeps lapping at your throat, tilting your head to prolong not feeling so shitty. If it wasn’t for the hands gripping your sides—or the arms you clasp around his neck—you definitely would have collapsed to the ground by now. “Guess not... I wonder… if they tried the house.”

The moan you release spurns Yoongi to press your body back, and you feel the cool spackle of his wall instead of his door this time. As your back makes harder contact with the rough surface, you grunt into the kiss he plants on your lips. 

You don’t know exactly why he’s all over you like this. Is it to distract you from worrying like you assumed? Is it because you’re finally doing what he’s been asking this whole time? Or is it because he wants to continue where you just left off because you sure as hell want that same exact thing. Anything else be damned right now.

If only it were that easy.

Yoongi’s voice still has a hint of sleep as he continues to question you, and you appreciate his willingness to help in any way. Especially since his way involves wrapping his arms further around you and resting them on your lower back. “You park inside, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“How would they know you weren’t home then?” 

“Maybe they knocked? I dunno...” 

Yoongi pulls away. When his eyes roam your face, you wish you had some semblance of normalcy in your features instead of the sleepiness and stress you feel creasing your forehead. “You okay?” 

“I… No. But. We can talk about it later. You gotta go.” 

“Fuck, I do. But hey.” He gives you another kiss, as if he has all the time in the world. “Just tell me what you want. Okay?” 

Your vision remains cloudy from the pillowy soft touch of his lips, and your words float off your tongue, 

“What do you mean?” 

You can tell that Yoongi doesn’t respond how he wants to, but he’s already backing up and heading out. 

“I meant what I said.” 

“Okay,” you call out to his back, and you watch him make his way through his apartment, looking at you one more time before clicking the entryway shut.

The rest of your day is slathered in anxiety and worry. 

You manage to make it home without falling apart, though choosing to leave your stuff at Yoongi’s for just a bit longer.

To combat the impending calls you have to make, you breathe. Focus on quelling the storm in your stomach. Latch onto anything that grounds you. 

The first thing you think about is being a kid again. How things were so simple, the only drama you encountered being playground fights. Then you think about other things, like memories and accomplishments and book quotes you’ve stored for safekeeping.

But slowly, the only thing that appears in your mind is a tidy apartment, with a kitchen filled with laughs and cold water all over the floors.

You can’t deny how at ease you feel when you’re in his place. Even when you were there alone, it was peaceful. It felt… 

Clearly, you don’t want to let go of whatever feelings you have harbored in your chest. You want to make the most of them.

Before things have to reset.

Of course, the dark side of this week presented itself like a bright red spot on a blank canvas. Taehyung’s texts and calls could mean a thousand things, and the only thing that kept you from outright panic was him saying that you owed him. 

Whatever happened was resolved. For now.

But nothing can stop you from feeling the guilt. The icky jitters in your stomach. The slight bit of shame from needing to tuck secrets away and wondering how to go about things. 

What’s worse: knowing that it can’t ever be real with Yoongi unless something drastic changes. Which is why you can’t let yourself feel this way for much longer.

But the fact of the matter is that the two of you have barely started whatever this is. It’s not like you have a hold on him at all, even if he confirmed that he wasn’t seeing anyone else. 

Maybe he operates differently now than he used to? You don’t know. 

Whatever. Right now, you have to figure out how to get your friends off your back because things can get sticky real quick if they decide to snoop.

But first: call Taehyung.

It has to happen eventually. Even if you text him, you’d get an incoming call before your message even gets through. 

So on the way to work, you brace yourself and do it, which turns out to be a loud mistake.

“You owe me big!”

“I know, Tae, I’m so sorry—”

“You know how hard I had to cover for you?”

“No… What happened?”

You hear him sigh before he questions, 

“You told them you were sick, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And you were just gonna stay home?”

“Yeah.”

“But you weren’t actually there, were you?”

You wince as you roll up to a red light. 

“No.”

“Mm. Guess who had to lie and say you were at their place.”

Shutting your eyes in shame, you exhale. “I’m sorry.”

“Lemme finish. Guess who also had to weasel their way out of a videocall since people didn’t believe them.”

“Shit.” You feel so bad. He didn’t have to do all of that for you. “How the hell did you do that?”

“I’m not giving up my secrets to a sneak!”

“Tae!”

“Like I said: you owe me.”

Your building comes into view as you agree, “I do. I’m really sorry.”

“Just let me know next time so I’m more prepared, yeah?”

“Okay.”

“And you’re buying me lunch and dinner.” 

“I will. Promise.”

There’s a big sigh on the line, and you bite your lip in anticipation. You know he’s not done with you yet. 

But all Taehyung says is a soft handful of words, and your heart caves inward just a tad.

“We can handle your friends.” 

“I know.”

“But it won’t be the same with him.”

You are fully aware of who he’s referring to. Because you already thought about the same exact thing. 

As you park, you stare at your steering wheel but don’t quite look at it. 

“I know.” 

The only good thing about the mountain of worries you have to deal with? 

They’re enough to dull your senses at work, and that’s saying something. 

Somehow, you also request to take tomorrow off. And somehow, your request is accepted. Whether it’s the fact that you almost never ask off, or the wound-up way you look, you’ll take it. 

After you make it back home, you carry your tired bones to your bed, flopping down and forcing yourself to clear your head as best as you can. 

Fuck, you hate feeling this way. 

You gotta fess up to your friends. 

Of course, not everything. But you have got to tell them some of the truth so that their concern doesn’t dissolve into suspicion. 

So you’ll confess a thing or two. You’ll just leave Yoongi’s name out of it.

After you take a nice, needed, absurdly long nap. 

Taeee😪: Outgoing Call

“Come to grovel at my feet again? Or are you paying up?”

“Neither.” 

“Oh. Bye then.”

“Wait!” You shift under your blankets, sitting up and hunching over. “I’m gonna tell them.”

“What?”

“I’m gonna tell them.”

“About him?”

“No, no. Not everything. Just… that I’m seeing someone.”

There’s a quick pause before Taehyung slowly questions,

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I feel queasy.”

“Ah. And that’s what we call a self-fulfilling prophecy, miss stomachache.”

“Shut up,” you groan. “But I just wanted to tell you first, since you worked so hard to cover for me.” 

“Be my guest, babe. I just look like a ride or die. And you already agreed to get me food.”

“Okay.”

“Good luck.”

You hang up before looking at the threads you hastily apologized in earlier, wondering which one of them to call. Anyone would be a good choice. But anyone could also be a terrible one. 

Ugh. 

Your fingers flex and curl, and you start to play with your nails while lost in thought.

But you finally decide and click on the top message to fake fairness, turning to bury your head in your pillow and hide from possible horrible outcomes. 

bibi’s whore: Outgoing Call 

Your name immediately crunches through your receiver. 

“Oh my god, are you okay? We were so worried!”

Lifting your head, you groan, “I know. I’m so sorry.” 

“As long as you’re all good.” 

“I am.” 

“Okay, good. Tae told us—”

“He lied.”

“What?”

A swallow lodges in your throat. This is harder than you expected, but you keep pushing through. “He covered for me.” 

“...The hell does that mean?”

Well. It’s now or never. Hopefully she will understand. Or yell at you. Ugh. 

Sitting up, you confess to your phone screen, “I… I may or may not be seeing someone.”

A screech on the other line makes you jump, and you fight a wide grin of surprise. 

“Bitch! I believed you and everything!” 

Why were you so worried? Of course they would be elated. Your friends have been encouraging you to get around more anyway, so this reaction is one you should’ve expected. 

The taboo of it being Yoongi just kept you from thinking anything positive would come out of this. If you weren’t so giddy you would be gritting your teeth in pure frustration.

Pleasant shock pumping through your veins, you cover your forehead. “I know, I’m sorry. I just froze!” 

“I get it, I get it. Did you tell the others yet?”

“No, but don’t tell just anyone. Only you three can know. I’m just too tired to do this two more times.”

“Who is it? Do we know them? Is it J—”

“It is not him, but. This is all you get for now,” you lie while doused in a strange cocktail of relief and embarrassment, sticking with your earlier decision. You feel a lot better about this fib, since they’ll know part of the truth. “Just in case it falls through.”

“Mmm, that means the sex is fucking fire.”

“Reia!” 

“What! I can hear it in your voice, babe. Shit, you might be in love.”

You scoff at your window, noticing that it’s way past sunset already. “As if.” 

“But I get it. Sorry if we pressured you into spilling.”

“Are you kidding? I felt guilty the entire day. I love y’all too much.”

“Awhh… Don’t even worry about that. We’ve all been there. Yuri’s still sneaking around with that one guy even though she won’t admit it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. And you know Dom and I are leaving our options open. Everyone’s got their own shit to deal with. So you do you.” 

Sighing, you play with your comforter, noticing how it’ll never be as soft and comforting as Reia. You can’t believe you worried all damn day for virtually nothing.

This whole overthinking thing is starting to get terribly old.

Huffing, you don’t know how else to express your gratitude other than a sincere, “Thank you.” 

“Of course! Are you seeing them again tonight?”

“…Maybe.”

A giggle punctures your phone. 

“Just say yes, you sneaky bitch.”

“Yes.” You pause with a smile. “And yeah, it’s fucking fire.” 

“I knew it! Is it the same guy from last year? Fuck you!” 

“I’m not saying anything!”

“Gotta be. You didn’t say who that was, either.”

It’s true. While you told them about your mind-blowing encounter with Yoongi, you never disclosed a name. All they know is that you practically got your back blown out, and you won’t forget their shouts and praise and scoffs at your implied decision to keep it a one night stand. 

If only they knew that decision wasn’t exactly yours.

“About time you got another proper dick down. Wait, it is a guy, right?” 

“Yeah.”

“Ha! That narrows it down.”

“Damn it.”

“I’ll find out eventually love you bye!”

“Bye,” you say through a grin, feeling multitudes lighter than you had in awhile. 

Thank god. Or whoever or whatever’s out there. You owe them a drink. 

Exhausted, you flop back onto your pillow with a whoosh.

Two calls is more than enough to drain your social battery, but you wanna make one more. 

After all, you feel a hell of a lot better about seeing Yoongi again. The urge is so strong that you feel like calling him just because.

But when his phone rings a few times without an answer, you hang up and watch your ceiling, awake and cocooned in your blanket. 

You can wait however long. Your mind is so much clearer now.

To your immediate surprise, Yoongi calls you back within minutes, voice wary after you greet him.

“You okay?” 

You smile. Of course that’s his first concern. If you hadn’t confessed just a few moments ago, your answer would have been completely different. “Much better. But you’re busy so I can wait.” 

“You sure?” 

“Ah, yeah. I’ll just be in bed.” 

“Yours or mine?” 

…What did he just ask?

“Oh,” you stutter out. “I’m at home.” 

But are you really? Where is home lately, if he isn’t there? 

And why did you just ask yourself that? 

“You threw away that key, huh.” 

“No!” 

“Liar.” 

“I have your key! I just.. I dunno. Using it when you’re not there is weird. Still feels like I’m intruding.” 

A laugh. 

“Then give it up.” 

“What?” 

“Gimme the key back. I’ll come get it tonight.” 

You can practically feel his stupid grin on the other line. There’s no way he’s serious, and yet you’re affected all the same.

“…Damn you, Yoongi.” 

Another laugh puffs out of him before he keeps teasing,

“What?” 

“You’re so… Ugh! Fine. I’ll keep it.” 

“It’s all up to you.” 

“Yeah? Then I’m going over there just to lock you out.” 

More hissed laughter crackles through, and you nestle into your comforter with a curve of your mouth.

“God, I love it when you’re—” 

“Yoong! Hurry up, man!” 

Oh, shit. That was Jungkook. He sounds… 

“Yoongi!” 

“Yoongi! Come back!” 

You freeze. 

Those voices were definitely higher in pitch. Truthfully, they were more like whines than anything.

Interesting. 

There’s a muffled “Yeah, one sec!” before the receiver gets uncovered again.

“Hey, I gotta go. But I’ll be back tonight.”

“Okay…” 

“Am I gonna see you?” 

Well. That’s even more interesting. Your question is timid before tiptoeing out. “…Do you want to?” 

“Course I do.” 

You already knew what your answer would be. After all, you had left all your stuff at his place, so of course you were gonna go back at some point. But after hearing what you just heard, you needed to be sure of Yoongi’s answer. You needed to be sure if you were staying.

Appearing as unbothered as you possibly could, you respond, “Okay. I’ll be there.” 

“Thank fuck.” 

Damn it. You can’t help but puff at the relief in his voice. “Such a guy.” Deciding to cake on more encouragement, you fight the dark emotion in your belly while continuing, “But don’t leave until you’re done!” 

“K.” 

He’s there to work. Right? Yes. He wouldn’t be trying shit. 

…Right? 

Mind in another frenzy, you whisper, “I believe in you. You’ll finish.” 

“I dunno about that, but.. Thanks, doll.” 

It’s later, when you rest in a bed that’s not yours, that you busy yourself with anything to distract you from rogue thoughts. Checking for emails from the job postings, flipping on Yoongi’s television, responding to the second text your brother sent asking if you were good. All of these are temporary buffers. 

But they aren’t enough. 

You think about calling your other friends, wondering how Yuri or Dom reacted to the news when Rea inevitably told them minutes after getting off the phone. But you don’t wanna deal with more of that, lest you have to make up another lie. 

So you decide on the ultimate distraction, a way to time travel without lifting a finger: sleeping.

Because Yoongi doesn’t show for hours. 

And hours. 

You don’t remember when you fell asleep, but you know that something is pulling you out of your slumber. Something warm, and soft, and feeling like you’re coming home.

With a sharp inhale, you fling your eyes open to see that Yoongi’s kissing you awake, one of his hands cradling the back of your neck and his body warmth seeping into your side. 

Is this a dream? 

“Yoon—” 

Your quick break is cut by another kiss, and you taste alcohol and citrus on his tongue before he pulls away. 

“You gotta be my good luck charm or something.” 

Eyes still adjusting to the dark of the room, you question, “Hmm?”

“We fucking finished.”

“Oh my god. Everything?” 

Yoongi nods, his hoodie sweeping the top of your head as he leans in close. 

One foot still in dreamland, you offer a smile of pride. 

Holy crap, they did it. Whatever hard work they poured into that project paid off. You can already see it. “I knew you would,” you sigh, loving the way it feels surrounded by his strong embrace. 

If only he didn’t smell like scents you know you can’t afford. 

Remembering the voices you heard earlier, you crash back down to earth and end up six feet deep in worry. 

Right. You wanted to distract yourself for a reason. You wanted to sleep away the anxiety for a reason. Because even though you and him don’t even have a solid label, you wanna know his stance. And Taehyung would tell you to figure that shit out right away, whether you’re keeping tabs on him or not.

“I dunno how,” Yoongi responds while you muster up enough courage to talk, “But you were right.” 

“Naturally,” you whisper. 

Say something.

Keep being brave enough to tell him what’s bothering you.

No overthinking this one.

As he leans in again for another kiss, you press a hand into his chest and take the first step. “Wait.”

Yoongi stops on a dime.

Unblinking and hoping his answer is one you can take, you sigh, “Can… Can I ask you something?” 

“Always.” 

As you speak, you watch his eyes dart across your face in concern. “This is so stupid. But. I heard… people, on the phone. And I smell… perfume. I know we aren’t a thing, but. I don’t think I can do this if—” 

You’re lucky that Yoongi cuts in before you can finish. 

“Hey. Listen.” He sits up before telling you to follow suit. When you do, he looks toward his window, expression indiscernible as he watches moonlight seep through his blinds. 

Breathing in, he lowers his head before looking at the hands resting in your lap. “I don’t do that shit anymore. If I’m seeing someone, that’s it.” 

You let those words coat shoulders that drop with relief, wondering if he meant that in a general way or if—

“And even if I did…” Yoongi gazes into your eyes then, and you stare at his determined pupils hiding behind dark orange bangs. “I wouldn’t do that to you. K?” 

Oh. There’s a hummingbird in your ribcage, its fluttering wings stealing all the words from your mouth. 

You can only nod.  

“And,” he says, straightening to prop up your chin. “It’s not stupid.”

Ah. The hummingbird now has friends. Many, many friends. 

“If it helps,” Yoongi continues while fighting a guilty smile, “I kinda pissed’em off.”

“Huh?” Something like a half-laugh, half-scoff shoots out of your mouth. “What did you do?”

He aims a smug look your way before reminding you why people love to hate him.

“You ever been called your friend’s name before?”

Your jaw drops before you playfully nudge his shoulder with a gasp, and Yoongi grins with his nose scrunched. “Asshole!” His breathy laughs are unbothered by your affronted, droning, “Wow.”

“I know. But it works.” He winks before moving on to another, more favorable subject. “What time are you leaving in the morning?” 

“Whenever you need me to. I took tomorrow off.” 

“Then stay. I’m off, too.” 

Excitement bubbles up to join the adrenaline in your veins. You were hoping that was the case ever since he said they were finished, but you weren’t positive. “You sure?” 

“Yeah. Why?” 

Blinking, you wonder why you even asked in the first place. 

But then you remember: as much as you want a whole day with him, you think back to seeing him at his desk. How he used even a sliver of his alone time to work on his own music. If he wants to do that instead, you don’t want to stop him. 

However, you also don’t wanna catch him off-guard again by mentioning his private business. Maybe he even forgot that you could have heard his track. So instead, you joke, 

“I dunno. Thought you’d be tired of me by now.”

Yoongi regards you with a smile of disbelief, like he knows that’s what you weren’t originally going to say. But he plays along. 

“Not yet,” he teases. “Lemme shower.” 

With running water serving as the background to your thoughts, you psych yourself up for everything that you want to do.

Whether this is something you can pull off or not, you aren’t exactly sure. But there’s no way to know unless you try. And you want to try very, very hard.

Because Yoongi damn well deserves it. 

He’s been nothing but accommodating ever since the weekend started. From making you get work done, to reassuring your chaotic mind at every pass, he’s made an impression unlike no one has before. 

And honestly, he’s been this way with you long before then. 

So you want to be the one to please him this time. In a way that you never have for anyone else. It’s just daunting when you know you’re about to step out of your comfort zone. 

But to hell with it. You wanna do this. 

Getting up, you swipe one of the shirts Yoongi left on his chair, changing into it before taking everything else off. The soft but thick material drapes over your body, and you wonder if every single thing in this apartment is just made to be as comforting as its owner.

Maybe you should spend more time wearing his baggy clothes. 

Never mind all that. Focus!

Inhaling, you start to visualize your plans. Plans that were put on hold ever since this morning. With all of your day’s worries and fears resolved, the fog in your brain dissipates, allowing you to finally picture what you really want.

Hopefully it’s what Yoongi really wants, too.  

Light juts in front of your feet as the bathroom door swings open, and you stand in place as he notices, “Digging through my shit now, huh?”

“No,” you assure him, bones already vibrating with anticipation at the sight of his wet hair. 

And fuck, is he still wearing jewelry? 

Stop! Self-control. Patience. 

“This was on your chair.”

“I don’t—”

Self-control and patience be damned. 

Rushing forward, you catch Yoongi off guard with quick hands to his covered chest.

“What—”

Backing him up one two three steps, you shove him onto his bed, blood pulsing at the sight of his wide eyes. 

Don’t stop, keep going. You can do this.

Heart skipping beats, you tug off his shirt before you can chicken out, and Yoongi groans when you reveal that it’s the only thing you had on.

And you almost catch the way his expression switches from desire to shock, but you mount him and dive right onto his neck before you can do so.

“Fuck!” 

Something stronger than adrenaline comes over you then. Something dark, and primal, and absolutely divine. Breathing in the woody scent of his body wash, you lap at his column while your hands travel everywhere. You’re so focused on attacking him that you barely register the hands gripping your ass.

“Oh, fuck, doll,” Yoongi moans as you scratch down his chest, jerking his head back with a hard hiss when you pinch his nipple. 

Enveloped by lust, you let instinct guide your actions, pushing up to nip his ear while clutching his throat. A suck here, a tug of his hair there. Pinching, whispering his name, squeezing your thighs—every single movement seems to break him down while lifting you up.

And you finally get the chance to tell him what’s about to happen. 

“Lemme get a cond—”

“Uh uh.” 

When he stills underneath you, your bare chest slides down his front as you explain, 

“My turn.”

It’s simple. It’s concise. 

But Yoongi is smart enough to get what you mean, and a rough hum rips from his core as he watches you slowly sink between his knees. 

When you hit the floor, you realize. 

It’s almost been a year since you’ve been in this position. 

You want to show Yoongi what he had been missing.

But as your eyes shift up to see him already watching you, you’d like to think he already knows. 

Propped up on his elbows, Yoongi leers down at your determination, wet locks still dripping water onto his smooth cheekbones. Underneath his shirt, you can see all the little tics of his pecs, his abs—tiny jolts in the aftermath of your storm.

As much as you want to keep playing with the upper half of him, you continue in your quest, mouth salivating when you slip his sweatpants down bit by agonizing bit.  

God, how you want to be able to watch his reactions while you have him shoved down your throat. But you’ll make do with one pleasure at a time.

Starting with the cock that springs in front of your face. 

Damn.  

Impatient, you don’t waste time in taking his velvety girth in your palm, missing how it felt in your fingers and wanting it buried deep inside you for hours. 

Fucking hell. Out of all the dicks you’ve held in your lifetime, his is undoubtedly your favorite. In fact, you vaguely remember being upset at its perfection, hating how every part of the one man out of reach has the power to destroy you.

You want that power, too: bringing Min Yoongi to his proverbial knees.

Well. You’re sure as hell gonna fucking try. 

With one full, wet swipe along his length, you already see him thump back onto his mattress, hips flinching and fists gathering bunches of his sheet. 

Pleased, you take his tip in your awaiting mouth, lifting your head mid-suck to tug on him more. Intentionally, you release him with a sound you’ve perfected by watching videos you will never disclose. 

And it seems to resonate with Yoongi, for a dark laugh rumbles between sealed lips as a large hand palms the top of your head. 

“You nasty girl.”

Licking around his tip while squeezing the base, you give him a teasing suck before releasing with another perfect pop. Sliding your fingers to gather your saliva, you coat the rest of him before lapping at his balls.

His control. 

It’s slipping. 

You can tell from the breathy laughs he puffs to the ceiling. A slew of incoherent words tumbles after, and you decide that you quite like him like this. Like he finally doesn’t know what to say. 

Mirroring something you remember Yoongi torturing you with, you admit, 

“You taste so fucking good.” 

A deep hum is your only response, and you take that as a cue to keep going, tilting your head to swirl around his cock. Your own essence coats your cheeks as you feast, alternating between slurps and licks that travel along his veins.

From experience, you’ve learned how to judge reactions, how to tell what guys prefer or not. But all of those other times? You were never invested enough to truly care. If they never cared to pay attention to what you liked, then why bother?

But Yoongi cares. Sometimes, you wonder if he cares more than you do. 

So you pay extra attention to how he reacts, and you make sure to understand enough to heighten his pleasure to its zenith. 

Immediately, you pick up on the fact that he likes when you squeeze his sack. But also, it seems that he’s aroused by all the sounds you’re making in general.

You almost laugh. While you aren’t normally loud unless Yoongi wants you to be, this is where you won’t quiet down unless he stops you. 

But you aren’t the only one filling the room with vulgar noises. 

Beautiful hisses spring over your head, only to be joined by moans as you swallow more of his cock with each pass. He palms your scalp with a hand, trying his damned best to let you decide how much of him to take in. 

So you give him permission, knowing he’d catch on to the taps you make on his thigh.

When your eyes travel up his body, you can see him lifting his head to watch, and he looks to you for one more nod of consent. 

You pause your sucks to give him one, slathering your tongue around his shaft before taking him in again.

Yoongi’s groans are deep when he pushes your head down, and you feel your mouth stretch wide around his cock. When the tip knocks the back of your throat, you gag on instinct, expecting the moan that comes right after.

“Fuck, baby…”

You can go lower, so you let him push you down a little further, unfazed by the way your throat aches to accommodate his girth. Tears start to collect in your eyes, but you don’t mind those either, having done this many times before. 

For Yoongi, you’ll deal. To hear the way he slurs your name, you’ll deal.

Your breath cuts at a certain point, but you sacrifice it to prove you can take him all in. And when your nose brushes his pelvis, Yoongi’s outright moan is already worth the gamble on your lungs. 

Mercifully, you’re tugged all the way off his cock in a single motion, gasping for air as strings of saliva connect your mouth to his sex.

“You’re so fucking good at this. What the fuck.” 

Mouth coated in spit, you nod with little shame, cunt pulsing at the satisfied groan that it gets in return.

Yoongi’s voice is filled with lust and gravel when he grits out, “God, I wanna fuck that throat.”

“Do it,” you rasp with lidded eyes, smirking at the way he looks at you with disbelief. Replicating what he had said to you before, you croak, “This is about you.”

“You sure, doll?”

Heart beating a bit quicker at his concern, you hum in confidence. Your fingers tap his thigh when you respond, “I’ve done it before.”

A strange look comes over Yoongi’s face then, and you don’t know why he sits all the way up to kiss you. But you and your throat welcome the short reprieve, and he breathes through his nostrils before pulling away.

Just like that, the look vanishes, replaced by shadows and desire and impatience.  

“Then gimme that dirty mouth.”

Lost in his blown out eyes, you obey. But before he can even take over, you start a relentless pace, bobbing your head and hollowing your cheeks until they throb. 

It’s enough to make him stutter in his movements, and a hand pulls you up before he chuckles, “Breathe first, babe.”

Blinking, you realize, “Oh, shit. Yeah.”

Seeing Yoongi’s full grin while in the midst of pleasure? 

That has to be one of your favorite things. 

“Okay,” you nod, only slightly embarrassed. “Ready.” 

He only hisses out laughter while tilting his head back. “What are you doing to me…”

You don’t respond. Because you don’t know. But you wanna keep satisfying this man until he melts in your mouth, so you take his tip in to change the topic. 

This time, you give Yoongi complete control of your head, noticing that he starts with slow but full strokes. As he groans, you mewl when his other hand skirts over one of your breasts, causing him to quicken his pace. 

Concentrate. Loosen your throat. Breathe through your nose. All of these thoughts invade your mind as Yoongi thrusts in deeper and quicker, and your column bears the onslaught as tears roll down your cheeks in rivers. 

The sounds you make are far from innocent, and they serve as the moving line over Yoongi’s constant reactions.

You don’t remember him being this vocal.

But you’re starting to understand why he likes pleasuring you so much.

It aches like hell, but you want nothing but to keep going. You’re okay. With a hand gripping his thigh, you slacken your aching jaw and revel in the waves of curses washing over your naked back. You almost traverse into another plane entirely, eyes slitted and strings of drool slipping from your lips. 

Suddenly, you’re tugged up again, a long gasp escaping your numb mouth and eyes practically rolled back. Wheezing, you gulp in breaths like water, feeling air on the spit that accumulated on your chest.

Holy fuck, how drenched are you? You’re too dizzy to comprehend, let alone hear anything he’s saying. 

A hand makes its way to your cheek, the veiny back caressing your sweaty skin all the way down to your sore jaw. When he cradles your lolling chin in his sweaty fingers, you slowly open your eyes to be pinned by a look so dark you would think he was possessed.

And you have never seen him look so hungry.  

But you can’t mull over it for too long. Not because you feel thoroughly fucked out—though that contributes a good chunk of it—but because his wish shoots through you like lightning,

“Gonna come all over that pretty face.”

Fuck. 

Even though you want that, too, it wasn’t the plan you had in mind.

Shaking your head, you move his hand away and give him a lopsided smile. “Not this time.”

Yoongi’s new expression is adorable, but you waste no time in clarifying—not without a slight hint of shyness,

“I want it somewhere else…”

Yoongi furrows his brows impossibly deep, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths. “Where, baby girl.”

Lowering yourself back down, you answer,

“My mouth.”

“The fuck,” he groans, eyes shutting as you seize command again.

Your hands and mouth cover him completely—sucking, pumping, twisting. You feel him twitching with an impending explosion, and you rake your nails down one of his thighs before moving them right to his balls. 

More curses shoot from his mouth as he arches his back higher than before, and you know he’s close before he even tells you. 

With one last thought, you clutch his sack with one hand while reaching up to twist one of his nipples, wanting every bit of his pleasure to come from you and you alone. 

And you moan around him when it works like a charm. 

Nothing but your name rips from his throat as he spills into your mouth, hot and milky and distinguishable on your tongue. Spurt after spurt paints your cavern, and you love the way his cock twitches with each angry release.

It’s yours. All yours yours yours and you claim it with a possessiveness you will deny in the morning. Globs slide down your gullet, and you twirl your tongue to gather everything you missed. 

Above you, Yoongi’s body locks, fists solid and creating taut mountain peaks out of his sheets. When you suck through his orgasm, a long, guttural moan is blocked by his closed lips, and he flexes his arms forward, feline and feral. 

You already know you can never have Yoongi, no matter what.

But this Yoongi—flustered, out of control, and fucked out of his mind—is the Yoongi you want all to your fucking self.

Breathing hard and watching him come, you’re positive that he is the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen in your life.

Finally, with one last exhale, his high passes. And a realization floods your mind. 

Holy fuck.

You just swallowed Yoongi’s cum. 

Nothing but shaky breaths fill the room, and you take time to steady your pulse and relax your aching throat. Fuck, it’s gonna be sore. Damn, you’re lucky that you have tomorrow off because—

Something causes you to snap your gaze upward.

And any breaths you were going to take cease.

Because there have been many significant snapshots in your life, some of them only involving yourself, your friends, and more recently the very man in front of you. 

But this moment? With you stripped bare and on your knees while he worships you from above? 

Something in you clicks.

And clicks hard.

Yoongi’s voice has never been hoarser as he commands, “Open that goddamn mouth.”

You oblige, tongue out and all.

“Fuck.” He snags your chin with force, and the fervor with how he growls sends sparks along your skin, 

“Come here. Get the fuck up.” 

Bubbling with mirth, you rush to mount him as he hoists you by the arms, and you kiss him square on the lips with punished knees digging into his forgiving mattress. Fuck, the bends in your legs are sore. But you’ll live. 

Yoongi seizes the back of your head and looks at you, clenching his fingers with words on the tip of his tongue. But he says nothing in the end, simply shaking his head and kissing you one more time. 

Everything you wanted to happen happened. 

And you’d like to think he enjoyed it just as much as you did, so you can now sleep peacef—

“Get up.”

“Huh?”

“Sit up.”

Confused, you wince at the sting in your legs as you’re situated in his bare lap. As your entrance rests right against his cock, both of you groan while most likely thinking the same thing. 

“What are you doing,” you whisper, watching his complete look of satisfaction at how ragged your voice sounds. The pout you make only widens his smile. 

Instead of responding verbally, Yoongi reaches behind his neck to unclasp one of his chains. And you don’t know where things are going until your heartbeat jumps ten paces. 

Because he slips the silver necklace around your neck before taking off the heavier one, admiring the view when both of them rest against your slippery chest. 

What…?

What is he doing?

This feels borderline intimate. 

It’s enough to render you speechless, and you can only breathe as he runs his fingers along the links, the back of his hand brushing the side of your breast. 

“They look much better on you.”

You still don’t know what the hell to say, feeling a lovely weight on your neck and an enchanting burden in your chest. 

“Hey,” Yoongi whispers, lifting your chin. “You okay?”

“Oh. More than okay,” you admit. “I just…” 

When you see him tilt his head and wait for your answer, you finally notice that you’re unbothered. Truly unbothered. About today, about your friends, about what you heard on the phone. 

But more importantly, you’re unbothered about being naked in front of him. You aren’t thinking about how you look, or how he thinks you look. All you’ve been focused on this entire time has been him, and you haven’t had this much fun in the bedroom. Ever. 

“I’m really happy right now,” you finally beam, and you want to bottle the feeling you have in your heart and shelve it for every rainy day you’ll ever live through. 

Right next to the bottle that keeps the look in Yoongi’s eyes.

You yelp as he suddenly tugs on his chains to pull you forward, and your lips are captured in a way that has your toes curling. 

Before you know it, you’re being lowered onto rumpled sheets, and a pair of fingers between your legs jolts you upwards. “Yoongi?”

“Who said we were done?” 

“But this was about you,” you gasp as you feel his fingers slide up your dripping folds with more pressure. 

“I know. This is still for me.” 

What the hell? You were already set on not receiving anything tonight. If anything, you could take care of yourself after he passed out. So what’s he doing? Why is he saying this is for him? “How?”

“I love seeing you like this.”

You can only blink. “...Really?”

“Yeah. And I love seeing you come.” 

“You do?“ 

Yoongi’s gaze lands on the jewelry resting on your chest. “So fucking much.” 

“Oh,” is all you can muster, lust coming back with a vengeance and twisting your core.  

And you wait until his eyes travel upwards, slowly but surely, until they connect with yours. “Let’s see how many times you got, dirty girl.” 

Oh, fuck.

“Yoongi…” 

He shifts to sit up, ordering you to change positions as he slips his sweatpants back on. “Slide up here for me.” 

Obeying, you wince at the discomfort in your knees as you make your way to the head of his mattress. 

Yoongi joins you immediately, his warmth pressing deliciously into your side. With a flick of his chin, he continues, “Hands under the headboard. Uh huh.” 

Well. You didn’t expect this. And you’re ten times more excited for what’s in store for you, especially since Yoongi decided to keep all of his clothes on. The pretty tension has you thrumming with heat and nerves.

Instead of going between your legs, he starts with fingers to your mouth. “Open up one more time, doll.”

You gladly take two of his digits in like you were built for it, slathering your tongue all over them and humming at the quick curse at your ear.

“So filthy,” he chuckles through a smile. As he slides his fingers out, he rubs them over your lips before clutching your chin. “I fucking love it.” 

You bite your lip before you can help it, knowing you won’t be prepared for anything he’s going to do to you. 

And you quickly learn how right you are. 

Yoongi seizes complete command of your body, fingering you at the perfect pace while latching lips onto your neck. Both movements cause you to tense up, your palms pressing into the bottom of his headboard and your back arching. 

Shit, it already feels so good and it’s only been seconds! 

Your legs are forced more open before Yoongi dips his digits in again, sliding up your drenched walls and laughing derisively at your throat.

“Sucking me off got you this wet, huh?”

Whimpering, you can only nod, shifting your hips to feel more of the friction he’s giving. You don’t know how aroused he looks as he watches your bouncing chest, but you do hear what he whispers. Because it emblazons itself on your neck. 

“What a whore.” 

“Fuck, Yoongi,” you whine, thoroughly turned on and shuddering at the way his laughs slide down your column. Shameful, you admit to yourself that you can listen to him talk like that for hours. 

When he suddenly slaps your cunt, you lose it, feeling the strain in your body as a moan tries to escape your clenched teeth. 

Holy fuck, how are you already this close? Did you really attain this amount of arousal just by giving him head? You knew you were outright delighted but damn, his fingers see no resistance at all. 

The silver around your neck slides a little towards your collarbone. As you wonder why he decided to don you with his chains, Yoongi takes advantage and leans down, latching lips onto one of your nipples and pulling a moan from your throat. 

“Oh, my god.” 

You want to throw your hands around his neck. Dig your fingers in his angry locks. But the way your hands grip the headboard, you’re too afraid to let go. They feel permanently welded, and you can only tighten them as you thrash underneath him. 

He fucking knows it, too, taking his time to lick around your breast before nicking again. And with so many sparks filling your body to the brim, you already see the edge. It’s so close close close and you’re trying to get the right words out to tell him. 

He has the audacity to laugh, staccato puffs in your ear. “I feel you sucking me in. You can’t hide, baby girl.” 

“Fuck,” you gasp, knowing he’s completely right. But you can’t help it. Your body wants every inch of his and the friction is feeding the thrums in your core.

Yoongi suddenly grabs the back of your neck, holding you in place and causing your jaw to slacken. 

“Whose pussy is this?” 

What the fuck! You didn’t expect that. And you know how you want to answer, but your words come out ridiculously slurred from lust. 

“What was that?” 

“Yours! Oh, fuck…” 

“Mmhmm.” With one final stroke, he agrees, “All mine.”

Pure light wipes your vision as you come, groaning through your lips as your body snaps into place. Your arms are taut, straining as you squeeze his headboard like a lifeline. Over and over and over, your cunt clenches around Yoongi’s fingers, and he hums above you, long and rough. 

It doesn’t matter that you end up a panting mess, nor does it matter that your legs are yelling to be closed. Because he’s already keeping an agonizing pace on your throbbing walls without reprieve.

“Yoongi!”

“You wanna be a cumslut so bad? Prove it.” 

“Fuck—”

“Taking my dick and my fingers so well.” He slaps your cunt again, and the squelch it makes will embarrass you even days later. “Still such a whore for me.” 

Fuck! 

You don’t know why the hell that turns you on, but it does. Goddamn, it does, and he knows how much it affects you by the way you milk his fingers despite already coming. 

He laughs even deeper this time, and it sends shivers down your chest all the way to your toes. Watching the way you writhe beneath him, he goads, “That’s it, doll. Fuck, I love seeing you in my shit.”

“Yoong—”

“Almost wanna show you off.”

Damn, you want that, too. Holy shit, you want the same thing, and just imagining that being a possibility gets you frighteningly close to another edge. 

And you need the plunge. No one will take that away from you. Even him. If he edges you even once, you’ll finish your goddamn self.

“Yoongi, I’m close.”

“Then come for me, love.”

Your coil snaps again, harder than the last and making you a shuddering mess. Later, you’ll think about what he said, but your mind is completely void for now. Tears start leaking out of your ducts from the onslaught of pleasure wracking your bones, and you let out a quick sob from feeling so overwhelmed.

Yoongi’s saying things in your ear again, but you really can’t discern them. Praises, insults, anything in between—you don’t know. All you know is that your brain is exploding with lust and satisfaction and you don’t know when the high will ever subside. 

But, after an eternity and a half, you start to float back onto soft, damp sheets. Your muscles relax bit by bit, and the fingers above your head unlatch from the dark wood of his headboard. 

Fuck. Your hands hurt. But you slowly close them to combat the strain. 

With your eyes slipped shut, you’re surprised to feel Yoongi’s lips on yours, inhaling shock through your nose at the second stolen kiss of the night. Instead of your palms, you reach to place your wrists on his shoulders, twisting your body to press fully into his front. 

His heartbeat…

It might be quicker than yours. 

Softly, one of your hands is cradled in his fingers before your palm is rubbed with care. One circle, then another, and another. Voice so deep that it’s more of a rumble than a sentence, Yoongi asks, “Do they hurt?”

“A little,” you admit. “But you’re helping.” 

“Okay.” 

You don’t know what time it is, but you don’t exactly care. It could be any hour of any day and you would still banish the rest of the world from your mind. Because it only exists in this moment. With him massaging your hand while carrying tiny moons in his eyes. 

He’s ethereal.

“You don’t have to stay tomorrow.” 

Blinking hard, you struggle to comprehend what Yoongi just said. 

What? What did he mean by that? 

Your heart rushes up your bruised throat before you squeak out, “Why not?” 

Yoongi kisses your forehead. “Your friends on your case. Spend time with them. Don’t worry just cus of me.” 

Oh. He doesn’t know that you took care of that.

Why does he have to be so considerate? This doesn’t make things easy.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, reaching with your free hand to cradle his cheek. “I was gonna see them… But after this week, since…” 

He just watches you. 

“Things’ll go back to normal.” 

Yoongi darts his eyes across your face, silent. When he only nods, a piece of you breaks, but you try your hardest not to let him see it. 

There won’t be time for walks, or water fights, or waking up to his arm around your waist. Because this week reserved a pocket universe in time—a space just for the two of you to have. And it’s one you truly don’t ever want to leave. 

From the way that Yoongi claims your lips, you want to think he feels the same. It’s at least nice to keep pretending.

But you know he’s doing it to make you feel better, though it devastates you all the same. 

Because a week is quickly not becoming enough. You want more time. You need it. 

Yoongi stops with a breath, and runs a hand along the side of your head.

“Get some rest, doll.”

“You, too.”

“I will,” he whispers. “And listen. About tomorrow.” 

“Hmm?”

He stares at you just a bit longer, caressing your cheek and keeping his mouth shut. 

It’s strange. You’ve only been able to read him a few times before. But now, you’re sure that you see a thousand thoughts run across his eyes, and they remind you of meteor showers you used to watch outside when you were young. When life wasn’t complicated. When the furthest thing from your mind was a broken heart. 

But at his next words, your heart swells. 

And you don’t need to worry about it breaking just yet.

“I’m all yours.”

…Maybe Reia was right.

-

-

-

tbc. :) 

-

A/N: ahhh. so. how did it go? LOL i feel like it’s been so long since Stay, but it’s only been two-ish months. whoa! also.. typing with acrylics should be an olympic sport and if you do this regularly you have my utmost respect LOLL that shit was so hard while writing a majority of this chapter! A/N 2: as always, thank you so much for all of the support. whether you’re new, or an OG, i truly appreciate you being here and going on this journey with me and the 3tan crew. and for the people wanting angst, welp. here’s a glimpse of what that entails dkldkjdjf see you all in “the week, pt. 2!” ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ ⇥ masterlist

[cloudytamaki]

bnha & “it’s too small.”

warnings: dirty jokes for dirty minded people, suggestive 🙈 viv’s notes: inspired by this tiktok !! (characters are all 18+)

bakugo • you’re sitting on the bed, phone pressed to your ear and you’re just nodding when he walks in. “describe it? um, it was super small when i got it. kind of a let down actually. super thick and not enjoyable.” katsuki furrows his brows and crosses his arms, looking at you expectantly. “it used to satisfy me but at this point it’s not enough. it doesn’t fill me up like it used to. all in all, it doesn’t leave me with that sparkly happiness you get after taking it.” his mouth drops open. “what the hell? are you saying i’m not good?” “here hold on a sec.” you shake your head at him and mouth not now, kat. “no, right now. tell me what the hell’s your problem. you were begging for me yester—” you sigh, mumbling a sorry, i have to do something real quick to the fake caller. “what’re you on about?” he doesn’t hesitate to answer with “what the hell do you mean it’s ‘small’? that’s not what you were saying yesterday night.” “calm your tits, kat. i was talking about the boba i got during my lunch break.” he’s so pissed off he just aggressively kisses you.

todoroki • you’re sitting on the couch, chatting with your non-existent friend when he walks in with a blue hardcover novel, taking a seat beside you. he opens his book, crossing his legs as he starts to read quietly, knowing you’re on the phone and probably don’t want to be bothered. “but there’s this one thing that’s always bothering me. why is it so small? it’s insufficient at this point. mhm. yeah.” beside you, shoto’s brows furrow and he looks up at you in slight confusion before looking back down to his book, deciding you’re talking about something else. “it wasn’t like this before. ... no, i haven’t changed, i’m just seeing how small it is now. i’m surprised i was blind for an entire five months.” he looks up with a ‘not funny’ look on his face, lips pressed into a thin line. “y/n.” he sounds super icy, no pun intended. “give me a sec.” you look towards shoto, only to be met with a confused and irritated expression. “i’m not— what’s going on with you?” “nothing..?” now it’s your turn to act confused. “you’re talking about me?” “i’m not. everything okay, sho?” he narrows his eyes, “i should be asking you that. what’re you talking about? am i not enough?” you mute the phone, crossing your hands as you look at him. “you are, baby. i’m telling my friend about the salad place she introduced me to a while ago. i used to think the portions were huge but they’re actually microscopic. i ordered one for lunch yesterday and i was still hungry after.” “okay. we can go find another place, if you’d like.”

denki • you’re laying on the bed, phone in your hand when denki comes out from the bathroom, all clean from his shower. he gets onto the bed and snuggles into you, wrapping his arms around you while taking in the soft scent of your body wash. he closes his eyes just as you start speaking. “tiny as hell. i had expectations i guess? ... yeah it doesn’t fill me up anymore. it’s like 5 or 6 inches?” his head snaps up and right into yours. for some odd reason, you start laughing. he’s protesting and asking questions with a whiny edge to his voice. “what d’you mean? i’m bigger than that, i always fill you up!” ew. cringe. you turn off your phone, giving a quick explanation. “denki.. i was talking about the starbucks drink i always get.” he’s not ashamed when he takes off his shirt with a wideass grin. “well do you wanna see my 7 inches?” 

kirishima • you sit at the dining table, talking on the phone while eijirou cooks in the kitchen. “it’s not getting any bigger. i’ve said something about it a few times, but the man just lets it go. honestly, it’s fucking depressing and not worth it at all.” the redhead looks out from the kitchen, surprised and hurt at the same time. he’s not even thinking about his dick – he’s thinking that you’re definitely talking about him, but he can’t place what. he shuts off the stove, walking over to the dining table and sitting down with a saddened look on his face while you continue your rant. “baby? are you talking about me?” guilt seeps into your bones as you turn off your phone. “no, of course not, eiji. i’m talking about that rose drink at the boba place. i’ve ordered large like 3 times to only get a small little cup for eight dollars, it’s a ripoff. i’ve told the worker i always see there and he doesn’t do anything about it.” “oh. okay.” he adjusts his bandanna as he gets up, still somewhat deflated. you stand up too, hugging him and pressing kisses to his forehead.

amajiki • first of all why would you try this evil prank on him? you got back from the library a few hours ago with two armfuls of books, and now you’re sitting in the living room recliner, phone pressed to your ear as if you’re on an actual call. you pretend to be shaking your head the second tamaki walks in with a book closed on his finger to save the page. “no, i thought i scored well, but when i got it, it was dirty and thin. i expected it to be thick, since i did some research on it beforehand.” tamaki sits down on the bed, somewhat listening, but the words don’t really register. “it made me feel good at first, but when i was done, i realized how bad it actually was. mhm. ... it took me an hour to finish.” he looks towards you with surprise, because shit, was he really that bad? “yeah. call you later.” you end the fake call with an exhale, noticing him glancing towards you. “what were you.. talking about?” “the library book i put on hold and picked up today. google said it was 397 pages, but it only felt like a hundred. not to mention how small the text was, and how thin all the pages were. it was an easy read, anticlimactic.” “oh, okay. um, i’m reading this book—” he stops to show you, “i’m almost done, and it’s really good. you can have it after, if you’d like.”

[maybege]

Booth Jazz

Summary: You and Boba explore a little fantasy – as a treat. (Part 4 of Midnight Special)

Pairing: hot dad!Boba Fett x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 4.0k

Rating: E (18+ only!)

Warnings: explicit sexual content, dom/sub relationship, exhibitionism, almost getting caught, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, consensual degradation and namecalling, multiple orgasms, creampie, car sex, mention of somnophilia, also these two idiots have feelings

I know it’s been a while but I hope that some of you are still interested in this little project. Updates will remain irregular for a while but you can look up the most recent posting schedule here. As always, big shout out to @ayybtch for enduring my thirsting for hot dad!Boba. I hope you all have an amazing start into the week and let me know what you think of this chapter!

masterlist | crossposted on AO3

“Back again, huh?” the man behind the counter greeted you, “And on a Thursday no less.”

“Yeah,” you smiled sheepishly, nervously motioning to the menu, “Could I get a cider please?”

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” he nodded, wiping it one more time before grabbing a glass from behind him. You waited patiently, looking around the room and finding that while it was a little more crowded than last time you had been here, you recognized none of the people which was a good thing.

The last time you had been here, it was a weekend with live music. Now it was a Thursday evening which meant that there was a sports game of some sort playing on the large TVs, the centre of attention of the patrons that were there.

It did not escape you that the bartender looked you over, no doubt noticing your very fancy outfit for a Thursday night. Then again, he had never seen you wear anything else.

“Here you go,” the full glass slid towards you, leaving a wet trail on the polished wood, he nodded towards the end of the room, “Should I put it on his tab?”

“That would be great, thanks,” you smiled, taking your glass in hand before making your way to the direction he had nodded towards.

No one paid you any mind, the game being a finale of some sort. Still, you felt as though everybody. You were wearing a dark green cocktail dress, the fabric shiny in the low light and the neckline lower than what you usually wore. And, when the light shone just right, revealing the texture f the lace of your bra underneath. The fabric felt cool and smooth against your hot skin you felt as if everybody could see up your skirt even though the hem hit your knees with every step.

Your steps quickened when you spotted a single man occupying one of the booths at the very end of the room. He was looking down at his phone, intentionally paying you no mind and a coy smile slipped on your lips.

Without stopping, you raised your legs, making to climb over his lap as he was blocking one entry to the bench. Boba’s hand shot up, gripping your hip and keeping you standing over him while his eyes roamed over your figure.

You bit your lip, seeing how his eyes darkened when they landed on your chest, your nipples already pebbled and visibly through the fabric.

“Is this seat taken?” you asked teasingly, shivering when his hand left your hip, trailing down your legs until it simply fell to his side.

“Not at all,” he rasped, motioning to the free space next to him, “Feel free.”

You settled down next to him in the booth, Boba’s arm immediately coming to rest around your shoulders.

“Hello there, little one,” he rumbled, turning his face to press a kiss against your mouth. It already made you clench your thighs, your anticipation building a thick knot in your lower belly.

He groaned, his tongue dipping inside your mouth to taste you and you thanked the stars that the lights were dimmed in the room or else everybody would see you getting in a heated make-out session with him. His other hand went to your bare thigh, big fingers splaying over the soft flesh as he gripped it and patted your legs.

Your breathing came heavy as his mouth wandered to your jaw and behind your ear. “Sorry, I’m late,” you breathed out, leaning your head back against the plush leather of the booth, “Work ran later than I wanted it to. How can I make it up to you?”

Boba chuckled into your ear, the sound low and gravelly and sending a rush of wetness between your thighs. You already knew he had the filthiest thing in mind and you were so here for it. Your walls fluttered around nothing. All day you had been looking forward to tonight, barely able to focus on work, and now that you were here, it was as if you were already on the edge.

“I want you to take off your panties for me, little one,” he instructed hoarsely, pulling your legs open even further, “I want to finger you right here in the pub and I want you to stay good and quiet for me. Can you do that for me, princess?”

You grinned widely, putting your hand on his and pulling it in between your thighs. “I’m not wearing any … sir,” you bit your bottom lip, suppressing a gasp when you felt his middle finger swipe through your already wet folds, “you can do whatever you want with me. I’m all yours.”

“That’s what I want to hear,” he praised you, his thumb circling your clit and you felt heat rise to your cheeks at the wet sounds that came from between your legs.

“Stars, you’re wet for me,” he praised you, “Good girl. Gripping my fingers real tight, hm?”

The bar erupted in cheers at the game, chairs scraping on the floor as some stood up, calling for new rounds of beer and high fiving each other.

You whimpered, breath catching in your throat as Boba used the cover of their noise to speed up his movements. Your legs shook and you weakly tried to put your hand on his, pulling them away from your cunt as the knot in your belly tightened. Everything felt warm – hot– and tight and you felt yourself clamp around him, your feet trembling in the heels you were wearing.

Boba mumbled something you did not understand and suddenly his hand was gone and you whined at the loss, arching your hips. But then his hand came back, slapping your pussy and your hand flew to your mouth, biting into your palm as he pulled an orgasm out of you so strongly you were surprised you did not leave an entire wet patch on the floor.

Leaning back against the bench, you felt dizzy and sweaty and

Boba had sat up slightly, his body covering you from anyone who might decide to look into your general direction. He was looking over you, his face dark as his fingers lipped back inside you. Immediately your walls clamped around the digits again and bit your lip, doing your best to remain quiet.

There was the tell-tale bulge in his jeans and you weakly raised your hand to touch him. Even through the thick fabric of his jeans, you could feel the heat of him and your mouth watered at the thought of getting him into your mouth. Of licking the precoma from his tip before having him push his cock so far down your throat it would make tears appear in the corner of your eyes.

��Fuck I want to sit you on my cock so bad,” he cursed under his breath, his fingers not ceasing their movements and you whimpered, “but that would be a little too obvious, wouldn’t it? You’re too much of a cock slut to stay quiet.“

Boba curled his fingers inside you, slowly rubbing his long fingers against that spongy spot inside you while his thumb swiped over your clit and you bit into his shoulder, feeling slightly sorry for the nice shirt he was wearing as you tried to muffle your sounds. How had you just come and still craved his touch?

Your walls clenched around him. The sounds of the bar echoed in your ears, seemingly getting louder with every thrust of Boba’s fingers inside you. There were people everywhere. And here you were creaming around Boba’s thick fingers as he whispered pure filth into your ear.

“Need you to be quiet for me, little one,” he reminded you with a chuckle, completely pressed up against you, “unless you want everyone to know what a good girl you are for me.”

You nodded frantically, trying your best to keep quiet. But then you saw him look down and you followed his line of sight and the whole staying quiet thing became much more difficult. Because with how you had spread your legs, your dress had ridden up, revealing his thick fingers pumping in and out of your pussy, glistening from your juices.

A quiet moan left you. one that Boba immediately swallowed up with a heated kiss. His thumb

“If you keep this up you’re going to have to let them watch.”

You knew he did not really mean the second one. Early on in your text messages, he had told you he was not one to share – “And certainly not you, little one” – but his words still flustered you and you squeezed around his fingers.

“Have I told you how much I love this?” he whispered into your ear, clearly trying to coax another orgasm out of you and with the way your pussy got even wetter at his deep voice, it was clearly working.

You shook your head breathlessly, feeling your cheeks heat with anticipation as his teeth grazed your earlobe.

“All we said to each other today was hello before I had my fingers buried in this tight cunt of yours,” he revealed, “You did not even ear any panties, you’re that much of a slut for me. Letting me fuck you right in the booth where we first met.”

You whimpered, thankful for the loud cheers of the other patrons, and bit your lips, trying to ignore how good his degrading words made you feel. But Boba knew you and he could read your body like an open book.

With a teasing smirk on his lips, his other hand came up to your neckline, pushing it to the side and when his thumb caught the lace edge of your bra he just pulled it with him. And suddenly not only were you getting fingered undeath the table but one of your tits was bared to the warm air of the bar.

You gaped at Boba’s confidence before your mouth clamped shut trying to keep your sounds in when he started to play with your nipple. “One more,” he encouraged you, “one more time around my fingers and then we can do whatever we want,” he promised you hotly, his fingers pinching and pulling your nipple.

From the corner of your eyes, you spotted someone making their way to the washrooms. Which meant that had to pass by you. Your heart jumped in your throat and your limbs locked up, the pleasure threatening to become too much while the fear of being discovered rendered you silent.

Boba seemed to notice it too, a dark look forming in his eyes as his fingers sped up. He shifted, his body now completely covering yours in the dark booth. “C’mon,” he growled, his thumb flicking over the bundle of nerves, “Either you come right now or you don’t come at all.”

The drunken man stumbled a little, clearly intoxicated, as he supported himself on a table on the other side of the aisle. Boba made a sound at the back of his throat, forcing you to look at him and your breath caught in your throat, walls rhythmically clenching around your fingers.

There was a determination in his eyes and suddenly your entire chest was bared and Boba leant down, biting into the soft flesh of your left breast and you came.

It took everything in you to not slump forward and be seen by everyone in the bar but sideways into Boba’s body, every muscle in your body tensing before relaxing into what felt like melted butter as wetness coated Boba’s fingers.

You closed your eyes, completely out of breath, uncaring that your tits were still very much out in the open.

“Good girl,” Boba mumbled against your temple, pressing a kiss against your cheek as his fingers slowed their thrusts until he pulled them entirely from you, “My goof fucking girl.”

You smiled dreamily, pushing your face into the crook of his neck, “Thank you for making me come, Boba.”

He chuckled and you felt his chest move with the sound. “You’re very welcome, little one,” he rumbled, “How are you feeling?”

Shifting in your seat you grimaced as you felt the wat patch between and under your thighs. The leather was slippery and your skin felt like it was glued to it.

“Sticky,” you answered truthfully, heat shooting into your cheeks, “Stars, I am so embarrassed, I – it feels like I left a puddle. They will know what we did and –“

“Let me worry about that okay?” he interrupted you gently and you watched with wide eyes as he slipped his fingers into his mouth, making a show of sucking and licking your juices from his skin. His dark eyes kept looking at you and you felt your lower belly clench with want.

Stars knew you would not be able to come again so easily but you needed him.

“Let’s go to your car,” you breathed, your hands falling to his thighs, “I – I need you.”

“But you haven’t even finished your drink, little one,” the older man teased you, his lips dragging over your shoulder as he helped you to straighten out your dress. The soft fabric felt cold against your heated skin and you were glad that you had chosen a dark colour because you were sure otherwise everybody would be able to see the stains on it as it plastered to your wet skin.

“I don’t care, I don’t want it,” you pouted, one hand rubbing him through his jeans and you noted with a hint of satisfaction that his jaw tensed as he tried to keep it together, “I only want you.”

“Good, then promise me you won’t get angry with me, princess.”

Your frowned, “What-“

Something wet and cold spilled over both of you – but mainly you. You gasped at the shock, the cider immediately soaking through the fabric of your dress and you scooted away from him, quickly making a grab for some napkins that you pressed on your lap.

“Oh no,” Boba said drily, wiping his hands on a dark patch on his jeans, “I better go ask the bartender for something to clean up this mess with.”

Only now did you realize what exactly Boba had done. Because with you scooting away, the glass had not stopped spilling – it simply spilled on the already wet leather now. Which meant Boba had the perfect cover to wipe down the table and the bench and no one would be the wiser.

Well, except for you.

He came back a moment later with a rag and motioned for you to stand up which you did readily, grimacing at the sticky feeling. You watched as Boba bent over the bench, thoroughly wiping everything away and making sure not a trace of your activities was left before he stood up again.

“There we go,” he mumbled, eyes roaming over your form and his lips quirked up, “And I am sure you don’t want to stay here in these wet clothes, little one. I think I might have a shirt back in the car that you could borrow. Sound good?”

You smiled, “very good.”

Boba smiled, one arm wrapping around your waist as he guided you out of the bar. The other patrons were so busy with the game they did not even notice you leave.

The front of the bar was completely abandoned and you smiled when he led you into an all-familiar alley. “Keep it in your pants, little one,” Boba joked, passing the spot where he had first thrust inside you, “I’m not gonna fuck you against this brick wall again.”

Your shoulders fell, “Why not?”

“Because there are so many other places I want to fuck you first.”

“Oh?”

But Boba ignored your very obvious interest in that line of conversation as he led you to the parking lot at the back of the building. Much like the bar, there were a few cars there but it was not too crowded which meant that you recognized Boba’s truck immediately, your steps speeding up the closer you got.

The headlights lit up as he unlocked it and you smiled when he passed the driver’s door and instead opened the back door.

“Not to forget the secret wish a little birdie told me,” he smiled, settling himself in the back seat, already fiddling with his belt.

You hiked your dress up, “Which is?”

Boba grinned wolfishly, clearly happy with how the evening had progressed and his warm hands found your hips, pulling you on top of him. You looked down to where he was freeing himself from his briefs, thick and heavy and already leaking precome.

“That someone would very much like to be fucked in her sleep,” he revealed, a knowing look in his eyes and once again Boba Fett managed to fluster you, “but you did not expect me to say that now did you?”

“How did you know?” you asked, softly gasping when his hands once again pushed the neckline of your dress out of the way before pulling down the soft cups from your bra, revealing your tits to the cold night air.

“A hunch,” he shrugged, “That and the fact that you were begging me to fuck you by the time you were half asleep,” his fingers rolled your nipples between them, “I believe your exact words were I don’t mind if I wake up with your cock inside me, Sir.”

Both embarrassment and pleasure coursed through and you threw your head back, “Oh stars.”

A loud groan left him when your wet folds rubbed up against his shaft. “Fuck, little one, don’t think I will last long tonight. Not like that.”

But you did not let him deteriorate from your mission. With one hand supporting yourself on his shoulder, the other pumped his cock, keeping him steady so that you could sink down in him in one go. You wanted all of him and you wanted it fast and hard.

“I don’t need to come, Boba,” you replied breathlessly, working yourself onto him, “I – I just want you to come inside me, please. W-Want you to fill me up again so I can feel you tomorrow.”

The sound he let out was beautiful and you let your hands drift over his shoulders down to the fabric that was covering him. You lifted yourself up in the process, relishing in how thick he was inside you, how he seemed to rub against your walls in only the best way, before sinking down again, the sudden movement causing a slapping sound.

Quickly unbuttoning his shirt, your hands roamed over his chest and belly, exploring his tattoos. Boba moaned, his hand squeezing your tits and massaging them roughly, sometimes venturing to circle your nipples and pull them just how you liked it.

“Feel so good,” he brought out, his hips starting to meet yours and you lost your rhythm, simply letting him fuck up into you, “Tightest little pussy just for me.”

You buried your face in his neck, whining at the way he kept using you to get off. Shit, you knew you would not come again and yet there was something so very hot about Boba for once only being concerned with his pleasure.

A broad hand wrapped around the back of your neck, pulling you away from him until you were face to face. “Look at me,” he ordered breathlessly, his eyes glassy and you leant forward, kissing him as hard you could. With every thrust, his cock seemed to reach deeper inside you and your clit rubbed against his belly, more or less accidentally stimulating you.

“You really just want me to come inside you, huh?”

“Uh-huh.”

His hand tightened, teeth nipping at your bottom lip. “Say it.”

“I just want you to come inside me,” you squeaked out, your “Please, I just want you to come inside me. Just use me. Please use me. Pleasepleasepleaseplease –“

He surged forward, teeth clashing against yours and his hips snapped up even harder. He was close, you could feel it in the way he hardened inside you, how his hand tightened around your neck and how his breathing became shallow, dark eyes locking with yours.

And then he came.

The car windows were foggy and your eyes rolled back in your head when the feeling of his seed spilling inside you triggered the surprising third orgasm of the night. You felt warm and full, Boba’s solid body underneath yours the one thing that grounded you in reality.

Catching your breath, you cuddled into his chest, ignoring how his come started to trickle out of you around his cock while Boba gently brushed your back, his lip pressing soft kisses wherever he could reach.

“Thank you for coming inside me,” you mumbled sweetly and grinned when you felt him twitch inside you again.

“Stars, woman,” he groaned, running his hand over his face, “You are really going to be the death of me, aren’t you?”

You laughed, “I hope not.”

It was silent for a moment before both of became aware that you were indeed very much in public and that it only needed one patron to come out to notice what you had done. Which meant that, as slowly as possible, you pulled away from each other.

“Here,” he whispered, reaching behind him and handing you a dark t-shirt, “This might be more comfortable.”

“Thank you,” you smiled, pecking his lips before quickly changing in front of him, “So what do we do now?”

Boba looked down, focussing on re-buttoning his shirt. “I have an idea.”

*

For a moment, you had feared that he would drive you home already.

But that fear dissipated quickly when he turned into the local fast food’s drive-in.

He got each of you a burger and a milkshake and some fries to share, depositing them between your seats. Still parked behind the neon sign of the drive-in, you mostly ate in silence, quickly devouring your food and drinks while smiling and looking warmly at each other.

Neither one of you wanted to address the elephant in the room.

Only when the music on the radio changed from Electro House something to Calm Country go home music did Boba start the car again, taking the route to get you home.

“When’s your flight?” you asked into the quiet, pressing a kiss against his neck. Your heart was still racing in your chest and with the slight sheen of sweat on your skin, you shivered from the cool night air that came through the window you had cracked open.

“Four a.m.” he replied, a large truck passing you, “A buddy of mine is going to drive me to the airport.”

You hummed, looking out the window. You had been so excited for tonight, for good reason too, but now you felt as if the little time you had, had passed way too quickly. You wanted to hold on to him, this, for just a few hours longer but a look at the dashboards clock – 2:30 am – told you there was no that was going to happen.

“Two weeks,” you sighed, slumping against his side, “I’m going to miss you.”

Boba’s hand slipped from the gearshift to your thigh, lightly squeezing your knee, “I will miss you too, little one. Did not think an all-inclusive business trip to Hawaii would have me this hesitant.”

Neither one of you said anything as he kept driving, the city sights soon turning into familiar streets and your heart ached as he pulled into the parking lot in front of your apartment complex. It was completely abandoned and only the street lamp Boba had parked in front offered a little light.

Both of you remained sitting in the car and it calmed you somewhat that Boba seemed as reluctant to let you go as you were.

“Will – will you text?” you asked, turning to the side to face him while your hand already rested on the doorknob.

He looked serious, then, nodding slowly as if getting used to the thought. “Yeah, little one,” he whispered, “I will.”

As you hurried up the stairs to your apartment, confident that none of your neighbours would be awake to see you only in a slightly too long shirt, you wondered if this something between you could be more than a booty call.

[niksfics]

↬ WHAT COULD NEVER BE PT. 2

↬ PAIRINGS: Atsumu x f!reader (ft Bokuto)

↬ WARNINGS: sad shit, horrible writing (I feel like I botched this) kagehina mention, cheating, alcohol mention, reversed unrequited love. !! UNEDITED!!

↬ SUMMARY: honorable mention goes to @multi-fandom-fanfic for giving me this idea in the comment section of the first part it’s not exactly years later but it’s still some time later

↬ A/N: I totally did not cry while writing this pft

↬ WC: | 1.5K |

↬ TAG(S): @erinoikawa @fromdelos

“What does she have that I don’t” the amount of times that, that sentence had played over in my head was starting to exhaust me. Remembering the desperation in my voice caused my nose to scrunch up in a cringe until I shook the thoughts out of my head. Walking away from bokuto that night had been the second hardest thing I’d ever had to do in my life so far.

Weeks and weeks later I’d still had the ache in my chest the tears still welled up in my eyes whenever I thought about him with her, but these tears never fell. I hadn’t fully cried over him in weeks and I patted myself on the back for that. I could feel myself starting to move on. To forget.

I still cheered for the MSBY Black Jackals, but I had started online college to get my fashion degree. I’d always had a dream to work for a big corporation like vogue. Things in my life were finally starting to look up, and Miya Atsumu had taken the place that bokuto had left open that night.

He was my support system. Coddling me when he could in the weeks following bokutos wedding. I was unaware of his feelings. Oblivious at first. Until I started to notice the lingering touches he left, and although I was worried about hurting him, it excited me.

— — —

Two years had passed since the night I realized I would never feel my best friends embrace they way I craved. Two years, and now I craved a different persons embrace. The person I’d been dating for a year now, and in the second year of the two years I’d spent healing I’d slowly started mending my friendship with Bokuto. Of course I’d spoken to atsumu about it, and he’d shared his concerns but I was serious about the blonde man who’d unexpectedly stolen my heart.

I had been so caught up in Miya Atsumu it was like highschool all over again. He made me feel alive, and I grounded him when he felt like he was drifting away. The separation from his twin took a harder toll on him than he ever would have realized. So being the loving girlfriend I was I’d organized a night out with the Jackals; Kotaro and koyuki, Kiyoomi, Hinata and kageyama me and Atsumu, and Osamu and his girlfriend. It would be the first time we would all be together since the wedding.

I was nervous and this night would be the start of something out of anyone’s control. It started off normal Osamu and Atsumu hugging and exchanging pleasantries before they would start bickering and trying to compete over something stupid during dinner.

Shy kageyama who had been so stiff at the wedding seemed to be in his element with his arm draped over hinata’s shoulders while he whispered in his ear. The ginger smiling lovingly at his fiancé and it got me thinking about marrying Atsumu. It sparked a tsunami of feeling throughout my body and I found myself smiling to myself before, Cadence —osamu’s stunning girlfriend from the states— bumped my shoulder with hers and smirked at me.

“I’m glad you came up with this idea. Samu was starting to get all pissy about not being able to see his brother.” I smiled sheepishly and blushed as I shook my hand, “it was nothing tsumu was getting the same way and I really wanted to meet you so it was a win win.” She smiled and I caught bokuto looking at me from across the table. The chair next to him empty.

I smiled and leaned across the table, “hey bo! Where’s the missus?” His smile faltered slightly and if I wasn’t so good at reading bokuto I would have missed it entirely but I didn’t, “oh she had to stay late in the office tonight so she couldn’t come.” I gave him a sympathetic smile and he shrugged before the waiter came to our table and I turned to Atsumu.

Later on in the night I had gotten pretty tipsy the champagne finally hitting me, and I smiled lazily at Atsumu, adoration in my eyes and he smirked, “s’the alcohol finally getting to ya pretty girl?” He asked and I nodded before putting my forhead on his upper arm and sighing.

He moves to stand up taking a glass and a knife with him, and my eyes widen in horror over what he’s about to do. He clinks the knife on the glass a bit to carelessly and it breaks, “ah!! tsumu ya moron what the hell are ya doin?” Osamu asks standing up abruptly to avoid the liquid as a waiter rushes over to clean up the mess.

Atsumu smiles and turns to the waiter and apologizes before looking over the table at our friends, “well I just wanted ta toast ta my amazing girlfriend who I would not have if it weren’t for that idiot right there,” I facepalm as he points at bokuto and bokuto winces slightly before looking at me pained and I mouth a sorry to him.

“So thank ya buddy cause if ya weren’t oblivious I would never have gotten such an amazing partner who loves me so much that she brought my annoying little brother out here to see me.” I hear Osamu groan and roll his eyes.

“you’re only three minutes older than me ya troll.” Atsumu smiles patronizingly at osamu, “shut yer trap samu yer elder is talkin'.” Everyone laughs at that and he finally sits down before I hit his shoulder and smile at him slightly, “you’re an idiot tsum-tsum” he shrugs, “but I’m yer idiot right y/n?” And then he plants a big sloppy kiss on my cheek and I squeal in disgust.

The amount of happiness and joy coursing through my body had been missed. I was finally over the one person I thought I would need to live, and with the person I was destined for. I finally had what bokuto had. I couldn’t be happier.

After that night things between me and bokuto were tense for awhile. I brushed it off as he thought maybe I was still hung up on him. Oh how I couldn’t have been more wrong. I had no idea the anger and jealousy that was bubbling up under bokutos skin, and the most frustrating part of all of the bullshit that was going on, was he didn’t understand why he felt like this. He was happily married. I mean as happily married as one person could be right?

It only got worse though when two weeks later Miya fucking Atsumu was calling him asking for his help to propose to his best friend. He was annoyed and irritated and his wife was coming home at two in the morning smelling different than when she had left. It was not a happy time for him, but he obliged telling him about how the beach would be the most perfect place, and to make sure that he does it at night.

He also added in that he should create a pathway lit by fairy lights because I would simply die over it, and how I didn’t like diamonds so make sure it wasn’t a cliche ass diamond.

And that’s how I found myself on the beach my heart had completely broke on, a week later in front of the man I love as he kneeled with a gorgeous jeweled ring in a black velvet box in his hands.

“Will you y/n y/l/n make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?” The tears collecting in my eyes were the happiest tears I’d ever cried in my life as I knelt down and hugged him around his neck, “yes yes!! Yes! Of course I will tsumu”

We hadn’t seen bokuto in the distance watching us with tears in his eyes as he realized what he’d lost. As he wished he could go back in time and do it all over. Do things differently.

Maybe he would have let you keep his jacket on in that storage supply closet. Maybe he should have asked you to get boba instead of koyuki, maybe he should have realized sooner he was projecting onto koyuki because he was scared to love his best friend the way he knew you loved him.

So as he stared at the RSVP card in his hands with yours and Atsumu’s names on it in fancy handwriting. He wonders if this is how you felt when you had gotten his card with koyuki, he wonders if you had felt as lost and hopeless, and torn between wanting you to be happy and also wanting you to be with him instead. So as he swallowed the same lump you had swallowed two almost three years ago he realized that this was some kind of sick karma.

He felt partially responsible for the mess that this had become. You and him were never meant to be.

[mypoisonedvine]

Perks of the Job | dark!Boba Fett x reader x (soft)dark!Din Djarin

summary: the only thing worse than one bounty hunter on your trail is two.  the only thing worse than a bounty hunter who wants to abuse you is a bounty hunter who wants to make you into a lesson for his makeshift apprentice.  the only thing worse than a villain is a villain who thinks he’s a hero.

word count: 5.8k

warnings: smut (noncon, including vaginal, oral m receiving, anal, and dp… so you know, basically everything), a specific kink of mine which I have dubbed "no, not there!" or NNT for short (betcha can guess what that means), din catching feelings lowkey, hair pulling, choking, bondage, forced begging, all the good stuff

Boba had proven to be unendingly useful in bounty missions, even if he was a little bit rough around the edges and slightly more ‘shoot first ask questions later’ in his attack style.  Still, Din was grateful for his aid and was happy to tag along when Boba explained he was tracking a target to Florrum— just a smuggler, wanted by the New Republic for trafficking death sticks all across the Outer Rim, nothing too serious or high-profile.

Turned out Din was less useful than he wanted to be, because only Boba was able to get into the club he’d traced your beacon to, so Din was instead left to wait on Slave I and try not to get into any trouble in the meantime.

After less than an hour of resting his eyes in the cockpit, he heard Boba’s voice come in through the comms system.  “Target acquired,” he rasped, and Din instantly noticed the distant sounds of struggle and the destruction he must have left in his wake.  “Be ready to take off when we board.”

Din leaned forward to hold down the blue button; “Roger,” he replied quickly as he kept an eye on the camera feed of the loading platform, opening and extending it so the hunter and his bounty could board easily.  The man appeared on the visual soon after, dragging a woman by the scruff of her neck.

It was you, with your hands tied behind your back and your mouth restrained by a makeshift gag.  You were putting up quite a fight, but not nearly enough to stop a man as ruthless as Fett.  The second the two of you were inside, Din triggered the loading platform to return to its upright resting place as he started the engines, the ship’s gyroscopic insides tilting against the lift-off sequence.  He turned his attention away from the screen as he saw Boba toss you to the ground, focusing instead on his task of exiting the atmosphere and getting the ship into hyperspace so you could be returned to those who sought you.

Hyperspace was quieter, which meant he could hear the sounds of your resistance more easily even with you in another part of the ship entirely.  Wondering what all the fuss was about (and, secretly, a bit curious about this feisty young woman Fett had captured), Din made his way out of the cockpit and towards the cargo bay where Boba was wrestling with you.

It didn’t really seem like a fight, in the traditional sense of the word, since a fight implies two opposing forces— it seemed more like you were giving everything you had to try to wrench out of his grip (and go where?, Din was forced to wonder, we’re in hyperspace) while your captor was merely humoring you by not immediately knocking you out and freezing you in carbonite.

Your desperate grunts and whines were muffled by your gag, screeching to a halt as Boba used one hand to hold your torso and pull your back against his chest, the other gripping your jaw tightly.  “Stop fighting, little girl,” he hissed, “you’re just going to get yourself hurt.”  That deep commanding voice enough to intimidate even Din; thankfully, Din was on Fett’s good side, for the moment, and was pretty sure his own ‘bounty hunter voice’ (as he referred to it only in his own head) was at least 80% as scary.

You made this little motion like you were considering disobeying his instruction, but your rebellion was quelled by a gloved fist tangling into and subsequently tugging your hair.  You winced, but relaxed a bit as you gave in to the reality that you’d been bested.

Din didn’t understand what was happening when Boba bent your bound-and-gagged form over a console, but he knew it couldn’t be good: not with the way tears were pouring down your face and soaking the cloth tied through your mouth, not with the way you struggled underneath his grip in your hair and on the back of your tunic.

“What are you doing,” Din asked, although it didn’t come out quite like a question without that uptick at the end, his voice firm and steady and deep even as his heart started to race.

“What do you think I’m doing?  I’m taking my bonus,” Boba answered plainly, kicking your flailing legs apart to slot his body between them.

Boba must have seen the younger man’s confusion, even through his helmet, because he took a pause from his work to look back at Din.

“You can fuck ‘em before you chuck ‘em, you know,” Boba informed him, like it was obvious— like this was open secret that he was amazed he hadn’t already acted on.  Truly, the thought hadn’t really crossed Din’s mind before.  His upbringing had been devoid of any sexual education, even to the point of drawing a clear line between right and wrong.  Then again, right and wrong were always a blurry mix in his mind as a bounty hunter: instead of that dichotomy, he was taught that there was the Code and nothing else.  And the Code didn’t have anything to say about this, specifically, even as guilt and fear tingled up his spine along with the sickly addictive feeling burning in his gut— arousal, as he realized with a little gasp.

Fett leaned down to push his helmet against your ear, as if you’d be able to hear him any clearer even though the helmet’s modulator made it all sound mostly the same anyway.  “Don’t try to fight me,” he insisted again.  “Just stay still and keep your mouth shut.”

After a shaky breath, you nodded a little, and Boba sat back up, letting go of you with both of his hands— Din was pretty surprised to see you actually stay still, clearly the threat had gotten to you.  Fear, as the Mandalorian had learned many times, was a much more powerful tool of control than force.  Boba had you beat in both regards.

There was a little grunt from the man behind you as he reached down to fiddle with his trousers, finding the belt and opening which he reached into.  From where he was standing, Din couldn’t really see what exactly his travel companion was doing, but even he wasn’t so naive not to figure it out.

A harsh, cracked sound spilled from your mouth, muffled through the gag, as Boba roughly pulled your trousers down and slid his cock between your legs, teasing you— taunting you.  It wasn’t enough to violate you, apparently; he had to degrade you, siphon every drop of terror as he reminded you what was happening.  You shook your head, and even though your words were objectively unintelligible, it was apparent to Din that you were pleading with your captor to stop.

Din got the sense that he should leave, but his feet were welded to the floor.  His eyes were trained on you, shaking and breathing unsteadily where you were bent over and your head was turned to the side to press on the cold metal.  You closed your eyes tightly, and Din recognized the expression as ‘bracing for impact,’ although in your case, it wasn’t that you were about to be impacted but impaled.  Of course this couldn’t be right, Din knew enough to know that, in fact he was pretty sure it was illegal on some planets, but they weren’t on any planet right now, and Din had done things that are illegal on every planet.  Maybe this really was normal bounty-hunting fare, and he was just too inexperienced to realize that.  Maybe this was a relic of how hunters operated in Boba’s time; and Din, of course, had a lot of respect for tradition.

Maybe, more than anything, Din had lost track of the part of himself that cared if it was right or wrong, overpowered by a much more primal part of himself that had been chained and suppressed for far too long.  The funny thing about monsters is that they get hungrier the longer you keep them caged up.

The way your fists clenched and shook as you were forced to take the hunter’s cock inside you, the way your teeth ground together and a hiss leaked out from between them, the way you whimpered and cried and he could see the shiver run up your spine… Din was obsessed with it, and his chest burned with a foreign emotion that could be described as jealousy, but that wouldn’t explain all of it.  It was more than that, indescribable even to someone much more fluent in the language of feelings than Din was.

You sobbed quietly as your body went limp underneath his tight grip on the back of your tunic, just between your shoulder blades.  He was already moving his hips quickly, chasing the pleasure he stole from your body.  Din could see that he was hurting you, pain unmistakable in the way your expression twisted, even as the rest of your body seemed to have resigned itself.

Din wished, against every instinct of justice still firing wildly in the back of his mind, that he was hurting you like that, and not his companion.  Although, he also fancied himself noble enough that, given the opportunity, he would treat you fairer than Boba would.  And he was right, but then again, to be less cruel than Boba Fett takes little chivalry.

Your cries were sharp, loud enough at times to echo around the ship’s interior, other times completely silent as the brutality of Boba’s movements knocked the wind out of your lungs.

“Take her mouth,” Boba offered, “it’ll be a good way to shut her up.”

Din’s head was spinning as he tried to process that.  It was like his body was moving on pure instinct as he stepped closer, his trousers getting tighter as you looked up at him.  Your eyes were pleading for something: mercy, presumably, but he felt helpless to do anything but obey Boba’s order.  It was an order, right?  He had to do it.  

A gloved finger tucked under your gag and pulled it out of your mouth, the fabric falling around your neck as you licked your dry and cracked lips.

“Please,” you whispered.

He kept one hand weaved into your hair as the other opened his pants, his cock bouncing free the moment it was given any space to do so.  He held it at the base tightly, afraid it would all end too soon if he didn’t.  

“Please, don’t do this,” you insisted, whimpering a little as he rubbed his cock around your lips, smearing the clear precum over your cheek.  

The hand he’d tangled into your hair moved to grip your jaw, forcing your mouth open, and he gently pushed his cock inside— barely enough to rub his cock on your tongue, to feel the humid moisture of your breathing.  You didn’t close your lips until he pushed his cock deeper, enveloping him in the silky skin of your mouth as he tried to keep his cool.  How it felt was one thing, but how it looked was another entirely— your lips stretching over his girth, your cheeks bulging where the head of his cock pressed against the inside, your eyes blinking up at him as they brimmed with fresh tears.  He hadn’t even been creative enough to imagine something like this those few times he’d gotten himself off with his hand, those few times basic biological need overcame confusion and naivete and ineptitude.  Now it was going to be the thing he thought about every time, which was why he was doing his best to commit it to memory now.  

Every groan and whimper that Boba forced you to make was vibrating through his cock, making Din sigh shakily and hold your head with both hands.

“Maker,” Din whispered as his head fell back, even though he didn’t believe in the Maker.  At least, he hadn’t before.

“Good, isn’t it?” Boba encouraged, his voice tinted with the curl of a grin.  Din couldn’t imagine what Boba was getting out of sharing his spoils with him, but he wasn’t one to question the nature of a gift when it felt like this, like your hot, wet tongue massaging the underside of his cock.

“Yes,” Din agreed hoarsely.

You yelped around his length when Boba brought a gloved hand down to smack your rear, the sound almost as erotic as the way your flesh rippled and shook with his aggressive touch.  “Go on, suck him harder, give ‘im a real show,” Boba instructed to you darkly.  You whimpered but did as he’d said, hollowing your cheeks and creating the most wonderful pressure as you sucked on Din’s swollen head.  

Boba shed himself of his right glove, tossing it aside to palm at where your flesh had turned red in the shape of his hand already.  Din shivered as he watched Boba’s thumb move inward— he couldn’t see where it was, but he had a pretty good idea based on the way your entire body tensed up, a weak whimper of confusion echoing around Din’s cock.

Instinct told him to take his cock out of your mouth, even if the idea of not feeling you for a moment was unpleasant in so many ways.  Still, he figured he needed to hear whatever it was you had to say.

“Don’t,” you pleaded with Boba.  “Not that.”

“Bet you’ll like it,” Boba assured, and he must have pushed in to the first knuckle because your whole body jolted forward, running from the sensation as you winced.  “Relax,” Boba instructed firmly.

“Stop,” you whimpered, and Din’s heart twisted to see you in pain.

“Do what he says,” Din suggested— not a command, just his best proposal of a solution.  In situations of inequitable experience, Din deferred to Boba liberally; certainly, Boba knew more about this than he did, even if that was a very low bar.

“Please, make him stop,” you whispered to him, more of a conversation than the two of you had had before.  He was almost tempted to honor your request, even if he would never consider standing up to Boba, but his body was pulsing with need and it overrode any sense of decency left. 

“I’m sorry,” was his only consolation as he pushed into your mouth again, and though it wasn’t a lie, it wasn’t very useful to you, either.

He held your neck as he pushed himself deeper, his sense of shame deteriorating in favor of pleasure.  It was embarrassing enough to be doing this at all, let alone with Boba right there, watching him— well, Boba didn’t really seem to be watching him, too preoccupied with watching you squirm beneath him, but still, he could see it and that was a fact Din preferred to ignore.  He imagined instead that this was a private, intimate moment the way it ought to be, the way that he had deduced these activities were usually conducted.  He also imagined that you wanted to do this to him, that you were on your knees willingly as opposed to bent over a table by force.  It was so easy to picture you wanting it, begging for it, even.  Let me do this for you, I want to taste you, I want to make you feel good, you would offer as you knelt down, and he would still feel guilty for it but he wouldn’t stop you, either.  Din hadn’t previously allowed himself to fantasize about having a companion of that nature, but as he indulged himself in his imagination now, he decided you would be unendingly generous: with your time, with your love, with your body.  In return he would protect you… from exactly the sort of thing he was subjecting you to right now.  

Renewed guilt seared through his chest as reality hit: you’d never care about him, you hated him, he could see that clearly in the way you looked up at him while he used your mouth.  And he didn’t blame you for it at all, although he wished you would appreciate that it was Boba’s idea in the first place and that his crime was far worse than Din’s.  Fett seemed to get off on your reluctance, relish and savor it, while it was just a compromise to Din.

You closed your eyes with a little sigh through your nose, relaxing your mouth further for him to thrust his hips forward into.  He realized that you were trying to relax like Boba had told you, and for good reason— Fett had replaced his thumb for two fingers, and Din was almost curious enough to lean forward and try to get a glimpse of your puckered hole opening up to him.  You looked pretty with your eyes fallen shut, those eyelashes delicately resting on your cheeks, but it wasn’t as good as being able to gaze right at you.

“Don’t close your eyes,” Din instructed quickly.  When they opened again, he saw your stare dart around his helmet, seeking somewhere to latch onto.  “Right here,” he clarified, releasing one hand from your throat to tap on the tinted visor.  When you looked at where he had told you to, it was almost like you were really looking him in the eyes— although, truthfully, he was sort of glad that you couldn’t because he was sure you would find more there than he wanted you to see.  It would be impossible to hide his nervousness, his inexperience, his fear if it weren’t for the beskar in the way.  Even now, your bright eyes threatened to pierce right through him.

“You’re gonna come, aren’t you, girl?” Boba rasped, the closest Din had ever heard him to beaming with pride.

You shook your head against the intrusion in your mouth, and Din pulled out to give you a chance to talk.  (Perhaps it also served the secondary purpose of delaying Din’s orgasm, which he had been holding back for so long now as he found himself oddly insecure about his stamina, but that’s neither here nor there.)  “No,” you denied, but your voice was wavering as your eyes darted to the floor.

“She’s lying,” Din announced.

“I know,” Boba replied.  “I can feel it— on the inside,” he hissed, and Din wasn’t sure if he was addressing him or you but it made a jolt of electricity shoot up his spine either way.  You seemed to react strongly to that, too, although any verbal reaction was lost to him shoving his cock into your mouth one last time— yes, this time he had no intentions of stopping until he pumped his come right into your throat.  

It was all happening so much faster than he intended, due in part to your moans shooting right down through his shaft to his balls, which grew tight with his impending release.  He’d never felt anything like this— he hadn’t realized before that it would feel different when it wasn’t his hand.  I mean, of course everything before the orgasm would feel different, but he imagined that the peak itself was the same.  That assumption was beyond inaccurate— he’d never fucked his own hand the way he was fucking your throat, he’d never moaned the way you were making him moan now, he’d never tightened his fists like he was now, and even if he had, it wouldn’t have meant choking you and hearing all your cries come to a sudden halt.

Without your noises it was only the slapping of flesh and the occasional filtered breath through a helmet.  He missed your moans, and yet he relished his power to take them away so suddenly.

He could feel the shape of his own cock through the thick skin of your throat, bulging into his hand, accentuated by your pulse just nearby.  He could feel you fighting for air.  He understood now why Boba had more fun with this than he did with hookers in cantinas— your helplessness was his power.  Your weakness was his strength.  And Din had never felt so strong.

He relaxed his grip to give you a chance to swallow as he came, pumping into your throat, grunting with each pulse of his cock filling your mouth.

Suddenly the sensation felt like it would become too much, forcing Din to pull his cock out of you and step back.  At the same time, Fett stepped back too, which was odd because Din was pretty sure he hadn't finished: if he had, he was a lot more subtle about it than Din was.

“You want your turn, don’t you?” Boba addressed Din, making the latter feel awkwardly exposed.

“I thought this was my turn,” Din answered.

“With her pussy,” Boba clarified, and Din was sure that he had managed to blush hard enough that it was somehow visible through the helmet.

"And you?" Din asked, not wanting to impose.

"I'll be attending to… another matter," Boba explained with that audible smirk in his tone, and Din had a few ideas of what that could mean, all of which caused him to swallow thickly as Fett grabbed you and pulled you up to stand before unceremoniously dropping you to the floor.  Din joined you there, not quite sure what he should be doing but figuring he should get on with it as the other man knelt down behind you.

Pulling you onto his lap, you spread your legs to straddle him in an unexpected show of submission which Din thoroughly appreciated.  One arm held you up while the other grasped his cock, still hard and hopefully not too sensitive so he could actually do this— he could actually fuck you.  It felt unreal; it felt beyond real, hyperreal as he started to slide his cock through the soaked and swollen intricacies of your sex.  You must have come like Fett said you would, otherwise he couldn't imagine how you'd become so wet… he could even see it glistening on the inside of your thighs. 

When he found the opening he was looking for, all Din had to do was lower you down onto him, gasping slightly as he watched and felt you sink down onto and around him, a little grunt coming out of you as your hips met his.

It was lucky that he’d already come once, in your mouth, because otherwise he would’ve lost it right then and there— you were so warm inside, soaked thoroughly such that his movements were smooth and easy as he instantly started to fuck you, groaning at how perfectly your body accepted him.

“Slow down,” Boba grunted, “I need to get in.”

You cried and shivered as the other man pushed into your available entrance, your head falling exhaustedly onto Din’s shoulder.  He looked down at your face, then, and brushed your hair away so he could see it better, peeling strands from where they had been stuck to your forehead and neck by the thin layer of sweat that covered you.  He wanted to comfort you, to promise that the pain would ease soon, but he couldn’t really think of anything to say; so, he just held you tight as he began to move within you again, and saw the other hunter do the same.

He made a conscious effort to not look at Boba’s cock, for fear of comparing it to his own.  It was disturbing enough to be able to feel it, slightly, through the thin barrier your body provided.  How inconceivable that Din had woken up a virgin and would fall asleep tonight with the memory of this lodged in his mind forever.  In one day of sexual activity he’d gotten more done than many would in a lifetime, and yet he still lacked the most common things: love, passion, consent… perhaps someday he’d find those, even if it could never be from you.

Not worried anymore about an attempt to fight or flee, Din reached back and untied your wrists from each other, hoping he wouldn't get scolded for it by Fett who thankfully remained silent aside from his own restrained sounds of pleasure.  You clung to him instantly, your freshly-freed hands clutching at his back, and he decided to interpret it as a token of affection even if he knew that was a bit of a stretch.  If nothing else, maybe you recognized him as the lesser of two evils.  

He opted to take credit for the way your moans were different from before; even in his wildest fantasies could he not convince himself that he was better at this than Boba was, but he could swing at the idea that you preferred him because you were meant for him.  It was probably more outlandish, yes, but it was so easy to believe that you were made to be his when you felt so good around him.  Din hadn’t even known anything could feel this good.

Something Boba had said earlier gained clearer meaning when Din felt your inner walls seize up and shift around him.  Trying not to be too loud, he resorted to coping with the feeling by gripping your waist tightly.  The idea that he could leave bruises on your skin excited him more than he would have anticipated (if, of course, he had anticipated any of this).

Another tug on your hair from Boba wrenched your head back.  "Gonna come," he grunted at you lowly, "in this tight little ass.  You want it?"

"Please," you whispered, not quite sounding enthusiastic but managing to give him whatever he was looking for, apparently, as another choked noise signalled his release.  Your body reacted strongly to that, clenching down hard on Din's cock.

"You like it," Din posited.  "I can feel it," he reminded you when you tried to deny it with a shake of your head, "from the inside."

Boba took his time pulling out, the most peculiar sensation that made Din shudder a bit.  As tight as you were when you were full in that way, Din preferred having you to himself.

"I'll be in the fresher," Boba announced as he stood up and tucked himself back into his uniform, looking so composed in a way Din envied; he was sure, somehow, that he looked a complete mess even with the armor covering him.  "I'll leave you to your fun.  Don't take too long."

“I— I won’t last much longer,” Din stammered, wondering immediately if it was too much information.

“Not inside,” you begged suddenly.  

Boba chuckled a little as he left, and Din wondered if it was what he said or what you said that made him laugh.  The thought was forgotten as the hunter left, and he suddenly felt a wave of nerves wash over him— the way he always felt when he was alone with a pretty girl.  Not that he'd ever been alone with a pretty girl quite like this.

Not sure what to say, he opted to just not say anything as he held you tight and bucked his hips up into you.  You wouldn't let him off that easy, apparently, as you reiterated yourself: "You can't come inside, please don't—"

"This isn't a negotiation," Din reminded you firmly.

He was too close to imagine stopping now, anyway; the snug grip of your insides was too good to be ignored, his body was incapable of slowing down as he fucked you deeper and faster than ever.  He noticed which angle of his hips made you moan loudest, hoping to feel you come around him just like Boba had.  

“Come for me,” he instructed, hearing an impression of Fett in his own voice as he tried to come across as dominating, “I wanna feel it.”

You shivered a little, whimpering into the crook of his neck before he lifted you by the jaw to look at your face.  You looked exhausted, eyes blown wide and dark, lips swollen and bitten red, hair tangled and unruly from being used essentially as reigns.

“Can you do that?  Can you come?” he pressed, grinding his hips up into yours and watching you whine at the sensation of being filled so deeply.  You nodded, but that wasn’t enough for him.  “Say it.”

“Yes,” you answered, “I’ll— I’ll come.”

“Good,” he praised plainly, doing his best to hold himself back until he got his chance to feel you reach your peak.  

Your head fell back as your hands weakly tugged at his shoulders, and Din hoped that tearing your tunic down the front to grope your breasts would speed things along for you.  He hadn’t taken off his gloves, but even so he relished the weight of them in his palms, curiously pinching at a hardened nipple which made you flex around him again.

“Are you close,” he asked, losing that intonation of a question again, focusing instead on trying not to sound exasperated.

“Yes,” you hissed, “I’m gonna— fuck,” you interrupted yourself.

You were moving a bit on your own now, instead of him holding you still and letting you limply take it like a ragdoll— no, you were rocking your hips in time with him, pushing down against him.  You wanted it, obviously, and Din was more than happy to give it to you.  He slammed into you with each thrust, held you down so you couldn’t squirm, groaned when he felt your body pulse around him.  A new surge of wetness gushed between your bodies, your broken cry echoed right against his ear— if this wasn’t a dead giveaway that you were coming, he wasn’t sure what was.  Unable to hold back anymore as you sobbed and shivered on top of him, he finally released into you, everything building up so fast only to snap in a moment, an embarrassingly weak moan slipping from his lips.  

He was sure he had never been so exhausted, but it was the most incredible feeling as well.  A little tear fell down your cheek— from terror, maybe, or disgust, or even pleasure… he had no real way to tell.

As he began to catch his breath, he wondered if he should say something; and, if he should, what that would be.  Thankfully, he felt the lurch of the ship leaving hyperspace— the weight of gravity sinking a little heavier as you slumped down on top of him.

He picked you up and set you down on the floor, standing as he delicately stuffed his cock back into his trousers.  “Looks like he’ll bring you in soon,” Din mumbled, but you didn’t really seem to care much, just laying on the floor and staring into nothingness.  He watched his seed leak out of you and onto the steel, making a mental note to clean that up later, hoping you weren’t too angry with him for disobeying your request that he finish elsewhere.  “You’ll need a new tunic,” he noticed as he realized it was probably less than ideal to bring in a target who had been so obviously violated.  “I’ll bring you something to cover yourself with,” he decided.  

Heading for his sack to search for an old cape or blanket that you could wear, he passed by the cockpit where Boba was steering the ship.

“I’m keeping the reward,” Boba interjected suddenly without turning back to look towards him, making Din stop walking, “since I was generous enough to share the… fringe benefits.”

“Of course,” Din nodded, not having expected a share of the bounty in the first place since all he’d done was keep lookout during the actual hunt.  He was ready to walk away, but Boba spoke again as he turned the captain’s chair and faced Din, finally.

“Did you do what she asked?” Boba pressed.

“What?” Din choked, taking a moment to remember what he was even talking about— when you asked him not to come inside, apparently.  “Oh, um, no.”  His face warmed beneath the beskar as Fett chuckled to himself.

“Good,” he nodded.  “Never take commands from a target, or a whore.”

Din shuffled nervously but said nothing, considering he had no idea how to respond to that.

“Besides,” Boba continued as he turned back to the controls of the ship, “if she’s pregnant that’ll be the New Republic’s problem.”

Din figured he was free to go now, taking a moment to glance over Boba’s shoulder at the planet ahead before continuing ahead.  His quest for a cloak for you was nearly forgotten as he tried to clear his mind of what Boba had said so casually.  He needed a shower, desperately, but he didn’t have time before the ship landed— and Fett probably intended on making Din complete the transfer and bring the credits back, since the older hunter wasn’t exactly a friend of the Republic.  

He ended up grabbing an old shirt of his, tossing it at you when he entered the room where he’d left you, finding you standing with your trousers pulled back up.  Silently he wondered if you had made any effort to clean yourself of his come or if it was still there between your legs, but neither of you said a word as he put you in more formal shackles than the rags that Boba had tied you with originally.

The New Republic officer definitely reacted to your appearance when Din brought you forward, all but dragging you as he gripped your arm.  “When’d she get so roughed up?” the young officer interrogated as he handed Din the credits he was owed.  

“Found her like this,” Din shrugged.

He didn’t seem to buy it, with the way he scanned your form and raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t say anything else as he motioned for two guards to take you away.  Din considered looking back but decided against it, returning to the ship and immediately surrendering the credits to their rightful owner in Boba.

“Next job’s on Dantooine,” Boba informed him gruffly as he piloted the ship out of the atmosphere.  But Din wasn’t listening, instead watching your new prison shrink and disappear into a dot, hoping to find in himself the carelessness that Boba had already mastered.  He had a thousand questions he wanted to ask his hunting partner— Is this how it always goes?  Will it happen again?  Do you really think she could be pregnant? — but he wouldn’t even consider speaking any of them aloud.  It was almost funny that they had shared something so disturbingly intimate and Din still felt unable to be direct with him, although neither of them had the sense of humor to appreciate it.

“Thank you,” Din blurted out.  “For teaching me about the job.”

“My pleasure,” Boba replied gruffly, and with a jump back into hyperspace, the ship was submerged once again into silence.

[bobathirstaccount]

The Invitation (or, You wanna do some drugs, Princess?)

Boba x fem!reader, smutty sex pollen

Boba. You. His bed. Sex pollen. Things happen ;)

TW: unprotected sex, recreational drug use

***

Boba licked his lips. His mouth was dry. You laid out before him, prone on his bed. When he had said you could use his room to do drugs in private, he hadn’t thought you would raid his stash quite so thoroughly. You moaned softly, your arm over your eyes and your mouth slightly open. He wanted to kiss your open mouth.

You sighed and moved your arm, rolling over in his bed. You faced him now. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came. He closed it. You were watching him now, eyes bleary.

“What the hell is in that green jar, anyways?” Your words slurred.

“You really did raid my stash. That was way in the back.”


You smiled softly, “You said I could do your drugs…”

He let out an amused huff, but quickly became serious again. “It’s a mixture of several things…”


You waited, starting to breath heavily. He watched you rest your head on his pillow.

“THC…” he began.

“Yes.”

“…spice…”

“Makes sense.”

”And… one more thing?” He didn’t want to say, as if that would help the situation.

“Being…?”

“Zeltronian pollen.”’

Your eyes flicked to him, “Don’t know that one.”

He grimaced. You continued to wait, your chest heaving.


“It’s… an aphrodisiac,” he finished quickly. You snorted, “That explains a couple things.” Boba didn’t know what to do.

You looked up at him, “Well. Are you gonna join me in doing drugs? Don’t leave me hanging.”

He hesitantly moved towards the bed and sat carefully at the foot of it. He grabbed a small pot and looked up at you. Your eyes were closed and your lips were pressed together. You very slightly rocked back and forth.

Boba looked down at his chosen substance. He didn’t know if it was wise to get high when you were on sex pollen. You rolled over onto your back and your legs spread slightly. His eyes immediately went to your chest, which was heaving substantially now. The pollen was taking full effect.

He put the glass pot down. He thought about sliding into you, your back arching in pleasure as he bottomed out in you. He felt his cock twitch and felt a little awkward. “You should probably just take my room to recover,” he said softly, watching you lay there, needy and probably very wet by this point. He licked his lips and tried to think of something else.

You raised your head to look up at him. Your pupils were dilated. He looked back. “Why’d you invite me here to do drugs if you’re not gonna do them with me?”

He shrugged, then grabbed a small metal container. He pulled out a joint.

“Ohmygosh. I did some heavy shit and you’re gonna smoke a jay?”

“Seems prudent,” he lit the joint. You watched him from hooded eyes. There was a slight pause in the conversation. You laid back down and put your hands over your face. Then you removed them, “Why am I here?” He looked at you, unsure what you meant. You clarified, “I mean, in your room.”

“To do drugs?”

”I mean. Why’d you invite me? If not to… be alone with me.”

“I don’t take your meaning.”

”I mean. Isn’t this really the perfect situation?” You inhaled, “You know?”

He shifted his weight and looked you up and down again. You rolled over onto your stomach and propped yourself up using his pillow. He watched your ass. He looked away and took a hit, feeling a bit like a predator. When he looked back, you had turned slightly and were watching him. You bit your lower lip and looked slowly from his eyes to his lips and back again. Boba inhaled, feeling his heartbeat increase.

“I didn’t plan this,” he felt defensive.

“No… but it’s working out nicely.” You continued to watch him, breathing hard. “I’m dying over here, you know…”

He exhaled slowly. “It should wear off in… several hours…”

”In the meantime, what’re we gonna do?” You spread your legs, a foot coming into contact with his side. You nudged him with it. He looked from it to you, feeling your toes dig into him. He put his hand on your foot. “You’ll regret me tomorrow,” he said quietly.

Your expression turned soft. “Why do you say that?”

He laughed, “We could not be more different.”

A heaviness hung in the air between the two of you. You looked down. “Boba, I…” you paused, still looking down. You snuck a look at him. He waited. “I’ve… liked you for a little bit now.” You turned away. Boba’s brow furrowed, “We don’t really know each other.”

”No, but we’re getting to know each other.”

His breathing was unsteady. He squeezed your foot and ran his hand up to the back of your knee. You moaned and spread your legs wider. He dropped the joint into the ashtray and crawled over the rest of his drug collection to you. He wasted no time and positioned himself between your legs, partially resting his weight on you. He knew you could feel his erection against your leg. He waited, regretting his actions. You seemed to not respond, but he heard a low whine escape from your mouth. It aroused him and his hips thrust forward once unconsciously. You moaned then, “I want you to put that inside of me.”

Gritting his teeth, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your pants and pulled down. In no time your pants were on the floor. You fully spread your legs, revealing your soaked pussy to him. He groaned, looking at your glistening entrance, ready to be fucked. Boba lost control. He grabbed your body and flipped you onto your side, then pulled desperately at his clothing until his cock was freed. Without thinking, he shoved himself inside of you up to his balls. The wet heat of your pussy overwhelmed him; he grunted and stilled in you, trying to not cum immediately.

You called out in pleasure and rocked your hips slightly. “Fuck me, baby,” you begged breathily. Boba took you in his arms and started to thrust into you in short strokes. You moaned and begged for more. He picked up the pace, feeling the soft walls of your pussy drag across his cock. He stifled a moan in your shoulder, biting you instead. “Mmmm, I like that,” you cooed.

Emboldened, he fucked harder, licking and biting you again. Your body pushed back into his as he moved against you. He slid a hand up your shirt and cupped a breast gently before squeezing. Your moan made his heart beat even faster. He could feel himself tightening up, approaching orgasm. He could feel you were close too; your wet pussy was starting to clutch around him. He grunted again, his heart pounding and his mind racing. He couldn’t believe this was happening. You made a strangled sound, “Boba,” as you started to cum on him. He groaned and his mouth dropped slightly open as he fucked your spasming pussy. It had been a long time since he had been inside someone. He pulled out suddenly, almost cumming inside of you. He gasped his release, cock spurting cum and balls tight against his body. You whined, grinding onto him.

After a dazed moment, he slid his hand from your tit to your pussy. He plunged three fingers in and buried his head into the crook of your neck as he pleasured you. You moaned his name repeatedly, body squirming against his as he held you. Your voice was like honey to him, he loved the way his name sounded on your lips. You came again, pussy clamping down on his fingers. He praised you and kissed your neck as you moaned and bucked your hips.

“Fuck me again,” you moaned, sounding desperate. He wondered if he could, but noticed himself getting hard. You wasted no time and grabbed him, working him until he was fully erect. Then you turned over, and pushing on him, straddled him and took him inside yourself. You set an insane pace, bouncing up and down on him like he was paying. He grunted his surprise and pleasure, and his hands went to your hips to steady you.

You looked at him from hooded eyes, your mouth having fallen open. You had a slight sheen of sweat on your body. “I need you; will you fuck me on my back?” You asked. Without saying anything, he flipped over and pushed you into the mattress. He snapped his hips into you, setting a brutal pace, slamming his cock into you. He wanted to fuck you so good you’d want to come back for more. He already knew he wanted more.

You called out to him then, just his name over and over. He closed his eyes and buried his face in the crook of your neck again, slamming his cock into you. Your hands scratched down his back as you got louder. You spread your legs obscenely, “I wanna feel you cum in me this time,” you panted the request. Boba’s body was more than willing to comply. Your words triggered in him a chain reaction that ripped through him. Before he could react, he was cumming in you, body stiff above you as he grunted his surprised release. Your pussy clutched around him, drawing the pleasure out and making it almost painful. He finally pulled out, breathing hard and feeling unsure.

“Baby you’re so good,” you said softly, hand going to his face. You cupped his cheek and pulled his face to yours. Before he knew it, he was kissing you on the mouth. Your lips were sweet and soft and he wondered about his own rough lips as they pressed against yours. After a moment you separated to catch your breath. Boba started to pull away, moving his clothing. You grabbed him and snuggled into his chest, a contented sigh leaving your body. “Will you stay?” You asked quietly. He haltingly wrapped his arms around you and relaxed into the bed. His chin rested on the top of your head.

“See I told you this was the perfect situation,” your voice was muffled. Boba’s lips curled into a small smile. He remembered what you had said earlier. “So… you… ‘like’ me?” He asked, feeling a bit silly. You nodded your head into his chest. He hugged you more tightly to himself. Your muffled voice asked, “Well…. Do you like me back?” He marveled at your ability to be so open. “I… yes,” He shut his mouth firmly. You sighed and slid an arm around him. He closed his eyes and inhaled your scent. He could get used to this.

[gukyi]

if i told you | jjk

summary: in order to pay for university, jeon jungkook decides to market his most valuable asset to the wealthy socialites of campus: himself. donning a suit and tie, tousled hair, and glasses (to look smarter), he becomes every rich daughter’s dream: the perfect boyfriend to bring to balls, dinners, and business gatherings. all while you watch from the sidelines, only able to dream of having that much money to buy yourself what you really want: him.

{friends to lovers!au, college!au}

pairing: jeon jungkook x female reader genre: fluff, comedy, angst, we’ve got it all folks word count: 22k warnings: slightly underage alcohol consumption, mention of words that could be spoken on an crime documentary series but nothing graphic, ravioli-stealing, idiots to lovers, as per usual a/n: finally! here is the long awaited jungkook fic that i have literally been slaving over since the beginning of january. was this fic supposed to be 10k? yes. did i somehow end up writing 22k anyway? of course! in any case, please enjoy my absolute baby who i love and cherish!

check out the post-script drabble here!

Jeon Jungkook loses his job at the university call center on the seventeenth day of the fall semester of his sophomore year. 

You know this because on the seventeenth day of the fall semester of your sophomore year, he comes banging on the door of your apartment shared with three other girls at 2:07PM, seven minutes after he normally starts his job at the university call center. 

He’s lucky that you’re the only one who doesn’t have class in the 2PM hour. 

“Y/N!” He shouts through the thin wooden door, his voice probably echoing down the thin hallway of your apartment complex. 

You open it before the second knock—you only rush to the door to get him to shut the fuck up, and not because you’re excited to see him, you swear—to see him standing on the other side, XXL university hoodie draped over his figure, down to his mid-thigh, baggy hood pulled over his head like a sad college-aged Star Wars character. He looks exactly like a jaded sophomore year college student would. He is beautiful. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be at the call center right now?” You ask in lieu of a normal “hello” or even a “what the fuck are you doing here, it’s 2PM”. Jungkook does not wait for you to invite him inside your apartment, immediately kicks off his shoes by the entrance and tugs on your apartment slippers that are a size-and-a-half too small for his feet, and marches over to your shared fridge to fish through the tupperware containers with your name written on Post-it notes for a mid-afternoon snack. 

Jungkook waits until he’s got an entire piece of frozen supersized ravioli shoved into his mouth before he responds. “I was fired,” he says over a mouthful of pasta and cheese.

“What?” You ask, eyes widening as Jungkook shuffles through your kitchen drawers for a fork, which means that the first piece of ravioli that he ate he did so with his bare ass hands. Like a heathen. Like a ravioli-craving twenty-year-old heathen. 

“I was fired,” Jungkook repeats. He stares at the microwave resting on your kitchen counter for a good ten seconds before he continues to eat the cold, unheated pasta. Every time he’s in your apartment (which is frequently), he tells you how it’s a fire, water, and explosive hazard to have your microwave on the counter like that. As if there is any other place in your apartment for it to go. Maybe out on the tiny balcony you have that overlooks the busiest street on campus. 

“Care to offer an explanation as to why?” You ask, coming up next to him. Jungkook is nearly finished with your tupperware of ravioli, and normally you’d shout at him for it, but seeing as he was just fired from his only source of income as a money-starved college student, you’ll cut him some slack. Just a little. 

“You remember that old, angry alumnus that told me that asking for donations in order to benefit low-income-slash-first generation students was selfish and rude of me, and that I wouldn’t be in college if it weren’t for what his generation accomplished?” Jungkook asks. 

You remember that vividly. Jungkook spent an approximate two hours and thirty-seven minutes on FaceTime with you ranting about this one “old man bitch” who he had to speak to during his day at work, all while you did your economics problem set to the sweet, mellifluous sound of Jungkook’s shrill shrieks. 

“The one you lost your temper at and shouted at for being ungrateful and elitist?” You ask pointedly. You have a feeling you already know where this conversation is going. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook says with a roll of his eyes. He finishes the ravioli (goddamnit, now you’re going to have to find something else to eat for dinner at 11PM tonight) and turns around to place it in the sink. For once, it is not piled high with dishes from up to a week ago, so Jungkook even squirts a bit of Dawn onto a sponge and washes the plastic container for you. “Well, as it turns out, telling an old racist elitist that he’s old, racist, and elitist does not go down well with my boss.”

“Why does that not surprise me,” you muse. Jungkook sighs, walking over to where you’re taking it easy on the couch. “Oh no,” you say, eyes widening as he grins, plotting something. “Do not, Jungkook. Jungkook, do not!”

He jumps, catapulting himself onto the couch and landing on top of you with a thud. You let out a groan as the weight of his body hits you, foreheads nearly knocking into each other. Jungkook is a good foot-and-a-half too long for this dinky leather couch that’s always sort of smelled, feet and ankles hanging off the opposing arm rest just so he can nuzzle his face into the crook of your shoulder like he always does. You hate when he does this. Hate when he jumps onto the couch while you’re casually reclining just so he can collapse on top of you. Hate the feeling of his body resting against yours, soft breathes against the skin of your neck. Hate how it always makes you want more, how it will never be enough. 

“Have you been working out?” You mumble against the fabric of his t-shirt. “You’re more muscle-y than usual.”

“I added weights to my routine,” Jungkook tells you mindlessly. If your roommates walked into your apartment right now and saw the both of you on the couch, you’d never hear the end of it. “Taehyung said it would make me more swole.”

“As if you need to be any more buff,” you say with a roll of your eyes. Jungkook’s the most athletic person you’ve ever met in your entire life. He could probably pick up your dinky couch with you sitting on it without batting an eyelash. Even Superman would tremble at the sight of him. “You’re perfect the way you are.”

“Thanks, Y/N,” Jungkook mutters into your skin. “God, what the fuck am I gonna do now? I need money to pay for everything in my life and my one source of income is now totally invalid because an old guy got what he deserved.”

“Are there any work-study positions still available?” You ask, hand reaching up to stroke at his hair, smoothing it down. Jungkook’s preferred cuddling position is big spoon, but he still demands that he be coddled as though he were the little spoon. 

“No,” Jungkook says with a huff, “they’ve all been snagged by try-hard freshmen who need money like me.”

“I distinctly recall you being a try-hard freshman who also needed money,” you tell him. “That’s why you applied to work at the call center, isn’t it?”

Jungkook sits up, the weight of his figure crushing your legs as he rests on top of them. If you stayed like this forever, you’d probably lose feeling in your lower body, but you’d also get to stay with Jungkook forever, which is a trade-off you would genuinely consider. “Yeah, but the call center hires everybody. You just need to be like… decent at communication. And I’m pretty decent at communication.”

“You never text me back,” you tell him pointedly. 

“That’s because I prefer showing up unannounced at your apartment or other places you frequent,” Jungkook reminds you excitedly. He’ll never let you forget about the time you were wrapping up a small seminar with your history professor and Jungkook burst through the doors with a whole thing of carrots and hummus because you had texted him that you were hungry. You could not look your history professor in the eye for the rest of the semester. “I’d say that’s pretty decent communication.”

“Well, you’re going to have to figure out another way to market your decent communication skills to get another job,” you tell him. “Have you considered the boba place on Oak? You could get me employee discounts.”

Jungkook leans over just to pinch at your cheek, fingers gripping onto your face and pulling like a grandmother. “You just want me for my money.”

“You’re my best friend, Jeon Jungkook,” you tell him. “Of course I do.”

This is what Jeon Jungkook’s obligatory university Facebook group introduction post read:

Hi, I’m Jungkook and I’m thinking of majoring in visual studies or computer science (really different lol I know)! I played soccer in high school but don’t think I’ll be continuing in college because I was pretty bad at it. I’m looking for a roommate and I’d really like to live in New East House, but anything works for me as long as it has a bed. Hit me up if you think we’d made a good match, but I like talking with everyone lol. 

I’m really into music and can play the guitar, drums, and piano. I like listening to all types of music (yes, even country which slaps kinda hard sometimes) but my favorites are The 1975, Frank Ocean, Troye Sivan, and Khalid. Will bop to Justin Bieber on occasion as well. 

I play Ultimate and am really interested in joining the club team here so hit me up and we can practice sometime because my skills are a little rusty. I also do a little skateboarding but I am definitely not a skater. 

Hit me up if you think we can be friends lol I’m excited to meet you all!

It was accompanied by several pictures, a couple of which are selfies at that anime girl angle, one of him with his friends at prom all doing that Frat Boy pose, and a couple of him with his family. To an outsider doing a very quick glance, it pretty much reads the same as a rather extensive dating profile. 

The truth of it all is, as you were scrolling through the hundreds of obligatory university Facebook group introduction posts in search of a freshman year roommate, you stumbled upon Jungkook’s intro post and you thought this: No. Way.

The moment you laid eyes on his first above-the-head angle selfie, you knew that it would be unlikely that you and Jeon Jungkook’s paths would ever cross. He played guitar and did Ultimate Frisbee, and you wanted to audition for your university’s symphony orchestra. He was beautiful but in that sort of college frat boy who can crush you at beer pong kind of way. Craziest of all, he was a computer science major, and you were walking in as an undecided humanities concentration. 

Impossible. There was no way the two of you would ever meet, and you accepted that right off that bat. At a school your size, you would go through these four years not knowing a majority of your class. Jeon Jungkook was just one of the casualties. 

On the very first day of orientation, Jeon Jungkook comes up to you on the sidewalk, wearing a white t-shirt, a backwards baseball cap, and shorts, and asks you if you’re here for orientation as well? He’s lost. 

Jeon Jungkook is the type of guy you imagine getting eaten up by any girl who meets him almost immediately. He’s charming and endearing the same way a baby deer is, but has no problem wearing clothes that remind you of how fit he is. He is, for lack of a better term, extremely good looking. 

“Yeah,” you had said on the sidewalk, squinting to look up at him since the sun was in your eyes. “I’m heading to the auditorium right now. Wanna walk with me?”

“Okay, sure,” Jungkook had replied, smiling with all of his teeth. Even in the sweaty summer heat, he looked even nicer in person. “Thanks, by the way. I’m Jungkook. What’s your name?”

You knew that already. How could you have forgotten? 

You had grinned up at him. The universe has always worked in mysterious ways. “I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you.”

When Jungkook doesn’t know what to do, he stress eats. Most often, you are the single witness to this action, which has literally no effect on his body mass whatsoever since he immediately burns off every calorie (and then some) at his next gym session. 

That is precisely why you are sitting in the second-best dining hall on campus eating a pretty measly salad and french fries, while Jungkook returns from the serve-yourself cafeteria with his sixth plate of food. Next to you is your mutual friend Chaewon, a filthy rich international student from Korea who is probably the nicest person you’ve ever met. 

“I think I’ve called every cafe, bubble tea shop, clothing store, and paid internship within a five-mile radius of this place and nothing,” Jungkook says with a sigh, keeping Chaewon updated with his job-search antics. It’s been several days since he was fired, and while being keenly cognizant of your bank account isn’t necessarily a bad thing, when it means that Jungkook refuses to leave campus because he is in hyper-saving mode, it sort of rustles your jimmies. 

“Have you tried babysitting?” Chaewon supplies helpfully. 

You laugh aloud at the mere thought of Jungkook stuck in some middle-aged parent’s house with their toddler for hours on a night where he could be living it up on campus. Jeon Jungkook? A babysitter?

“Wow, what the heck is wrong with me being a babysitter?” Jungkook questions, offended. 

“First of all, you don’t even let me beat you in Mario Kart on your Switch and I am your best friend. If you ended up gaming with a four-year-old boy, your over-competitiveness would take over you and you’d crush the poor kid and his spirit,” you remind him pointedly. Not to mention the fact that the man cannot cook to save his life, and you can’t even entrust him with microwave dinners because of his irrational fear of modern oven technology. 

Jungkook pouts. He knows you’re right. 

“It’s not like you were going to look into babysitting, anyway,” you say with a shove, nudging his shoulder with your own. 

Jungkook sighs, and despite all of the shit you give him on a daily basis (part of the responsibility of being his best friend), you do genuinely feel bad for him. Even if his job at the call center wasn’t the most intellectually stimulating nor morally rewarding, he didn’t absolutely hate it and he made a pretty decent earning off of it. He unzips his backpack and fumbles for his laptop, opening it up to reveal a Google Chrome window with approximately thirty-seven tabs open of places to work on and around campus. Meanwhile, Chaewon’s phone buzzes on the table, and she heaves out a great, exasperated exhale before picking up and immediately launching off into incredibly speedy Korean. 

“If only the bubble tea place was hiring,” you lament, kissing goodbye all of the free bubble tea you had been dreaming about if Jungkook got hired. 

“I’m glad I don’t work at the bubble tea place,” Jungkook tells you with his eyebrows raised, “otherwise I’d have to see you every day!” 

“You already see me every day!” You should back, but it’s not like Jungkook doesn’t know that already. He’s the one always barging into your apartment or sitting down next to you in the library when you’re trying to study. 

“But maybe you should try drinking less bubble tea, otherwise you’re gonna blow up like a tapioca pearl like that one girl from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory,” Jungkook warns, pinching your cheek as if to make your face round like a tapioca bubble. 

“I can think of nothing I’d want more than to be a tapioca pearl for the rest of my life,” you state simply. It would be much less stressful than to be a college student. 

“If you were a tapioca pearl, I’d eat you!” Jungkook says, and you, out of the security of both your head and your heart, choose not to think too much into it. 

As Jungkook teases you about your slight obsession with bubble tea, Chaewon finally puts the phone down after what very well was several minutes of angry Korean. She lets out this deep, long sigh, like all of the pent-up rage within her is exiting through her exhale. 

“You good, Chae?” You ask her, a little concerned. Even after knowing her since the beginning of your freshman year, you’ve never once seen her get mad, though she looks pretty close to it now. 

“Yeah,” she says, exasperated. “My mom is having this stupid company ball here and she really, really wants me to attend.” It is obvious that Chaewon does not, in fact, want to attend. You’ve seen Chaewon nearly every day for over a year, and you’ve never even seen her wear a pantsuit. You couldn’t imagine her joy at having to dress up in a ballgown. 

“But fancy free food,” you point out. Even if she does have to be trapped in a penthouse ballroom with her parents’ stuffy business friends, the catering company will probably be god-tier. 

Chaewon pretty much bangs her head on the dining hall table. 

“Wow, I didn’t know someone could hate catered food so much,” you say, a little alarmed. 

“It’s not that,” Chaewon says, rubbing her forehead. The pasta on the plate in front of her has remained untouched for nearly ten minutes now. You wonder if she’s even hungry anymore. “My mom wants me to bring a plus-one.”

Your eyes widen. An excuse to dress nice and eat good food? Hell yeah. 

“And it can’t be you, Y/N, it has to be a date,” Chaewon says. It’s pretty obvious she’s not interested in dating whatsoever, no matter the gender of the object of her affection. You pout. Damn. “My mom said, ‘he can be whoever you want!’ but that means that he has to be an attractive Korean guy who’s got a future job in finance.”

“I’ll go with you,” Jungkook says over a mouthful of broccoli. 

“You will?” Chaewon asks. Jungkook just single-handedly saved Chaewon from a night of unbearable business talk with a boy she doesn’t know and cannot relate to. 

You scoff. “You’re just a regular Korean dude, Jungkook,” you tell him. 

Jungkook pouts, bottom lip turned out. “You don’t think I’m attractive?”

You refuse to answer that question. You’re afraid of what you might say if you open your mouth. 

“Seriously, you’d do that for me?” Chaewon turns to Jungkook with platonic stars in her eyes. 

Jungkook shrugs. “Sure. I’ve got a suit. I’ll ask my friend Jimin for a crash course in finance before the thing. When is it?”

And just like that, you and Jungkook’s weekly Friday Mario Kart night gets a rain check. 

 Jeon Jungkook is the sole best decision of your life. 

And it’s funny and twisted and wonderful, because he is the one thing you had failed to account for in your life. He stands there on the sidewalk in the blazing sun, black baseball cap nestled safely onto his dark brown hair, and in the split second it takes for him to open his mouth and say hello, everything changes. 

But no longer is the image you conjure in your mind when you think of him a picture of him on that very first day of orientation, lost and excited all at once. It is of him barging into your apartment and eating all of your leftover ravioli. It’s him laying on your dinky couch like it belongs to him, surfing through all of the Netflix shows available and eventually just settling on old Gilmore Girls episodes like he always does. It’s him standing in your closet to judge your latest clothing purchases and take back any items that you’ve stolen from him over the years. 

It’s imagining him not as a guest but as a permanent fixture in your home, in the place that makes you feel safest. Because that’s who Jungkook is, now. He is that place. He stands in your apartment rattling off a list of why microwaves are a severely underestimated killer, and it takes every inch of your being not to ask him to stay. To spend night after night cuddling on the couch, or make a home-cooked meal together on a Sunday evening, or get lost underneath the sheets on your bed.

Jungkook stands in your apartment like he belongs there. And only in your wildest dreams could you ever imagine that coming true.

Such is the case of that Friday night, when he’s supposed to accompany Chaewon to her terrible, awful, brain-melting parents’ business gala. You haven’t seen him all day, too busy with your club meetings to make time for him after your classes are finished for the week. College is never-ending in that horrible, unstoppable way. 

It’s nearing two in the morning when you hear the knock on your door. Two of your roommates are at a rush event for their sorority, and the other sleeps through your smoke alarm on a regular basis, so you are tasked with the job of opening the door. 

On the other side is Jungkook, as he frequently is. 

Your heart practically freezes in place, like his eyes have shot right through it. Instead of his usual baggy outfit and a bucket hat, he’s standing outside of your apartment in a crisp navy suit (complete with a pocket square), rings lining his fingers and hair tousled in that effortlessly-styled kind of way. He looks like a goddamn celebrity, like a young, successful CEO. Like the love of your whole fucking life. 

Coughing to distract from the fact that you’re practically drooling, you say, “Wow, you clean up nicely.”

Jungkook looks down at himself, almost as if he had forgotten he’s wearing a full suit entirely. “The pocket square is Jimin’s,” he explains, “but yeah. I didn’t want to let Chaewon down by not dressing up to code.”

He’s got remnants of makeup left on his face, having faded and smudged throughout the night. There’s a bit of black underneath his eyes from the liner, a smoldering effect that makes the dark brown of his irises even deeper. “You look tired,” you comment. “Why are you here, why don’t you go home, Jungkook? Get some sleep.”

Jungkook shrugs, looking over your shoulder to see if his arrival has woken up any of your roommates. “Your place was closer,” he says like it’s nothing. 

Like it doesn’t make your breath catch in your throat, stop in its tracks. He spends an evening dressed up in a stuffy suit and tie surrounded by old businessmen and their preppy daughters with whom he has nothing in common, and when it’s nearly two in the morning and he can finally relax, he drives to your place instead of his own. Like it means nothing. As if it means anything at all. 

Jungkook runs a hand through his perfectly styled hair, and even knotted and messy it still looks flawless. “If I’m bothering you, just let me know. I know it’s late.”

It’s so hard to say no to him. 

“Just come inside already before you wake up the neighbors,” you tell him, sighing to pretend like it’s a minor inconvenience. And even running on barely any sleep with makeup smudged underneath his eyes, Jungkook grins as you let him inside your apartment, caving in, just like you always do. 

The first thing he does when he’s inside is take off his fancy loafers and peel off his suit jacket, resting it against the back of the couch. You fumble around in the kitchen for the kettle, instinctively starting to make two cups of tea. Routine. 

Looking up, you watch as Jungkook loosens his tie and takes it off, unbuttoning the first two buttons of his white dress shirt. By the counter, you turn your back to him so he doesn’t see you mentally combust. It’s impossible that he doesn’t already know what he does to you. 

The kettle finishes boiling the moment Jungkook settles onto your couch. He keeps the television off so he doesn’t wake your roommates, and scrolls on his phone with his knees tucked underneath his chin. Thirty seconds later, you’re joining him, handing him the cup of tea before sitting down next to him, severely underdressed in comparison. 

“Did you at least have fun tonight?” You ask. 

“The food totally slapped,” Jungkook tells you. “Chaewon’s parents really pulled out all the stops.”

“So I’ve heard,” you muse. 

“We spent most of the time lounging by the catering table and distracting each other by making up stories about all of the rich people there.” Jungkook laughs. 

“Please tell me you didn’t embarrass yourself, though,” you say. Perhaps Jungkook could withstand a few blows to his ego, but Chaewon’s future pretty much depends on her impressing her parents and their comrades. 

“No!” Jungkook tells you defensively. “Jimin told me everything I needed to know, but all of Chaewon’s friends and their filthy rich CEO parents thought I was so handsome that I didn’t even need to speak.”

You roll your eyes. Of course Jungkook wouldn’t give up the chance to remind you of his hellishly good looks. 

“You just stood there, looking pretty?” You ask. Not as if he doesn’t do that already. 

“You think I’m pretty?” Jungkook teases, a greasy smile sent your way, like he doesn’t know the answer anyway. 

You huff. “Dressed up like this? Anyone would.”

“Chaewon said I was like her fake trophy husband,” Jungkook jokes. “She did all of the schmoozing. It’s not like I could have contributed anything anyway. Unless everyone wants to hear about C++.”

“Ooh, I love it when you talk all tech to me,” you tease, nudging him with your arm. “So sexy, keep talking.”

He laughs. “If we keep talking about Python I might get a little too excited.” He wiggles his eyebrows just for good measure and you giggle, holding onto this moment for dear life as you let it etch itself into your brain permanently. Times like these, you know you can’t forget, saving them for a rainy day thirty years down the line when you’re in love with someone that’s not Jungkook. When you look out the window and think about what might have been, if only things back in college had been a little bit different. 

Jungkook’s phone buzzes on the table. He’s got two notifications, one from Instagram of Chaewon tagging him in a post, and another from Venmo. 

“Fuckin’ damnit,” Jungkook swears, letting his phone drop on the couch cushion. 

“What?” You ask, turning to look at him. 

“Chaewon just Venmo’ed me a hundred dollars,” Jungkook says with a sigh. And it’s not one of those times when you see your bank account balance go up and get happy because yay, money!, it’s when your friend pays you anything over what they actually owe you out of the goodness of your heart, and you refuse to accept it. 

“She did?” You ask, eyes widening. A hundred dollars? That’s more than Jungkook would make in three shifts at the call center. 

“‘Thanks for bailing me out tonight. You definitely deserve more than 100 but then you’d be mad at me. But please don’t be mad at me!’” Jungkook reads off his phone. “I just stood there looking like eye candy. I didn’t do a thing to help her, what the heck?”

You pull out your own phone to check Chaewon’s latest post. 

It’s a picture of them together in the skyscraper penthouse the gala was held in, Jungkook looking dapper in his suit with a glass of champagne in his hand, and Chaewon in a dress worth more than a semester’s tuition throwing up a peace sign like the trendy Asian she is. They look like a K-drama couple. Like two celebrities basking in their fame and wealth. 

Shoutout to my one and only Jeon Jungkook for being my fake date tonight! Thanks to your good looks and charming personality for impressing all of my parents’ rich friends and their daughters. Love you 3000 💕

“Wow, whoever took this picture of the both of you knows their shit,” you say, impressed. You had always thought it impossible for Jungkook to look better in pictures than in real life, but this photo is coming rather close. If you were any more shameless, you’d ask Chaewon if she has any more photos of him. Just him, preferably. 

It’s not as if she doesn’t know about your gargantuan crush on him anyway. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever looked that good in a photo in my life,” Jungkook says with a laugh. Impossible. He yawns, placing his empty mug on the little end table next to the couch. 

“You should set it as your profile picture,” you suggest, leaning your head on him and pretending like this is normal. He yawns again, stretching out as he rests his body against yours. “Hey, we should go to sleep. Unless you want to go home?”

Jungkook groans, snuggling in closer. “No, your bed is big enough for the two of us.”

And who are you to resist?

You wake up to the sound of a phone buzzing furiously on your bedside table. You crack open one eye just a sliver to see who the culprit is and immediately eradicate it, when the sun filtering through your Venetian blinds hits your cornea. You groan, shutting your eyes once more as you smack your hand around to get it to shut off. 

The movement, however, causes the bedsheets to shift beside you, and when you turn, you find Jungkook nestled up tightly beneath your duvet, an arm stretched over your side as he hums in his sleep. 

You’re best friends. 

This is normal. 

(The feeling of your heart beating out of its chest has become rather normal, as well.)

He’s wearing a raggedy old t-shirt of yours that has always been too big on you but fits him just perfectly and a pair of joggers that he keeps at your place “just in case”. Just in case he stays the night. Just in case you ever need them. Selfishly, you will yourself to fall back asleep, shutting your eyes tightly and pretending that maybe, if you never wake up, this moment will freeze in time, locking the two of you together for eternity. 

He mumbles to himself in his sleep, a murmur of nothing as he shifts over slightly, hand dragging up your side. 

God. 

Next to you, the phone begins to buzz erratically again, and wide-awake, you look over to realize that it’s Jungkook’s, and that it’s Chaewon on the other end. 

This is at least the second time she’s called, which means that, despite how tempting it is, you probably shouldn’t silence his phone and go back to lying in bed with Jungkook and pretending the rest of the world doesn’t exist. 

Sighing, you pick up. 

“Jungkook!” Chaewon shouts on the other side. For a brief moment you wonder why on earth she’s so energetic so early, but it’s less that and more the fact that you are overwhelmingly lethargic rather late in the day. “All of my friends said you looked really good in those photos I posted of us. Do you think you’re free next Wednesday night? Seunghee wants you to accompany her to a double date her parents are forcing her to go on!”

“Chaewon—”

“Oh, Y/N! How’s it going?”

“I just woke up,” you mumble quietly as Jungkook stirs beside you. 

“Of course you did,” Chaewon says, and you can see her rolling her eyes on the other side of the line. “Wait, why do you have Jungkook’s phone if you just woke up? Oh my God, don’t tell me—”

“Shh!” You hiss into the phone. Jungkook is slowly beginning to wake up, and you can only pray that he isn’t listening in to the conversation between you and Chaewon. “No, we did not. He got back after your thing and we promptly passed out in my bed, fully clothed,” you whisper loudly. 

“Jungkook went to your place last night? He was so tired, I thought he was going straight back to his. We even got dropped off outside my apartment.”

What? Chaewon and Jungkook live within a three-minute walk of each other. Your apartment is ten minutes away from both of them. 

“You did?” You ask, eyebrows furrowing. 

“Who’s that?” 

You turn around to see Jungkook lying on his back, head resting on a nearly-deflated pillow of yours as he looks up at you, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His hair is mussed, some parts styled and stiff with hair gel, and some parts tangled and unkempt. He looks like he’s been lying in that position for a while, hand resting behind his head as he gazes up at you. 

“It’s Chaewon,” you tell him softly as she laughs on the other end. “She just called your phone. Are you free next Wednesday?”

“Hmm?” Jungkook, still half-asleep. “When?”

“Next Wednesday,” you repeat, a hand on the phone like it’s going to do anything to stop Chaewon from listening to you two. “Chaewon says she has a friend who wants you to accompany her to a double date she’s been set up to go on by her parents.”

“Mmmrph,” Jungkook mumbles. It’s clear he hasn’t even thought about his plans for the rest of the day, let alone next Wednesday. 

“He’s not available right now,” you say into the phone. Chaewon snorts. 

“Fine,” Chaewon says with a sigh. “Can you pass the message on when you guys are done pretending that you aren’t fucking behind my back?”

You suck in a breath. “Chaewon!” You hiss. “We are not—” you quickly turn back to Jungkook, who, by the looks of his hooded eyes and bewildered expression, isn’t listening in, “—fucking!” You whisper. “You know we’re not!”

Chaewon laughs. “Yeah, yeah. Call me later, Y/N, we should grab ice cream or something.” She hangs up. 

“Who was that?” Jungkook asks sleepily, eyes still half-lidded as he sits up in your bed, soft skin, brown hair, pouted lips amongst a sea of white, bundled up in your thick duvet as if sitting on a cloud. 

“Chaewon,” you tell him. 

“Oh, why was she calling?”

“She wanted to ask if you were free next Wednesday.”

“To do what?”

Maybe you were worried about Jungkook listening in to Chaewon grill you about your relationship (or serious lack thereof) for nothing. 

“She has a friend who wants you to go on a parent-mandated double date, trophy boyfriend style,” you explain. Jungkook groans. 

“Pretending to know business is mentally, physically, and morally draining. It feels like I’m selling my soul to capitalism,” he says with a sigh, collapsing back against the mattress. “I just wanna stay here forever. It’s so cozy.”

“Come on, Kook,” you say, tugging the duvet off of him to reveal the rest of his body. He curls into himself at the exposure, refusing to budge. “You’ve encroached on my apartment long enough.”

“Y/N,” Jungkook whines, drawing out your name for good measure. “Noooooooo.” He reaches out to cling onto your wrist, which means that if you want him out of your bed, you’ll have to drag him out.

“Jungkook, you’re swole, you know I can’t tug you out of my bed,” you say with a pout. He knows every trick in the book to use against you, and worst of all, he knows you’re weak to all of them. 

“Good,” Jungkook says with a loopy smile, pulling you back onto the bed like it’s nothing. You yelp as you come crashing on top of him, your body bumping into his as he wraps his arms around you and flops back onto your bed. You laugh and shout at the feeling as Jungkook cuddles up in the warmth of the sheets, pulling you in tightly to his body. “It’s so warm here, let’s stay like this forever.”

“What about food?”

“You keep a stash of Clif bars under your bed, we’ll eat those,” Jungkook suggests. 

You attempt to wriggle out of his grip, hoping to escape before he holds you long enough to get addicted, hooked on the feeling of his arms around you, his body against yours. But Jungkook is nothing if not persistent and clingy, and he wraps his arms tightly around your torso like a koala, warm and soft. “Come on, Jungkook. It’s nearly noon. Let’s be productive today.”

“Gross.”

“Let’s not sit in bed all day.”

“Grosser. Let’s just stay in your bed all day and pretend that we don’t have any real responsibilities.”

“Given that we’re in college, that may be slightly difficult.”

“Fuck that, your GPA doesn’t matter anyway. Unless you have plans on going to grad school?” He asks with an eyebrow raise, turning to look at you. 

“No way, I’m not paying for another four years of this shit,” you immediately declare. Let the capitalist system of higher education extort another two to four years worth of tuition out of you for the same degree? Absolutely not. 

“Then why move?” Jungkook says with a grin. 

“Because,” you say, stumbling for a real answer. 

“Not good enough.” He grins cheekily. “I vote to stay in bed.”

“I vote to do my readings, your CS homework, and get back to Chaewon about Wednesday.”

“God,” Jungkook says with a sigh. “What’s Wednesday?”

“Oh my God, you need to call Chaewon. Right now. Before you ask me what you have on Wednesday one more time after losing all of your brain cells lounging around in my personal bed and refusing to leave,” you say, eyes wide as you worm your way out of his grip, dusting yourself off and heading to your closet. 

“Noooooooo,” Jungkook says, reaching out a desperate hand. “Y/N, come back.”

“Call Chaewon. Call her!” You order, fishing around in your closet for some fresh clothes. You’ve been wearing the same one since Thursday night. You are disgusting. 

Jungkook groans but obeys, picking up his phone and pressing her contact. “Hey Chae, it’s Jungkook. Listen, I’m literally going to Venmo you back what you paid me because you? Literally didn’t need to pay me at all? And I’m actually mad at you for it? Wait, what do you mean am I up to getting paid on Wednesday—”

The phone call presents the perfect opportunity for you to dash out of your bedroom and into the bathroom, where you splash yourself with cold tap water like a model in a face wash commercial (who already has perfect skin, so why does she need this new face wash, seriously?) to clear your head. It’s been a weird twelve hours. Even weirder knowing that across the hall, Jungkook is sitting in your room, on your bed, in your clothes, under your bed sheets. Knowing that maybe, in another universe, on another timeline, you would be in the exact same positions, only everything would be different. 

You wash your face, hoping to wake yourself up. Convince your mind that the past twelve hours have been nothing but a dream, and that when you walk back into your room, Jungkook will have vanished. Or he would have never been there in the first place. 

You leave the bathroom and return to your bedroom to see Jungkook tugging on his suit jacket, wearing the same clothes he had on when he knocked on your door at 2AM last night. He’s still on the phone, wrapping up the conversation with Chaewon. 

“Yeah, yeah, tell her that I’m down. She can just text me, give her my number. I’m happy to do this for you and your friends, Chae. Plus, she’s gonna pay me and I feel less bad about it because it’s a service and she’s not a close friend like you are. Yeah, it’s all good,” he looks up to see you standing at the door, leaning against the frame. “Yeah, Y/N just got back so I’m gonna go. Maybe we can grab dinner or something tonight? Cool. Bye.”

“Dinner without me?” You ask with a pout. 

“Never,” Jungkook says wickedly. “You’re always invited.”

“Have you figured out what’s going on on Wednesday?” You tease him as you walk him to the door. 

“Chaewon has a friend, Soojin, who wants me to accompany her on a parent-mandated double date with a business partner’s daughter,” Jungkook explains. “Apparently all of Chaewon’s friends realized I make a pretty good fake trophy boyfriend.”

You rub his shoulder. He’d make a great real boyfriend too. Not that you think about that all of the time, or anything. “Gonna put that on your resume, big guy?”

“Of course.” Jungkook smiles. “Dinner tonight? We can go to the ramen place you really like.”

“Sure thing, is Chaewon coming?”

“If she wants to. Otherwise, it’ll just be us.”

“Sounds good,” you tell him. “See you then.”

“Hopefully before,” Jungkook says. “Thanks for letting me crash here last night, by the way.”

“Anytime,” you say. Maybe one day, it’ll be true. 

Next Wednesday, there’s a knock on your door at midnight. 

Who else could it be?

It was supposed to be a one-time thing. And then it was supposed to be just a two-time thing. And before you knew it, Jungkook’s number and his services were circling through the ring of wealthy international students, jumping from phone to phone as people crammed to get him to accompany them on their next double date, next business gala, next ballroom dance. 

You had always had a feeling that his charming, charismatic personality would eventually draw everybody towards him, so electric and magnetic that you couldn’t help but want to know him, make friends with him, be close to him. From the moment you saw his Facebook introduction post, you knew it was only a matter of time before everyone on campus knew his name.

[October 17th, 4:12PM] You: do u want to get dinner tonight

Jungkook: would love to but have to go to kim family business dinner with dahyun sorry :(

You: ok next time then!

[October 23rd, 1:03PM]

You: yo what r u doing You: i have so many readings to do rip You: do u wanna come to greene w me and study

Jungkook: heejin is taking me shopping for a fancy suit for her family’s event tomorrow i can’t :/ Jungkook: but i am going to get macaroons for u at the mall so we can see each other later!

You: yummm sure thing!

[October 30th, 9:58AM]

You: hey ik you’re asleep rn but we are still on for tomorrow right? 🎃 You: can’t let our one (1) year long halloween tradition of buying last-minute candy and watching the nightmare before christmas together die

[October 30th, 11:13PM]

Jungkook: omg i just saw this now im so sorry Jungkook: uh yeonjoo wants me to go to her sister’s halloween party tm so idk if i can make it this year

[October 31st, 2:02AM]

You: ok You: thanks for telling me

It’s no fun watching The Nightmare Before Christmas by yourself, you realize this Halloween. All of your roommates are out frequenting one of the hundreds of parties being thrown on campus tonight, and although you’d normally be up for getting drunk and dropping it low, you just aren’t in the Halloween spirit this year. Wonder why. 

Armed with the knowledge that your roommates probably won’t be back until three or four in the morning, you shut your laptop and decide to go to bed early. Early being midnight, but it’s early for you and that’s all that really matters. 

You don’t know why you’re being such a stick in the mud this Halloween. It’s always been one of your favorite holidays, never one to pass up free candy nor the option to dress up, but this one has been particularly lame. You don’t have a costume, your local drugstore is out of mini Skittles packets, and you don’t have someone to spend it with. 

Realistically, you have no reason to be sad that Jungkook isn’t available tonight. It’s not as if spending Halloween together is some ancient tradition from birth that binds the two of you together. You did it for the first time as freshmen, and you were foolishly hoping to do the same thing as sophomores. It’s not a tradition if it only happened once. 

You look in the bathroom mirror, stained with nail polish and dry shampoo and old skincare, and you sigh. Jungkook has every right to prioritize his current and only source of income over a night spent lounging on the couch doing nothing. It’s not as if you haven’t seen your best friend in over a month and this was the only night you both had free. Jungkook drops by after every single event he goes on. Every single one. He stands outside your door dressed in a fancy suit, or a silk button down, leather shoes and expensive jewelry bought for him by the girls he goes out with.

No matter the time, he knocks on your door and says hello, steals a cup of tea and a bit of your heart along with it, before bouncing out of your living room and off to his own apartment. He doesn’t stay the night anymore, doesn’t worm his way underneath your duvet and refuse to move until morning comes. It’s hard to tell if you’re grateful about it or not. 

Sluggishly, you peel off your clothes and wash your face, changing into some old sweatpants from the tenth grade and a t-shirt with an embarrassingly large hole in the armpit. This Halloween, you are dressing up as a lonely college student who is going to bed early on Halloween night because she has nothing better to do!

There’s a knock on your door. 

Your first instinct is to freeze up. When there’s another knock, your second instinct is to grab the closest object to you (which happens to be your water bottle) for self-defense. 

And then, you hear,

“You’re not watching The Nightmare before Christmas without me, are you?”

To spare yourself the shame, you won’t say that you practically leapt out of bed the moment you heard his voice. You calmly removed the covers, and casually walked to the front door. That is what you did. 

When you open it, Jungkook is standing behind it, grinning, wearing the greasiest police officer outfit you’ve ever seen in your entire life. This flew at a marketing company’s heir’s Halloween party? He’s even got what looks to be a fully-loaded water gun in his holster. 

“Don’t tell me this is what you wore to some fancy-shmancy Halloween party,” you say disapprovingly, eyebrows raised as you look him up and down and pretend that you aren’t just ogling his figure. 

“It was fine, Yeonjoo’s sister just graduated college. If anything, she was more okay with it than Yeonjoo was,” Jungkook says with a shrug. You don’t even need to let him in at this point, just watch as he tugs off his shoes and steps inside your apartment like it belongs to him. 

“What was Yeonjoo dressed as?”

“Princess Leia. We made for a very mismatched pair,” Jungkook says, chuckling to himself. “Ooh, did you guys get new tea?”

“You can have some if you want,” you tell him, shutting the door as he eagerly pulls out a box of teabags, turning on the electric kettle on the counter. “I think it’s Wild Berry Hibiscus.”

“Sounds good already,” Jungkook says, and he lets out a sigh that sounds so exhausted, so tired and aching, as he leans back against the countertop, head resting on the cupboards above it. 

“You could have gone home, you know,” you tell him. Even from the couch you can see the droop in his shoulders, the bags under his eyes. He’s been going out several times every week for the past month, and he still has a truckload of CS assignments on top. He spends precious hours schmoozing with wealthy businessmen and women, shaking people’s hands and posing for pictures in the fanciest clothes he owns and then some. The selfish part of you wants him to stay. The part that loves him knows it would be better if he went home. “You still can.”

“No,” Jungkook insists, shaking his head. “We have a tradition to uphold, don’t we?”

Even though The Nightmare Before Christmas is seventy-six minutes long, the night ends long before that. You haven’t even reached “This Is Halloween” before you feel a head hit your shoulder, and crane your neck to find Jungkook having fallen fast asleep beside you, half-full cup of Wild Berry Hibiscus next to the laptop in front of you. He’s still wearing his stupid police officer costume, the navy blue uniform tight against his body. His lips are parted ever so softly, eyelashes fluttering as little non-sounds exit his mouth, hints, whispers of snores. 

He hasn’t slept over since the first time. You’re not sure if you want the trend to continue, or if you just want to be a little bit selfish tonight, greedy, taking and taking and taking. He’s so beautiful like this, so innocent and gentle and soft. It would be such a shame if you had to wake him. 

And so, gingerly, you rest your head against his own, breathe in the quiet little sounds that leave his parted lips, memorize the feeling. It’s not the first time Jungkook’s accidentally fallen asleep on you, but there is something about this moment, sitting on your couch a few minutes past midnight, as the rest of the world celebrates around you, that is so intimate. Like here, in your apartment, you and Jungkook have your own little bubble, tucked away in a corner of the universe far from the noise of the rest of the world. And it’s here that you wish you could stay forever, for once never wanting the feeling to end. Wanting time to freeze in its very steps, the clocks stop and the orbit halts, and it is just you and Jungkook, forever. Like characters in a movie, on pause for eternity.

The moment ends when Jungkook shifts beside you before eventually coming to, slowly opening his eyes as he turns to look at you. You smile at him, dazed and tired, as he sits up properly, staring down at your half-opened laptop and the half-full cup of tea next to it. 

“Thought you’d end up sleeping here again tonight,” you joke, even though it isn’t really a joke. Maybe, somewhere deep down inside you, in the crevices between your bones and the dark corner of your heart, you had hoped that he would stay. 

“Oh, did I fall asleep?” Jungkook asks, blinking away the sleep in his eyes. It’s nearly two-thirty in the morning. 

“Just for a bit. I didn’t want to wake you, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to head back to your apartment or anything,” you tell him. 

Jungkook nearly jumps up off the couch at that, like he’s got springs in his shoes. Suddenly he’s wide awake, brown eyes blown open as he scrambles to gather his belongings, taking the cup of tea and quickly dumping it out in your sink. 

“Hey, don’t you want that?” You ask. 

“No, no, it’s okay. I’ll come by some other time and have some, it was really good, I just fell asleep while drinking it,” Jungkook sputters, words moving a mile a minute as he tugs on his heavy black officer boots, scuffed at the tips from wear and tear. It’s as if he’s desperate to leave. Like your apartment has somehow offended him. Or worse, you. 

“If you want to stay, Jungkook, you can,” you tell him, standing up to run to the door before he pulls the damn thing off his hinges with how fast he’s moving. “I don’t mind. My bed is big enough for the both of us.”

“No, I should—I should get going. My… plants need watering. Right now. I totally forgot.”

It’s not a completely bullshit excuse. Jungkook has a fair few pothos amongst his other worldly apartment belongings, hanging from his ceiling or potted in old mugs and janky shoes. But it’s still a pretty bullshit excuse. It’s dark. Jungkook waters his plants every Sunday, and it’s Friday. It’s obvious he wants to get the hell out of your apartment for whatever reason. 

All you can do is hope and pray that it isn’t you who’s driving him away. 

“Oh—okay,” you tell him, opening the door as he furiously laces up his other boot. 

“Thanks for doing this. Next Halloween will be more fun, I swear. I won’t fall asleep on you. Or anything.”

“Okay, see you soon, then?” You ask, searching for a clue, a hint, anything that will tell you that it’s not you, that he hasn’t found you out yet. That you can still be friends, be best friends, because even if you want to kiss him, hold his hand, roll around in bed with him, loving him from afar is good enough. 

“Yes, yes, definitely. Dinner? Uh… sometime this week? I’ll text you. I have to go. Plants. See you!”

He dashes down the hallway. 

And you end your Halloween the same way you started it. Alone. 

Jungkook ran out of your apartment the other day like it was infested with cockroaches. Or the Black Plague. Or your microwave had just beeped. It was as if simply being inside it was going to scar him for life. 

Maybe your apartment is cursed. Jungkook does believe in ghosts. That’s another reason as to why he fears the microwave. Tiny ghosts could be living inside the microwave chamber and you’d never know. But Jungkook knows better. He knows that they’re there. 

“He just… ran out?” Chaewon asks, clearly bewildered. The two of you have been working on the first floor of the library all day, obviously doing everything in your power to not actually complete any of your assignments. 

“Yeah, something about his plants.” You sigh. 

Chaewon narrows her eyes, the same way she does when she’s plotting something. “Interesting.”

“What?” You ask, nudging her to see if you can worm a less mysterious response out of her. 

“Nothing,” Chaewon says with a nonchalant shrug. She clearly has something to say. 

“What?” You repeat forcefully. Chaewon doesn’t get to go all cryptic on you just because Jungkook ran out of your apartment like it had set fire. 

“I know I’ve only known you guys for, like, a year and a bit now, but you two have the strangest relationship I’ve ever seen,” Chaewon comments like it’s nobody’s business when it is, in fact, specifically two people’s business. 

You scowl. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just…” She pauses, thinking. In the silence, she begins to pack up her belongings, shoving her laptop into her bag and gathering up the small pile of candy wrappers slowly amassing in front of her. “I’ve never seen two best friends have a relationship quite like yours.”

“Thanks?”

“What are you doing for dinner? I’m eating with Yoonji, but you’re welcome to join if you want,” Chaewon offers. Even though you have no idea who Yoonji is, Chaewon would never exclude you from eating with them.

“I’m getting Korean food with Jungkook, but thanks for the offer,” you say, only to be greeted with Chaewon rolling her eyes. He said he’d meet us outside?”

Sure enough, when you head out of the glass doors at the front of the library, Jungkook is waiting dutifully on a bench close by, headphones in as he nods his head and taps his feet to the beat of the music, lost in his own world. He doesn’t even realize that you’ve left the library until you’re two feet in front of him, when he recognizes your beat-up white sneakers and looks up at you in glee, eyes crinkled into crescents. 

“Ready to go?” You ask happily. Your stomach has been rumbling ever since Jungkook suggested you go out to eat this morning. 

“Hell yeah I am,” Jungkook says, putting his earbuds away as he stands up. “You coming, Chae?”

She shakes her head. “No, I’m eating with a friend.” There’s nudge against your shoulder, and when you turn to face her, she winks. “But you two enjoy yourselves! Don’t have too much fun without me!”

Before you can publicly berate her for being so goddamn obvious, she’s rotating 180 degrees on her heel and speed-walking in the opposite direction, zooming off so you don’t get the chance. 

“I feel like we haven’t seen each other in ages,” you comment mindlessly. Twenty-four hours away from Jungkook feels like a lifetime and a half. Forty-eight is a light year. 

“I’ve been busy,” Jungkook says vaguely, shrugging his shoulders. 

“Doing what, going out to fancy restaurants and galas?” You half-tease. It’s sad but true—Jungkook spends his nights living a life you could only dream of. And all of these rituals you share, from studying in the library until three in the morning to crashing at his place and taking naps on separate couches, get put on the backburner. 

“Hey, it’s hard work pretending to be rich,” Jungkook pouts. “Besides, the craziest thing about going to those things is that rich Korean people don’t serve Korean food at their fancy gatherings. They serve shit like caviar.”

“Is that why you’re so desperate to get Korean?” You ask pointedly. 

“Yes,” Jungkook emphasizes. “Man, I just want some tteokbokki.”

“Then we’ll go and eat all of the tteokbokki you can dream of,” you promise. You round the street corner and on the edge of the main road and an alleyway sits a tiny Korean restaurant the size of a bedroom, no more than six cramped tables inside. It’s run by a family who passes it down through each generation, dependent on the starving college students nearby to keep it alive. 

It’s Jungkook’s favorite place. The owner gives him a discount every time he sees him. 

(It’s impossible not to fall in love with Jungkook. Impossible to not be drawn to his presence, his personality. Like moths to a flame, you can’t help but come closer.)

“Ah, Jungkook!” The old man behind the counter greets as the bell above the entrance rings. “Sit! Sit!” He points to your favorite table, a round one in the far left corner that’s right next to the biggest window. “Usual?”

“Tteokbokki, too, please!” Jungkook shouts. The man gives you both a thumbs up and heads back into the kitchen. 

“It’s been a while since we came here,” Jungkook notices. You both usually eat lunch on campus and Jungkook has been largely unavailable for dinner. 

“Almost sounds like you missed it,” you poke fun. 

“God, I missed it so much,” Jungkook exclaims, tilting his head back in exasperation. “I didn’t realize that it would be so much work to get dressed up in a suit and look hot.”

“Don’t make it sound like such a drag.” You frown. Jungkook needs to put in literally zero effort to look hot. Sitting across from him in this tiny Korean restaurant as he wears nothing but a massive hoodie and black joggers, he looks hot. When he wakes up in your bed in a raggedy t-shirt, he looks hot. When you catch him at three in the morning in the library after eighteen straight hours of studying, he looks hot. 

Jungkook sits there and radiates light. Radiates warmth and joy and beauty. Laughter and hope. He’s the college version of a Disney prince. Perfectly imperfect and completely out of your reach. 

“I wish I could take you with me, you might enjoy it,” Jungkook sighs. “Plus, I have literally never seen you wear something fancier than business casual. Imagine you in a ballgown!”

“In your dreams, Jeon,” you rebuke. “Free catered food sounds nice but having to mingle with the 1% does not.”

“Touché,” Jungkook concedes. “I don’t know how Chaewon does it.”

“She’s a goddess.”

“Indeed.”

Jungkook pours you a cup of water from the pitcher that the old man dropped off, and then pours one for himself. “Chaewon said that I did well, though.”

Not surprising. Jungkook excels at everything he does. 

“Of course you did, you sexy beast,” you chide. 

“She said I’d make a good boyfriend.”

You choke on your water as the man’s son brings out your food, and you desperately attempt to avoid eye contact as you sputter and cough into a napkin, gaze pointed away from both a surprised waiter and a concerned Jungkook, who awkwardly thanks the man and leans over to pat your back. 

“You good?” He asks, brows furrowed. 

Coughing, you say, “I’m okay, I’m okay. It just—it went down the wrong pipe, that’s all.” Jungkook doesn’t buy it, and the little coughs escaping your throat don’t do much to corroborate your claim. “Seriously, Jungkook. I’m okay. It’s just water.”

“You looked like you were on the verge of death,” Jungkook frowns. 

“That’s just my face,” you fire back. “Just keep talking about what you were saying earlier. What was it?”

“Being a good boyfriend,” Jungkook says, and with no water near your lips to distract you this time, your mind bears the full force of his words, weighing down on your shoulders like a calculus textbook. 

It’s not as if you aren’t already aware that Jungkook would be the best boyfriend in the entire world, bar none. Not as if you don’t sit in bed and dream of a parallel universe, a life other than the one you’re living in right now, where Jungkook is lovely and wonderful and yours. He knocks on your door at a random hour in the afternoon with Chinese takeout from the local restaurant. He remembers your homework assignments when you forget them. He sits in bed with you and judges the Instagrams of the guys on the latest Bachelorette season. It’s as if he was already yours.

“Believe me,” you scoff. “The people know how great of a boyfriend you are.” 

“It’s fake, though,” Jungkook reminds you. “It’s only for a night. An evening, really.”

“Better than nothing,” you sigh. “If only I had enough money to rent myself a fake boyfriend for a night.”

“If only your parents were the CEOs of a multibillion dollar cooperation,” Jungkook adds on. 

“Truth,” you say, and you and Jungkook toast to that. Toast to knowing that some people are born with a silver spoon in their mouths. Toast to knowing that some of those people can get for themselves something you can only imagine in your wildest dreams—a night with Jungkook. More than just a night. A night spent dressed up in your fanciest clothes, arms wrapped tightly around each other. A night spent as a couple, rather than you and Jungkook. 

Toast to knowing that even if you’ll never get to have him like that, you get to have him like this, and you’d rather it be like this than nothing at all. 

“You don’t need to rent a fake boyfriend for a night, Y/N,” Jungkook tells you once you’ve downed the water in your glasses (stay hydrated!). “You shouldn’t feel pressured to spend time with people you don’t want to spend time with.”

You don’t understand, you sigh. I’d give anything to spend time with you. 

Jungkook pays. He says that he’s made more money accompanying wealthy socialites—even ones that don’t go to your school, because word gets around—than he would in a month’s worth of shifts at the call center. He says he’s never looking back. He’s probably not going to give up the gig for a while, either. 

“Just because you have cash now doesn’t mean you get a free pass to pay for everything we do together,” you warn. You’ve always split the price of meals, split the price birthday cakes for your friends. In the beginning of freshman year, Jungkook ate a quarter of a bag of goldfish you had and paid you fifty-three cents to account for his consumption, which you immediately sent back to him. You still fight over it, finding surreptitious ways to incorporate it into the Venmo payments you make to each other. 

“I’m rich, I can do whatever I want with my money,” Jungkook proclaims. “And if that means treating my best friend to a meal, then that means I’m gonna treat her to a meal.”

“That’s very rude of you,” you tell him pointedly. “Zero out of ten, worst best friend in the entire world. Will not accept my Venmo payments.”

Walking down the sidewalk, side by side, Jungkook wraps an arm around you and pulls you in for a side hug as you come to a stop at a traffic light. “You always do so much for me and Chaewon. You deserve to be treated once in a while, Y/N.”

“Why, ‘cause I go out to CVS at ten at night to get you Nyquil after you catch the common cold from some sweaty guy at the gym?” 

“That,” Jungkook nods, conceding, “and also because you’re one of the best friends anyone could ever ask for. The people who know you are lucky to get to say your name.”

If only Jungkook knew that he was the exact same. It’s an honor to know him. It’s a blessing to love him. 

“What fancy clothes do you own?” Chaewon’s lying on your bed, scrolling mindlessly on her phone. 

“I don’t know,” you respond, brows furrowing. You get up from your desk chair to start fishing through your closet,  “I have, like, some business casual stuff.”

“How about a dress?”

You whip around suspiciously, eyeing Chaewon as she lounges around in your room and acts like she isn’t plotting something nefarious. “Don’t you think you could tell me what you’re trying to convince me to do before you ask me if I have the appropriate clothing?” 

Even lying on her back, Chaewon still manages to roll her eyes, sitting up to meet your gaze. “There’s a gala tonight to celebrate some big business deal being closed and I want you to come with me,” she says like it’s a chore, exasperated. 

“Me?” You frown. “Why not Jungkook?”

“He said he had some thing to do for some other girl,” Chaewon says. The topic clearly is not at the forefront of her mind. It’s a little too obvious that it’s at the forefront of yours. “Besides, I was given no date restrictions and you deserve to have a little fun tonight. It’s a Friday!”

“I just want to stay in bed and play Legend of Zelda,” you tell her. 

“You’re already out of bed,” Chaewon points out unhelpfully. 

“Well, then I want to get into bed and play Legend of Zelda,” you rephrase. 

Chaewon pouts. “Noooo, please? It’ll be fun, I swear,” Chaewon pleads.  “It’s a huge party and hundreds of people are going to be there. Everybody gets to bring a plus one. You won’t be the only person who doesn’t know anything about business and has to cling onto their date in order to survive.”

“Gee, thanks. That makes me want to go so much,” you deadpan. 

“Seriously, Y/N. When was the last time you went out on a Friday?”

A while ago. You and Jungkook started having Mario Kart nights on Friday in the middle of your freshman year after you both came to the conclusion that every frat party smells, sounds, and tastes like the same fifty shades of college regret. You haven’t gone out since. 

“Not that long ago,” you lie. It’s been months.

“Yeah, right,” Chaewon scoffs. “Don’t think I don’t see your Bitmoji on the SnapMap sitting in your damn apartment on a Friday at 11PM,” she scolds.

“I’m gonna turn off my location,” you declare. You’ve had enough of Snapchat exposing you and your location. People can live in mystery about your whereabouts from now on. They don’t need to know. Chaewon certainly does not. 

“No excuses, you’re coming with me to the gala! You must have something to wear in that closet of yours, don’t you?” She slides off of your bed with a thud and joins you as you stand in front of your clothes. None of them scream fancy. None of them even whisper it. You stand back as she shuffles through your clothes, hangers squeaking as she shoves them along the rail. Chaewon tears through your clothing faster than you skim through your economics readings. “Aha! What do we have here?”

She whips out a dress from the very back of your closet, right behind the blazer you never wear because you’d rather be caught dead than in business attire. It’s old—you don’t think you’ve worn it since the beginning of your freshman year when you thought you actually had to dress up for parties. Needless to say, you dry-cleaned it the following Monday and never wore it again. You don’t even recall bringing it to college this year. 

“This is perfect!” Chaewon cries. “Really says ‘I can fucking dress myself’, don’t you think?”

“Are you implying that I can’t dress myself?” 

“You should definitely wear this,” Chaewon decides, dodging the question. “Gucci and Louis Vuitton are overrated, anyway.”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I.” Chaewon thrusts the dress towards you.

Chaewon shakes her head. “Of course you don’t.” 

Three hours later finds you one makeup and hair session later, standing in the lobby of a magnificent skyscraper wearing a dress that maybe could have done without the cup of frozen yogurt that you ate before you arrived. Now you remember why you haven’t really worn it since the beginning of last year. Has it shrunk?

“I feel like a loser, Chaewon,” you hiss as she bats her eyelashes and gets directed to the private elevator that will lead you both to the top floor. “A money-less, jobless loser.”

“At least you’re honest, Y/N,” Chaewon whispers back as you step into the elevator. Despite being nearly an hour and a half late (“Fashionably so!” Chaewon exclaims.) you are crowded into the back corner, several other couples stepping inside to join you, all of them wearing clothes that cost more than your tuition for all four years of college, combined. “That’s better than most of the people here.”

Nothing separates the rich from the poor like morality. 

When the elevator doors open, you and Chaewon are the last group to step out, milling about in the corner until the path is free. And when you turn your gaze away from her, you realize just why Jungkook’s so keen on going to events like these, why he never turns down an offer when it lights up his phone screen. 

In movies, rich people flaunt their wealth so extravagantly that it almost looks fake. From gigantic ice sculptures to ten-feet-tall chocolate fountains, entire orchestras and dresses worth thousands of dollars, it makes you wonder if rich people really do see those items as necessities when throwing a party. They rent out entire European castles and the press publicizes every one of their actions. To you, it looks contrived, unrealistic. Even if rich people have enough money to sustain the bottom 99% for hundreds of years, how could they spend their money on nonsense like this?

As it turns out, the ice sculptures and chocolate fountains are only half of the story.

At this gala, the hosts have spared no expense. The entire penthouse is made purely of glass, from the ceiling, to the floor, to the walls in between, giving you an absolutely breathtaking view of the city lights dozens of feet below you, of the stars millions of light years away. It’s as if you’re standing in a bubble, frozen in time, the world sparkling and twinkling and shimmering around you. You didn’t even know a place like this existed on Earth. The price to book it must be astronomical. The view, even more so. 

“Holy fuck,” you murmur, mouth dropping open at the sight. It’s a movie come to life. It’s a picture straight out of a fairytale. 

“Pretty sweet, right?” Chaewon says, clearly proud of herself for convincing you to join her. “The Parks and the Ohs really felt like celebrating.”

“No shit,” you say, dumbfounded. Chaewon wraps her arm around yours and leads you out of the elevator, her poise and grace akin to that of a princess. She’s been to this place before. She could do this in her sleep. 

“Pictures first, then we eat, and then we mingle,” Chaewon instructs, and you nod diligently. She’s the only way you’re going to make it out of this night unscathed. Without her, you don’t know what you’d do. 

On the average day of an average life of an average person, pictures means getting a stranger to take a single pic on your shitty iPhone at your worst angle, which you will begrudgingly post to your Instagram later after extensive editing. 

But this is not your average day, and these are not average lives of not average people. Pictures means professional photographers with entire setups, standing with their cameras held up to their eyes, poised and ready for the next shot. It means couples, one by one, stepping in front of a gorgeous backdrop and posing, over and over, as five photographers at once cram to get their best angle, the cleanest photo. 

You don’t know how to pose for photos. You barely remember what the proper formatting is for your essays, depending on the citation structure. And yet, Chaewon is ushering you over in front of the photographers, immediately striking one of her classic, perfect poses as you flail about, trying to figure out what to do with your hands. 

“Just relax,” Chaewon advises. Even standing beside you, she can see you panicking in her periphery. “And smile. You’re beautiful, so show them that.”

Eventually, as the photographers switch positions to get different angles, you stop worrying about your hands, stop worrying about your bag, your feet, your head tilt, and just grin. You may not have millions of dollars to your name, but it’s a Friday night and you’re living the life of a billionaire with no responsibilities. You deserve to live a little. 

When the next group comes up, Chaewon nudges you out of the way and whispers to one of the photographers, who nods dutifully in response. Wrapping her arm around yours once more, she guides you to the massive catering setup, tables and tables lined with delicacies from every country you could imagine. And of course, a gargantuan chocolate fountain in the middle of it all. 

Your stomach rumbles. Clearly, the frozen yogurt was not enough to hold you off. Or maybe it’s just because you’ve been eating college dining hall food for weeks now, and are probably going to throw up if you have to have dry beef one more time. 

“If you want to, you should try the caviar. It’s delicious. Avoid the eggplant, it tastes like foot, but the brussel sprouts are delicious. Kimchi’s good, too. Classic,” Chaewon instructs as you walk around the tables, placing servings the size of quarters onto your plate just so you can have a taste of everything. Chaewon sticks to some ribs, pan-seared salmon, and a vegetable so expensive you’ve never even heard of it before. 

“Im Chaewon, is that you?”

“Mrs. Kim!”

A strange older woman comes up to the two of you as you’re dishing up, and Chaewon’s face immediately lights up. The woman goes in for a hug, a barely-touching pat of the shoulders and hands. Over her shoulder, you watch as Chaewon rolls her eyes and pulls a face. 

“How are you, dear? You look so grown up,” Mrs. Kim says. You watch as the light slowly fades from Chaewon’s eyes with each second that passes. 

“I’m very well, Mrs. Kim. Did you get your hair done? It makes you look so youthful.” Chaewon’s a master. She glares at you when Mrs. Kim isn’t looking, raising her eyebrows as if to say learn, young padawan. This is how it’s done. They go on for a couple minutes, showering fake compliments on each other as you slowly begin to eat. You scrunch your nose up. Chaewon’s right. The eggplant does taste like foot. 

“And who is this?” Mrs. Kim asks, turning her focus onto you. You look up like a deer in headlights, a brussel sprout puffing your cheek. You were not meant to mingle and eat at the same time. 

“This is one of my closest friends, Y/N,” Chaewon introduces for you. You nod your hello, chewing the brussel sprout in the most nondescript manner possible in an effort to save whatever is left of your dignity. “She’s pre-law.”

You are not pre-law.

“Oh, how wonderful! You must have a lot you want to accomplish in life,” Mrs. Kim says. God, you couldn’t care less about how Mrs. Kim feels about you.

“Yes, definitely,” you say awkwardly. 

“We really must be going, Mrs. Kim. My parents will want me to make sure I do my rounds,” Chaewon says, a hand on your arm as she makes to get you both the fuck out of there. 

“Of course, of course,” Mrs. Kim concedes, sending you and Chaewon one final goodbye before moving on to find her next victim. 

When she leaves, Chaewon seems to let out the biggest exhale of her life. “Holy fucking shit, I thought she’d never leave,” she exclaims, grabbing a flute of champagne and downing it in a single go. “She’s an associate of my father’s, so she’s always trying to kiss my damn ass. Like, sorry that you need to brown-nose your boss and his daughter just so you bribe your idiot son’s way into college.”

“You like mingling, I take?” You joke. 

“Just murder me.”

“Have any tips?”

“Flex as hard as possible without actually flexing. Try to speak to people your age because they are usually more bearable than people older than you. The best conversationalists are anybody under the age of ten,” Chaewon tells you. She picks up another glass of Prosecco. “Want some champagne?” 

“You have it,” you tell her. “I think you need it more than I do.”

Chaewon shrugs. Not as if they’re running out any time soon. She gulps it down and places it on the tray of one of the caterers as they whiz by her. 

The rest of the night passes by in the same way the beginning of it did. Chaewon drags you around the penthouse, talking with her father’s business partners and associates and their sons and daughters and husbands and wives for no more than two minutes each before moving on. She’s got her technique down pat. Greet, compliment, shade, flex, compliment, say goodbye. It’s foolproof, because you immediately notice that everyone else in the room has adopted the same approach. 

Business gatherings like these are just one big game of who can be the most-liked and the least-liked at the same time. And the answer: everybody, all at once. 

Halfway through the evening, Chaewon collapses against the back wall, totally unafraid of the possibility of the glass giving out behind her. She doesn’t care. If it breaks, it breaks. 

“Tired?”

“I just need a break,” Chaewon declares. “Because everyone in here is so fucking fake, and you’re the only one I can talk to without wanting to rip out my eardrums.”

“I’m honored,” you say sarcastically. 

“When I say you’re the only honest one here, I mean it,” Chaewon says. You lean back against the wall next to her, looking out into a sea of people in fancy clothes with fancy food and fancy friends. “Look at all these people, Y/N. All these fucking people, and you’re the only one who’s true.”

And then, you spot him. 

He’s far away, standing in a group of people you don’t recognize, a hand on the small of another girl’s back. He’s wearing a navy blue suit, tight-fitting and tailored, a silver watch sparkling on his wrist as he adjusts his sleeves. One of the other young men in the group says something funny, and he tilts his head back to laugh, chuckling as the girl beside him curls into his arms. 

You suppose it would have been ignorant of you to assume Jungkook was elsewhere on a night like this, at a gathering where everybody who knows anybody is here. 

Jungkook must not know you’re here. He mustn't, otherwise he would have come over to find you. You must have entered at different times, spent the night wandering around different parts of the penthouse. Clinging onto Chaewon’s arms, you must have avoided his gaze, and he, yours. 

Chaewon hasn’t spotted him either. Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe it’s better, if you’re the only one stuck with the knowledge that he’s here tonight. Chaewon would pity you. Other people would ask you how you knew such a worldly, experienced man like him. And you would spend the night wallowing in sadness, wondering why it’s never you that gets to spend the night next to him. 

From this distance, you can see Jungkook perfectly. The light from the moon shines down on him like a goddamn spotlight, catching the sparkling on his wrist, leaving a silver gleam in his slicked back hair. You watch as he laughs, smiles, talks, grins and beams and socializes. Of course he’s here. Of course. He’s so good at this, so good at being real and genuine and happy. 

Chaewon says the only person in the room who is true is you, but how can that be? How can that be when Jungkook, the most honest, wonderful, real person you know, is standing in front of you? You aren’t honest. You aren’t true and real and whole. You stand on the sidelines, a wallflower in a room of daisies and roses, and pine from afar. Watch as he pretends to date a girl that’s not you, wraps his arm around her waist and kisses her cheek, and you act like everything is alright. 

It sucks, being trapped like this for fear of him seeing you. You know that would be worse—if he saw you standing alone and decided to take matters into his own hands. Seeing him up close in a penthouse like this, a movie set, shimmering and sparkling, it would be worse. Jungkook pulls the girl beside him in close to his side, smiling as he listens to someone else speak. She’s the perfect height in those heels, just tall enough to rest her head in the crook between his neck and his shoulder. You imagine them walking into the room together, hand in hand. Imagine them posing for the pictures like a real couple, a pair of celebrities. 

You suppose you have no reason to be jealous of her, of him, of what they have. Jealousy is when resenting someone for having something that you once had. You never had a life like that with Jungkook. You’ll never have a life like that with him. Never get dressed up to go out, never get to be his date to an event. Never get pictures taken of you as a couple, never feed each other candies and strawberries dipped in chocolate. You can’t be jealous of her. You were never in the running to begin with. 

“Ready to get back out there?” Chaewon asks, placing a firm hand on your shoulder. 

A waiter comes by with a tray of champagne flutes, offering it to the both of you. 

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Chaewon tells you as she takes a glass for herself. 

You sigh, casting another glance over at Jungkook. He and his date are moving around now, joining another social circle on the opposite side of the penthouse. He looks so at ease, so comfortable. He belongs there, in the middle of it all, talking and laughing and grinning. And you? You belong back at home, underneath your duvet covers playing a game of Mario Kart. Not here. 

You shake your head. You could use a drink or two in this state. “I’d love one, actually. Thank you.”

That night, you stay at Chaewon’s place. 

“You’ve been acting weird.”

“Hello to you, as well,” you say with a scowl as Chaewon sits down across from you at the local ramen place. 

“Listen,” Chaewon begins, “I’ve been thinking. You need to confess to Jungkook.”

You nearly spit out the complimentary water you were served. “Excuse me?”

“You need to. You’ve been acting weird and that’s the only thing that’s going to fix it,” Chaewon declares. 

“What do you mean I’ve been ‘acting weird’? Care to explain?” You ask, offended. You haven’t been acting weird. Well, that weird. Maybe a little weird.

“Jungkook told me you haven’t seen each other for the last eight days,” Chaewon points out. Eight days? It’s more like seven and a half. Not that you’ve been counting, or anything. 

“So? We’re busy people,” you defend. It’s a good enough excuse. You’re sophomores in college. You have classes. Clubs. You have to meal prep. 

“So? You guys are best friends. You make time to see each other at three in the fucking morning if you haven’t seen each other yet that day. And you haven’t seen each other for eight whole days? What’s wrong with you?” Chaewon demands. 

“Nothing! What the heck, I invite you out to a best friend ramen date and you just blaspheme all over me like this?” You accuse. This is not how you imagined today to be going. This isn’t how you imagined this week to be going. “Besides, it’s only been seven and a half days. He’s over-exaggerating.”

“Seven and a—holy fuck, you are literally the worst. Can you just stop resisting? If you tell him, everything will be fine and go back to the way things were,” Chaewon says, blinking, flabbergasted. 

“No, they will not,” you hiss. “Everything will change if I tell him. We’re best friends, Chae. Imagine if I told you that I loved you. What would you do?”

“I’d love you back, that’s what!” Chaewon tells you. “You deserve to be loved back, Y/N. Nothing would change between us. I already love you. You’re one of my most favorite people ever. I would never regret something if it was with you.”

“It’s different with him, though,” you try to explain. You don’t know why—you just know that it is. The way you’re friends with Chaewon and the way you’re friends with Jungkook are entirely separate. You love Chaewon. You’re not in love with Chaewon. 

“Is it? How?” Chaewon says. 

“I don’t know, I just—it’s different with him.” There’s no way to describe it. Jungkook appeared in your life and it was as if everything just clicked into place. There isn’t a single thing in your life that makes more sense to you than Jungkook. “It’s always been different with him. With you, I—I knew that we would become really close friends once we started talking a lot more in the beginning of freshman year. But with him—I don’t know. From the moment I met him, I knew that I would fall in love with him. When he said hello to me, I was fucked. There’s never been any hope for me, Chae. I just have to live like this forever.”

Chaewon rolls her eyes. “No, you don’t. You don’t even see what the fuck is right in front of you.”

“You?”

“God, I’m friends with idiots. Literal idiots. How you guys have made it through nearly a year and a half of college is beyond me,” Chaewon says to nobody in particular. “Seriously, tell me, Y/N. What do you think will happen if you tell him? Just out of curiosity.”

“I don’t know—” you pause. A lot of things. He tells you he just wants to stay friends. He rejects you because he’s not interested that way and you can’t really be friends anymore because it’s weird now. He’s already interested in somebody else. He’s already dating somebody else and you never even knew. He’s not looking for a relationship right now. Things get awkward because you confessed to your best friend that you’re in love with him and he doesn’t feel the same. You end up never speaking to each other. You never see each other. You go through the rest of university seeing each other on the Green by chance and not knowing what to do. You graduate and move on with your lives. And suddenly, he’s just a past friend you used to have. No longer a part of your life. No longer given the chance to. “He rejects me. We never speak again and have to avoid each other at all costs. He lets me down easy and I feel like a total loser for having confessed in the first place. There’s a lot.”

“Jesus, Y/N. Aren’t you forgetting a possibility?” Chaewon says, eyebrows raised high. 

“I’m omitting a lot of them,” you tell her. Including the one where, in the next three years, you end up in a hellish dystopian wasteland and you have to band together to survive but it’s awkward and terrible because you love him still and he doesn’t feel the same, never has and never will, and now you have to fight off zombies and a corrupt autocratic government all while dealing with your own goddamn feelings. That may be the most unbearable one of them all. 

“How about the one where he actually feels the same?”

“Too unrealistic,” you tell Chaewon. It’s the truth. Why else would Jungkook be traipsing around with beautiful, rich, worldly girls on his nights off? He does it for the money, sure, but he likes it. He loves the experience, loves living that sort of life. You’d never be able to provide that for him. “You know that’s never going to happen, Chae. We’re just friends.”

“Bullshit.”

“Well, he thinks that we’re just friends. And I’m not gonna fuck everything up by telling him that I’ve been madly in love with him for the past year and a half.” You can think of nothing worse. 

“Have you ever considered the fact that maybe he thinks that the two of you are just friends because you refuse to actually show him how you feel?” Chaewon asks pointedly, eyebrows raised in disapproval. She looks about ready to walk out of the restaurant. “You never do things to give him a reason to think otherwise.”

“Why would I?” 

When your ramen arrives, Chaewon takes a deep breath, downs the rest of her glass of water, and moves on. It’s clear that if she thinks about this any more, her head will explode. 

Nothing’s ever going to change between you and Jungkook. You knew, when you first met him, that it was always going to hurt like this. That loving him was something you had to sacrifice to stay close to him. He lights up every fucking room he walks into, and it’s all you can do not to sit there and bask in his warmth. You would rather catch a single one of his rays than be in the darkness. And if being friends with him means that friends is all you’ll ever be, then so be it. You’re lucky to have him like this. Why take the plunge? 

“Just—” Chaewon says as you begin to pull apart the noodles in your own bowl. “I know that you aren’t as happy as you could be right now. And you deserve to be happy, Y/N. You deprive yourself of all of these wonderful things, and I just want you to know that you deserve every single one of them. But telling him? That’s something that even I know would make you the happiest. You shouldn’t live like this, Y/N. You have no idea what you’re missing out on if you do.”

The streak of not seeing Jungkook ends the next day, when you come back from an evening grocery store run to find him standing outside your door, hand about to knock on the wood. He’s all dressed up again, button-down and slacks, hair styled and parted, and you watch as he takes a deep breath, almost as if he’s waiting for the best time to knock. 

“Jungkook?”

He practically jumps out of his skin at the sound of your voice, nearly tripping over his own feet as he lays his eyes on you. 

“Oh, Y/N!” He exclaims. “I was just about to see if you were home.”

“You could have just texted, you know,” you say jokingly, joining him at the front door as you fumble for your keys. 

“I wanted to surprise you,” Jungkook admits sheepishly. 

“Well, make it up to me by helping me unpack these,” you demand, kicking the door open as you reach down to grab your reusable canvas bags filled with groceries. Immediately, Jungkook is leaning down to grab all of them for you, hauling them inside like they weigh nothing. You stare as he heads over to your kitchen without breaking a sweat, biceps clenching as he lifts the groceries up onto the counter. 

“What’d you get?” Jungkook asks, slowly beginning to take out the groceries. He’s in your apartment so often that he’s memorized where all of your food goes, from the correct shelf in the fridge for produce to the proper cabinet for cereal. 

“Just like… groceries. I saw a box of peppermint chocolate bars that I thought you might like, they’re in there somewhere,” you say mindlessly, pointing to a random canvas bag. Immediately, Jungkook abandons his putting-away-groceries duty to fish through each of the bags, hunting for the box of goodies. “And I got some cheap Trader Joe’s wine. You know. Just for emergencies.”

“Trader Joe’s wine and peppermint chocolate bars,” Jungkook comments, nodding in approval. He finally finds the box and tears it open sideways. “Sounds like a perfect dessert if I’ve ever heard one.”

“What, did you eat already?” You ask, busting out the wine and a couple of mugs, because you don’t own any wine glasses. Nothing says cultured like drinking seven-dollar wine out of mugs with kitschy sayings like “don’t talk to me until this is empty” or “coffee is my first love” written on them. 

Jungkook shrugs. He grabs the box and heads over to your couch, already kicking back and relaxing. “Yeah, I went to some restaurant for another double date,” Jungkook says. “It was one of those places where everything is so expensive but the portions are the size of my fist. Of your fist.”

“You sound hungry,” you note, filling up the mugs and joining him. “And mad.”

“I’m getting reimbursed for the money I spent tonight, so I suppose I could be angrier. But I’m starving. Let’s finish this entire box of chocolates and do nothing else.”

“Your words, not mine,” you say, although his proposal sounds more than appealing to you. 

You turn the television on for some background noise, switching to a channel showing old reruns of unsolved serial killer cases, because nothing sets the mood better than the words “then, slowly, he took the knife with which he killed her and began to slice away at her body”. Jungkook doesn’t seem to pay the television any attention, though, instead focused entirely on the chocolate in front of him, calling his name. 

He takes an enormous bite out of one before moaning far too sexually for your liking, tossing his head back in bliss. “Oh my God.”

“Good?”

Jungkook moans again in response.

“Please don’t orgasm on this couch. Who knows what other bodily fluids were on here before we bought it,” you ask calmly. 

“I’d say that’s nasty, but you guys did cover this with one of those couch covers, so it’s not like my body is coming into contact with other people’s body stains,” Jungkook reasons. The couch cover is the single best purchase you’ve made this entire year. Possibly your entire life. “But they’re delicious. You made a good purchase.”

“I thought you would like them,” you say. “You’re the only person I know who actually likes the combination of mint and chocolate.”

“People who say that it tastes like toothpaste are brushing their teeth with the wrong kind of toothpaste,” he tells you pointedly. “I don’t understand. This is God’s combination. It’s perfect.”

“As long as you love it, that’s all that matters,” you tell him with a pat on his back, breaking off a square of the chocolate bar for yourself. It is pretty good, even if mint chocolate ice cream does sometimes taste like toothpaste. But you’d never tell Jungkook that, of course. 

Jungkook takes a swig of the wine, picking up the mug and gulping down about half of it, the wine bitter on his tongue. “Goes great with this wine, too,” he jokes. You take a sip yourself. It’s… not very good. Actually, rather sticky. No wonder it was only seven dollars. 

“You don’t have to lie to me, I know it tastes like ass,” you tell him honestly. To be fair, you and Jungkook have both had worse. Compared to the shit served at frat parties, this may as well be beautifully-aged Malbec. 

“It only tastes a little bit like ass,” Jungkook compromises. “But it doesn’t not taste like ass.”

“Let’s finish it now so we don’t have to have any more of it later,” you decide. “You’ve probably had some of the best alcohol in your life this semester.”

Jungkook thinks back, tilting his head to the side as he begins to recall all of the instances in the past few months when he’s had anything to drink. “Soju’s still my favorite. But yeah, I’d say I’ve had wine that probably costs more than my textbooks for this semester if I hadn’t pirated them all.”

“The beauty of being a CS student,” you muse. 

“You know it,” he says, holding his half-empty mug out as a toast to himself. “But seriously, even if this Trader Joe’s wine literally tasted like garbage, it would still be better than all of that other shit.”

You turn to him, skeptical. Even the single night you spent with Chaewon, in a penthouse amongst the stars, drinking champagne and eating strawberries dipped in chocolate, was more than you could ever dream of. You woke up the next day on an air mattress in her bedroom and wanted nothing more than to go back to basking in the luxury, desperate for another taste. It was addicting. How could Jungkook ever prefer what he has right now to what he had last night? 

“Really? Don’t say that just to make me feel better,” you tell him. You can take it. Jungkook has every reason to prefer the fancy meals, the penthouses, the suits and ties to your janky little apartment and old clothes from high school. The two aren’t at all on the same level. They’re not even in the same goddamn game. If you could drop everything to have what Chaewon has, what the other girls and boys who pay for Jungkook’s company have, you would. 

“I’m not,” Jungkook tells you seriously. “I mean it. I would rather sit in your room, hunched over your tiny Switch because you lost the HDMI cord to plug it into the television, playing Mario Kart than out there, pretending to be someone I’m not.”

“But it was fun in the beginning, wasn’t it? Getting to be rich without the moral ambiguity that comes along with being part of the upper class?” You ask. It must have been. Jungkook looked so happy when he first started doing these gigs, coming back to your apartment in a state of bliss, a little tipsy from the expensive champagne and steak. He’d knock on your door and tell you all about the night, from how older businessmen handed him their cards and offered him jobs, to the hundreds of ice cream flavors you could only ever dream of eating. Everything seemed so wonderful to him.

Jungkook shrugs, pouring himself more wine. “Yeah, I guess, but it gets so old after a while. Like, no wonder Chaewon was so desperate for me to go with her that first time. It sucks the damn life out of you. You walk around and mingle and pretend that you’re the greatest person on Earth, talking about yourself and kissing up to the other people for an entire night. Honestly, sometimes it’s worse than my CS homework. And I hate that shit.”

“Chaewon mentioned that the eggplant usually tastes like foot,” you add. Jungkook nods in agreement. 

“Yeah, it does. She warned me about it the first night and I, like a fool, tried it because I usually like eggplant. And it still tasted like foot. Never again,” Jungkook says, shivering at the mere thought of it. It’s funny, actually, because you did the exact same thing. “But the food is like, the one thing I pretty much don’t have the right to complain about. It’s delicious and usually free.”

“But I hope that you’re having fun,” you tell him honestly, because you do. When you’re sitting in your room, eating two different pints of Ben & Jerry’s, you hope that Jungkook, wherever he is, whatever he’s doing, is enjoying himself more than you are. Because he deserves it. You never want there to be a time when he’s sad, when he’s unhappy or bored. Jungkook deserves to live the happiest version of life he possibly can. “I want you to enjoy yourself.”

“I do,” Jungkook says. There’s a second half to that sentence. “I do—it’s just that… It's so fake, you know? I feel like such a goddamn actor when I’m there. I get to live this extravagant lifestyle for a few hours but in return I don’t even know who I’m looking at when I look in the mirror.”

Oh?

“Like, I pretend to be this business student, when I’m not. I pretend to have millions of dollars to my name, when I don’t. I hold hands and pose for pictures with people Chaewon is vaguely familiar with and nothing, literally nothing, feels real. I don’t know.” Jungkook takes another swig from the mug. “Even the relationships I have when I’m there are fake.”

“Do you hate it that much, then?” You ask him. If it’s so awful and terrible, then why does he keep doing it? Keep dressing up and going out, holding hands with and wrapping his arm around them?

“No,” Jungkook says, sighing as he leans back into the couch. “I don’t hate it. I just—I wish I had something real afterwards to come back home to.”

Real? Like what? Like you? You aren’t real. You sit next to your best friend and pretend that everything is fine. That nothing hurts. You’ve had the biggest crush on him ever since you laid eyes on him, and you’re doing everything in your power to make sure that he’s the only one that doesn’t know. 

“That’s why I’m always coming back to your apartment afterwards,” Jungkook says. He chuckles, but it isn’t his usual laugh. It sounds forced, contrived and fake. Jaded. He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it almost immediately. Then, he breathes, long and slow. Thinks. The silence is almost unbearable. Waiting to hear what he has to say, even more so. “You’re the most genuine person I know. What we share—it’s real.”

Tonight is the least lonely you’ve felt in a long time. 

Even though Jungkook has something tonight, you aren’t aching to be by his side, desperate to spend more time with him. He told you that he was really looking forward to this one, that it wasn’t going to be some stuffy gala or blind double date. He said something about going to karaoke with the girl and her friends, singing Britney Spears songs and taking shots of soju for hours on end, screaming his voice hoarse. And even if you aren’t there with him, you’re happy because you know that he’s happy, that he’s genuinely enjoying himself. 

So, you aren’t that lonely. 

Content with the state of your life as it is, you take the night off, ready to prepare yourself for a weekend that will almost certainly consist entirely of just work. Chaewon’s voice echoes in your mind (“I know that you aren’t as happy as you could be right now,” she had told you), but it’s different now. Because you are happy. You are happy, because Jungkook’s happy. The two of you see each other just as frequently as you used to. He texts you about his terrible CS homework and the Shiba Inu he just saw being walked across campus. It’s all gone back to the way it used to be. That’s what you had wanted. 

You were prepared for this. You knew that it would eventually boil down to this, down to whether or not you could take Jungkook not knowing how you feel any longer. But right now, you don’t care. Jungkook not knowing has always been a part of your friendship. The love you hold for him, in the spaces between your bones and deep in the cracks of your heart, that has always been there. You see it, hear it, feel it, whenever you’re with him. Even when you’re not with him, it will remind you, appear in the silence, the emptiness. It will always make itself known, because it’s become a part of you. From the moment you met him, it had settled into your heart.

Staring out of the window by your living room, overlooking the ugliest parking garage on campus, you sigh. You can’t see the stars from here, not even in the dead of night, but that’s alright. There is something so peaceful about the navy blue sky. About how mysterious and unknown it is. It calms you. You put on a movie that you’ve genuinely been wanting to watch for a while, sit down in your bed, amongst your duvet and sheets, pillows and plushies, and enjoy yourself, for once. It’s a good night. 

And then, much like most aspects of your terribly convoluted, over-complicated and confusing life, it all comes crashing down. 

There’s a faint thud from outside, a soft little non-noise that you assume is coming from the street. Not wanting to interrupt your movie—she’s just about to confess, holy shit—you ignore it. It’ll go away eventually. 

Then another thud. You pause, leaning towards your window to see if you can figure out the source. Silence. You’re just about to press play, when you hear it again. And again. It gets louder and louder, making up in volume what it lacks in rhythm and order, until you realize it’s someone knocking on your door. And not just knocking casually. It’s as if someone is shoving their whole body into it, shoulders and chest and feet hitting the wood as they bang on it. 

“Y/N?”

Oh, God.

Pushing off your duvet, you tug on your slippers and wipe away the crust around your eyes as you rush towards the door. You know who’s on the other side. You’re not sure if answering it is the better or worse option. 

You’ve always had an uncanny ability to pick the latter. 

When you open the door, Jungkook, in a fancy sweater pulled over a white button down and black jeans that could almost pass for dressy slacks, is standing on the other side. 

Correction: he’s sort of standing on the other side. He nearly topples over when you pull open the door, having clearly been leaning on it, and you barely have time to reach your arms out to catch him. 

“Oh! Y/N!” Jungkook exclaims, as if he’s surprised to see you inside your own apartment. “I was hoping to see you.”

“I figured,” you tell him, laughing. You guide him inside, and even in his state he remembers to tug off his clean white sneakers, kicking them towards the shoe rack. “It’s so late, Jungkook, you should go home.” 

“No,” Jungkook whines. “I wanted to see you. I missed you.”

“We saw each other this morning, Jungkook. And this afternoon, right before you went out,” you remind him. The words go in one ear and out the other, and he pulls you in close to him, wrapping his arms around you as he presses his body against yours in a sweaty hug. His grip is tight around you as he rests his head on your shoulder, breathing you in as if you’d been gone for years. Slowly, after a few seconds, you pull away from him, a hand on his shoulder to get him to look at you through his too-long bangs, hanging over his eyes. “Hey, what’s wrong? I’m right here, don’t worry. I never left.”

“I had a lot to drink tonight,” Jungkook tells you, blinking rapidly. “Like, a lot. They just kept ordering soju and I just kept drinking it. It was really good. Have you had strawberry soju? It’s delicious.”

“I might have had it once or twice,” you fib, not able to recall having it one way or another. “Come on, sit down,” you point him towards the couch, but he refuses, clinging onto you even as you make your way towards the kitchen. “Jungkook, please, I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“But I missed you,” Jungkook repeats. “I missed you a lot. I thought about you the entire time I was there.”

You can’t say you didn’t do the same. 

“Next time we’ll do something together then, hey? Something really fun, like going to an arcade or bowling,” you promise him with a pat on his shoulder. “But you need to drink some water, JK. Can you please sit down?”

“No, I want to be with you,” Jungkook says like it’s nothing. Like the feeling of him wrapped around you like this, holding onto you and telling you that he misses you, that he thinks about you, doesn’t mean anything. You don’t think your heart has beaten since you opened the door to see him standing on the other side. 

(You don’t think it’s beaten since you met him. Since he came up to you on the pavement, asking you for directions. Since you told him your name, and he told you his.)

“Ah, fine, just be careful, I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” you concede, because it’s so easy to let him have his way, so easy to say yes to him. You manage to grab an empty water bottle and fill it up with what’s left in your Brita, too lazy to refill it after it’s left bone dry. Slowly, you make your way to your bedroom, out of view of the central living space, where your roommates could burst through the door at any moment and see you taking care of your drunk best friend on the sofa. 

Slowly, you settle on your bed, sitting off of the edge of it as you cajole him into drinking some water, whispering soft nothings to make sure he finishes the whole thing. 

“Does your head hurt or anything?” You ask him, already looking around for the stash of Advil you usually keep on your nightstand.

“No, no, I’m fine, Y/N, seriously,” he promises, even if you can see the glazed-over look in his eyes, the way his sweaty bangs stick to his forehead. “You’re too nice, you know? Always treating me when I show up at your place. Even when you don’t invite me.”

“You know I never mind seeing you,” you tell him. “You can come over whenever you want. I’m always here.”

“No, you’re not,” Jungkook says with a pout, and it makes you furrow your brows. When have you not been? Jungkook’s been going out to events ever since the beginning of the semester, and without fail, you’ve always been waiting for him at home, knowing he’ll turn up one way or another. Except, there was— “That one time a couple of weeks ago, I went to this crazy big gala with Eunha, there were so many people there, and I came back home afterwards and knocked on your door, and your roommates said they hadn’t seen you all day. Where were you that day?”

He had come? You didn’t know if he would. 

(Or maybe, you did. You knew he would show up at your door once he got back from that night, and selfishly, not wanting to see him after the fact, the leftover version of him, the part he leaves behind when he goes out. You knew he would be there and you couldn’t bear the thought of being the second girl he spends the night with. The other option. Maybe, you’ve known all along that you’ll never quite stack up to the girls he goes out with, and that sometimes, when you see him all dressed up while you’re in your hoodie and sweats, it reminds you is nothing more than a casual friendship.)

“I must have been out late with Chaewon that day, I’m sorry,” you apologize, letting him rest his head on your shoulder. “I didn’t know you would come.”

“I always come after my events. You know that.”

“I didn’t know if you’d remember to,” you correct. 

“I’d never forget about you,” Jungkook says, the alcohol erasing his filter. Making him honest. “I really missed you, that day. I had been waiting the entire night to see you.”

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again,” you promise, and this one is for real. 

“You know, today?” Jungkook says, pulling his head back so he can get a good look at you, your eyes meeting his own. “Today, I was so sad on my way here. It was so terrible, because I was drunk and sad and I missed you.”

“You were sad? What happened?” You ask, leaning in. Jungkook? Sad? Who would do such a thing to him? Who would erase the smile on his face, his crescent eyes, and replace them with tears? 

“This girl and I, she was a lot of fun. We sang a couple duets together and we were pretty good,” he hiccups, “kept winning. It was fun. She and I talked for a long time. I definitely liked her the most out of all of the girls I’ve gone out with. Besides Chaewon, of course.”

“What happened? Did she do something you didn’t want? You know you can tell me, Jungkook,” you ask, a hand on his arm. 

“No.” Jungkook shakes his head. “I don’t know. She was fun and I was drunk. We were on our way back in the Lyft when she leaned over and kissed me. And I kissed her back, and it was kind of nice. I haven’t really kissed someone like that in a while,” Jungkook tells you. And even though you’re hearing these words from him, hearing how he had all of this fun with a girl who isn’t you, how he kissed her in the backseat of a car, you rally, blinking away the tears you can feel forming in your eyes. It’s none of your business, you tell yourself. You and Jungkook aren’t together. You don’t get to feel bad about him kissing someone else. 

“Did you like it?” You ask, each word a pin in your chest. 

“It was pretty nice,” Jungkook admits. “We, uh, we made out a bit in the back of the car until we got to her place. And then we got out of the car and she asked me if I wanted to go back with her, to her room. And—and I almost said yes.” Jungkook looks about ready to combust. At his side, his fists are clenched so hard you’re worried he’ll pop a vein. 

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” you tell him, looking him in the eyes so he knows that you don’t mind, that he can tell you these things without worry. Jungkook may be the love of your life, but he’s your best friend, first. He’s always been, before anything else, your best friend. 

“But there is!” Jungkook cries, standing up in anguish. “There is, Y/N, you don’t understand! I almost had sex with her!”

“You’re allowed to, Jungkook!” You assure him, standing up to reach out to him. 

“No, Y/N, you don’t get it,” he tells you coldly, pulling his hand away. “Why aren’t you mad? Aren’t you angry that I nearly had sex with her?”

“No, what the fuck, Jungkook, why would I be mad?” You shout back at him. “You can do whatever you want with your body, it’s not my job to police it! I’m your friend, not your mom!”

“But don’t you want to be more, Y/N?” He rounds on you. “Don’t you want to be the one kissing me, fucking me? Why aren’t you jealous?”

“Were you trying to make me jealous, Jungkook? Is that what you were trying to do? You wanted to get a reaction out of me because my best friend nearly fucked someone else and then didn’t? What the fuck, Jungkook? What do you want from me?”

“I just want you to tell me you fucking love me back!”

“Jungkook, what—”

Jungkook, eyes dark and furious, pushes you against your closet door as your lips part, feeling the breath get knocked out of your lungs. He’s so close. He’s right there, you can see him, watch as he looms over you, hands clenched in your hoodie as he presses you against the wall. And then, wordlessly, he’s leaning down, crashing your mouths together. 

Suddenly, your heart starts. You gasp into the kiss, the feeling of his mouth on top of yours. It’s fervent, hot and angry and passionate, his body against your own as your hands reach out to press against his head. You seize up at the feeling, almost as if in shock, before melting into his touch, leaning into him, desperate. You can feel his breath mixing in with your own, feel the way his chapped lips meet your overly-moisturized ones, feel how his hands drift from where they’re bunched up in the front of your hoodie to your waist, your hips, your thighs. Jungkook kisses ruthlessly, kisses like he’s trying to prove a point. Holds onto you like he’s afraid to let go. 

When you part, gasping for air, Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, blinking. 

“Jungkook, you’re drunk—” you tell him firmly, refusing to let get your hopes up if what you have in front of you is really just an intoxicated best friend. Your heart is beating miles a minute, about ready to thump right out of you, chest heaving and mouth agape. 

“That doesn’t matter,” Jungkook argues back. “Even when I’m sober I love you. Don’t tell me I’m confused because I’m drunk.”

“You show up at my place at one in the morning, tell me about how you made out with some other girl and almost slept with her just to get me angry, kiss me, and tell me not to tell you you’re confused?” You demand. “Jungkook, I’ve never been more confused in my life than right now, can you please just—”

“I love you, Y/N,” Jungkook says, and even though he’s angry, red in the face and sweaty, when he says it, it’s soft. It’s a whisper, a murmur. He says it not to convince you, but so you know. “I’ve been in love with you for so goddamn long, ever since I fucking met you. And I thought you might like me back but you never did anything about it, and so neither did I.”

“You need to go home, Jungkook,” you tell him, hiccuping. When you blink, you feel the warm tears streaming down your face. You hadn’t even noticed them. “You can’t just come into my apartment and tell me shit like that. How do you think it makes me feel?”

“Do you feel the same, Y/N?” Jungkook asks, looking you in the eyes. He’s angry, that’s for sure, but even underneath, you can see the desperation, see how he’s just waiting for an answer. 

“Go home, Jungkook. Please. Let’s talk about this when you aren’t drunk, okay? I’m confused and I need to clear my head,” you plead, pushing him towards the door. “Please, okay? Be safe, too. I’ll call Chaewon to give you a ride,” you tell him, grabbing your phone. 

Jungkook puts a hand on your wrist. “I’ll be okay, Y/N. I just… Please, tell me. Did that kiss mean anything to you?”

“Yes, it did, but Jungkook, I can’t—”

“It meant something to me, too,” he tells you firmly, lets the words sink into the air around you.  He heads for the door, pulling on his shoes. He looks so sad. “Good night, Y/N.”

You place a hand on the doorknob. “Good night, Jungkook.”

It’s barely nine in the morning the next day when a knock wakes you up. It’s soft at first, one every couple of seconds, before it gets progressively louder. Slowly, you get out of bed, trying to tame your hair as you rub the sleep from your eyes. 

“Y/N’s in her room. Is that for her? That’s so cute. Yeah, she’s probably awake. You can just knock.” It’s your roommate. 

You scramble to make your bed, pouring some water from the water bottle by your nightstand into your hand and splashing your face, wiping it away with an old t-shirt as you run towards the door, pulling it open just in time. 

On the other side is a much more tired, much less drunk Jungkook, one hand raised and about to knock, the other holding a bouquet of daisies. 

“Hey,” he says shyly, mouth breaking into a smile the moment he sees you. 

“Hey,” you say back. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah, head hurts like hell, though,” Jungkook says. “Can I come in?”

“Oh, yeah, s-sure, of course,” you say, stepping aside to let him into your bedroom. 

“These are for you.” Jungkook holds out the bouquet towards you, wrapped up neatly in cellophane and tied at the stems with a bow. “So you don’t have to keep Febreze-ing your room all of the time.”

“They’re beautiful, Jungkook,” you tell him, grinning as you take them from his hands. Today feels different from yesterday. It feels lighter, fresher. New. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“I—” He pauses, taking a second to think, “I meant what I said, yesterday. Maybe not all of it, but. Most of it, yeah. I meant it.”

“Why did you try to make me jealous, Jungkook?” You ask him. “Why did you think that would work?”

“I don’t know,” Jungkook admits. “I shouldn’t have, and I fucked up. I just got so… so tired of waiting to see if you’d ever come around. I just wanted you to tell me. And then I guess I got so fed up that I told you instead.”

You place the bouquet on your dresser before walking towards him, reaching a hand out. “Yeah, that was a pretty big asshole move of you,” you chide, grinning to yourself. 

“I know, I’m sorry.” He sighs. 

“But I’m happy you’re here,” you tell him. “And happy that you meant what you said. Maybe it could have been said in a less angry way, but hearing it made me happy.”

“I’m happy that you’re happy.” Jungkook grins. “You’re my favorite person, Y/N.”

“When you asked me, yesterday, if that kiss meant anything to me? And I said it did?” You begin, Jungkook nodding in front of you. He’s positively beaming. “It still does. I want to do that every day, Jungkook. Every hour. Every single second for the rest of my goddamn life.”

“You do?” Jungkook asks. 

“I love you, Jeon Jungkook. From day one, it’s always been you.” You smile, and it feels like a weight has been lifted off of your shoulders. Feels like you’re fucking flying. Like you’re weightless. 

“I love you, too, Y/N. I never want to be away from your side,” he declares, and like a cheesy, rom-com movie, like the shitty novels you used to read in eighth grade, he pulls you in close and presses a kiss against your lips. Wraps his arms around your waist as he holds you tight, kisses you in the middle of your bedroom, in your hoodie and sweatpants, a bouquet of daisies on your dresser. He kisses you because he can, because for every second of every day for the rest of your goddamn life, he can kiss you, over and over and over. 

“We owe Chaewon an apology,” you tell him when you’re parted, sitting on your bed, wrapped up in each other’s arms. 

“Hell yeah we do,” Jungkook agrees. “She’s been on my ass for ages about telling you.”

“Mine too.”

“She’s such a great best friend,” Jungkook comments. “Knew all this time that her two friends were madly in love with each other and didn’t say a damn word to either of us. That’s loyalty.”

“We should do something for her, to make up for it all,” you suggest. 

“You know,” Jungkook says, grinning, “I know this guy who made bank this semester by going on fake dates with a bunch of really rich girls. Maybe he could help.”

“I know him, too,” you joke. “He’s the love of my fucking life.”

Jeon Jungkook quits his job on the ninety-eighth day of the fall semester of his sophomore year.

You know this because on the ninety-eighth day of the fall semester of your sophomore year, he comes banging on the door of your apartment shared with three other girls at 7:18PM, eighteen minutes after he normally heads out on one of his many dates. 

“Y/N!” He shouts, banging wildly on your door. You rush over to open it, letting the pasta water on the stove boil over and sizzle on the heat. He’s barely gotten in a second knock when you turn the doorknob to reveal your smiling boyfriend in his oversized hoodie.

“Don’t tell me you’re blowing someone off for me,” you say, inviting him inside. He places a kiss on your cheek on the way in, taking off his shoes and coat as you rush over to take care of the pasta.

“Me? Blowing someone off? Never,” Jungkook says, mock offended. “I actually quit the dating thing, this afternoon. A girl asked if I was free and I said that I wasn’t, because I have to go home to my girlfriend making me a meal. Don’t you love the sound of that?” He asks, pleased with himself.

“You quit? I thought you liked doing that stuff,” you say, using the spaghetti fork to move around the linguine. “Hope you’re cool with boring old pasta for your meal tonight. You could have had caviar if you hadn’t quit.”

“I don’t care, it smells so good,” Jungkook tells you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he stands behind you, watching you cook from over your shoulder. “Look at you, being all domestic and shit. It’s very cute.”

“Stop rubbing in the fact that you’re the better cook, I get it. Pasta is all I got right now.” You pout, turning down the heat as you move to pour yourselves two cups of tea. Jungkook follows you the entire way to the kettle, grip on your waist never faltering. “You can keep going on those dates, you know. I don’t mind. I get to see you in a suit when you get back, and then I get to take it off of you. It’s a win-win.”

Jungkook pinches your waist in response. “If you have a thing for suits, you can just tell me, you know. I won’t be mad.”

You turn around to whack him with the spaghetti fork. “I do not!”

“Alright, Y/N, guess I won’t wear a suit next time you call me at two in the morning—”

“I never said you couldn’t,” you interrupt, making Jungkook laugh. 

“You’re so cute, Y/N,” Jungkook coos as you begin to dish up the pasta, making sure to add peas because Jungkook loves peas with his spaghetti. “But I quit because I have enough money to sustain me for the rest of the semester. I’ll work over break and get a new job next semester when the new work-study positions open. Don’t worry about me,” he assures you. 

“But didn’t you like going out and everything? Getting dressed up and drinking fancy champagne?” You ask, setting the plates down at your dinky kitchen table, a single scented candle lit in the center. 

Jungkook thinks about it for a split second, and then he shakes his head. “Nah. I like hanging out with my girlfriend more.”

“Well, when you put it like that…” you reason with a grin. 

Jungkook laughs, leaning over the table to plop a kiss on your lips. “I love you, Y/N.”

“Yeah, you pea-eating loser,” you chide, “I love you too.”

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

↳ check out the post-script drabble here!

[autisticdindjarin]

Sleep It Off

(AO3)

Summary:   “You’re a kriffing mess,” Boba declared. Mando’s eyes opened again at that, all wide and teary, brow crumpled. Rating: T Pairings: Din Djarin x Boba Fett Warnings: Drunkeness, Vomiting Notes:  For Bobadin Week 2021, Day 3- Protectiveness/Caretaking I ended up getting a new job and it's been exhausting so this isn't edited as well as I wanted it to be but. Heh. Better than nothing, yeah?

(Masterlist)

↪

 Boba cursed under his breath as he eyed the tipsy Mandalorian, being held up halfway with his own feet, and halfway with Fennec’s help. He reached forwards immediately, taking the brunt of the weight from his partner.

 “Where did you find him?” Boba shook his head, grimacing as Mando leaned into his hold. Fennec sighed, wiping her hands on the tops of her thighs, looking unimpressed with everything as usual.

 “Cantina in Mos Eisley. Trading stories with some mechanic. Don’t know how much he’s had.”

 “Helmet?” Boba asked, and Fennec handed it over. It was strange, seeing Mando without it most of the time now. The man seemed to be avoiding it, yet he took it everywhere, in hand.

 Mando remained silent where he leaned against Boba, though one hand was strangely running across his shoulder, almost admiringly. Fennec looked between the two of them and shrugged.

 “I’ll let you handle this one,” she said with a slight smile, and Boba didn’t have the time to respond before he was facing a closed door. He grumbled under his breath, then turned his attention to Mando.

 The man was a sorry sight, one that tugged at heartstrings. Boba guided him gently to the bed, keeping Mando from falling over when he attempted to sit down. He plopped on the bed instead, feet flat on the floor and back flat on the mattress, arms sprawled out. His dark eyes were slightly unfocused, but they didn’t leave Boba’s form.

 “I’m getting you some water,” Boba groused, shaking his head. He was startled when Mando’s hand clutched at his, the grip strong.

 “No, I can’t …. Stay?”

 Boba looked back at him. Mando’s bottom lip was jutted out, his eyes big and shining, looking like he was about to cry.

 Fuck, but this was pathetic. Boba let out a huff, but was gentle when he extracted Mando’s hand from his wrist.

 “I’ll be right back. You really need water, or you’re going to be cursing yourself out even more tomorrow. I’ll be right back,” he said again as a reminder. Mando seemed to consider it, then nodded, a curl of hair falling into his face. Boba hesitated before reaching over, brushing it back, and Force be damned, those pleading eyes were going to be the death of him if he kept looking.

 So he turned away, intent on his task of finding water for the intoxicated Mandalorian awkwardly situated on his bed.

 He was back within minutes, and was surprised that Mando hadn’t passed out on him; Instead he had sat up and crossed his legs underneath him, making a pretty picture where he was perched on the mattress. Boba raised a brow as he sat beside him, and handed him the glass, hoping but also kind of not hoping that he wouldn’t need assistance.

 Mando gulped down the water too fast.

 Boba cursed as it came back up immediately on his floor, barely getting his foot out of the way in time. The glass dropped onto the bed and Boba reached over, his hand cupping the back of Mando’s neck and holding him steady as he got sick all over Boba’s rug.

 Boba didn’t care much for the rug anyway.

 When he was done, Mando’s eyes met Boba’s. They were watery and red, dark bags beneath them, his skin clammy to the touch and ashen. Boba sighed, running his hand over Mando’s forehead. Mando made a strange little sound, almost something like  longing, and closed his eyes, leaning into Boba’s hand that now cupped his jaw.

 “You’re a kriffing mess,” Boba declared. Mando’s eyes opened again at that, all wide and teary, brow crumpled.

 “‘M sorry ….” Mando said, on the verge of tears. Boba hissed, shaking his head and rubbing a hand over his neck, fingers massaging gently at the base of Mando’s skull.

 “No better place to be a mess than here. You’re safe,” Boba assured, hoping to get that point across at least. Mando relaxed under his hand, his shoulders slumping forwards. Boba took a breath, just watching him for a long moment.

 “We should get you out of that armor, Mando, get a bit more comfortable,” he squeezed gently at Mando’s neck. Mando glanced over at him, and reached a hand that found its way to Boba’s kneecap.

 “Name’s Din,” he said, his voice nearly whispered. Boba’s brow furrowed.

 “Right. We’ll see if you remember this tomorrow. If not, I’ll pretend to have forgotten it.”

 This seemed to immediately distress Mando … Din … who lurched forwards, his grip tightening on Boba’s knee.

 “No. No - I want you to know. Want you to know me,” he said, his proximity close enough that it would make Boba uncomfortable with anyone else. Instead Boba clicked his tongue, patting Din on the shoulder.

 “We’ll talk about it tomorrow … Din,” he added his name with a small smile on his lips, and Din smiled back at him, eyes that had previously looked so sad now sparkling over at him.

 “Okay,” Din said, in an almost dreamy tone. Boba shook his head at him.

 “If I get you more water, will you drink slow and keep it down?” he asked, leaning forwards to get better eye contact from him. Din nodded at that, very seriously.

 “Right. I’ll be right back … again,” Boba snorted, making sure Din was in a position where he’d less likely risk falling off the bed.

 He made his way to the fresher, grabbing a towel to clean up Din’s mess, and filled another glass with water. As an afterthought, he rooted around in a drawer, grabbing a spare ultrasound cleaner for teeth.

 When he returned, Din was right where he left him, watching him walk back in intently. Boba hid a smile, sitting down beside him again. This time, he held the glass of water while he encouraged Din to drink, making sure he went with sips instead of gulping the whole damn thing down. Satisfied with half a glass, he put it to the side, handing Din over the pseudo-toothbrush.

 “Think you can handle this? It’s a spare. Didn’t figure you’d wanna wake up with aftertaste. I always hated that.”

 Din nodded at him, and Boba chuckled. A man of few words. He started on cleaning his teeth while Boba cleaned the mess off the floor - good enough until morning, at least. He’d have one of the cleaning droids give the room a shine while he worked.

 Din finished with his teeth before he was done, and the ultrasound cleaner found its place on the nightstand alongside the half empty glass of water.

 “Right. Now, you wanna get that armor off for the night, or do you enjoy sleeping in metal?” he asked, approaching Din again, who was looking more and more like he was about to pass out as time passed. Boba would like to get the beskar off of him before that happened, ideally.

 “Yeah,” Din rasped out in that gravelly voice of his, his stare intent on Boba. Boba faltered just slightly before he reached over, helping to begin the process, starting with the pauldrons. By the time they were finished, Din was slipping into sleep. Boba smiled and got the armor tucked away safely underneath the bed, well guarded between the two of them. He reached over to brush the curl that had fallen over Din’s forehead away again. Din’s eyes snapped open, and their gazes were drawn together for a long moment.

 “Stay,” Din breathed out, sitting up again, his hand reaching for Boba’s. Flustered, Boba chuckled, turning his head away.

 “I’m fine, don’t worry-” he cut himself off as he found Din’s face inches from his. Gulping, he looked into Din’s eyes, which were pointed towards his lips. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, his lips were covered with Din’s, his jaw cupped by a calloused hand. In shock, Boba immediately responded by kissing back, his hand moving to curl into the back of Din’s hair. But he was snapped out of it soon enough when Din pressed closer, trying to wriggle his way into Boba’s lap. Boba pulled away, pressing a hand against Din’s chest as his own heaved.

 “Steady - I-” his own voice was tangled up and hoarse now as he tried to collect all the thoughts rushing through his head. “You’re drunk, Mandalorian. Let’s … save this for tomorrow, yeah? If you even remember,” Boba sighed, just gazing at the man in front of him, drinking in the sight of his mussed hair, heaving chest, and flushed face.

 Din blinked at him a few times, then nodded slowly, eyes falling shut with a goofy grin on his face. Boba near giggled at that, his hands soothing the mussed hair back as he guided Din back on the bed, tugging the sheets over him.

 “Sleep it off,” he added again, not unkindly. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

 As he turned the lights off and settled down onto the nearby couch for the night, Boba slowly ran his fingers over his lips.

@bobadinweek

[hansoulo]

how will I know; walk slow

Pairing: Din Djarin/Reader (gender neutral, no Y/N)

Word Count: a humble 1.4k

Warnings: cursing, light angst, a kiss (sorta), spoilers for chapter 15 of the mandalorian

Gif Credit: (x) by @/bestintheparsec

A/N: hello bros and hoes it is me and i am back with another oneshot this time set right after chapter 15 with a title from this song by james blake

You bounded down the hangar ladder and stood toe-to-toe, heart stuck in your mouth and lodging up in your tonsils until the word came out thick and without eloquence. “Hi.”

“I’m sorry,” the Mandalorian offered. He didn’t really have anything to be sorry for. Sometimes the guy was just polite to a fault.

“It’s alright.” The words left your chest hushed, conscious of the footsteps up and around you that echoed tinny on the walls of Slave 1. Soft assurances. Gentle platitudes. “You’re here now, yeah?”

Mayfeld was “dead” doing Maker knows what. Fennec and Cara were both off in the ship somewhere, probably polishing blasters and trading war secrets with each other as intimidating Outer Rim women tended to do. That or in the communications monitor room below deck, doing far more risque things. Boba was piloting and making sure none of you died. And the Mandalorian was here. Standing in the cold metal cargo hold. In front of you.

His chest, in beskar now, not that shoddy Imperial shit, shook with a sigh. “Yeah,” the helmet rasped. It sounded like he was speaking more to himself. “Yeah.”

Why do you do that?

   Do what?

You’re very… monosyllabic. It’s unsettling.

   Unsettling.

You know you’re just continuing to prove my point, right?

   Mhm.

Maker, you’re infuriating.

   Yes, I am.

Hey that was three words! Progress.

Your throat tightened with a swallow when you realized you still stood only inches apart from him. Feet shuffled backwards in the small hangar until he was left at a larger, more friend-appropriate distance. “That’s good. I’m… I’m glad.”

The air in the ship was thick, with relief and with another heavy thing. Regret, maybe? But what did he have to regret?

“Mando,” you called out as he turned to step up the ladder. Names were sacred things. You didn’t want to use his here. To dirty it by sharing. “Hey,” your hand met the cold metal of his pauldron, urging him to face you again. He was still. Always so still. “Did something happen?”

   I’m fine.

You’re hurt.

   It’s nothing serious.

Let me help. 

   I’ll take care of it.

Or let the kid help. Somebody.

   I said I’ll take care of it.

Let me take care of you. Please. 

His words came almost too quick. He was like that when he tried to convince you of things. “No. No, we… we got the coordinates. Everything went-”

“According to plan,” you finished for him, though your brows were still furrowed.

What’s the plan?

   We get the kid back.

So… what you’re saying is that there is no plan.

   There is a plan.

What’re you gonna do?

   Whatever it takes.

You’re so dramatic.

“Mayfeld wouldn’t tell me anything about what happened before he fucked off, though, which is weird because usually he never shuts up and I just...” you sighed, wiping a hand across your face and letting it drop unceremoniously beside your hip. “Are you sure you’re alright? You look,” and here your voice paused, waiting for the words to fill themselves in. “Rattled.”

You look like shit.

   Thanks.

Welcome. You good?

   You just said I look like shit.

Well yeah, but I’m trying to redeem myself. Throw me a bone.

   Then yeah, I’m good.

You’re a horrible liar.

   Hey, you asked.

Yeah, I guess so. Take it easy for a bit? Can’t have you falling asleep piloting.

   Glad to know your only concern is for your transportation.

Don’t forget the paycheck.

   That too.

Seriously, though. Go get some sleep. I’ll be here.

There was a pregnant pause, only filled in by your quiet expectance and the sounds of beskar shifting on fabric. He moved his weight from one foot to the other. Looked down, then up.

And then, before you could go to actually leave, not wanting to pry a thing open that the man wanted to keep shut and done with having to reach the words out of his mouth, you were picked up and turned around. Like a sack of ration flour. 

In literally any other circumstance this would’ve made you seethe but Din’s hands, although surprising, weren’t unwelcome. The furthest thing from it, actually.

There were two warm palms on your sides and your feet stumbled on top of each other until they both left the floor again, suspended above the metal sheeting as you were lifted up and crushingly close to a man that smelled like blood and sweat and someone else’s clothes but who still held you until your ribs cried out for breathing. 

You were set down after a moment, but not let go. Silent words seemed to fracture in the way his fingers dug into the skin of your hip, almost bruising in their insistence. He couldn’t tell you what happened, but something obviously did. Something ugly and beating loud in the two-inch gap between your chests and really, really bad.

There were only about two things in the galaxy that he was afraid of. Losing the kid was one of them. Breaking his Creed was the other.

So what’s with the helmet?

   What about it?

You can never take it off?

   No.

Like, never? In front of anyone?

   Not unless it’s family.

And what happens if you do? Take it off in front of someone else, I mean.

   You can’t ever put it back on.

Oh, right. Sorry.

   It’s okay.

No, it’s not. I- I shouldn’t have asked. I dunno. It just seems…

   Bad. 

No, not bad! Not if it’s something you believe. Just… different. 

And suddenly you knew why he was holding you the way he was.

The words were hitched, almost keening as your arms wound around his neck, over the thick fabric of his cape until his hands reached around the lower slope of your back to steady your ground. You could feel the indentations of his metal vambraces against your skin. You couldn’t have cared less about it. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. He only let out a breath, the sound so rattled and tremulous you could almost taste the salt dew gathering in his eyes. Eyes that someone else saw.

The muscles of his arms grew firmer around you still and your body sagged, heavy in its aching realizations. “I’m so sorry,” you repeated.

To someone else more ambitious this would probably be a good time to do… a gesture. Of the sentimental variety. Neither of you lacked courage in the traditional definition, but this kind of stuff was messy. Uncharted. 

“Din,” you whispered. His helmet shot up at the monosyllable, nearly knocking you in the chin and you stumbled backwards, shaking off his apologies. So the charting of said uncharted stuff was going swell. “I,” you began, your eyes shifting around the walls and floor instead of meeting his visor. “I care about you. A lot. I hope you know that.”

There was a loud whirring overhead when the ship lurched forward, righting itself with an awkward turn and giving you a good excuse as to why you suddenly felt nauseous. Maybe you overstepped or he didn’t hear you because he hit his head? Holy shit, did he get a concussion? Was that why he was-

“I know.”

Oh.

So no concussion.

You only realized you’d been biting the bottom edge of your lip when a gloved thumb came up towards it, pressing against the soft flesh and pulling it gently out from between your teeth. A breath choked in the bottom of both your lungs. And you waited.

You couldn’t kiss him.

At least, not now. Not here. Not yet.

You were both thinking about it.

So you did something decidedly ambitious. You leaned forward and pressed your mouth to the crest of his helmet.

It wasn’t a kiss, not really. But he still tilted his helmet up to meet it with two broad hands and you still left a smudge of mouthmark where your lips were damp and tender and so somehow this imitation kiss, this substitute in between a moment that was over and a moment that was coming, was real. 

Your bounty hunter echoed his reciprocation after you’d turned away, the rungs of the ship ladder icy in your palms. You always did like to one-up each other.

“I love you.”

[themonotonysyndrome]

REDACTED verse - Those that stood above the rest

Summary: Everyone in D.A.M.N simp for the power couple at least a little bit - the Vampire Prince of Dahlia and the Electro Energetic. Gavin and the Freelancer would be lying if they said they haven't been watching them... respectfully. 

TW: [Swearing], [Profanity], [Explicit implications courtesy of Gavin, of course] & [Oblivious narrators]

Apologies for any grammatical or spelling errors because I wrote this the whole night and only edited it once. I’ll do the editing process again tomorrow morning.

-

Life as a student in D.A.M.N is nothing like regular colleges or universities. While the environment is hectic with exams, assignments and teachers with sticks up their asses - there's also a hint of craziness thrown into the mix. You can never really predict how your day would go here in the academy, and to most of the students, it's the typical college experience you'll get everywhere. Just... taken to the next level. 

That's what you get for a magical academy, after all. 

An Air Elemental would accidentally shatter the windows in a classroom with a powerful gust of wind on a random ass Tuesday because she was laughing too hard. A Graviton Energetic would sneeze, and suddenly, the gravity in the music room would stick the instruments on the ceilings. The entire soccer team would fall flat on the grassy field, snoozing because the Serenity Daemon playing as the Goalkeeper uses too much magic to calm their anxious Sweeper during his first play with the team. 

With so many Empowered creatures of all kinds attending D.A.M.N, there's never a dull moment. You learned that the moment a loud growl came from the Debate Club on your second week as a student. A Wolf Shifter had gotten into a heated argument with a Vampire about the toppings that should and shouldn't be on a pizza. 

So yeah, typical college life with magic thrown into your daily shenanigans. 

Today, you can't help but wonder what sort of excitement would occur as the large clock above the lecture hall ticks by, counting down the second before the class is over. 

You check the clock and sigh. Just ten more minutes to go, but it feels like time is creeping forward at such a snail-like pace. Tapping your pen on the open notebook laid before you rather irritability, you just want the lecturer to stop yammering already so you can grab lunch at the food truck parked outside of campus. 

Something gently knocks against your knuckle. You tilt your head to the side and meet with Damien's unamused stare; it looks like this is the third time he caught you losing focus in class. 

"I told you to grab a snack before class started." Damien whispers, mindful to keep his voice even so the lecturer won't catch them chatting. Sadism Daemons are scary when you piss them off, and the way the lecturer's eyes sweep through the students is more than enough to have them all shut the hell up the moment he begins their topic of the day. 

"I was meeting up with Lasko and we lost track of time." You hiss back. Yesterday you made a promise to catch up with the Air Elemental before your first class started to organise the date and invitations for the next game night. Once Lasko starts talking about the things he's comfortable with, he loses his stutter and launches into an animated one-sided conversation. You didn't have the heart to stop him, not when he looks so happy and cute. 

Buying that Arkham Horror board game was the right purchase to surprise him with. 

While your mind replays the morning you spend with Lasko, Damien rolls his eyes. "Of course you did. Here." He pushes his coffee cup towards you. His fingers linger on the cup for a few seconds to make sure that the coffee remains hot enough to drink. 

You grab the cup, grateful for his consideration, and take a big swing. The coffee settles pleasantly in your stomach as warmth spreads within your body. 

You're more a tea drinker - the classic Early Grey and Gunpowder Green - but at this instance, coffee would hopefully kick your focus back into gear. 

"Thanks, Damien." You said before passing the cup back to him. You peeked at his notebook and wasn't surprised to find that it's packed with notes written in different coloured pens. "Hey, want to grab lunch together after this?" 

Damien switched the yellow pen for a red one when the lecturer mentioned something about a topic for the upcoming test. You absentmindedly wondered if it's worth your life stealing his notebook. "Sure. What are you in the mood for?" He asked. 

Finally, the lecturer dismisses the class. Chatters erupt as students pack up while some scurry over to the podium to ask a few questions.

You lean against your seat to stretch your back; your notebooks and stationery are already in your school backpack. You're just waiting for Damien now. "I'm craving for a burger and some cheesy loaded fries with a boba tea." God, just thinking about it is already enough to make your mouth watered. 

Being a health nut, Damien throws you a judgemental look at your food choice as you two made your way towards the main campus entrance. He easily follows your lead through a crowd of students, and Damien even gently pulls you closer to his side when a student whizzes by on her skateboard. 

With so many people talking and laughing around you and Damien, you can't help but hear the conversations hovering around you. 

"...had class with them yesterday? Dude, you're so lucky! Did you sit beside them!?" 

"Are you fucking crazy? No! I sat two rows behind them, but it was enough to smell their perfume. God, they're so gorgeous - I couldn't focus the entire time!" 

"I've heard a few players from the Earth Elemental team tried to invite them to their party this weekend, but they were shot down. Apply cold water on burned area." 

"Well, duh. You can't just walk up to them like that! They're one of the hottest people in this academy."

"Yeah, but those players are in one of the most well-respected sports teams in all of Dahlia, and even they can't stand a chance against them!"

Students parted ways as you and Damien approached the gates. Rows of food trucks parked across the street with tables and chairs placed about. The conversations tapered off behind you, along with the hubbub of the academy. You have a pretty good idea of whom those students were talking about. It's been a topic surrounding the academy ever since the start of the new academic year. 

Even as an introvert who prefers to hover to your few but close group of friends, you couldn't escape the latest academy gossip.

"Finally, I thought my ears would've fallen off before we could escape," Damien mutters. It's a cloudy Wednesday; dark clouds are rolling above them with an occasional burst of strong breeze cutting through. "You'd think they would just give it a rest already." 

The food truck you and Damien stop by displays a menu with a wide variety of food and drinks. From burgers to pasta and desserts ranging from ice-creams to Thai banana pancakes, your stomach begins to growl. You place your order in a hurry, whereas Damien selects a hearty sandwich stuffed with juicy and tender slices of slow-smoked beef brisket with veggies of his choice and chipotle mayo in between two crusty loaves with a bottle of water. 

You and Damien grab your meals to sit at one of the vacant tables and enjoy lunch together. Good food and good company - what more could you ask for? Well, other than Damien's tsk-ing and wiping the barbecue sauce that smudged the corner of your cheek like the mother hen he constantly denies to be. 

"Can't you eat your food properly, Freelancer? You're getting your fingers dirty too. Give me your hand." Damien demanded halfway through his sandwich. You grin impishly and offer your left hand for Damien to wipe with some tissue while the other is holding a burger. The thick sauce begins to drip. 

Soon enough, a familiar voice shouts at them from across the street. 

"Yo, Damien! Freelancer! Are you guys, like, having lunch? Can I join!?" 

You can't help but beam and wave your hand (that was still holding the burger) high up when Huxley crosses over. Damien squawked with eyes wide in horror when the barbecue sauce got all over the table. He hurried to wipe the table clean while you greeted Huxley. 

"Hi, Huxley! Are you grabbing lunch too? Take a seat, man!" 

"Thanks a bunch, dude. It's been a while since I hung out with you two." 

"We literally had a class together two days ago." 

"Two days too long, Damien. I miss you guys." 

"Aww, that's super sweet of you, Hux!"

"Oh, for the love of - just go buy something already before the next class starts." 

Huxley happily gives Damien two thumbs up before grabbing his food and drink. When he returned to their table, he brought a tray of smoothie consisting of kale, spinach, banana, orange, and vanilla blended into green mush in a plastic cup and a plate of vegan quesadillas. 

The moment Huxley sat down, you took a sip of his drink and made a face. 

"Yeah, I ask them to hold back on the honey because I like the vanilla more," Huxley explains before tucking in. "Oh! But I can ask them to add more honey if you want. That’s like, totally cool." 

You quickly shake your head and clean your palate with your sweet boba tea. "It's cool, Hux. Just wanted to try a sip. You're really into these crazy healthy smoothies." 

"They're the bomb, dude. My Mums introduced a few recipes to me when I was a kid, and I basically hooked ever since." The Earth Elemental explains after gulping down a good chunk of the green goo. 

"Yeah, well, with the calories you burned up during practice, I guess you can't go wrong with smoothies," Damien added thoughtfully. His sandwich is all gone. He props an elbow on the table and cradles his face in one open palm. "Anyway, what's up, Huxley? Anything new happened?" 

"Nah, it's been nothing but the same shit lately. Classes, assignments and practices for the upcoming Elemental & Energetic Games - normal stuff. What about you guys?" 

"More or less the same." Damien replies, soundly ignoring your "We're hitting the tournament arc!" outburst. "Planning to organise a study group for the upcoming tests. I expect the two of you will be joining, by the way." 

At Damien's words, Huxley beams brighter. Any brighter, you'd need a pair of sunglasses. "For real, dude!? You're like, the best friend ever, Damien! C'mere - lemme give you a hug!" 

You snicker when despite Damien's frantic protest, Huxley shoot up from his chair and quickly hugs the Fire Elemental tightly before he has the chance to weasel away. 

Also, you didn't miss the chance to snap a quick picture of them to show Gavin tonight. 

Unaware of your phone, Damien grumbled when Huxley finally released him, and they sat down again. The three of you continue to chat about everything and anything. Soon, the topic shifts from tests to plans for the weekend. 

Huxley snapped his fingers when you mentioned Lasko's gaming night and the tabletop game you recently bought for him so they could all play together. 

"I totally forgot about the party! A few guys in my team are having a party this Saturday, and I want to invite you guys and Lasko. Oh! Gavin too! It's going to be a blast, and on Sunday, we can play that new board game."

You and Damien exchange a glance. "Sounds fun. Actually, we've heard about the party just now. How many people are your team members inviting?" You asked, curious. 

Huxley takes a moment to ponder before shrugging. He's nearly done with this food. "It's supposed to be just with a few close friends. Nothing too crazy, you know? After the last party that ended with fireworks exploding in someone's bedroom, they want to keep it lowkey." 

"Huh. Close friends, but they tried to invite a certain Energetic," Damien interjects. "What's up with that?" 

"You heard about that too?" Huxley replied, surprise coloured his tone. "Word travel like, super-fast around campus! It happened, like, yesterday morning!" 

Damien let out an annoyed groan and ran a palm down his face. "I think it's safe to say that everyone in this fucking academy is talking about it and nothing else. God, no matter where you go, you can't escape it." 

You pat Damien's arm in a comforting manner. "They're hot and popular; people will be talking about them until we all graduate." 

"And if it isn't them, people would be talking about their boyfriend," Huxley pointed out, stirring his smoothie languidly. Huxley smiles and offers it to you when you critically stare at it for a tad too long. Against your better judgement, you try again. 

Blek! It still tastes the same! Huxley just chuckles and finishes the rest of the smoothie while you seek solace with your boba tea again. 

"Besides, it's not often you see an Energetic and Vampire couple walking around," Huxley continued. "I think they're living together too. I mean, that's what I heard." 

"Don't tell me you also have a crush on them."  

Before Huxley could say anything, you tentatively raise your hand as if you guys are in class. Now you bear Damien's annoyed glance. "I was kinda hardcore crushing on them and their boyfriend before Gavin and I officially got together. They keep to themselves and their boyfriend most of the time, but they're super nice in classes." 

The Elemental and Energetic courses often have classes that intermingle every week. However, they're primarily compulsory lessons like magical history, laws regarding coverts and taxonomy of various Empowered creatures. 

So you're practically classmates with the hottest Electro Energetic in the academy and had even sat beside them a few times during class. Unlike many of the students who simp for them at a distance. 

The power couple of D.A.M.N is certainly interesting, to say the least. 

You narrowed your eyes at Damien when he refused to let up his disappointed stare. "Don't lie to me. You simp for them too." 

Damien huffs and crosses his arms. "Both of them look good, alright. Anyone with a working pair of eyes could tell from a mile away. They're gorgeous, and the Vampire is hot - so what?" 

"They're both super strong too." Huxley unknowingly throws more wood into the fire. 

By the time their lunch ended, Damien had demanded they talk about something else, so you jump into plans for the weekend. Party on Saturday and a gaming session on Sunday. 

Typical college life.

-

When the time on your phone displays 10.30 PM in glaring bright light and you're still on campus, you know what death feels like. 

It's quiet in the cafeteria, save for a small group of students huddled together around tables scattered in various places. Their heads are hunched down as they go over textbooks and assignments. One of the students happens to be a Vampire judging from the blood bag beside his laptop. 

A red swirly straw juts out of the bag, and for a brief moment of exhaustion, you entertain the image of the student sipping the blood bag as if it was a Capri Sun. 

Just like those students, the reason why you've stayed late in the academy's cafeteria is because of assignments. You know that if you bring your homework back home with you, you won't get any of it done. It's better to stay here and slough through them instead. 

Damien would scold and drag you home if he knew. Huxley would be sad and plead for you to rest, and Lasko would put on his guidance counsellor voice and advise you that a good night's sleep would help you think better. 

The boys mean well, and you love them for it, but you know yourself better than anyone. If you don't finish these assignments tonight, you would just procrastinate until the deadline punches you right in the face. 

You sigh and rub your temple in frustration. You've made good progress so far, but there's still a few left and you want to complete them all before going home. So you resume writing down the essay about the importance of convert and the Department on your laptop, fingers deftly flying all over the keyboard. 

Nighttime at D.A.M.N is not as busy as it is in the morning. The students that are going in and out of classes are mostly Vampires and nocturnal animal Shifters. The academy's faculties are also lesser in terms of numbers compared to their morning counterpart. 

Twice you've experienced the nightlife at D.A.M.N, and tonight would be your third. You wondered if Gavin is at home already. Hopefully, you can return to the apartment before him. Better wrap this up, then. 

The steady rhythm of your fingers on the keyboard and quiet discussion from the group of students slowly lull you to sleep. Hang in there just a little more! 

The sound of a Daemon Rifting into this world startles you awake. 

"Here you are, Deviant," Gavin said, his ordinarily seductive voice laced with conceal anger. Oh shit, you're in trouble now. "I thought we talked about this." 

You have no choice but to face him. Gavin looks devastatingly as sexy as ever; his black t-shirt snugly fits his body to the point that it showcases his biceps tastefully. A pair of dark blue jeans that he just so happens knows will get your heart racing and accompanied by a pair of shiny black Doc Martens boots. A rainbow-coloured bead bracelet is on his right wrist; a gift from Caelum. 

You would've swoon at the sight of him if you weren't seconds away from face planting on your laptop. 

So instead, you greet him with a, "Whaaa... Gavin?" You rub your eyes and blink at him. "W-What are you doing here? I thought you'd be - " You break out a yawn before sighing. "At home by now." 

"Funny. I thought the same thing about you but colour me surprised when Caelum reached out to me while I was grocery shopping — saying that you aren't home even when it's close to midnight." Gavin explains and tilts his head to the spread of books you have before you. "So, want to explain why you're at the campus cafeteria right now instead of in our bed?" 

The gears in your head are scrambling to come up with an excuse that's good enough to appease Gavin. So lost in your thoughts that you didn't hear the whispers coming from the nearby students. 

"That's the main boyfriend..." 

"Holy fuck, an Incubus? Damn, they're insatiable!" 

"How often do you think they have orgies? Twice a week?" 

" - collecting them like Pokemon!" 

Oh fuck it, you can't come up with anything decent. "I'm nearly done with my assignments, Gavin." You assured the worried Incubus. "Just need to write down a few more paragraphs..." 

Gavin is undeterred. "Freelancer, we talked about this. It's not healthy that you're making a habit of staying over at campus late at night because of assignments. You're going to burn out like this." 

Well yeah, you could feel your body is already seconds away from collapsing but like hell would you admit that to your boyfriend. It's been a long day and an even longer evening. It's a good thing that tomorrow's the weekend. 

Gavin startles you once more by leaning against the table and cupping your face in his large hands, so you're forced to look straight into his eyes. He's many things, but to those he deeply trusts and loves, his eyes would always betray the worry and concern he has for you and Caelum; even if his words aren't as forthcoming at times. "My stubborn, enticing Deviant... Are you being a brat again? Not listening to your Dom like you should be?" He purrs. 

All of a sudden, your throat suddenly feels like sandpaper, and your heart skips a beat at Gavin's tone. You're very familiar with that tone - it always promises punishment and pleasure mixed together until nothing else exists except for your boyfriend. 

But the question now is, how far can you actually push him. So with Gavin still refusing to release your face, you swallow and reply as nonchalantly as you can, "Oh, I don't know about enticing, Gavin. I-I mean, I've been running around campus the whole day. Probably have some barbecue sauce stain on my jacket and - Ow!" 

You puff out your cheeks when Gavin pinched them. 

"Are you purposely trying to test me, Freelancer? You know that just means more fun for me, and you tie up and helpless on the bed, right?" Gavin is all too happy to remind you, cocking one eyebrow at your impertinence. No doubt he already has your punishment in mind when the two of you are home. 

But you're not going to budge that easily. Sensing your stubbornness, Gavin lets you go and unleashes his ultimate move with a sigh. 

"I can see the Knots on you, Freelancer, and if I can see them, Caelum can too. I'm not covering your ass when he comes over for breakfast tomorrow and starts crying." 

You gasp and immediately recoil. "Low blow Gavin!" You counter, but you know that he speaks the truth. Your heart will literally break if you're the reason that Caelum cries. 

Gavin smirks when you switch off your laptop. He helps put your things away and offers a hand to you. With a small smile, you let yourself be gently pulled up by him and sling your backpack over a shoulder. 

"Are you hungry?" Gavin asked as the two of you stepped into the large hallway, hand-in-hand. "I didn't manage to make anything when I put the groceries away, but I can whip something up real quick when we get home." 

It's a sweet gesture, and you made sure that he knows how much you appreciate it by squeezing his hand. Ever since you two started living together, Gavin is determined to feed you properly. According to him, it's only fitting since you've constantly been feeding him too. "I'm more sleepy than hungry." You reply after a yawn. "I'll just eat a big breakfast tomorrow." 

"I'll hold you to it. Also, look alive, Deviant. Hottie approaching at 12 O'clock." 

That got your attention immediately, and snapped your eyes forward. Your jaw would've dropped if it weren't for Gavin lightly nudging your side when you saw who was walking towards the two of you. 

It's them — the Electro Energetic that became the talk around campus. 

They're as breathtaking as ever, even after a whole day of classes and club activities. Not a single hair out of place and clothes unruffled. Their body language stood out to you; their gait is a little hesitant but friendly, while their eyes are kind. 

It's easy to see why so many people harbour crushes on them, and you've always been a sucker for cute faces. 

When they finally approach you, they pull out a pair of wireless white earbuds from their ears. That's when you hear intense music playing:

It's the Pumpkin Patch King 

With the corpse with the ring

And she'd fuck my best friend if I die here today...

"Um, hi. Good evening. I'm sorry for bothering you guys so late like this. Are you heading home?" They inquire tentatively. 

Gavin waits for you to take the lead. "Hey, man. Yeah, we kind of are, actually. Want us to walk you home?" You could feel how pleased Gavin is beside you. The offer just crosses your mind, and besides, it's not nice to walk alone this late at night. 

That's what you're telling yourself despite the small part in your brain whispered that walking them home would be a great step of getting to know them better. It's just a harmless crush anyway. 

Unfortunately, they decline the offer. "I'm waiting for someone, actually, but when I saw you, I wanted to talk for a bit." 

Your heart skips a beat for a second time tonight. They specifically sought you out? You? When they've never done so towards anyone before? 

"O-Oh," You embarrassingly squeak, clutching Gavin's hand tighter.

The Electro Energetic nod. They tilt their head like an indulged, curious cat and god, that simple gesture shouldn't look so hot. "I don't know if you notice me, but we share Covert Laws - "

If you notice them? If you notice them!? They have a stronger presence than the lecturers themselves! They radiate magic like thunderstorms - intimidating, powerful and commanding that you have no choice but to submit to it. 

Sitting beside them was an experience and a half! There's no way an Empowered creature could ignore them despite their quiet demeanour! 

" - and I was wondering if you would like to be partners for the final project this year? Um, I heard that you're really good in that class, and I promise to pull my weight with the research and - "

You don't know how to react. Is this really happening? One of the most popular students in the academy wanted to be your project partner? You thought this sort of situation only occurs in animes! 

"They'd love to." Gavin smoothly answers when you're too shocked to say anything. "It's always nice to make new friends after all. Especially with a walking wet dream such as yourself." Here, he purposely pauses to appraise the Electro Energetic. 

Just like his Freelancer, Gavin has heard all about this Empowered human and even basks in the delicious energy coming from the thoughts and emotions his partner has for them. As an Incubus and their boyfriend, it's hilarious that his Deviant thought he's not aware of their crush. It's cute. 

Hmm... it'll be nice if he and the Freelancer could invite the Energetic and their Vampire lover into their bed one of these days. Regardless if they've been Marked; honestly, that just made the couple as appealing as the biblical Forbidden Fruit. 

And besides, Gavin has a strong feeling that the Freelancer wouldn't oppose the idea. It'll be the perfect anniversary present for his Deviant. 

"...Was that supposed to be a compliment?" They ask warily. Oops, looks like he's coming on a little too strongly. Time to take it down a notch. 

"It's whatever you want it to be. Anyway, now that you guys are... partners, what say you get to know us better, hmm? My lover has been eager to be friends with you." Gavin explains. You whip your head at him incredulously. Is he seriously doing what you think he's doing!? "I'm Gavin, by the way. It's a pleasure to finally meet you." 

The Energetic look confused, and you can't blame them. You need to save them before Gavin proposes something as crazy as an orgy on your behalf! 

You laugh awkwardly, bringing their attention to you. "Right! Partners! I'd love to be yours - I-I mean, uh, for school stuff! Yeah! Can we exchange numbers?" 

"Smooth, Deviant." Gavin teases. Something caught his interest, not that you notice as you and the Energetic trade contact information. They compliment the cute picture you have as your Home Screen (it's a selfie shot of you and Gavin, Lasko, Damien and Huxley during the previous game night. It's a shame that Caelum couldn't appear), and in return, you ask where did they buy their sick phone cover. 

While they still feel like the human embodiment of a fierce thunderstorm, it's nice to have a casual conversation with them. They're thoughtful, kind and fun that you soon find yourself calming down a little. 

"Not to cut this riveting conversation short, but are you sure that you don't want us to walk you home? It's getting really late, and we're more than happy to have you crash at our place for the night." Gavin interjects with a seductive grin, eyes half-lidded. 

"Umm..." 

Whoa, what happened to being friendly, Gavin!? You shoot him a look; he's going to drive them away! 

"We have an extra guest room at our apartment." You hurried to explain. "So it's totally cool if your place is far away or something." 

Their hesitation melts to understanding. The last thing that you want is a misunderstanding between you two. 

"You guys are sweet, but I'll be alright. Actually, I'm about to leave the campus too. I'm just going to hang out at the cafeteria until he arrives." They said. You have a pretty good idea who 'he' is judging by their soft smile. 

Gavin, for some reason, amp up his game. With a smirk, he cajoles, "Since he hasn't shown up yet, how about you hang out with us for a bit? There's a bar not too far from here - "

You flinched, and Gavin automatically shuts up and pulls you close to his side when a Vampire appears behind the Electro Energetic. It was so sudden that his appearance was a blur at first. 

"Vincent? You're done with class already?" They blink. An arm snaked around their waist as the Vampire pulled his Mate close to his chest. The Energetic had to crane their head up slightly to look at him. 

He's as tall as Gavin. Dressed in a casual black coat that screams money with a dark grey shirt accompanied by a pair of black jeans and boots. His silver studs, rings and watch glimmer underneath the fluorescent lights. Everything about this man reminds you of a panther sizing up its prey. 

You gulped. He's currently glaring daggers at you and your boyfriend. You're itching to stutter out a, "This isn't what it looks like!" for some reason. 

Now, ever since you learned about the existence of magic and Empowered creatures, you did your best to be open-minded. Even that whole ordeal with Vega didn't stop you from reaching out to the various Daemons attending the academy. 

However, you haven't managed to befriend a Vampire due to their night classes, and even the few times you stay back like today, most of them are running back and forth through the hallways to catch their next lesson. 

So to be the target of a pissed off Vampire made you uncomfortable. You want to fidget, but Gavin's arm secured around you ease some of that tension. 

"Mm-hmm. I'm on break right now, so I can drive you back home. You done with that talk with your guidance counsellor?" The Vampire inquired, eyes still glued at you and Gavin. 

"All done. We lost track of time when we discussed next semester's timetable for the Energetic course and potential careers once we graduate." His lover explains, unaware of the displeasure rolling off like waves from their boyfriend. "I think I need some time to go over them again. It's a bit much to take in."

The Vampire hums in acknowledgement. "We can go through them together this weekend if you like, Lovely. Maybe we can ask Will for help since he's coming over on Saturday for dinner too." 

Oh, you suppose that's why they reject the Earth Elemental players' invitation to the party. 

But the Vampire wasn't done. He assesses you and Gavin with narrowed eyes as if you were stains on the bottom of his boots. What the hell? "By the way, are these guys bothering you?" 

A chill sweeps through you, sending goosebumps crawling on your skin at the sudden shift of tone. He was warm and affectionate when speaking to his lover, but now? It's colder than ice.

Gavin, whose smirk turns into a shit-eating grin, is utterly unfazed at the Vampire's hostility. In fact, you would go as far as to say that he's relishing it. "We're just keeping your gorgeous Mate company while they're waiting for you. I was just about to propose that we move the conversation to a bar so we could all get to know one another a lot more... intimately." 

Oh god, they're so fucked. You have no idea why your boyfriend is trying to start shit up, but you're too tired to deal with this drama. So again, you try to salvage the situation. 

"Just as friends!" You quickly butt in. "We decide to be partners for an assignment in Covert Laws, so hanging out at a bar sounds like a good idea as friends." You're sprouting bullshits at this point, but you hope it's enough to save both of your asses. You also made sure to emphasise the word 'friends'. 

The Vampire quickly looks at the Energetic for confirmation, and they readily nod. His aggressive body posture relaxes somewhat, but he's still wary of you and Gavin. 

Maybe this is the best time to introduce yourself to him. 

"Uh, it's a little silly that we didn't introduce ourselves right away, but I'm a Freelancer." You mutter out rather awkwardly. Should you offer a hand to him? 

Gavin saves you from doing so. "And I’m their boyfriend, Gavin. An Incubus." 

"...Vincent Solaire." The Vampire - Vincent - reluctantly replies. 

Wait - his surname sounds familiar, though. You think you heard it in one of the classes about the supernatural factions in Dahlia... It's on the tip of your tongue... 

"Oh, we've heard all about you, Your Highness." Gavin slyly quips. "You and your lover are quite the celebrities around here." 

Holy shit. Solaire! The most powerful Vampire clan in the city! You remember now; the King has two progeny - A Vampire Princess & Prince. You didn't expect the Energetic boyfriend to be the Prince himself! What a twist! 

"Celebrities?" The Energetic - Lovely, as Vincent calls them - pipes up in confusion. The way their eyebrows furrow is adorable, but you wisely keep that to yourself. 

They really are a mesmerising couple. You detect the perfume that lingers around Lovely is sweet and misty. It's calming yet so light that it dances just out of your reach; like a coy lover. Slowly driving you mad with desire. Vincent's cologne reminds you of husk and cedar. Subtle, but once you catch a whiff of it, it'll stay within your mind for hours on end. Wondering if that particular scent will ever return - like the perfect one night stand. 

It says a lot about the couple. 

"We haven't done anything wrong." Vincent Solaire stated, voice as hard as steel. "I don't know why you're trying to rile us up, Incubus, but I don't appreciate you and your lover hitting on my Mate when I made it clear that I Mark them." 

Ooooh, he's jealous! Wait - did you come across as flirty to him!? Did Gavin purposely flirt with Lovely to make Vincent jealous? You've completely lost the plot. 

"Consider it as an act of public service," Gavin answers, easily brushing off the Vampire Prince's irritability. "Besides, how can I not when you both are half of the student body's recent fantasies." 

Lovely 'eeped' when Vincent bare his fangs at your boyfriend. "Back off, Gavin. Lovely is mine. Not yours or the Freelancer's." 

Whoa, whoa! A severe misunderstanding is boiling here! No one is stealing Lovely away from him! 

Fortunately, Lovely has gotten tired of the conversation. With a put-out sigh, they pat the arm around their waist to capture Vincent's attention. It worked. "No one is stealing the other's partner, Vince. It's all good; chill. You know you're the only one for me, right?" Here, they peck his cheek. "When did you get so possessive?" 

Vincent grumbled but didn't explain himself, so Lovely just shook their head. 

"Anyway, we better get going before Vincent's next class starts. It was nice meeting you two. I'll text you soon so we can plan on how to tackle that project." 

You give a shaky smile and a thumbs up. "Looking forward to it." 

Immediately after you said that, Vincent bares his fangs to you next. Oh my god, this guy needs to fucking relax! 

"We're going! We're going! C'mon, Vincent. You're driving me home. Now." 

And with that, you watch as Lovely drags the Vampire Prince to the parking lot. It's a strange yet comical sight. You only sigh in relief when they're out of your view. 

"I thought I saw my life flashing before my eyes!" You complain. Those were the single most stressful moments that you’ve encountered— second to Vega invading your home. 

"I think that went well, Deviant." Gavin objected, very pleased with himself. "He's pissed now, but he and his Mate will be thanking us soon." 

So you were right; Gavin purposely flirted with Lovely just to rile Vincent up, and for what? Possessive, sexy time later tonight? Oh, whatever. That's enough drama for one night; you seriously just need to pass out now. 

And with that, the two of you head home without realising your interactions with the power couple of D.A.M.N didn't go by unnoticed by the several students who were hovering close. 

-

"Are you hurting anywhere, Lovely?" 

"I'm alright, Vincent. The hickeys and bruises are healing nicely; my body still feels a bit sore but not enough to cripple me, so stop hovering near the door." 

Vincent guilty did as he’s told and takes a seat on the corner of the bed. He watches you apply some light makeup on your face and neck in front of the vanity table as you're getting ready to head out to the academy. Your outfit compliments your look and, most importantly, hides any patches of skin except for your hands. 

Vincent really went all out last weekend after his night classes ended. It's obvious that Gavin unleashed something within your lover, and you will freely admit that an unrestrained Vincent makes for a very fun and wild night. 

The moment Will came over and realised that Vincent re-Mark you an hour before he arrives, he graciously decided to take a rain check and promise to have dinner with the two of you some other time. 

Once Vincent gets it out of his system, he teased before leaving you gobsmacked and Vincent a blushing mess. 

"You know, your guidance counsellor wouldn't mind if you're absent from classes today, Lovely. Probably." Vincent tries; a part of him doesn't want his Lovely to attend their lessons while their body is still healing. Then again, that part also whispers that the Incubus and his lover would be around them without his supervision. 

Nope. No. Bad Vincent. Lovely is more than capable of taking care of themselves. They don't need him acting like a jealous, clingy boyfriend. 

However, something that the Incubus bothered him. 

"You and your lover are quite the celebrities around here." 

What did he mean by that? He and Lovely had been playing good students the entire time they've been on campus! Their assignments are always delivered on time, grades nothing but above average, and they keep to themselves to avoid any typical college dramas.  

Is it because of his status? For some reason, Vincent feels like it's more complicated than that. What a headache. 

"Maybe, but I did promise the Freelancer that I’ll catch up with them to discuss our project," You commented and spritz your favourite perfume on your wrists and neck. You love this scent, despite it being cheap and common. "Vincent, honey, you're making that face again." 

"It's my face, Lovely." 

"Yeah, well, you have your happy-snappy-neck face again, Vincent." You dryly point out before sitting beside the Vampire. "Did that Incubus really rub you the wrong way?" Your voice is gentle. You didn't get any bad vibes coming from Gavin and the Freelancer - just genuine, harmless, friendly flirting. In a way, you welcome it as their attempts helped you drive your anxiety away. 

God, walking up to them was hard enough. You always feel a little intimidated whenever you're around charismatic people. 

"I don't know... I thought they were making you nervous, and the words that kept coming out of that Daemon's mouth? He knew what he was doing; I just can't figure out what or why." Vincent admits, frustrated. 

Seeing him look so frustrated saddens you, so you propose a suggestion. "How about this, I'll ask the Freelancer what that whole thing on Friday was all about, and if it's anything gross, I'll give you a call so you can deal with them. How's that?" 

It assured Vincent. Seeing his tiny smile urge you to peppered his face with kisses until he laughs. With your boyfriend now properly appeased, you leave the apartment for D.A.M.N. 

It's a bright Monday morning. You hope that this week will be a little kinder to you than the previous one. However, the moment you arrived on campus, everyone was glancing at you curiously. When you made eye contact with the stares, the students couldn't walk away fast enough. 

Weird. 

Your first class of the day is on the second floor, so you didn't waste any time heading for the stairs. Students mingle around as they go about their day; some grab breakfast at the convenient store, while others chat with their friends at the cafeteria and lounge room. A Water Elemental is performing simple tricks at the marble fountain to an adoring crowd.

Just as you rounded a corner, the crowd parted ways with a subtlety of a serial killer in slasher movies, which is to say, absolutely none whatsoever to reveal your new friend. The Freelancer is flanked by their boyfriend, Gavin, on the left and on their right, the famous player in the Earth Elemental team Huxley and one of the academy's guidance counsellors, Lasko. 

You couldn't help but notice that everyone is giving them a wide berth. Not that it matters when Gavin's body is positioned to shield the Freelancer from bumping into any of the passing students. Huxley passes a bottle of orange juice to them while Lasko is staring at something behind the Freelancer. He mutters something under his breath.  

A loud voice suddenly bounces off the walls. "What happened to my water tumbler, Freelancer!?" 

You and every other student in the area watch as the Freelancer turns around and loudly replies, "Don't worry! I already got you a new tumbler, Damien! It looks exactly like your old one. Except it's pastel pink with kittens on it, and the shape looks like a really fat snowman with bunny ears for straws." To make a point, the Freelancer rummage inside of their backpack and proudly present the weirdest looking water tumbler you had ever seen in your life to their boys. 

"AAAAAHHHHH!" 

"You know you could at least see it before you judge it, Damien." The Freelancer grumbled and shoved the tumbler back. Huxley gently pats their shoulder in a comforting manner. Lasko laughs nervously while Gavin continues to protect his lover silently, all the while looking at ease. 

Everyone knows of the Freelancer and their boyfriends. They're the most popular group in D.A.M.N for a reason. Friendly, yet no one can be a part of their group due to the tight bond they have with one another.

The Freelancer is quickly shaping up to be a remarkable magical individual in their own right, marching to the beat of their own drums rather than the world's. Unwaveringly kind and friendly, constantly making sure the people around them are comfortable and safe. 

In terms of academic performance, Damien remains unchallenged among his peers. Everyone could tell that he would undoubtedly change their world for the better the moment he graduates, especially in governing. He's also known for his fiery temper, yet that fire becomes a hearth when it comes to the Freelancer. More than once, students have stumbled upon them huddled close in the library, softly discussing the future they wanted. 

If Damien is known for his academic excellence, then Huxley is famous for his prowess in the field. His mastery over his element made the younger Earth Elementals look up to him as their role model while his teammates view him as their ace. Charming, cheerful yet a bit absentminded at times, and even then, you can't help but be fond of him. You can find the Freelancer cheering him from the bleachers during his matches, and once Huxley won the game, he would immediately launch himself at them. Sweats, dirt and grass all over him, but the Freelancer would laugh as he hoisted them up in his embrace. 

Lasko is an odd addition to their group, but once he drops his stuttering, he shows just how capable he is as one of the academy's guidance counsellors. Acknowledged as one of the most powerful Air Elemental of his generation, Lasko is well on track to graduate D.A.M.N with honours, and while the future might be uncertain, students like to speculate that he will remain with the Freelancer and the others no matter what. Sometimes you can even catch a glimpse of them hanging out at one of the local cafes and see how bright and alive Lasko can be when around the Freelancer. 

Gavin came with a mystery trailing his saunter. See, no one knew how exactly he and the Freelancer first met. Speculations range from a cute, accidental meet up in a random convenience store to the Incubus boldly inviting them into a threesome when the Freelancer stumbled upon him mid-feeding. Lovely wonders if there's a betting pool going around the academy. The seniors would recognise Gavin, for he was their peer before he suddenly dropped out and vanished for a while. But judging by his frequent presence around the Freelancer, some say that he's looking forward to retaking his previous course. But whatever the reason may be, no one can deny the chemistry he has with the Freelancer. How fiercely protective he is of them when the Freelancer isn't looking. 

They're certainly an intriguing group, that's for sure. 

And when Gavin notices you were watching them, he winks at you. No doubt as an Incubus, he could scent what you and Vincent had been up to the entire weekend. 

That's what you get for a magical academy, after all. 

-

PS: Everyone in D.A.M.N (including Lovely & Vincent) hilariously assumes that the Freelancer is in a poly relationship with Gavin, Damien, Lasko & Huxley when in reality, they're just with Gavin. BBBBuuuttt... Gavin could detect the romantic/lustful feelings the other bois harbour for the Freelancer but kept it to himself for now. He's just waiting for the Freelancer to feel the same way so he could give them all The Talk™ and then go buy a bigger bed!

Anyway, I seriously had a lot of fun writing for this oneshot! It's been a while since I had that writing fever again so I hope you guys enjoyed it!

[ddaenggtan]

say you want passion (i think you found it) | M

you’re a tease. he’s tired of it.

pairing | shownu x fem!reader

wc | 6.5k

genre/warning | Covid doesnt exist sorry, big dick shownu, sweetheart shownu, dom shownu, sub reader, shownu is called hyunwoo in this, he also likes to be called daddy dont judge, sloppy blowjobs, but still, blowjobs, Shownu eats pussy like a CHAMP, Strength Kink, praise, degradation, degrading praise, this is HIGHLY specialized, you've been warned, deepthroating, DEEP deepthroating at that, nsfw pictures, aka shownu likes to remember it when he does a good job so he takes a picture bc it lasts longer uwu, talking with your mouth full (ill let u guess), doggystyle, teasing, brief nipple play, hickeys, begging, dumbification, rough sex, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, coming inside, gspot shenanigans, this is genuinely so unrealistic please do not think sex is like this ever in real life, i mean literally ever if you ever fuck someone and it's like this then they aren't real they're a fae or a god or some shit okay, aftercare, shownu uses 3-in-1 because He Does, Barely Edited by the grace of @personawife​‘s beta that she fit in when she could ilu, 

a/n | first n last shownu smut specifically bc its leilas birthday (@honiboyyoon​). u better enjoy this. (side note for anyone who isn’t into shownu smut, but is curious: there’s a namjoon version on ao3 that i’ll link here), but this took entirely too much effort and i did my damndest to fit as many things that ur into in this one fic as i possibly could. i hope this makes up for u probably never getting the vampire maknae line foursome i kept promising you sdfkldjsfasdf

The front door opens as you step out of the car, and you grin as your boyfriend appears in the frame. He grins at you and your best friend and you search his expression for a sign of anything other than his usual sweetness, but find none. You resist the urge to pout - you won’t give him the satisfaction. 

“Good luck!” Your best friend teases. You roll your eyes at her - she knows precisely what you envisioned upon arriving back to the quaint little house you call home with Hyunwoo. It’s the reason you wore this outfit, and tried on the clothes you did whilst shopping, and sent him selfies in the poses you did. 

You’re on a mission, dammit. It’s been weeks - literal weeks, not even an exaggeration - since you were properly fucked, and you’re fairly tired of prancing around the house in your shortest shorts and deepest v-necks so that when you bend over just right to water your fern, he gets the perfect eyeful. It’s exhausting to try to send all these signals all day every day - but you know how flustered he gets when you ask him directly, so you tried a different tactic. You were being nice!

And it hasn’t worked. At all. He’s offered to help you water your plants, to let you borrow his flannel pajamas in case you’re cold, and even to buy you a sweater, at one point. 

In August. 

So suffice to say, you’re getting a little tired of him being oblivious. So you’d called up your best friend and invited her to go shopping with you, and yes, it was also very fun to hang out with her and get boba, but she’s also the master of hyping you up and making you feel sexy and desirable, so it was truly a win-win.

Plus, she color-coordinated her own houndstooth pantsuit with your pink houndstooth skirt/blazer combo, so really, you should send her a fruit basket or something. Maybe cookies. 

The point remains that your boyfriend hasn’t responded to any of your borderline pornographic selfies or the very pointed videos of you holding various sex toys and asking if it would fit. You’re at your wit’s end, and you were really hoping that it would truly get through to him this time that you want nothing more than to be railed against the mattress so hard that you cry. 

You’re a simple girl, after all. 

But no! He’s got that sweet smile on his face as you carry your shopping bags in one hand and your purse in the other, carefully sidestepping the cosmos he’d just planted the other day so you wouldn’t step all over his hard work. His smile widens when you reach the door, and he presses a sweet, gentle kiss against your forehead that has you on the verge of tears. 

He waves again to your best friend as she drives off, and as usual snags your shopping bags out of your hand so he can place them beside the door. You’ve already pulled your blazer off to hang in the entryway closet by the time he’s shut the door, and you gasp as you’re jerked back. His hands are on either side of your head, braced against the front door like it’s the only thing keeping him up, and you struggle to focus on anything that isn’t the way his muscles flex.

“Do you have any idea what today was like for me?” He growls. The sound of it brings heat between your thighs, and you resist the urge to cheer. 

“Sorry, should I not have sent you any selfies today?” You ask, keeping your voice as light and innocent as you can. He makes eye contact with you; there’s a fire in his eyes you haven’t seen in what feels like forever. “Did you not like them?”

“You know damn well what I thought of them,” he mutters, one hand coming down to rest on your hip. “I’ve tried so hard lately, y’know? The tiny shorts with your ass hanging out, the shirts that show everything when you bend over. God, the bending.”

“Really?” You breathe. It’s always exhilarating to know that you’re desired, but this is nearly heady. He fixes his gaze on you, eyes burning, and your smile softens slightly. 

“I was trying,” he says, clearly holding himself back, “To be a good boyfriend. To make sure that you know that I want more from you than just sex, and that I value you as more than just someone attractive. I was trying so hard to prove that you– that we have more between us than that. That I respect you more than that.”

“So don’t respect me.” You say it like it’s obvious, because it is. You’ve been laying down signals galore the past few weeks, and clearly he did not get the memo. 

“I’m always going to respect you,” he says instead, sighing slightly as he leans in to press his forehead against yours. “I don’t want to disrespect you, you’re worth more than that. But fuck, all I wanna do is fuck you stupid right now.”

“Please,” you whisper, biting your lip. It’s all you’ve wanted for weeks and now you might finally - finally - get it. “Disrespect me, daddy.”

The hand on your hip tightens, no doubt bruising the skin, and you gasp at the feeling. Hyunwoo makes eye contact - just long enough to make sure that you’re on board for whatever it is he’s about to do. 

He could probably suggest a number of things that you’ve never considered and you’d say yes, at this point - you’re not ashamed to admit that you’re desperate. 

The hand on your hips lowers - he traces all the way down your thigh and to the back of your knee before travelling back up, this time under your skirt. He kisses you as he does it - long, heated kisses that make your head spin so perfectly that you don’t know what he’s doing until he glides a finger across your clothed core. 

You gasp into the kiss, but it doesn’t deter him. He pulls down, kissing and biting down your jaw to your neck as his fingers trace over you once more. You can feel him smile against your skin. 

“You’re already soaked,” he tuts. “You’ve ruined this pair, princess. How naughty of you. Would you like daddy to take them off?”

“Yes!” You moan as his fingers ghost over your folds once more. 

“Yes what?” He asks, and you could cry with how much you want him. 

“Yes, daddy,” you tell him, and he smiles once more. It’s blinding, how bright he is when he smiles like that, and for a second you’re breathless. Then you feel them - his hands, burning a trail along your thigh to tug at the band of your underwear. It only takes him a few seconds to pull them down as he bends, and he kisses your thigh as he brings one of your legs up so he can slide them off completely. 

He was right - they are ruined, the evidence of your arousal immediately apparent by the large wet spot in the center. He doesn’t bother to slide them off your other leg, though - just lets them hang from your ankle, no doubt as a reminder of how strongly he affects you.

He presses kisses to every bit of skin he can as he stands fully upright once more, suckling a mark into your collarbone that you’ll absolutely cherish when you have to cover it up before work tomorrow. 

His hands don’t leave your thighs - warm and strong and utterly distracting, you can’t take your mind off them as he kisses you again, heady and intoxicating. You feel it as one hand travels back underneath your skirt again, gliding between your thighs. 

A moan sticks in your throat as his fingers slide in between your folds - the feeling of them teasing against your hole before they move to rub light circles into your clit is nearly too much to handle. 

“Hyunwoo, please–”

“Patience,” he interrupts. You can hear the smile in his voice as he slides over your hole once more, spreading your arousal across your lips before teasing your clit again. “Good girls have patience, right, princess?”

You whimper, hips arching off the door to try to guide his finger inside of you. It’s a futile attempt - he just returns to the slow, infuriating circles on your clit, and you would cry if it didn’t feel as good as it does. 

It could be hours or it could be seconds that he continues this pattern - slow, maddening circles on your clit, then the slightest bit of a tease at your hole, just enough to make you think that maybe he’ll fuck you with his fingers, before he returns to the circles. It’s enough to make a stronger woman cry, and you can’t help the whines that you let out when he once again deprives you of the fuck you so desperately want. 

“Please just fuck me,” you finally break, hands moving from where they’re wrapped around his neck to circle his waist and do your best to pull him in closer. You can feel him against your thigh, warm and thick and big, and you want him. 

He hisses when you grind against him, and the one hand that remains on your hip tightens ever so slightly. “You’re being very bad, princess,” he chastises, but you couldn’t care less. Your mind is focused on the memory of what he felt like inside you, and you’re ready to burst with need.

“I don’t care,” you tell him firmly, hands sliding up under his shirt to run your nails against his muscled torso. “I don’t care, I need you, please, I just want–”

“I know,” he cuts you off. His hands disappear from you entirely, but only for a moment - before you know it, two large hands wrap around your wrists, guiding yours out of his shirt. You can't stop whimpering, caught between the memory of the last time he was between your thighs and the reality of his lips against your skin.

Hyunwoo drops - he hits the wooden floor with a muffled thud, and before you can even react, his hands are underneath your skirt. He pushes it upwards, muttering something almost reverent about thighs as he does, and then he’s pressing soft kisses to the inside of your thighs. His hands don’t stop, though - they keep going, shoving your skirt up until it pools around your waist.

“H-Hyunwoo—”

“Ssh,” he whispers, giving your thigh a light bite. A heartbeat later and you can feel his warm breath against your folds. “You wanted to feel good, right?”

“Yes, please,” you breathe, hands instinctively tangling in his soft brown hair. 

“Then be a good slut for me, and stay still while I make you feel good." 

You stifle a whimper - he knows what his words do to you, and you jolt as his tongue gently nudges against your folds. There's no stopping the soft sigh that falls from your lips as he delves deeper, ghosting across your swollen clit to nudge against your hole. He's tentative, teasing with his movements - he likes to make you wait, tease you until you're grinding against his mouth.

You doubt this will be an exception.

A moan is thrust out of you as you feel your hole stretch slightly. Not much, not far - just enough to accommodate him as he fucks your hole with his tongue. It's just the right side of unsatisfying - you're aching, absolutely dripping for him, and this is just enough to whet your appetite and make you hungry for more.

You can feel his smile against you, and you already know what's coming - still, it's disappointing when he pulls his tongue out. You whine, unashamed of how you must sound or how loud you may be, and he chuckles.

"Patience, baby girl," he breathes. Warm air flows over you, and your hands move to tangle in his hair. His tongue shifts again, lapping at your clit for long enough that you think you may cum before he stops to draw mind-numbing circles around it instead.

Time bends around the two of you - it always does when he's between your thighs like this, when he's teasing and deliberate with every swipe of his tongue against you, every press of him against your hole. He edges you for so long; slow circles around your clit turn to quick thrusts inside of you that shift into laps against your hole that drag upward, just barely catching your clit before they stop.

You're sure there would be a puddle on the floor were it not for his dedication. The entire house is filled with the sounds of his mouth against you, only drowned out by the sound of your cries as he begins to suck on your clit.

Your knees quake on either side of his head, and he doesn't hesitate to bring his hands up behind your thighs. Without a second thought, he lifts - not even pausing in his mission, tongue still thrusting into you at an almost absurd rate - and then your thighs are resting atop his shoulders. You gasp, both in shock and in pleasure as he lets his teeth graze ever so lightly against that bundle of nerves.

This isn't the first time he's done this - put you on his shoulders and left you there while he eats you out within an inch of your life - but it's the first time in a long time, and it has you seeing stars as one of your hands stays tangled in his hair and the other is braced against the wall beside you.

"Hyunwoo, please–" You beg, but you can't catch your breath long enough between moans to say anything more. He sucks again, the flat of his tongue gliding over your clit as it's pulled into his mouth once more, and your vision goes white. Your knees quake, and you're sure that if you had been standing, you wouldn't be anymore.

"That's my girl," Hyunwoo praises after he's done cleaning up your cum. When you can see again, you realize he's set you down on the floor and is slowly massaging your thighs.

"Hyun, I....please....can you–"

"You want me to fuck you stupid, baby?" He asks. His tone is a little patronizing, but that's okay, because it only serves to turn you on more. "Does my sweet little whore need my cock in her?"

"Yes, please," you whimper, hips tilting upwards against nothing of their own accord.

Hyunwoo stands and hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his grey sweats. A few moments later he's pulled them down just enough to free himself. Your mouth drops open slightly when you finally lay eyes on him - you know he's big. You know that he is big, you've had his entire length inside of you several times now and you've felt it for days after each time, but it still never fails to shock you.

Because he is big. Thick, so thick you can hardly wrap your entire fist around him, and long, with the perfect curve that hits that spot inside of you that makes your toes curl. His dick is nearly as perfect as he is, and that is a very high bar.

It's also so hard that you can see it throbbing, jumping every so often as his muscles tense.

"You want me to make you come with my cock, right, baby?" He asks, once again using that patronizing tone that makes heat creep across your cheeks.

You nod.

"Then you're going to have to ask nicely, aren't you?" He prods.

"Please, daddy," you say without hesitation, "Please fuck me, I want you to make me cum so hard that I cry, I want to be a good slut for you."

"Very good, baby," he praises. "Now I want you to prove that you mean it. Can you be a good little whore and suck my cock?"

You lean forward, not even bothering to use your hands because your bones still feel like jelly. You run your tongue across the tip of him, giving small kitten licks to the slit just how he likes. A groan rumbles through him, and he lets out a soft gasp as you slip your tongue down to wet the shaft as well. 

"Fuck, princess," he moans, "I think you've gotten even better at this."

Encouraged, you let your mouth hang open– just barely wide enough to get your lips around the shaft– and let your tongue rest on your spit-slick lips. You glance up long enough to see that Hyunwoo's eyes are blown wide with his desire before you mouth sloppily down his dick. It's messy and would probably be disgusting if it were anyone but the two of you and Hyunwoo didn't have that look in his eyes that promises you'll remember tonight for several weeks. 

His hands move, one adjusting his grip on the doorframe as you suck the head of his cock between your lips while the other comes down to grip one of the two buns you put your hair in that morning. He tugs - not hard, not yet, but firmly enough that it stings slightly and makes you keen.

"If you're going to make a mess, don't you think you should clean it up?" He asks. You lift a brow and he grins. "Clearly you're not that tired if you still have an attitude."

"No," you whine, "I am tired, my bones are basically nonexistent right now thanks to you."

The hand in your hair loosens slightly, and Hyunwoo tuts. "I have to do all the work, huh? Then get on your knees for me, baby girl, so I can use you like a good toy." 

You rush to comply, and only wince a bit at the feeling of the cold floor against your knees. His hand stays where it is the entire time you're moving, but he waits until you're sitting still, legs folded under you and giving you that extra bit of height you'll need. 

"Let me know if it's too much," Hyunwoo commands, and you nod. His eyes darken, slightly, and he runs his thumb along your jaw. "What's the signal?"

"Two taps on your thigh," You tell him, not for the first time. He's always so careful beforehand, and while you appreciate just how much he cares about you, you also are sick of just staring at his cock, and your mouth is beginning to water. 

Hyunwoo coos slightly, and the hand in your hair shifts to guide rather than just anchor. "You're always so good for me," he mutters as he slides the tip past your lips. "Always such a good little slut." 

You don't stop the whimper that escapes your throat – he loves them, and you know it. Your mouth is lax, nothing more than a hole for him to fill as he sees fit, and there's the slightest twinge of complaint as your jaw begins to stretch. 

You ignore it, determined to get as much of him as possible this time. You've practiced for this, nearly every day, since the last time and you're not stopping until you beat your record. 

Hyunwoo sighs as he hits the back of your throat. "God, you're perfect," he mutters as he begins to slide back out. You let your jaw relax a bit as he does, and when just the tip rests on your tongue, you give it a small kiss, just because you can. 

Hyunwoo smiles, gaze softening for a split second. "Hands in position, baby girl," he reminds you, and you do as he says – one hand on back of each of his thighs, so you can tap out if you need to. 

Also so you can feel those incredible muscles flex as he starts shallow thrusts, rippling and tensing under your fingers. If your mouth weren't otherwise occupied, you'd bite them. 

Hyunwoo continues carefully, testing just how much of himself can fit before you start to gag on his length….and just how long you can choke before you really start to need air. 

He pulls back before you even need to tap out, always careful to keep an eye on you for any warning signs. He slides back in and waits until he hits the back of your throat again, pushing slightly further, and just as he's about to begin pulling back out, you look up at him with wide eyes.

You know you look like a mess; drool gathering on your lips because your mouth is too full to hold it, tears streaming down your cheeks from your attempts to stop gagging. Hyunwoo loves it when you look ruined like this, adores taking your perfectly crafted image and crumbling it to pieces in his hands. 

So it's no surprise when he lets out a low moan, or when he lets himself slip a little further down your throat. This is as far as he's ever gotten and you want him to know how good you are, how hard you've been practicing  with the toys underneath your bed. He slides out, precum dripping onto your tongue as he does, and you bat your lashes at him.

"Use me," you tell him. "Use me like the toy that I am for you, Daddy." Something darkens in his eyes and he doesn't hesitate to thrust  back in.

Your eyes water with the force of it and you don't stop the moan that escapes you as he slides deeper down your throat than he's ever been before. There's still a couple inches left before he'd be fully sheathed, but Hyunwoo doesn't even seem to notice as he pulls out just to thrust back in.

Neither of you are quiet — you can barely hear the wet squelch of your mouth. It's drowned out by the moans he draws from you, which in turn pull moans from him between the words he growls out.

"God, you're so perfect," he mutters as he fucks your throat with abandon. "The perfect angel slut, so good at getting throatfucked, just made for my cock no matter where it goes, huh? You're such a good whore, you're probably fucking soaked just from my dick in your mouth, aren't you?"

You whimper around him and he speeds up, relentless; he's not wrong either — you are soaked, can feel it between your thighs as your hips rock fruitlessly against empty air.

"Oh, look at you," Hyunwoo coos, "So desperate to be fucked while sucking me off. Maybe one day I'll get one of your buddies over here to fuck your throat while you ride my cock, since you're so desperate to get used like a good slut. But I don't even think that'll be enough, will it? Because they won't be me." He thrusts a little deeper, a little rougher, and you aren't sure if the noises you're making are as loud as they seem to you but either way, they only serve to egg him on. 

"No," Hyunwoo continues, "They won't be Daddy, will they? They won't be able to get this deep in your throat, won't be able to fuck you like this. And you know why? Because this is my hole." He punctuates the sentence with a sharp thrust and you squeeze the backs of his thighs to show your agreement. "You're my perfect slut. My good little whore. Isn't that right, baby girl?"

You squeeze the backs of his thighs again, but it isn't enough. He stills, still buried nearly to the hilt inside you, and cocks a brow.

"Well? Aren't you my perfect whore?" Your face flames, heat burning in your cheeks. Your jaw aches from being stretched for so long, there spit and precum dripping down your chin  and you can feel him throbbing in your throat. 

And Hyunwoo looks expectant. He wants to hear you agree with him, wants you to remind yourself of this fact.

You don't even blink when he pulls his phone out of the pocket of his sweats. You can't see what he does, but based on how he angles it and the shallow thrusts he gives without looking away from the screen, you can guess. 

"Aw, is my baby girl getting shy now?" He teases as you make eye contact with the lens and feel your face heat up. "Don't even worry about it, baby. I just wanna remember how fucking perfect you look right now forever. My perfect cocksucking slut."

You whimper, pussy clenching around nothing and you're overcome with a sudden need to feel him inside you.

"Are you gonna be a good slut now?" Hyunwoo continues, still recording. "Are you daddy's good slut?" You nod and can't stop the reflexive swallow as he goes even deeper. Hyunwoo groans at the feeling and you can see his grip on his phone tighten for a moment.

"Say it," he commands when his eyes open once more. "I want to hear you say it."

" 'm 'a'y's 'er'ec' 'ore," you moan. It doesn't even sound like words, at this point, but when you look back up at him with wide eyes. Hyunwoo looks proud.

"You absolutely are," he whispers. He hits a button and then pockets his phone again. He slides carefully out of your mouth and casually strokes his cock with one hand as he wipes spit from your face with the other. "I think you've been a perfect angel, baby girl, so you've earned your reward. Where would you like it?"

"Bed, please, Daddy." Your voice is hoarse and scratchy, but you don't care, and Hyunwoo doesn't seem to either as he pulls his sweats up and then bends. The world spins for a moment and then steadies, and you realize he's got you in his arms. Hyunwoo carries you like a princess towards the room you share, and tosses you on the bed without hesitation.

Your eyes widen as he starts to strip out of his clothes, and you can't deny that you enjoy the show. The torso of muscles all rippling, the golden skin all shining, the desire in his eyes. Then the sweats — they hit the ground with a thud and you idly hope his phone is alright before you remember there are more important things right now.

He is, unsurprisingly, still hard — almost painfully so, a deep swollen pink at the head and jumping every so often. The vein running up the underside is throbbing, and you can actually feel yourself get wetter with anticipation.

One knee rests on the mattress, then the other, and Hyunwoo is crawling towards you on his hands and knees, and you can see every muscle as it shifts and fuck you love this man.

"I love you," you tell him, not for the first time. He breaks for a second, a bright smile taking over his face.

"I love you," he replies, pressing a kiss to your thigh. "Can we take those clothes off now, baby, because as great as you look, you're even better naked."

Breath catches in your throat and you nod. Hyunwoo is almost reverent as his hands glide up your thighs and is exceedingly gentle as he slides down the zipper and then the skirt itself. He smiles again, almost shy, and you can't help but marvel at the fact that this is the same man who bad you gagging on his dick not five minutes ago.

He leans in and gently nudges your nose with his, but when you lean forward to kiss him, he backs away with a playful grin. His warm hand rests on your waist and he leans in again only to dart back when you try to kiss him — not far, though. He's still close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath mix with yours, but it's still infuriating. 

You pout at him, and his smile just grows. "What is it?" He asks, teasing. "What do you want?" His lips ghost over yours as he speaks and it nearly breaks you.

"You," You whine. "I want you."

"You have me." He leans forward then, capturing your lips with an intensity you haven't seen in a long time. His mouth moves against yours and it's firm, commanding, and absolutely intoxicating as he pulls back just to lightly bite your lips. It's not rough, not really, but it's fiery and exciting and everything you've wanted. 

He presses closer, nimble fingers undoing the buttons of your blouse in what seems like an instant. Warm hands cross your spine and then your bra is gone, too. His skin seems to meld to yours, hands moving everywhere as he lays you back. 

Your breath hitches when you feel him against your entrance and he smiles into the bruise he's sucking into your throat. 

"You're so fucking wet, baby," he breathes as his tip teases against your entrance. "You're always so wet for me, so ready to be fucked. Just a perfect fucking whore, huh?" He slides in then, but only a bit. Just like before, it's just barely enough for you to feel him stretching you out. Just a tease of what's to come.

"Hyunwoo," you whine. You can see the amusement in his eyes as he chuckles.

"What is it? You want more?" He slides in further, but just a centimeter. You whine again, pushing your hips up against his to try to push him deeper. You can feel yourself throbbing, aching, for him, and you're tired of being teased. You want to be full. 

You tell him as much, watching his pupils dilate with every word until there's hardly any iris left to be seen. 

"Is that so?" He mutters, almost to himself. "Well, your wish is my command." He slides in, slowly, but this time he doesn't stop. He just keeps going and going and going, until you can feel him at your cervix. It stings – you're stretched so far, and he's so deep inside – but you relish it. 

"Beautiful," Hyunwoo mutters as he begins to slide back out, inch by agonizing inch. You whimper as the tip nearly slides out, too, and your hips lift of their own accord. Hyunwoo takes the hint and pushes back in; he creates a rhythm, one so slow, so maddening, that you're on the verge of tears as you whine and whimper underneath him. 

He notices your frustration, pulls himself away from lazily mouthing at your nipples, and hums. 

"What's wrong, baby? You aren't satisfied yet?" He gives you that Boy-Next-Door grin that you know hides a demon behind it. "Are you going to ask nicely again? Tell me no one fills you up like I do and beg me to fuck you the way you want? You look so pretty when you beg."

Any other time, you wouldn't. You would at least hesitate, make him work a little harder for your pleas. But you're desperate and frustrated and have no shame, so you don't hesitate. 

"Please, Daddy," you beg, letting your legs fall open and arching your back so his eyes drop lower and lower. "Please, Daddy, no one can fill this pussy like you do, no one can fuck my holes like you. Pl–please," you moan as he slides entirely inside once more, "Please fuck me right, make me come on your cock, I wan– wanna be fucked stupid, want you to– to fuck me stupid, please, wanna be Daddy's perfect slut, pl– Ah!"

You can't help your surprised gasp as Hyunwoo flips you onto your stomach with a low growl.

Warmth drapes along your back as you rise up, palms splayed across the sheets and elbows locked to keep you upright; his skin is sweat-slick and heated against your own, and a shiver runs down your spine when he pauses to runs his teeth along the lobe of your ear. 

"You are the best part of my life," he announces.

Butterflies explode in your belly a split second before he slides out of you.

"And I'm gonna make you cum so hard that you'll never forget that fact."

"Hyunwo— Oh!"

He thrusts into you with enough force to toss you into the headboard, had he not planted one hand firmly on your hip and had the other curled around your breast to tease your nipple. 

"You like that?" Hyunwoo asks with a smile in his voice. He repeats the movement and you clench around him as you gasp out a moan.  It's all you can do to nod and he flicks your nipple in response. "Good."

He lifts up, both hands now holding you steady by an iron grip on your hips, and readjusts his legs so yours are spread slightly wider. Your arms are trembling but you pay them no mind. 

Until Hyunwoo thrusts forward, pulling back just as quickly only to bury himself again, a heartbeat later. His pace is absolutely merciless; the sound of skin hitting skin fills the room, mixing beautifully with the wet slide as he shoves back in and the rough, throat moans that he pulls from you. Your vision swims, and you can't concentrate on anything else as he gives you the fucking that's been haunting your dreams every night. 

He adjusts his grip, one hand moving to sit firmly on the small of your back and press you down just a bit. The angle shifts – not much, but enough that the next time he pounds into you, he thrusts right up against that spot that makes your toes curl. 

You cry out, vision going white as he hits it again, and again, and again, absolutely ruthless in his mission. Your muscles go weak, biceps twitching as they give out, and then you're face down in the mattress. Hyunwoo doesn't hesitate, just ghosts his palm down to rest between your shoulders and keep you in place. 

He might be talking – you certainly think you hear the low tones of his voice as he speaks to you, but you can't make out words. It's too much work, too many syllables, too much effort to try to work past the haze that blankets your mind. You can still feel him, pumping in and out of your gushing pussy — the stretch barely stings anymore, and he throbs inside of you.  Each thrust is still perfectly angled to hit that mind-numbing place that keeps you from doing anything more than screeching his name. 

He slows, immediately switching from speed to power as he manages to put even more force behind his hips. The hand in your back moves, as does the one on your hip and then you're rising.

A warm palm across your throat – not choking,  just keeping you in place while the other traces along your spread thigh. 

There are words – something your brain is too fried to make out, and then a rumble that vibrates through you. A laugh. His thrusts get a little faster as he fucks up into you, and you're dimly aware of his fingers slipping between your folds. 

Someone screams — no, not someone. You. You scream, something so loud and provocative that it can't even be called a moan anymore, as he begins to rub circles around your clit. Orgasms rock through you,  every part of your body going boneless even as you shake from the force of it. It's impossible to tell when it stops, if it stops – the aftershocks are strong and he still hasn't stopped fucking you, though he's slower and gentler now, letting you ride it out on his cock. 

"……perfect for me, " you hear him whisper as you're senses come back. "Absolutely perfect, an amazing fucking— just divine, you are."

"Hyun," you manage, and it's no shock that you sound absolutely wrecked.  "D– Daddy."

"I'm here, baby girl," he mutters, "What do you need?"

"You," You respond instantly. "Want you, wanna fee– feel it, want you to fill me, please, in– ah, inside, want you dripping ou–" You're cut off once more as your body heaves with yet another aftershock, clenching around his hard length again. 

"Whatever you want, baby," he promises. "Can you come once more for me, baby girl? Just one more time so we can come together?"

"Mm…." You pause, taking the best inventory you can as your muscles jolt again. You consider lying to him, or just omitting this, because you know he'll never stop reminding you of it, but decide against it. Instead, you quietly admit,  "I don't think I ever stopped."

"Oh, fuck," he breathes. Within moments, you can feel his thrusts turn more erratic, more frenzied, and then you're impossibly fuller even as something warm drips down the inside of your thigh. 

He's gentle as he lays you down on the bedspread, exceedingly so as he pulls his softening cock out of you. His weight disappears from the bed for a few minutes that seem to stretch into hours, and then the mattress dips, and his soft smile appears once more. 

"Here sweetheart, drink this." He hands you a familiar cup and when you take a sip, the water is cool and refreshing. Wet warmth, surprising but pleasant, glides along your inner thigh and you look down to see him cleaning you up. 

"Mm, this is quite possibly the perfect view," you tease, wagging your brows as you make a show of checking out his muscular arms. It makes him laugh, the soft one that's just for when you're being ridiculous. 

"Drunk your water, you menace," he commands as he continues to wipe. "You're gonna need to replenish your fluids, after all that." He looks pointedly towards the bed and you follow his gaze, face heating when your eyes land on the rather sizable wet spot staining the sheets. 

"Whoops?" You offer. When you look back at him, he only looks fond. 

"Don't even start, it was hot. Besides, they needed to be put in the wash anyway.  I'll start them after you get into the bath." He gives over you, taking kisses along every piece of skin he can until he reaches your lips. You can't help the way your breath catches – even after all this time, he manages to make you breathless over the smallest things.

He peppers kisses along your cheeks, and nose, and everywhere else until you're giggling and trying to turn away from him. Unfortunately, with his arms on either side of you, you're fairly well trapped, so you settle for fucking your head into his neck instead. 

You pause. Sniff again. Back up. He looks sheepish, like he already knows what you're going to say. 

"We were out of the fancy stuff—" He tries, but you don't let him. 

"You used that 3-in-1 shit again?" You demand. "Actual body wash isn't even fancy, it's what normal people use! That's it, you're coming into the bath with me after you start the laundry so that I can make sure you didn't use it in your hair, too."

He smiles again, though you have a sneaking suspicion that he's just humoring you when he nods and says, "Whatever you want."