#does this count as an OC? it's my own face. so.

[quirinah]

q ninsona….

[lovieku]

MOTHERFUCKIN’ TRAIN WRECK! ⋆ 정국

𐙚 if you were my boyfriend… and you were my girlfriend…

when renowned fuckboy jeon jeongguk catches feelings, he loses his mind. only when it comes to you, though.

based on this ask

from the grande series ୨ৎ

pairing: fuckboy!jk x fem!reader

genre: fwb au

warnings: small smutty moments (cunnilingus, fingering, tiny boob play), angst, fluffi maybe idk, whipped and jelly koo, ft. namjoon!!!, oblivious oc, deep down she feels it too but jk is simply too much of a simp so it doesn’t look like it at first, he’s also so petty and sassy, jokes about ending it if oc doesn’t give him a chance </3, he’s just a little shit, peep the lyrics from boyfriend hehe, oh btw happy ending!!!

word count: 18k

a/n: wowww i’m so sorry for this pile of nonsense, it’s so bad i vomited a little in my mouth. i hate every single thing about it but i didn’t wanna leave you guys starved. i love u sm and thank u for the support, but u’re allowed to leave hate asks for what u’re about to read rn ❤️ also i’m SO SORRY for being unable to write a jungkook who isn’t a simp

🏷️ perm taglist: @ceellliiinee @jaytheatiny @dolligguk @luvismenu @theyloveyams @stillwjk-channie-lixie @bookstoread199 @girlygguk @vieviela @myngiii @angelxkoo @nnybtitts08 @mpbrinkss @https-mei @lyywst @mhdelu @apobangpogirlyyy @khadeeeeej @awrkive

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Jeongguk was only supposed to clean you up. That’s what he calls it when his angelic face finds its place between your spread legs, sinful eyes locking with yours, paired with a smirk you can hardly ever survive.

After all, he’s a man of simple devices. Why bother fetching a towel when he can use his own mouth? When he can let his tongue lap at your juices, slurp every last trace, have an excuse to taste you again, and again, and again?

It’s barely even effective as a way to clean you up, of drying the slick mess that sticks to your inner thighs from cumming three times under his merciless doings— you both know that. Then, how does he expect you not to break a fourth when he runs his wet muscle so torturously along your slit, getting ever more soaked?

Jeongguk is not really trying to end the night. He’s drawing it out. He already had you unraveling in phases— first on his fingers, then all over his cupid lips, ending with you convulsating just another time around his thick length.

It was rough, left purplish marks of his harsh hold digging into your sides, a faint trace of a forbidden hickey just under your collarbones, where you can easily hide it.

In all fairness, he couldn’t help it.

It was you who provoked him. You always do, getting under his skin, teasing him about his skills, downgrading them with playful indifference and nothing more than a meh, as Jeongguk rasps in your ear, clearly affected by your session of foreplay when asking, “Does this make you feel good?”

You’ll be sent straight to hell for lying like that, with seemingly no remorse, but you’re unable to resist the dangerous game and the familiar thrill that comes from it. Nothing compares to the dark wave that takes over his hooded eyes, his motions ever more intentional, almost overwhelming.

He moves to prove something to you, to show you there’s no one quite like him, even with all the guys in your phone, on your lips, inside your sheets.

Jeongguk is your fuckbuddy, and your friend on top of the rest. So, when he first laid his lips on yours, the bottom line plumper than his cupid’s bow, it had taken a great amount of alcohol to flow through both of your veins and blur the lines, let instinct take over.

From there, it was like you couldn’t help yourselves; the physical attraction was undeniable, it’s what brought you here in between the mess of his bed. If you ignore the silly crush you had on him during the first year of college, this was perfect.

Your fuckbuddy contract (Jeongguk hates calling you that, he prefers my friend who makes me cum a lot) includes a heavy emphasis on a no-strings-attached relationship, that can be interrupted whenever one of the two feels uncomfortable, and that should not come before your friendship. On top of all, you both are not exclusive. No commitment, no jealousy. You’re perfectly free of meeting other people, fucking other people. Unless you’re going to date one of those, of course. Then, bye-bye friend who makes me cum a lot.

These rules were established almost a year ago, after your hands couldn’t help themselves from roaming hastily all over his body, pulling him impossibly closer. It was the second time you allowed yourself to feel him, following the night when he initiated things under the clouded lights of a club.

You couldn’t help it. You had been thinking of that moment for weeks now, and when you were left alone with him in his dorm room, pulse racing, it’s all your thoughts were reduced to. Kiss him, kiss him, fuck him.

You felt guilty. A friend shouldn’t be thinking of another friend like you were about Jeongguk. Especially after you promised yourself you wouldn’t let your buried crush resurface and ruin what you had built— even if the memory of that infatuation is honestly just laughable now (you would never think of dating him, pft).

But Jeongguk, ever the gentlest when it comes to you, assured you it was okay to feel as you did, because he felt it too. And was dying to touch you again. His words, not yours.

It’s only sexual. A casual, sexual relationship. Two friends who happen to find each other irresistible.

So when he reacts with a flash of competitiveness at the mere suggestion he might not be the best you’ve ever had, it’s… weird, the feeling that overcomes you. You acknowledge it for a split second, as if you’re searching to name that something inside you stirring, but before you can, it seems to make you fall apart immediately, your grip tighter, back arched, moans high-pitched.

He basks in his silent victory, in the factual demonstration that he in fact can’t be compared to all your other guys.

Except, there’s actually no other guys.

Back when this friends-with-benefits arrangement first started, you were occasionally fooling around with an older guy from campus named Mingyu. Jeongguk knew him, given that they’re in the same photography class. He was also aware of your casual fling with him. And yet, Jeongguk still kissed you. Actually, did so much more than just that.

Either way, the line has always been clear: he has no right to question who you spend time with and what you engage in, Jeongguk isn’t a saint either.

You love him, you truly do. With time, he has become one of your closest friends, and you honestly can’t see yourself getting through college without him.

But there’s no denying the fuckboy allegations, the ones that are constantly thrown at him all around campus. He is a fuckboy. It must be his easy charm, flirting as natural as breathing, tripping out his tongue with seemingly not much thought. At some point, the majority of the girls in your campus got to have their moment with Jeongguk, either because of mindless teasing or one night stands, occasionally turning into casual arrangements.

You have accepted it as part of who he is. You know his fuckboy habits haven’t magically changed when you two started fucking. He doesn’t really spend much time talking about it with you, occasionally mentioning his doings every now and then, but you don’t need to know; his friends and the people whispering in hallways and lecture halls fill in the blanks.

That is exactly why you’ve let Jeongguk believe that your sexual life is equally as busy, floods of boys from your inbox to your sheets, as if you aren’t too much of a hopeless romantic to even think of anything that isn’t exclusively monogamous.

But this isn’t the case. Jeongguk isn’t yours, you aren’t his. It’s just about sex, and you’ve accepted that. You don’t want anything more from him. You tell yourself the only reason you’re not seeing anyone else is that the idea of it makes you uneasy. That you’re more than satisfied with Jeongguk being your friend-turned-into-fuckbuddy, and you don’t need other ones.

Jeongguk is more than enough. Oh, he is.

“Fuck, Gguk. You’re gonna make me cum— Ah, shit— again.”

Your head is thrown back in his pillow, legs weakly tightening around his head nestled so close to your core, and it’s clear his goal has completely shifted from getting you clean and neat when the tip of his tongue moves to flicker on your sensitive nub, relentlessly abusing it with casual kissing and sucking.

He opens his mouth to take more of you, his wet muscle tracing your slit and teasing your entrance for— sadly —the shortest second, and the way he hums approvingly against you brings you even closer to the breaking point.

You’re a fragile mess, overstimulated from the previous orgasms but desperate to chase yet another climax, his hands roaming up to find your breast only spurring you further.

Jeongguk knows you by now, and is aware of all the subtle gestures that make you come undone under him. He knows just what to do to push you over the edge, and when to do it exactly.

You’re a sucker for dirty talk and praise, and occasionally, when the ideal situation comes, you love being degraded. It’s a side of you that only ever arises during sex, mind hazed and irrational, the delirious need for release clouding all your usually composed senses.

At first, he teased you for it. Not because he’s not as much of a fan as you are of talking during sex, but because he never pictured you to be the loud type. And you truly are.

Jeongguk pinches your nipples in hopes of you getting the message and lowering your volume, but it only makes you whine higher, your moans surely not going unnoticed by the other students in the dorm.

It can only be worse when he decides to speak against you, his voice a low, almost unintelligible growl, “Pussy’s so fuckin’ good. All mine, fuck. Want to taste your cum once again, c’mon babe. Give it to me.”

And you, always obliging and well-behaved, let go for a fourth time, hips furiously rutting against his face, his words making your surroundings spin, the way his nose would brush your sensitive nub having your eyes roll to the back of your head.

Your gasp is strained when he retreats with one last wet stripe between your puffy lips, sealing the orgasm with a kiss on your clit, and when he finds your face again there’s a cockish grin spreading across his, chin coated with your juices.

He immediately meets your mouth then, sharing your own taste, and you both moan shamelessly at the action.

Jeongguk collapses next to you, his body warm and relaxed, pulling you closer by your waist and almost making you straddle him with the force of his hold. He sighs into your hair, kissing the root of it, “You did amazing for me, pretty girl.”

A pleasant shiver runs down your spine at the praise and the pet name rolling off his tongue with ease. It’s ridiculous.

With your cheek pressed against his chest, you glance up at him through your lashes and a lazy smile threatens to take over your face, but your playful pout is more prominent, almost convincing, “I’m never letting you do that trick on me again. Next time, I’m just going to take a shower like a normal person.”

The laugh he lets out is rich and unguarded, his chest rumbling under your ear, and it makes you pull away with a mock glare, brows knitted together as you swat at his toned stomach, “Don’t laugh. I hated that.”

His dark eyes soften as they dance with amusement, the corners crinkling, and he hums, going along with your blatant lie from the way your lips struggle to contain a grin, “Oh, absolutely. You were screaming in horror, couldn’t stand it.”

“Whatever,” you mutter incoherently, standing up to escape from the inevitable loss. The slick between your thighs reminds you of why you need that shower in the first place, causing you to awkwardly wobble your way to his bathroom.

Jeongguk watches you with a lopsided smirk, stretched out on the bed, his brown hair a messy halo on the pillow, and it completes the concept he goes perfectly with, the one of a devil dressed up as an angel, even more when his voice drips with faux desperation, “Hey, come back. I need my cuddles.”

“You’ll live,” you toss back before pulling the door shut behind you and stepping into the warm embrace of the shower. The hot water stings at first, then soothes you, sliding down your skin.

Jeongguk already knows the outcome of what he’s about to do isn’t going to turn in his favor, but he tries his luck regardless, standing up hastily and limply making his way to his bathroom door.

He only knocks twice, then puts on his best begging voice, talking loud enough to be heard over the shower, “Toots?”

“No!”

A scoff filters through the steamy air, followed by the unmistakable creak of the door handle as he steps inside. He’s relentless, voices his thoughts with the kind of logic only he would find convincing, “C’mon, we’ll save water!”

You stand with your back to him, his body wash traveling down your skin in soap bubbles, the scent filling the air, and you let your shoulders shrug. You don’t turn around. Number one, because you’ll give in. Number two, because you can hear the pout on his lips, and that’s the reason for number one.

You try your best to sound annoyed, “Jeongguk, just leave. You don’t even pay for it.”

“Our poor earth pays for it,” he quips, stepping further into the cramped space, body still bare, and that’s maybe a number three for you, “Because you wanna be so unfair to your best friend and leave him out in the cold.”

“You’re not my best friend.”

His gasp is dramatic, you even hear it echo through the tiny room, and you fight hard to contain the giggle locked inside you, but it escapes in the shape of a snort, which you quickly try to conceal by clearing your throat. You even further go with the lie, “You heard me.”

“Unbelievable. I’m kicking you out the second you’re done here,” he tries his best menacing tone, the threat barely harsh and effective, closing the door behind his back with an exaggerated thump, followed by unintelligible grumbling.

You take your sweet time in his now steamy bathroom. You shampoo twice, deliberately squeezing out a generous amount of his own fancy product in your palm, making sure the squeak of the bottle is heard through the door so he knows you’re helping yourself. His high-quality hair dryer blasts warm air over your damp hair until it’s only mildly wet. And you even rummage around his cabinet, indulging in his collection of expensive skincare creams. These little luxuries are exactly why you never pass a single occasion to shower over at his dorm room.

And the second you’re done in there, he doesn’t kick you out like he threatened. It takes a moment for him to move his attention from his phone to your figure, wrapped around in his fluffy robe, and he doesn’t even try to keep up the menacing act. Still spread on his ruined bed, his furrowed brows relax, and his lips break into a grin. He scans your face, then giggles, “You’ve got a massive pimple on your forehead.”

“Fuck you. I’m taking one of your hoodies.”

“It’s called borrowing,” even in the midst of checking out your freshly-washed naked body, now being stripped from his bathrobe, he’s still committed to the game of banter you two always play.

“It’s not if I’m not giving it back,” you counter, voice muffled by the fabric of one of his many black sweatshirts you’re already pulling over your head, quickly shuffling into your jeans, helping them up with some small hops that make him grin.

He doesn’t seem bothered by your comeback, too used to losing his own clothes to your closet; rather, he watches you move with what seems like hurry around his dimly lit room. He shifts higher, letting the sheets slip to reveal his still bare, and slightly sweaty torso, “Wanna hang out together at the party tomorrow?”

”Hmm, I’ll just see you there,” you don’t pay him much attention, using your phone camera as a mirror to wipe away any smudged mascara under your eyes. “I’ve already got a partner, actually.”

Jeongguk fully sits up now, vision a little blurry from the hasty and sudden movement, phone forgotten, “A partner?”

The way you casually let a smile tug at your lips while talking about a man is new, “Yeah. A guy from my English class asked me to go with him. He’s pretty cute.”

You’re too busy shoving your belongings in your bag and mentally cataloging every single item to notice the expression your best friend is currently sporting, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. Tank top, makeup, laptop… where the fuck is— oh, here. Lip balm. What else?

Jeongguk thinks you’re forgetting something deathly important. A fucking explanation, maybe? He’s known you to occasionally fool around with random guys, but he thought it was just that. Occasional and random. When did it get to having a partner? That sounds silly. Or maybe a little too formal, a little too real. What the fuck does having a partner even entail?

You’re blissfully unaware of the stubborn storm taking over Jeongguk’s thoughts, especially because you’re not exactly sparing him a second glance, moving with single-minded focus, hurrying to leave. Because apparently it’s so bad to want to spend the night with your best friend. Share a bed, watch a movie, talk gossip (it’s been so long since you’ve updated him the way only you can about the latest campus stories, ugh). Amazing, yes, that’s totally fine with Jeongguk.

And he does manage to sound unbothered, “What’s his name?”

“Namjoon.”

Jeongguk focuses on your slim fingers slipping your lip balm into the front pocket of your bag, syllabes leaving his lips in a slow mumble, “Ah, Namjoon. I know him. I guess.”

Fucking Kim Namjoon. Of course he knows him. 6 feet tall, polite, model student Kim Namjoon. Shit. Great choice. No, really, he’s the perfect catch.

“Hm? Well, I think he’s very nice. And hot as fuck.”

He grimaces, “Gross.”

“You’re one to talk,” pulling the hood over your head, you finally meet his eyes. You’re completely oblivious to the thoughts gnawing at him, so you think his disappointment is only caused by your next words, “I should get going now.”

“What? You’re not staying over for dinner?” The way he looks up at you with doe, puppy-dog eyes almost makes you trip on your own resolution, but you only ruffle his hair from your stance next to his bed, hoping the small action is enough to satisfy your hunger. Not for dinner.

“Nah, sorry Gguk. Gotta get up early for English class.”

He scoffs, moving stubbornly from your soothing touch, “Sure. English class with Joohyuk.”

“…Namjoon.”

“Right, that’s what I said. Namsun.”

You raise an eyebrow, half-laughing, “No, it’s Namjoon.”

“Namgi.”

“Namjoon.”

“Whatever, don’t care.” The words have barely any space to roll out through his pout, and along with his petty little slip-ups it’s the most childish act you’ve seen him pull so far. To be completely honest, he seems to break a new record every other day.

You fight the urge to roll your gaze at the ceiling, finding it impossible to deal with pouty, hungry and cuddle-starved Jeongguk. You sigh, muttering, “Insufferable.”

“Give me a kiss, brat.”

The teasing comes so naturally that for a second you don’t ponder on the demand being something a normal friend wouldn’t exactly ask. But it isn’t one you’ll deny.

You bend down to meet him as easily as he let the request out, muttering a playful Oh, I’m the brat now? before brushing his pushed lips with yours in a sweet, short kiss, enough to draw a soft sigh from both of you. You hum against it, voice warm with something that contradicts your words entirely, “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“Sure,” rolling your eyes, you grant his cocky figure that little win, too tired to put up a fight, even if you almost rethink it when he confidently leans back against the pillows, smirking up at you. You decide to cut it short, it’s for the best, throwing your bag over your shoulder as well as one last look at him, before readying yourself for the walk of shame through his frat.

────୨ৎ────

Namjoon is, by all standards, the perfect guy. He’s genuine, smiles sweetly with his dimples showing and his eyes crinkling into crescents that make him seem both wise and youthful.

Careful, even protective over you, making sure you’re comfortable. With your drink, with your seat, with your conversation.

Almost too attentive, which should calm your nerves, but instead you feel yourself unable to fully let go. Open up to him like he’s doing with you, like you think you want to do.

You’re not sure. You can’t feel that mysterious spark everybody talks about. That spark Jeongguk admitted he’s never felt with anyone so far, no matter the number of girls he’s been with. The one he’s confessed he’s desperate to feel. The one you hope he can find.

Wait, why are you thinking about Jeongguk?

Said boy has yet to acknowledge you, standing across from you in the crowded living room of your mutual friend’s house. Each weekend, the same ritual brings you back here, whenever Taehyung’s parents head off for one of their rich-people, luxurious trips. The space is familiar, a backdrop to countless parties, all too often ending in someone’s drunken confessions and stolen kisses that’d become the talk of campus until the next party came around.

As tradition would want, with the clock ticking its way past midnight, you’d be drunk out of your mind already. Tonight, however, you’re not even sure you want to be here.

Namjoon is keeping close tabs on your drinks, monitoring each glass you reach for, and you know he means well; ordinarily, you’d find it sweet, endearing even. But it only seems to heighten your anxiety now. It just reminds you of how out of place this whole thing feels. You want to drown your awkwardness in a wave of liquid courage, and the irony isn’t lost on you: the very reason why you’re nervous is keeping you from numbing it.

Namjoon makes you way too aware of yourself. You wish your first proper hang out wasn’t at a filthy frat party, the blasting music causing you both to lean into each other to make conversation. The proximity makes your palms disgustingly clammy, and you hope he doesn’t reach for your hand.

You also think this isn’t the type of scenario that best suits Namjoon. You would have loved to be with him somewhere softer, with less noise and more light, talking over coffee instead of loud techno, his poetic speech lulling you into infatuation. Maybe then, this would have gone like you had imagined it might. Like you wanted it to go, just to prove something to yourself. You’re still not sure what exactly.

But this house — this party — is a natural habitat for people like Jeongguk. It’s a playground he navigates with ease, his charisma amplified by the darkened rooms and faint cigarette smoke that seems to follow him, just like everyone around him. They exist solely to orbit his mood.

It’s as he saunters back inside after yet another smoke break that you spot him again, his focus entirely on whatever girl is currently at his side. With Namjoon leaving to grab a drink for the two of you to share, you take the short moment to be a shameless creep and study your friend’s movements from the other side of the room.

You can’t help but feel a sting of irritation. Jeongguk is fully aware you’re here. You’d texted him earlier, just something casual to say you’d arrived, maybe even expecting him to meet you or give you a quick wave. Instead, there’d been no reply.

Just like the TikToks you’d sent last night, after you told him you wouldn’t be staying over at his, that also went ignored. You didn’t think too much of it, figured it was probably one of his petty acts. You aren’t any better: it’s not like you’ll go up to him to say hi, not after he ignored you. Those videos were funny, too. He’s the one missing out.

But now, your eyes squinted to try and get the best possible view on each detail of the scene in front of you, what you notice is nothing about him and everything about who he’s currently spending the time he could have used to acknowledge you with.

It’s not just whatever girl. It’s Haeun.

You haven’t seen them hanging out together in what feels like months, and frankly, you’re thrown. Maybe that’s also the reason why he suddenly had no time for you. You scoff.

You’re just confused, really. Jeongguk didn’t mention a thing about her, and it’s not like he’s ever kept his hookups or flings a secret. But Haeun was never just that. She was the one he seemed almost ready to get in his first serious relationship with, the one girl you thought could make him forget all about his usual habits.

When Jeongguk had first started hanging out with Haeun, he’d seemed uncharacteristically interested. You naturally found yourself rooting for him, hoping he’d take a leap and start something real after many failed attempts.

At that point, your casual arrangement with him had been going on for a while, but you knew it wasn’t built to last. You’d expected it to end sooner rather than later, and you were okay with that. You just wanted him to be happy with himself and his choices.

But on the night he was supposed to take Haeun out on a date, the one that could have changed everything, it’s like a magic vacuum turned on and sucked all his progress away. He’d shown up in front of your door instead. No explanations, no details about what had happened; he didn’t want to talk. He only wanted to be near you and sink into silence.

That night you laid next to him, his head on you, hair sprawled out on your stomach, and said absolutely nothing.

Since then, he hadn’t mentioned Haeun at all, and you’d assumed it was over. The right side of your brain was irrationally glad for that, greedily geeking at the prospect of still getting to keep Jeongguk close in ways that go over a simple friendship. In ways that have you thanking God for not taking your friend’s sex skills away from you; in ways that have your nose scrunching whenever he leaves small, delicate pecks on the side of your neck as you watch a movie cuddled in his embrace. If he had decided to go on that date, you would be denied all of this luxury.

The left side of your brain is a little less greedy, a little more rational. The half of your mind responsible for keeping some logic instilled in you even thought it could have been a good thing for Jeongguk to experience a different side of relationships.

You’ve always sensed there to be deeper reasons beneath Jeongguk’s carefree front. You’ve watched him jump from girl to girl, dip in and out of flings with seemingly no thought, as if he’s not trying to bury issues he should find a different answer for, to avoid whatever insecurities he’s run too far away from to face.

He’s never had to spell it out for you. You never pressed him on the topic either. And you think he’s grateful for it, for your silence that offers him the stability he won’t admit he needs, for simply staying and understanding. For allowing him to be vulnerable.

You wish you could give him more than that quiet comfort. Wonder if you should try your luck and push him to see that he does deserve something real— more than the distractions he uses to keep his fears at bay.

Jeongguk would make an incredible boyfriend. He always spots the small details, the slight changes in your mood, and he picks them up before you can even notice yourself, caring in a silent way that doesn't go unnoticed. Not by you.

It’s easy to imagine him being the kind of partner who’d cater to his girl’s needs effortlessly, even in quiet, even if hidden. You know he could be that person if he could just let anyone in beyond sex. When he’ll find the one, it’ll be clear it’s all he was made for.

Right now though, if anyone were to ask you that, you’d advise them to just go and look for another one, because he’s a little, lying piece of shit. You’re just a tad bit upset about it, if your crossed arms and furrowed brows are anything to go by.

You don’t understand why he’s now there, standing next to the girl he himself stood up, the one he looked ready to fix everything for, and then wasn’t. Leaning in close as if nothing had ever happened.

Why couldn’t he tell you, at least give you a heads-up if he was reconnecting with her? You know it shouldn’t bother you as much as it does, but the fact that he’s hiding it stings. Are you overthinking this?

When he lifts his head from her ear and scans the room, his eyes landing right on yours for a brief second just to look away, you don’t think you are. His attention shifts back to Haeun as if he hadn’t seen you at all. What the fuck?

You question what’s the point of having eyes to see when you are now forced to witness Jeongguk leaving the room with Haeun hanging her draggy weight on his arm, his smile cockish as he helps her up by her waist, fingers digging dangerously close to the curve of her perfectly shaped peach.

Their chemistry is undeniable, hands finding skin with unpracticed ease. It must be the way Jeongguk can effortlessly work his charm with any girl he deems attractive enough to fuck, his smirk and the way he lets his nose scrunch almost timidly, as if you can’t see right through him, making women potty in his sculpted hands.

The prospect of your best friend getting laid by the girl he was almost ready to change it all for should make you happy. Smile, at least.

Instead, you frown, mindlessly taking long sips from the straw in your glass and letting it stir your too watered-down cocktail that lacks any real flavor. You don’t even try to find answers as to how another drink landed right on the counter you rest your back on, but you’re glad for it.

You’re more upset at the fact that he decided not to tell you anything. You would have helped him through it, supported him, advised him on what to do, how to move in such a situation. But even if he didn’t need any of this, you would have appreciated just knowing. From him.

The ways in which the two of you are intertwined right at this moment don’t exactly allow him to completely leave you unaware of his actions. It’s not fair.

But then, are you even supposed to feel like this in the first place? Is only sex supposed to have this impact on you? Is even the smallest cell in his brain producing a thought that might take him back to you, and could it compare to a third of what you think and feel?

Does he not get that tingly sensation with you, ‘cause he’s used to it? ‘Cause you’re nothing too different nor special from all the choice he has laid at his feet, nothing out of the usual routine?

A gentle hand on your arm jolts you out of your thoughts. The touch is delicate, but the way it pulls you from your spiral is rough, making you stumble on the already wobbly stool you’re sitting on. When you look to your side, Namjoon meets you with a warm smile.

You hadn’t even noticed him being back next to you, and you figure that’s probably how that drink found its way in your hands. You’re a deer caught in headlights as you look at him, then down at the almost empty glass, then back at the boy. Your eyes widen impossibly more, and you struggle with finding a louder volume to your voice, almost fading with the music, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to finish this all by myself.”

You remember him saying he’d get a drink for the two of you to share before leaving you with your haunting thoughts. He just laughs in a way that should soothe your nerves, but it doesn’t, “It’s okay. You look like you needed it. I’m getting another one for me and catching up with some of my friends over there. I’ll be back in a bit, alright?”

“Yeah, totally. No problem,” your words roll out your tongue in a slurred hurry, face already turning to the opposite side of the room, and you’re not even sure what you’re agreeing on. You just feel Namjoon slip away from the seat next to yours again.

The brief interaction was enough for Jeongguk to have time to completely disappear from your strict observing, and just like the boy who should have had your undivided attention tonight, he equally slips away. From your vision, from the party. And from you. He’s with Haeun now, after all. And you’re alone.

Being truthful, Jeongguk is once again slipping away from his problems only. He doesn’t know how he ended up with Haeun by his side, but when he found your big, confused eyes in the midst of what should have been his escape for the night, he thinks he could name a few reasons.

It’s suffocating, the grip you have on him. He can almost feel one of your slim, delicate hands around his throat. He’s a dirty little sadist, of course he enjoys the pain. But he shouldn’t, so he runs from it until his back hits the wall, and the hold only gets tighter.

There’s nothing to do but face the truth. And you’re in front of him, eyes lost and inviting him to tell you. What should be easy for him to say, what he owes you. But the words get stuck in his throat, right where you’re pressing, and he feels like he might stop breathing.

He could die like this, with your narrowed orbs pitying him, and he badly wishes you would call him a coward. The hold is just enough to hurt him, not to make him lose his senses; if anything, it only makes his head spin around the one thought he wants to avoid. You.

With the quickest distraction he could get his hands on, he keeps adding to it: Haeun clinging to his side, he steps out the packed room to light the nth cigarette, the smoke clouding his vision and making the image of you fade from behind his eyelids. You release your hand from him and disappear. He almost whines. He misses you already. But the faint ache is a reminder.

Instead, in front of him is the only girl he should have truly avoided. Haeun is another reminder. Not because she looks similar to you, you’re way prettier. You’re beautiful.

No, it’s just because he remembers Haeun being his first victim, using her to bury something stronger growing inside him. But it didn’t work then, and it doesn’t work now.

She’s the only girl he tried his luck with to avoid his now unavoidable feelings for you. Then, he physically couldn’t touch another woman beside you. So he started flirting with more cigarettes and alcohol. Maybe some joints then and there.

Jeongguk would love to know why he prefers destroying himself rather than just be the confident man he lets everyone else think he is, go up to you and be honest, like you make it so easy for him to be. The fact that it almost slipped out of him more than a couple times scares him.

It shouldn’t. He wants to fall into that soothing caress, but could he even handle the possibility of you simply, and rightfully if you deemed it the correct choice, rejecting him?

The answer is no. He can’t afford losing your touch on him, your lashes fluttering when you look up at him, your fingers tracing secret maps on his back. He wonders if you’re outlining the safest ways for him to escape from the maze he himself created, of which he forgot the exit to.

With Haeun pressing herself to his side, he thinks he’d rather stay trapped there at this point. A maze built by lies, letting you believe he’s fucking other girls on the side when he feels sickened just by the thought of it, his hand now coming up to push the girl back to a safe distance. Built by insecurities, preferring having you think that you’re simply one of the many he has when he firmly believes you’re the only one that the universe has especially assigned him to.

It’s making him lose his mind, while you live unaware, free from the truth. He’s sure in the stretch that went from yesterday, when you told him about your fucking partner, and tonight, seeing you so close to said partner’s face, your dress custom-made by the hands of every angel populating heaven, Jeongguk developed some kind of clinical illness. The flame of jealousy in his toned tummy has eaten him whole.

And he feels slightly ashamed of himself knowing this is how he found himself circling back to his first poor attempt at running away from you, in the form of a short girl, her eyes now questioning him just like yours had done earlier. Haeun furrows her brows, “Are you seriously doing this again?”

Jeongguk sighs, glancing away to take a long drag from his cigarette that fills his lungs and almost aches. He avoids the eye contact that would be needed for a conversation like the one he’s forced to have — one that wouldn’t have occured in the first place if he could just be a normal person — instead he looks back to the room through the glass doors, “I’m sorry, Hae. I— I can’t do this—“

“Yo, Gguk. You need to come with me now. ___ is throwing up in the bathroom.”

It’s Taehyung sliding the glass door open with more force than what he usually puts, and right now nobody would tell he’s the same one always advising his friends to be delicate with it. The look on his face is panicked and it quickly reflects in Jeongguk’s eyes, flickering between his friend and Haeun.

Next, his reflexes are quicker. He steps inside the house, skipping past Taehyung and the flood of college students dancing their Friday away to Usher and seemingly not caring about the urgency written all over his expression.

He makes it to the bathroom where people have started to crowd around as if lining up to an unmissable show, and he doesn’t care if his pushes are too rough as he makes his way through.

You’re quite literally hugging the toilet, your face one with the lid as a few girls try and help you with your hair. The moment they see Jeongguk, it’s like they know he’s the one that you need, that he’s finally here and you’re in good hands. He shoots them a quick nod as they step aside and then, he’s immediately crouching next to you, gently gathering your long locks into his fist.

He moves some stray strands behind your ears while you keep letting it all out, and as much as his broad back is enough to hide you from watchful eyes, he can still hear murmurs from onlookers.

It’s as Jeongguk is debating whether he should cuss them out or keep his attention on you that Taehyung comes to promptly clear the crowd, closing the bathroom door behind him only after making sure his friend doesn’t need any more help.

Jeongguk appreciates the gesture, knowing how overwhelmed you can get in these scenarios with too many people around. Although, no matter how calm he appears for your sake, his heart races even as you seem to settle and sit on the tiled floor, your back resting against the cool wall.

You gulp down a few times, squeezing your eyes to try and ground yourself, the way you can feel Jeongguk’s hand hold the side of your leg, his thumb delicately brushing the inside of your thigh, definitely helping.

“Toots,” he whispers, face close to your own, “Hey, doll. You’re okay now, hm? What happened?” His voice is low, slow, almost scared of flowing past his lips.

When you open your eyes he’s directly in front of you, squatting down to stay on your level, and his brows are drawn high in worry.

You sniff, your voice still rough from the scratching on your throat, “Fucking— Jimin. I met him in the kitchen and we mixed too much shit together—“

“Weren’t you with Kim Namjoon?” Jeongguk interrupts you, both his tone and the way his eyebrows now dip inquisitive.

You shrug, looking down at your fingers fidgeting, “Dunno. Why the fuck am I still not sober,” the way you tone the question doesn’t make it sound like one, and you end up giggling at yourself, hiccuping in the process.

Jeongguk sighs, unconsciously tightening his hold around your leg, his fingers digging and making you whimper subtly. He notices, soothing the skin only to take both his hands to scoop you up by your armpits, lifting both your bodies on your feet.

You yelp, throwing your weight on him with another one of your senseless chuckles, looking up at his bothered face through your lashes. He straightens your posture with wide palms on your waist, throwing one of your arms around his shoulders and causing you to step out of the small room on your tiptoes. He grumbles, “I’m taking you back to the dorm now. And we’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

“Talk about what?”

“Namjoon.”

You stay quiet as the both of you, your body snug against his, walk through the party and out the house to reach Jeongguk’s car. Your thoughts are sluggish, failing to grasp why he’d even want to talk about Namjoon. Isn’t he just a nice guy? You’re more concerned with Jeongguk’s seemingly irked tone and the distressed way his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek.

A soft, involuntary whine escapes you when you think you might be the reason for that, shuffling yourself closer into his warmth, but the contact is brief as he gently settles you into the passenger seat and clicks the belt, then he closes your door and circles the car to the driver’s side.

Awkward. The only sound that can be heard is the soft hum of the engine, beside the fuzzy buzz in your ears. You feel laughter bubbling up in your chest but you hold it there, turning to study Jeongguk’s side profile. Inhaling, you start, “Can you— can I put on—”

“No.”

Your smile falters, “What? C’mon, give me the aux.”

“The last thing I want right now is to listen to those songs.”

Any previous tipsy instinct that made you want to laugh at the situation fade with his words and the way his grip on the steering wheel says more than what he’s letting on. You’re hazy, but his clenched jaw and laser focus on the road make you sit up straighter, adjusting your slouched posture and the skirt of your dress with it, pulling it further down your thighs.

The tension coming off him feels so heavy that it leads to irrational, childish tears pricking your eyes, and you sound defeated when you whisper, “Are you mad at me?”

He brakes a little too hard at the red light, and you both lurch slightly forward. Jeongguk seems to realize just now that he’s unfairly taking his anger out on you, and the way you let out the question in the smallest voice makes his heart speed up, turning to you with apprehension, “No, toots. No, why would I be? I’m mad at that fucker.”

“He was just talking with some of his—”

“He left you alone. He was supposed to take care of you. Not let you get fucking wasted.”

Jeongguk sounds final, his tone allowing no more condoning nor excuses for the tall guy now left behind you, back at the party. But you don’t seem to focus too much on the meaning of his words, rather you bask in the consequences of them. He’s not upset with you!

That spurs you to contradict him further, this time on the accusation he threw at you, but it’s less than credible when you say it through a sheepish smile that unconsciously made its way on your lips at the protective edge to his tone, “I’m not fucking wasted.”

Jeongguk only sighs, but you can see him visibly relax, shoulders going down and leaning against the back of his seat, right hand coming to pat your bare knee with a small smile on his pierced lips.

You share a look that fully sobers you up only to get you high all over again off his doe eyes, the artificial lights dotting a universe of their own in those orbs, undiscovered galaxies and planets inviting you to move there, even with no water, no oxygen, no way of surviving.

When the soft hue of the red light reflecting on the side of your face morphs to green, he moves his attention back on the road, taking his hand with it to shift gears. Then, he concedes, “Put on the playlist.”

You blink, a little taken aback by his sudden shift in mood, but just as quickly you recover. Your brain seems to be able to focus on one thing at a time either way, so you don’t ponder on your insides collectively moving at the way he looked at you and instead reach for the aux cord, fingers tapping on your phone screen absentmindedly, with a conscience of their own.

Music interrupts the quiet, and you can’t help but join, “The night we met I knew I, needed you so. And if I had the chance I’d, never let you go. Sing with me!”

Jeongguk breaks into a grin, no matter how much he fights it, “You’re so fucking wasted.”

“So won’t you say you love me? I’ll make you so proud of me. We’ll make ‘em turn their heads every place we go, so won’t you please,” Be My Baby by The Ronettes fills the previous silent tension, which you seemingly already forgot everything about, using Jeongguk’s free hand as your own personal microphone, folding it in a fist between your palms.

Jeongguk would never say it out loud, especially now, after he only pretended he had to be begged to put it on, that he’s actually grown attached to this playlist. Started as a little mishap and turned into something that got under his skin, much like you have.

Its creation came about from a comically embarrassing moment that gave you ammunition to tease him for weeks. Although, he’s glad for it when he reflects deep enough: the whole episode helped shape the bond between you two, adding to its foundation.

He still doesn’t know how you managed to slip so sneakily into his dorm that evening, but what’s sure is that he wasn’t expecting you, taking the time of his life in his bathroom, fresh out of the shower. Simply following his usual routine, one that you wouldn’t have exactly considered usual since you only ever knew him as an avid Drake listener, he hummed along to Elvis Presley’s Can’t Help Falling in Love flowing softly from his phone speaker.

It wasn’t just that, of course, because then he started styling his wet hair in an exaggerated pompadour and fully got into character, strutting dramatic poses in front of the mirror and even practicing Elvis’s iconic curl of the lip. If his soul was by any chance watching over the scene, you’d hoped he’d agree with you that Jeongguk was truly giving Austin Butler a run for his money.

The private show sadly ended when he caught sight of you in the foggy glass, your lips sealed shut to try and hold your delighted laughter, but it got ripped out of you in the form of an obnoxious snort the moment his eyes went wide in horror and his face crimson in shame.

It was hell for a few weeks after that. You didn’t let him off so easily, teasing him for being a secret softie with a love for old-school romance under all the layers of his tough fuckboy image that only ever seemed to handle trappy beats.

When you jokingly suggested he might as well get fully into the act and start calling you toots or something, he didn’t back down from the tease, scoffing at you with narrowed eyes. Somewhere along the way, the dry, sardonic tone with which he first used that pet name on you stuck, and it became less of a joke, more of an endearing way to refer to you, and only you.

Before either of you could second-guess it, the playlist was born. You two crafted it together in fits of laughter and late-night texts, with Jeongguk suggesting songs from his secret stash and you contributing the ones you grew up on.

It quickly became the soundtrack to many of your aimless car rides, something that neither of you acknowledged outright but silently cherished. Sometimes, you’d get so carried away and slip into the roles of a ‘60s couple, playfully reciting cheesy lines back and forth.

No matter how much Jeongguk pretends he hates it to save what’s left of his bad boy reputation, he really doesn’t. Not even a little bit. Even the way he rolls his eyes and groans isn’t enough to hide the spark in his eyes when you sing along.

He feels worse than a pubescent teenager when he lets his guard slip to hear you hum words he can only imagine are just for him, meant in the way he wants. You swing side by side and smile up at him with dimples digging long slits into your cheeks, and he has to act as if it makes him feel completely normal and not like he’s going to crash his car any second.

Each lyric that spills from your mouth feels like it’s tying him down, even with your sweet voice a little unsteady, thanks to whatever is still left from the night’s drinks. You’re so not aware of what it does to him.

Your eyes are on the road, but Jeongguk’s linger on you, his fingers unconsciously tapping the steering wheel to the tune.

“I’d save every day like a treasure, and then, again, I would spend them with you.”

Jeongguk purposefully veers off onto streets he doesn’t need to take, buying himself a few extra minutes with you, but you don’t notice and he pretends to not know either. Would never admit it’s because he wants to hear you sing a little more, and that this ongoing joke between the two of you might be his favorite thing in the whole world.

“But there never seems to be enough time to do the things you want to do once you find them. Hold on, this one’s a little lower. I’ll find my note, wait,” you’re mostly talking to yourself, cheek pressed to the cool glass of the window, but you glance at Jeongguk as if seeking for approval, clearing your throat, “I’ve looked around enough to know that you’re the one I want to go through time with.”

Just as Time in a Bottle by Jim Croce fades out, Jeongguk pulls into the campus parking lot, turning the engine off and cutting the music with it. None of you move right away, accepting the stillness in the car.

You don’t accept the silence, though, letting your mind speak a thought that has been nagging at you, “Can you fuck me here? Right now?”

The way you voice the request would make anybody who didn’t understand English think you’d just asked for something as mundane as a glass of water, your eyes unfaltering, a small smile on your waiting lips, voice barely slicing through the quiet. It’s almost as if you don’t know it’s the kind of thing that could derail Jeongguk’s entire thought process.

Jeongguk lightly chokes on his own breath, giving a few coughs before turning to you, his tattooed hand messing his hair further, “Jesus Christ, ___. You know I can’t.”

You tilt your head, considering him, as if this is a serious debate rather than drunken rambling, “Why not?”

Jeongguk can only sigh. He takes in your disheveled state and notices the way your exposed skin prickles with the cold, reaching for the leather jacket he carelessly threw on the backseats before heading to the party, having had no idea you’d be the one wearing it by the end of the night.

He wraps it gently around your shoulders, moving sticky, stray strands of hair from your face, “You’re so drunk. Look at you.”

“I told you I’m not,” you protest weakly, but your confidence falters when his fingers ghost over your face.

“There’s vomit in your hair,” he shuts you bluntly, tone softer than the honest words.

“Oh,” your stubbornness doesn’t work this time, and you’re mortified as you glance down at your lap, where his fingers fall to mindlessly play with the zip of his bomber jacket, brushing your tummy in the process. Your voice doesn’t sound so sure now, especially when each subtle graze sends small shocks through you, “That’s disgusting.”

The soft chuckle he lets out has you stealing a look upward, and when you catch his expression your slowed down brain can only come to the conclusion that maybe he doesn’t find you all that disgusting: he sports a rare, wide curve of his bunny smile, eyes crinkling when that same fondness finds its way onto your lips. You can’t help what they do next, a mind of their own as you rest them on his own mouth, the tip of his nose tickling your cheek.

It’s the faintest of kisses, and it’s delicate, fleeting, over far too soon, but you’re the one to pull back first no matter how much longer you need it to be, “That was probably disgusting too.”

As you rest your back on the seat again, his eyes are still closed, and they flutter open as slowly as a smile stretches on his mouth when he meets you. You’re giving him a look he doesn’t deserve, one he shouldn’t lean into.

His voice is a whisper, and it fans over your face, still close to his, “Not at all.”

Gleaming eyes scan every angle of you, as if trying to find anything that’ll hold him back from what he really wants to do. But, of course, his need only grows when he lets his gaze wander down, then up again.

He glances to the side with a gulp, moving his body back to reach for the car door handle, “You think you can walk or should I carry you?”

“Carry me, please,” you mumble, not even pondering on the first option, and the moment the sound leaves your lips he’s out and reaching for your side, opening your door and scooping you up like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The walk to his dorm is a blur, with you dozing off in his warmth and being lulled by the hums escaping him and reverberating through his chest, melodies of the earlier songs playing against your ear.

You regain awareness when a splash of warm water cascades over your now naked body, the sensation startling enough to make your lashes flutter against your damp cheeks. The water runs over your face, washing away the remnants of the night, the drowsy yet oddly light sensation taking over you causing a giggle to echo against the walls.

You’re still too disoriented to process the tenderness with which Jeongguk’s hand moves, brushing through your soaked strands of hair and moving them from where they flattened on your face, combing through the sticky locks.

With half-open eyes, you’re met with the sight of him in front of you, standing close enough without needing to step into the small space with you, his brows furrowed as he works the shampoo through your hair. It’s a soothing, slow motion, the one he massages your scalp with, and it only melts you further into sweet slumber.

If it weren’t for one of his hands resting tightly on your hip, grounding you as the scent of the shampoo mingles with the steam curling around you, you would have gladly swayed into his palm, letting your weak body fall into his strong one.

You sniff, leaning into his care, voice small and oddly sincere, “I’m sorry for,” hiccup, “taking you away from Haeun. You two seem close again.”

Jeongguk stills for a moment, his fingers pausing in your hair before resuming their soft motions. He pretends he didn’t hear, and you pretend you never talked in the first place when he guides you to steady yourself as your knees wobble, “Hey, stand still. You’ll get shampoo in your eyes. Close them.”

You obey, letting your eyelids drop shut as you feel his hand gently tilt your head under the spray, his touch as tender as the words he isn’t saying.

If you weren’t a victim of both sleepiness and alcohol at this very moment, your thoughts would be racing each other like eager contenders in the Overthinker Marathon, each one fighting tooth and nail for the gold medal. They’d be dissecting every little detail of the night— the way Jeongguk had ignored you, his lingering hand on Haeun’s waist, only to be there the second you needed him, the girl from earlier not even worth mentioning.

Instead, your every thinking cell has taken a rare vacation, lounging together on an imaginary green field, clinking glasses filled with leftover cocktails from earlier, lazily watching clouds drift by.

Although there’s one cell in particular, too tipsy to sit still. It hops around gleefully, urging your lips to move before the Thinking Cell General can intervene. The way it jumps up and down, up and down, makes you giggle as you blurt out, “I don’t know if it’s the water, but I’m very wet.”

The silence that follows is thick, punctuated only by the sound of water cascading down your back. Jeongguk freezes as if the words have physically reached out and yanked him into stunned stillness. He can only let his throat bob in a visible swallow and look away, warning you in a strained mutter, “___. This is your last warning. Stop teasing me.”

You whine, pathetically wiggling your weak and pliant body in his hold to seek for some kind of reaction, but he doesn’t budge. He’s uncharacteristically focused on his tasks, ensuring every trace of shampoo rinses from your hair, rather than your hardened nipples bouncing with your stubborn movements.

But you recognise the way his jaw clenches so tight it must hurt, how he refuses to let his gaze wander lower where the steam of water outlines your form. His restraint is razor-thin, yet he holds it tightly, breathing only slightly uneven.

You’re not deterred by his warning; you never are. It’s the tiny tracks in his resolve that keep you pressing forward, voice laced with a vulnerability that makes his hand twitch against your scalp, “Just… I just need your fingers. Please.”

Jeongguk exhales sharply through his nose, but he doesn’t answer. Instead, he angles the spray to wash the last suds away, hyper-focused on the practical task as though it’s a lifeline to his dwindling self-control.

But you’re persistent. You reach behind you, fingers messily finding the knob to twist the water off, and with the spray halting you’re left only with the hum of the bathroom fan and the faint drip of water.

Your other hand finds his, guiding his wide palm to rest on your lower stomach, just above where your want is written in every inch of your body. You whisper, plead clear in your tone, ”You know I want this. Won’t ever regret it. I’m conscious enough to be sure of that.”

Jeongguk huffs, his chest rising and falling as he stares down at you, fingers flexing slightly against your skin. He closes his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply as if accepting defeat. He can’t win this battle.

The brown-haired boy steps into the shower, the small space shrinking even further with the addition of his broader frame, forcing you to back up against the wall. Fully dressed, water clings to his fabric, and the contrast of his damp clothes against your bare, exposed skin makes you irrationally wetter.

Jeongguk keeps silent, and at this point you don’t care how desperate you look, pushing yourself against him and getting his clothes wetter in the process. It pushes him to initiate a torturous path along your skin, using his middle finger to trace a journey from your chest, savoring the way your breath hitches, down to your warm core.

The droplets of water he collects on the way are used to spread your puffy lips and press right on your sensitive nub, making you gasp. You’re a trembling mess from the simple motion, and he has to use his free hand to steady you against the wall.

Your breasts aren’t left without being taken care of, because the moment he begins circling motions on your clit that have you seeing stars, he lowers his head to envelop one of your tits in his ravenous mouth, teeth teasing it punitively, all while looking up at you with sliced, sinful eyes.

He’s greedy, and you can’t believe he managed to hide it so well until now. But his resolve crumbles the more he revels in the way you fall apart for him, and he loses control on your chest. The sensation is sharp, delicious, and the contrast between the harshness of his bite and the softness of his tongue has you whimpering.

You’re ashamedly aware of how close you already are, his digits picking a fast speed that urges you to let go and coat him in your juices. He knows, simply from the way you let your mouth fall agape and release loud moans in the steamy air, pushing your nipples further in his swollen lips.

When he inserts one finger in your warm hole, you jolt in his secure hold, eyebrows shot upwards in the shock of your sudden orgasm, one that hits you all too harshly. It drags on deliciously, Jeongguk never wanting it to end, the slurping sound of his sucking on your tits making your surrounding spin, along with his thumb accompanying the way his single digits thrusts into you.

He only stops when you unconsciously run from his doings, slim hand wrapping weakly around his wrist, and he retreats with one last wet stripe along the curve of your boob, promptly collecting your taste from his fingers, and he thoroughly hums around them, eyes closed and cheeks hollowed.

You think you could come again from the sight alone. Panting, you smile through your ragged breaths, “Fuck. Thanks.”

Five minutes later, no one would bet you’re the same girl that begged him for his fingers and came in record time around them. Now, you sit serenely on the toilet lid, wrapped up in Jeongguk’s warmest hoodie. The oversized fabric swallows your frame, knees tucked under it as you hug them close to your chest. You look as innocent as ever.

Jeongguk stands in front of you, meticulously brushing through your damp hair with practiced gentleness, each stroke of the comb a soothing lullaby. You rest your chin lazily on your folded arms, eyes closed, the edges of sleep blurring your thoughts.

You let out a contented sigh before murmuring, words unfiltered, “You’d make the perfect boyfriend. You always take care of me. And kiss me when I need it.”

The motions of the brush stop for a fraction of a second before resuming, and what you hear next is Jeongguk’s throat clearing, his voice low and almost shaky, “That sounds so very wrong, toots.”

“What do you mean?” You don’t open your eyes as you ask the question, the warmth of his presence and the excuse of the last traces of alcohol still flowing in your tired body making you bolder than usual.

“You want me to be your boyfriend?”

“In another life, maybe. Yes,” you don’t waste time replying, words carrying a dreamy quality, “I mean, would be cool.”

“Cool?” He chuckles, but it’s the kind that’s half-exasperation and half-something else entirely, voice strained with an edge of desperation too, “God, I don’t even know why I’m still putting up with you.”

You only nuzzle closer into the borrowed hoodie, giving voice to your next thought, your thinking cells now hosting a 60s themed party, “Be my, be my baby. My one and only baby.”

The sound of your singing fades under the whirring roar of the hairdryer, and Jeongguk is quietly thankful for the way it drowns your sweet hums completely, fearing if he hears another one of those tipsy love confessions leaving your lips he might drop to his knees, undone by something he knows he can’t claim.

You rest your head against his stomach, full weight leaning on his standing figure, his long digits pulling through your strands. If you’d look up at your best friend for even one fleeting second, you’d probably laugh at the concentration on his expression, his only goal drying your hair enough to not have you waking up with a headache the following day.

You sniffle and snuggle impossibly closer to him, the heat radiating from his tummy and the white noise lulling you further into drowsiness, every careful motion of his hand coaxing you closer to sleep.

When your phone pings from the bathroom counter, the sudden buzz makes you jolt slightly. You lift your head sluggishly and gesture toward the phone, mouthing up to Jeongguk, “Pass it.”

He hands it to you without turning off the hairdryer, keeping an eye on your sleepy movements. You blink at the bright light for a moment before your expression shifts, eyes widening.

You’re completely jolted awake at the only notification on your home screen: it's Namjoon.

You tap Jeongguk’s stomach with the heel of your hand— softly at first, then with increasing urgency. The repeated motion forces him to stop the device and place it on the counter as he looks down at you, trying to peek at the screen, “What?”

You hiccup and sniff before blurting out, “Namjoon. He texted me”

The boy that was just now carefully drying your hair scoffs, arms crossed over his chest, “What does that asshole want?”

The response to the rhetorical question doesn’t come, either because you decide to ignore it purposefully or unconsciously: you look totally engulfed by the words on your otherwise empty chat with Namjoon, and Jeongguk can’t help but subtly lean his body lower to read the same texts you’re going through.

Kim Namjoon [4:26 a.m.]: Hey. Sorry for texting late, I heard from someone you threw up back at the party. I’m so sorry. I completely lost sight of you in that mess. Are you feeling any better? Very sorry again.

Kim Namjoon [4:27 a.m.]: It’s totally okay if you don’t want to hear from me again. But I wouldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t at least try to make it up to you.

Kim Namjoon [4:27 a.m.]: I’d really like to take you out on a date. Would you let me?

Jeongguk kisses his teeth irkedly, “Why the fuck does he text like Prince William? Fucking English major,” and he truly tried his best to sound unaffected, but the words leave his mouth before he even knows he’s thinking of them.

Luckily, you don’t seem to notice, reading the message aloud like you can’t quite believe it yourself, “He said he’d like to go on a date with me. Like, he asked me on a date. And said he would like it. To go on a date—”

“Yes, we got it.”

“He doesn’t hate me, Gguk!” Once again, his petty comments go unnoticed as your face lights up, eyes crinkling with joy as you practically beam up at him.

Jeongguk wants to be annoyed, but he simply can’t when he’s met with all the stars in the universe right in your glossy, tired eyes. He swallows hard and forces a soft chuckle, “No, he doesn’t, toots. Anyone would be crazy to hate you.”

The grin on your lips only widens, nose scrunching adorably as you let your cheek sheepishly brush against your shoulder, “Oh my god, Gguk. I’m going on a date with him! Heh.”

“That’s nice,” he says, picking up the hairdryer again before your words can settle too heavily in the space between you. “I’m not finished with your hair, though. Stay still.”

The device roars to life once more, its noise filling the room and covering your excited giggles. Jeongguk keeps brushing through your hair with steady motions, his face impassive, but he feels something tighten, heavy and unyielding in his chest.

He tells himself the noise is a blessing, a shield from the silence he wouldn’t know how else to fill—or from the sound of his own voice, betraying him in ways he can’t afford.

────୨ৎ────

“I’ll miss the sex when Namjoon will ask me to be his girlfriend.”

In the quiet of the library, your sudden whisper startles Jeongguk. The chair screeches under him and it gains the both of you a few annoyed looks. He nods in apology at their way, moving closer to the table again, and he has to blink a few times before he can even meet your eyes. The scattered pens all over the white surface looked more interesting either way.

“When he— his— what?” He feels pathetic for being unable to even form a senseful sentence, but there’s no absolute way he blames his brain for that. It’s his heart, stuttering along with the barely intelligible question.

It cracks at the middle the more your grin splits your face in half, nose scrunching adorably, and he may be a horrible friend but he can’t bring himself to return your irony, nor the masked excitement under it.

If he were handed pen and paper and asked to write about how he feels right at this moment, he wouldn’t put down a single thing. Not because there isn’t anything to say. He fears your innocent teasing has done something catastrophic, snapping that one damned string that connected his brain to his heart, and the two aren’t communicating. Jeongguk is in the middle of two angered parents, fighting and on the brink of divorce. That’s what he gets for being a total pussy.

You shrug, frowning slightly when all you’re faced with is his blank expression, eyes unresponsive and detachedly looking elsewhere, but you keep yours on him, studying even the small movements, “I mean, he’s a nice guy. I think he’s serious about getting to know me.”

The word serious causes an involuntary twitch of his head, tilting almost imperceptibly to the side, and he sounds way too defensive, “And are you?”

Furrowing your eyebrows at his unexpected reaction, you return to your previous mindless doodling, keeping your voice low, “Well, he’s cute. Let’s see where this thing goes.”

“What about me?”

The question catches the both of you off guard. Your pencil halts as you glance at him through the corner of your eye, and even if you can’t see him clearly, the way his dark orbs widen is almost comical that you would laugh in any other situation. But now, the air is oddly tense and it makes your nose scrunch in awkwardness.

He breaks it with a chuckle, a subtle tremor in it that luckily goes unnoticed by you but that will probably keep him up at night for the next five years, and he lightly shoves your shoulder in an effort at feigning ease, “You really wanna pass on this dick?”

“God, you’re gross,” the annoyed roll of your eyes has Jeongguk releasing a breath he didn’t realize he was holding; it’s odd, but that’s just who he is.

The second you return to weightless banter, he’s back in his element. He can smirk, tease and deflect— these are tools he’s mastered over the months. But the thought of stripping naked for your eyes to see, and not in the sexual way you two engage in almost every night, terrifies him.

The waters are safe for what seems a fraction of a second before you pull him down in the deep, dark seas again, this dynamic between you foreign. While it is a simple, innocent question, your deceptive tone triggers unfamiliarity within him, “Besides, how’s it going with you and Haeun?”

“Huh? Oh. Haeun, yes,” his attempt at buying himself extra time is laughable, especially when Mr. Brain is now yelling at Ms. Heart for always wanting to get in the way of things he can handle alone, “Wonderfully. We— She— Huh, kissed me.”

Ms. Heart is furious. She has no other choice but to reach in her purse and slap the divorce papers on the dinner table, the glasses clinking against the plates, and Jeongguk flinches. Brain is speechless, clueless on how to react.

You only seem slightly taken aback, eyebrows raising in mild surprise, “Really? That’s nice.”

Jeongguk is equally clueless, subtly squeezing his eyes shut as if hoping to wake up somewhere else entirely, maybe in an ideal world where Kim Namjoon doesn’t exist and Mr. Brain and Ms. Heart are happily married.

Instead, he’s still in the library, and you’re still sitting next to him, scribbling on your English textbook. He frowns, getting pitiably lost in the view of your side profile, “Yeah, nice. Huh, when’s your date?”

When you glance up at him, you seem to be realizing just how odd it is for the two of you to spend this much time talking about your respective hook ups, and you cringe slightly at the unusual formality, wishing Jeongguk would just tease you like he usually does when you tell him about your untruthful and made up sexual adventures.

You purse your lips in thought, “Tomorrow, actually.”

“Oh. He’s going fast.”

“I like that.”

“I know you do.”

No matter the effort you put into trying to hide your amusement, a snort escapes you, and you quickly look away to recover from the childish grin spreading on your lips. You shake your head, closing the book in front of you, “You’re fucking disgusting.”

Jeongguk only smirks in an oddly proud way, nodding at your flustered state when he realizes he successfully managed yet again to shift the conversation from topics he doesn’t want to hear or talk about. He shrugs, “You just said that.”

“And I’ll say it again.”

“Whatever,” a small chuckle follows the dismissal, his hand coming to brush through his fluffy hair, getting too long for his liking, “I really wanted to see you tomorrow.”

Once again, Jeongguk is way too honest, way too easily. Ms. Heart is marching hastily with Mr. Brain walking close behind, trying to make sense of the situation and pushing her to reconsider her actions, but it’s no use: she’s tired, and sick of being walked over, again and again.

He doesn’t like the underlying meaning behind that, and wishes Mr. Brain would grow a pair and just swoon her back into love again. Jeongguk doesn’t like the genuine surprise etched across your face either, or, well, he doesn’t like the effect it has on him: it’s almost unbearable to accept that the blush dusting your cheeks, the one you’re probably unaware of, is caused by his unfiltered honesty. Because sincere bluntness isn’t exactly something he tries to show. Then, why does it spill out of him uncontrollably? Why— why do you look so beautiful like this?

“Hm,” your smile is small, but your dimple betrays it, Jeongguk’s whole resolve cracking with the way you sound dangerously decisive, “Too bad. You’re late.”

Jeongguk shouldn’t overthink this. You’re simply engaging in the usual dynamic, teasing him like always, no reason for his palms to sweat. He shouldn’t panic over the way nothing about what you said feels simple, nor usual, and your tone carries more than what you both want the words to mean.

He doesn’t know if it’s a warning or a test—or worse, the truth. Maybe he’s imagining it. Maybe Brain just misinterpreted the comment, too distracted by its constant squabble with Heart, both of them ignoring Jeongguk, who is still sitting at the cluttered kitchen table with his plate half-full, surrounded by a mess of inky emotions he doesn’t have the courage to clean up.

The sound of forks clinking against plates grates against his ears, drowning out the hurried excuses spilling from your mouth, the ones you’re babbling and making up along the way of gathering your things and standing up from the round table, shouldering your bag in the same hurry you left his room with before the next time he saw you was nose to nose with Namjoon.

You huff, giving a small, tight lipped smile that should be meaningless, but to Jeongguk it isn’t, “I’ll go now. See you around?”

“Huh, sure. Let me know how it goes with Namsun.”

You roll your eyes at the playful attempt, his grin just as empty, “Right. Bye Gguk.”

You’re off the hallway before he can add anything else. Not that he would have been able to. Your bag swings with your big steps, slim hands coming to absently tug your plaid skirt lower, and Jeongguk thinks and thinks.

He realizes he really doesn’t want to know how your little date goes. Would rather shoot himself rather than hearing you talk about another guy taking you out to dinner, stealing you from him and sealing the end to whatever the two of you have.

His options are narrowed. He either commits in front of you and forever changes the trajectory of your life or does something about Namjoon. But why does the option of ending his life sound much easier than stepping up to big, buff Namjoon, infatuated with the same girl he likes?

Oh.

The admission jolts him. It’s a physical reaction that causes his chair to shriek again under his movements, but this time he’s not polite enough to apologize for it. He must look crazy, wide eyes burning holes into his hands planted steadily on the table in front of him.

The girl he likes. You’re the girl he likes.

And every signal is there. The spark he sought for now lights a nervous feeling in his stomach, its fireworks interrupting Brain and Heart’s incessant arguing.

Does he look stupid not doing anything for the girl he likes? Not fighting for the girl he’s been falling for all this time?

────୨ৎ────

It should be easy. It is easy.

Jeongguk can’t let the sleepless night spent reciting lines to his ceiling go to waste. He’s sure not even theater kids could match his determination. And as he marches across campus toward the gym, where the squeak of sneakers and the echo of grunts will lead him to the person needed to put the plan into action, he reviews step by step what he’s told himself to do. It’s a well-rehearsed script, each word, every calculated expression—he’s gone over it a hundred times, accounting for every reaction.

Step one, be casual. Friendly, even. Approach Namjoon like there’s nothing calculated about this interaction—no ulterior motives, no scheme brewing beneath the surface. Just a casual catch-up between two guys.

“What’s up, Kim,” when Jeongguk spots the slightly taller boy exercising at a steady walking pace on the treadmill, he immediately hops onto the free one beside him.

Namjoon startles slightly, then smiles with those stupid, charming dimples of his, and it’s one that Jeongguk would probably only give if forced, “Hey, Jeongguk. Long time no see.”

The brown-haired boy nods, setting the speed and quickly catching up to Namjoon. He keeps his tone deliberately cool, even borderline disinterested, “You been good?”

On his left, your almost-boyfriend shrugs, jogging along, “Yeah, just studying, man. What about you?”

“Pretty much the same,” he hasn’t cracked open a book in weeks, and that study session from yesterday was just an excuse to be with you. But he can’t afford to let his thoughts linger on you too long or he’ll lose focus. He needs focus. “You catch that last game?”

Step two, pretend to care about what Namjoon is saying and then proceed with the acting skills only to suddenly remember something totally random he wanted to mention.

“Fuck, don’t remind me. I was so sure we would win,” the sweating man sounds way too affected by the recent football match, and Jeongguk fears if he asks one more question for the sake of pretending he’ll never get to the actual point.

So, he goes straight to it, “Yeah, it was rough. Oh, by the way. You know ___, right?”

The simple mention of your name causes a small stutter in Namjoon’s step, but he recovers with the stupid smile from earlier, only this time it’s wider, “Of course I know her. Why do you ask?”

Step three, just be honest. He just has to lay it all out. Be straightforward. Tell him the truth about how he’s felt for so long and what this whole thing with you is doing to him. It’s not a confrontation—it’s a conversation. Jeongguk will politely explain that he’s liked you for a while now, that he’s been in your life long before Namjoon, and, as a courtesy, he’d appreciate it if he would step back from pursuing you.

Civil. Calm. Totally chill. There’s absolutely nothing to get worked up over.

"You really don't know? Have no idea?" Jeongguk asks, his voice dropping, tone more pointed than he intended.

Namjoon slows his treadmill slightly, glancing over with furrowed brows and a faintly amused smile. “No, man. Enlighten me.”

“She’s my fucking girlfriend.”

What. The. Fuck.

That wasn’t the plan. Not even close to the plan.

────୨ৎ────

You feel stupid.

Wrapped around in your warmest coat, you still shiver. It could be the way your legs are exposed under your wool dress, high black boots reaching just beneath your knees. But there’s something else to the chill, making you shake in fading jitters. The excitement of the evening you told yourself you were looking forward to morphs into anxiety, and the passing looks of people mean more than they should as minutes tick and tick; they seem to glance at you for too long, their looks heavy with what you can only imagine is judgment.

A young girl swaddled in small but striking details from head to toe — delicate earrings that catch the light, a scarf knotted perfectly at the neck, polished nails clutching the strap of an expensive-looking bag, hair done up in a neat slicked bun — glancing nervously at her surroundings can only mean one thing: she’s been stood up.

Namjoon was supposed to meet you in front of the cozy cafè just outside the campus, its warm tones and surely even warmer ambience so very inviting. Maybe you’d go in, order a steaming hot chocolate for yourself, and chalk this up as a lesson learned. But instead, you chose to wait outside, shifting on your tiptoes every so often, scanning the crowd for a glimpse of the first man to ask you out in what felt like ages.

You feel as though you’ll be forever destined to wait more when thirty minutes go by and Namjoon is nowhere to be seen.

You frown, swaying on your heels. What you feel is not disappointment— not at first. But that only causes you to feel worse about yourself when you realize you’re almost relieved the tall man hasn’t shown up, and he’s not here to turn fears into even scarier realities. The date would have given a concrete meaning to your actions, and the thought stirs something not exactly pleasant within you.

The scratch at the back of your mind grows harder to ignore, and no matter how much you try to shake it off, your subconscious finds ways back to it when your hand instinctively dives into the depths of the expensive purse you had specially chosen for this occasion. A purse meant to complement your carefully selected dark ensemble— an effort that now feels entirely wasted. You spent so much time getting ready for something you’re not ready for at all.

Pulling out your phone, your thumb scrolls to Jeongguk’s number with a natural automatism, typing before you even register why he’s the first person you feel the need to tell.

You [9:39 p.m.]: hi

You [9:39 p.m.]: namjoon stood me up lol

The typing bubbles appear faster than you anticipated, and as you watch them dance across the screen, you burrow deeper into the fragile warmth of your jacket, the tip of your nose numb from the cold.

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:40 p.m.]: Whattttttt????

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:40 p.m.]: He’s such an asshooooooole

Your first instinct is to snort at his reaction, a childish grin tugging at your lips, but it turns into a scowl when the more you reread the text, the more it sounds weird. He usually never texts like a six-year-old using his mom’s iPad.

You [9:40 p.m.]: yes he is

You [9:40 p.m.]: why are u textin so weird btw lol

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:41 p.m.]: Wym weirddd

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:41 p.m.]: I’m totally normal

You [9:41 p.m.]: wtv

You [9:42 p.m.]: u still wanna hang out?

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:42 p.m.]: Yes please

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:42 p.m.]: Want me to pick u up

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:42 p.m.]: Where are u rn

The head tilt is unconscious, but you feel it click in place. You’ve mentioned how Jeongguk is caring, how he can read your needs like no one else and caters to them quietly, but he’s never this pliant, this malleable. You like him because it’s hard to get him to bend (and you’d rather die than let Jeongguk know about this).

You [9:43 p.m.]: is ok

You [9:43 p.m.]: i’ll just walk

You [9:43 p.m.]: be there in 10

The walk usually takes you less than 10 minutes, but before meeting him, you decide to head back to your dorm and change out of these stupid fancy clothes you picked out for the date.

You keep your head low as you walk through the hallways, the full glam you put on impossible to miss as it sparkles under the fluorescent lights, just as your boots' heels echo through the corridors.

Taking off the dress and heels feels like peeling away the embarrassment of rejection, the weight of disappointment settling in as you realize you couldn’t prove to yourself that you could do it, that you can do it, take the leap and let something serious into your life.

You question whether you're even cut out for it when the guy who seemed perfect ended up proving the opposite.

Now, back in more comfortable clothes — Jeongguk's black hoodie from the other day and baggy sweatpants — you feel a little more like yourself. Scared of emotions, scared of commitment, no matter how many hours of your day are spent daydreaming about it.

The second you click the door of your room open, it’s like you can smell a weird shift in the air. And you do, literally sniff, scanning your surroundings for any hint of something burning or out of place.

But it’s not about the dorm in its physical state, no— it’s the odd silence that you’re met with, the people you’re used to sharing the space with now uncharacteristically careful with their volume.

“Oh my god, ___,” that is probably why you’re visibly startled by the sudden voice coming from your side, Iseul looking like containing excitement is the hardest task she’s ever been asked to deal with, just like the few other girls behind her, all practically vibrating, “You’re finally here.”

You furrow your brows, chuckling confusedly at the unusuality of it all— well, it’s not like you don’t get along with these people. It’s just that you’ve never gone over meaningless jokes and talks about the state of the dorm, plus you’ve never exactly been the center of attention like this. It feels off, and it reflects in your uncertain tone, “I am?”

“I’m so happy for you,” Binna chimes in next, grabbing your shoulders with way more enthusiasm than the level of your relationship with her would normally allow, and the way all of their heads nod along that it feels like a coordinated performance is starting to scare you.

“You’re… happy for—”

“I’ve always known you and Jeongguk were perfect for each other,” the affection dripping from Binna’s voice sickens you, maybe even more than the words she’s speaking.

Huh?

You swear you feel your heart skip a long beat before you mask it with an obnoxious, nervous laugh, only growing more when none of them crack a smile or react, “Me and— okay, is this a fucking joke?”

“C’mon, ___,” Iseul says, her sweet voice doing nothing to calm your tension, and if anything it only heightens it, “You don’t need to hide anymore, Jeongguk told Namjoon that you’re his girlfriend.”

Oh. So this must be a fucking joke.

And you can’t stand it.

You barely manage to shake off their relentless curiosity, the entire dorm suddenly buzzing with an interest in you after years of peaceful and civil indifference, and it only overwhelms you to the brim.

Fury boils in your chest as you step out of the building, the cold air failing to cool the anger that flares up within you. With every step, your frustration grows, and you hastily type on your phone as you make your way toward the one person that’s responsible for your temper.

You [10:07 p.m.]: what the actual fuck jeongguk

The response comes so quickly, almost as if he were waiting for you to type it, and you scoff in disbelief. In that moment, you feel a twisted sense of understanding with serial killers. It makes you question how much control you actually have over yourself.

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:07 p.m.]: What’s up?

You [10:07 p.m.]: why’s the whole dorm asking me how's it like to be your gf?

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:08 p.m.]: Eeehhhh???

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:08 p.m.]: That’s so weird

You’re actually gonna fuck this man up.

You [10:09 p.m.]: jeon jeongguk.

You [10:09 p.m.]: they’re saying you told namjoon i’m your girlfriend.

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:09 p.m.]: Don’t use my full name and the period please 🥺

You [10:10 p.m.]: i’ll fucking kill you.

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:10 p.m.]: You’re so hot when you’re like this

You [10:10 p.m.]: shut the hell up.

The banging on his door comes shortly after, and Jeongguk doesn’t even flinch. He knows it’s you, and frankly he was even expecting your arrival to be louder, hit him a little harder than it does. And when he lets you in, you storm in his space with no room for oxygen, door closing behind you but unable to contain the volume of your rage private.

“Can you explain why the whole campus thinks we’re dating? ‘Cause you’re not my boyfriend, and I’m not your girlfriend, and this is not fucking funny.”

But Jeongguk evidently does find it funny, chuckling under his hand coming to cover his mouth while the other one lifts to show you the bright screen of his cracked phone, “Really? The uni Instagram page is shipping us.”

“Shipping us?” You snatch the device from his hands, eyes widening as you scroll through the amount of stories posted in the last hour, everyone and their mother feeling entitled to weigh in on your nonexistent relationship. You whine, a hand resting at your forehead in disbelief, “Oh my god, this is ridiculous.”

“What, are you ashamed of me?” Jeongguk asks casually, walking back and sitting on the bed with a soft thud, his whole demeanor relaxed with a nonchalance that makes your left eye twitch.

You scoff, unwilling to grasp how this is even an actual thing happening to you, tossing the phone back at him, “A little bit, yeah. You think this is a fucking joke, huh? I’m now apparently dating the uni’s most popular fuckboy.”

The damned boy in front of you leans on his forearms, pouting just for show, “Hey, that’s mean. I’m no fuckboy.”

Bag thrown to the ground with a violence that it does not deserve, you start pacing back and forth in his room, letting out a borderline insane laugh, not knowing whether to scream or cry, “Yes, you are. You went through every single girl in this building.”

“Do you really think of me like that?”

The sudden sincerity that you think you spot in his tone makes you halt your steps, body turning to him as he sits straight again, his head tilting slightly.

You sigh, frustration mounting, and you throw your head back at the ceiling for any signal from the universe that this is indeed a joke, a bad, huge joke on you, “Jeongguk. Please.”

Silence fills the room next, but it doesn’t make it any easier to think nor does it quite register in your brain, mind racing with jumbled and chaotic thoughts, barely coming through as coherent words, getting intertwined with one another.

But the more you walk from one side of the room to the other, the more you’re almost able to untangle the mess, just enough to start processing what’s happening.

Then, a nuclear bomb wipes it all out, Jeongguk’s words the missile, his quiet tone the explosion, “I don’t want you to see nobody else.”

“What the fuck?”

The aftermath of the destruction is not only loud, ears ringing with a shrieking alarm going off, your figure stiff with shock, but you feel its heat burning your whole body in consuming flames that threaten to swallow you whole if you don’t let them take over, rise, flood every nerve until all you can feel is the rage boiling in your veins when you practically scream at him, ”What the hell does that even mean? You're being selfish!”

“Am I?” Jeongguk asks calm, calculated, gaze locked on yours as if daring you to challenge him further. His tone is maddeningly measured even as he pushes himself off the bed and closes the distance between you.

It’s like he’s planned this— attack after attack designed to destabilize you completely. Not only did he thrust you into the spotlight without warning, claiming you for the whole campus to see as if you’re worth nothing more than a stupid prank and a few laughs.

But now he talks with a grace that belies the chaos he’s stirred, as if his words are just another fact, something as simple as the weather, “I haven’t been seeing anybody since this summer. Since we started using no condom.”

Your pupils tremble with something far more complex than just anger, though you refuse to give it a name. He’s practically towering over you, his stance purposeful, making you feel small; as if the intensity of his gaze is not enough that it makes you falter, as if the humiliation he’s putting you through isn’t either. Head shaking, your voice does too, “That’s— not true. You’re a fucking liar. You— What about Haeun?

“Nothing even happened with her.”

The speed of his denial sets you off, an incredulous scoff breaking free as you roll your tongue against the inside of your cheek—a habit you’d picked up from witnessing his easy tempers, “Then why did you tell me you kissed?”

“Because—” Jeongguk hesitates, and the pause is so out of character that it almost gives you whiplash. The boy who always has something to say suddenly seems unsure. His hand flexes at his side, a nervous tick you hadn’t noticed before, and he exhales as if the words are fighting their way out of him, “‘Cause— I was jealous.”

“Jealous?” Your voice cracks on the word, a laugh bubbling out of you that’s sharp and fractured, borderline unhinged. It cuts through the room like broken glass, and his expression tightens, jaw clenching. But he doesn’t interrupt.

“Jealous,” you repeat, louder this time, your incredulous tone thick with rage. “You’re telling me you made up that bullshit because you were jealous?”

He doesn’t respond, and it pushes you closer to your limit, on the verge of exploding. You don’t know how you find it within you, but with a long exhale and a quick prayer up at the ceiling, you meet his gaze in an almost patronizing manner, “Jeongguk, we are not exclusive. I thought that was well implied. You don’t get to act like this. You don’t get to be jealous.”

Nodding along to your words, Jeongguk’s brows draw together, his expression somewhere between anxious and defensive. There’s something in his eyes, something close to fear, but fear of what, you can’t quite place.

When he speaks, his voice is softer than yours, as though he’s trying to keep it from breaking, “I know. We both agreed to that, yes. We’re both allowed to see other people.”

The words feel rehearsed, like he’s repeated them to himself a hundred times. But with the silence stretching, it’s clear he’s struggling to say more. His lips press together briefly, and his gaze flicks to yours, searching. It’s as though he’s waiting — no, hoping — you’ll interject, offer something to fill the space.

You don’t. You hold firm, tilting your head slightly, your confusion evident. Your wide, questioning eyes, so big, so honest, pull the truth from him in a way you don’t intend, and he exhales like it’s been forced out of him.

“But I don’t want you to.”

The sheer audacity of his words hits you like a slap, the kind that stings more because of its unexpectedness. You snort, although there’s nothing particularly amusing about your heart cracking at the middle, but you manage to keep it from resounding in your words, "That’s so fucking mean. Do you even hear yourself? You get to fuck whoever you want, and I’m kept hostage? And now—now everybody thinks we’re dating!"

"That’s good," he says, simple, unflinching.

You blink, disbelief coursing through you as your lips part in a strangled gasp. "What?" The word is half a whisper, half a shout, and it escapes before you can temper it, "You’re so selfish. I fucking hate you.”

The emotion is foreign from what you’re used to showing him, softness in quiet ways, affection in silent gestures. But now, it’s all loud rage, the opposite of love spilling out of you in volatile waves. Your hands curl into fists at your sides, itching for release, something, anything to make him feel the way you’re being forced to feel, to cut through the weight of his seemingly impassive expression showing only the barest twitch in his brows, a crack too small to satisfy your anger.

It isn’t enough. You need more.

Your palms find his chest, shoving him with the force of every burning feeling inside you. “You’re stupid,” you spit, watching him take the push without exactly budging, like he’s made of stone. It only stokes your frustration further, your hands pushing again, harder this time. “And dumb.”

Jeongguk doesn’t step back, doesn’t fight you. He stands there, his chest steady, absorbing your hits without a word. His lack of resistance only makes the storm inside you rage harder, and the tears you’ve been holding back threaten to spill over.

You scramble for more, anything to turn the reality of what you truly feel into the illusion of anger, “And— and— Why the fuck are you silent! Say something!” You aim another punch at his chest, but it’s impossibly weaker, the exhaustion showing in your useless attempts at getting at him.

You sniff, and you know you lost against his indifference, your voice wavering feeling like a confession you didn’t mean to make. “Asshole. You’re being so mean. You’re making me cry.”

That’s what finally breaks him. Only the tears slipping rapidly from your eyes get his resolve to crumble. His hands are on you instantly, gripping your shoulders gently but firmly, refusing to let you squirm away. You slap at them weakly, but his touch is steady, his fingers brushing strands of hair from your face, cupping your chin to tilt it up toward him.

“Toots, no. Hey, hey,” he whispers, his tone soft in a way that disarms you completely. His thumb swipes at a stray tear, but your face turns away, evading him like it’s your only line of defense. He doesn’t back down, “Stop crying. Hey, look at me. Will you?”

“Stop calling me that!” You finally snap, jerking your face away again. The tears are spilling faster now, no matter how much you want to fight them, no matter how much you want to cling to the fury. “I hate you. You’re fucking all the girls in this college, and I’m only fucking you, because— because—”

“God,” Jeongguk groans, exasperation dripping from his tone. You’re about to hurl another half-formed insult or maybe even take a swing at him again, aiming low, but his next words stop you cold.

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” His tone is quieter now, more deliberate, the vulnerability in it cutting sharper than anything else he’s said. “I like you. I broke the rule.”

You’re sure your heart will fail you today. It misses at least four beats, and it steals the oxygen from your lungs, along with the color from your face.

You stammer, eyes widening as your pulse picks up again and pounds in your ears. “Don’t—don’t say shit like that. I swear to God, I’ll actually fuck you up. Stop—lying to me.”

“What the fuck, ___? I’m not lying to you,” Jeongguk’s voice attempts to be steady but it can’t hide the desperation, as if he’s holding on by a thread. “Why would I?”

The question is simple.

Why would Jeongguk lie to you? Does he have a reason to fake this?

The world seems to tilt, the ground beneath you shifting in some irreparable way.

You should feel scared. You should feel repulsed at the thought of commitment, the weight of his words pressing against you like a cage. But you don’t.

Instead, your eyes dart between his, searching for cracks in his sincerity, like a frantic spectator watching a tennis match, every glance like a volley in the game of something bigger than either of you. The matchpoint sends a thrill through your chest, something overwhelming and terrifying but not unwelcome.

Jeongguk watches you closely, feeling the weight of the silence between you stretch on longer than he can handle. He knows he’s the one that should break it, knows the truth he’s holding inside has to be spoken now.

It’s now or never. He can’t keep pretending—this isn’t just some casual thing to him, and he’s not ready to let it slip away without a fight. You’ve become everything he didn’t know he needed, and yet here he is, paralyzed by the fear of rejection, of being vulnerable, of watching the one thing he wants most slip right through his fingers.

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? If he doesn’t speak up now, he’ll lose everything. His fear has no place in this moment anymore.

It’s a long exhale before his voice drops in soft honey, shaking with the weight of the truth, “Look. I know it’s hard to trust me. You’ve seen me fuck up multiple times over this stuff. But I want to stop this cycle. I want to allow myself something good,” his eyes search for any signal that he should stop talking, but in yours he finds every reason for him not to, “And you’re everything good that life will ever concede me. I can't… I can't let you go. I can't lose you.”

"Jeongguk…" His name slips from your lips like a prayer you've been too afraid to speak aloud until now. But you see it— he’s ready to find every solution, even if it means confronting the fear that has held him back for so long.

“I like you so much it’s killing me,” he admits, voice low and raw, every syllable cracking with vulnerability.

It’s a slow realization, like a tide that comes in quietly, softly. You’ve felt its caress for so long, and now that it embraces you wholly, you feel your heart expand, filling with the same warmth, the same longing.

The words you wish you could say are caught in your throat. You look up at him, eyes wide, trying to comprehend, to take in what he’s offering. You’re almost afraid to ask, as if the answer will shatter something you’ve worked so hard to protect, “You like me?”

“I lose my fucking mind when it comes to you.” His confession is a rush of honesty that sweeps through you, his eyes not leaving yours, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he blinks.

The world feels like it’s slowing down. There’s so much you’ve been holding back, but you don’t know how to make the words fit, how to make them sound right.

Jeongguk takes a small step back, his voice quieter but still heavy with emotion. “It’s okay if you wanna end it here,” he murmurs, his words barely above a whisper, like he’s bracing for the worst. “At least it wasn’t because you got with some other stupid guy.”

You shake your head, the thought of losing him too painful to bear. “Stop—” You let out a frustrated sigh, hands curling into fists at your sides. “God, you’re so dumb. This could have been so much easier if you’d told me sooner.”

He looks at you, confusion flickering across his face. “What do you mean?”

You feel your chest tighten, the truth slipping out before you can stop it. “I like you too,” you admit, the words finally leaving your lips hastly, like they were just waiting for the right moment. “I agreed to the date because I thought you were still… fucking around.”

His face softens, and there’s a flash of relief in his eyes. “I wasn’t. Haven’t been in so long.”

“...No Haeun?”

“Hell no. I don’t want no kiss if it isn’t from you.”

You laugh, a low sound that fills the air between you. “Cheesy fucker,” you tease, but there’s a warmth in your chest now, a feeling you can’t ignore. “Well, if you want to know, I wasn’t seeing anybody either. Namjoon asked me out randomly, but I haven’t been with anyone else since… this started.”

His eyes widen slightly, and for a moment, everything is quiet. He looks at you like he’s just heard something he never expected to hear. “Oh,” he says softly.

“Yeah.”

Jeongguk steps closer to you, his hands reaching for you, voice thick, “I’m so sorry, baby. I never meant to make you cry. It’s breaking my heart.” His thumb brushes across your cheek, gently wiping away the remnants of the tears you hadn’t even realized had fallen. “I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head, your heart swelling with both regret and tenderness. “It’s okay,” you say softly. “I’m sorry for yelling all that stuff at you. I don’t hate you. I…”

Before you can finish, his lips crash against yours, and all the confusion, all the fears, prove themselves to be worth this moment.

They dissolve into something real, the kiss trying to make up for lost time, for all the things left unsaid.

When you pull away, your foreheads resting together, Jeongguk’s voice is quiet but determined. “Come here, baby. You’re mine.”

“Prove it.”

[joonberriess]

t h e b o y i s m i n e

⋆ TAGS — mean!jk, heavy degradation, sub!oc vibes, fingering, creampiess, pussy eating, oc is super sensitive hehe, cock warming in the car, ass play(?), intense cow girl moment, dirty talk, mentions of squirting(?), messy sex, oc is cunty (CUNT CUNT CUNT), RED MF FLAGS, jk ain’t shit and neither is oc, mentions of cheating, possessive!oc don’t play about her bestie, joon n oc moment bc why not, she’s lowkey a bimbo, jk likes mocking oc, nasty sex, jk’s a simp for his bestie, oc whines a lot lol, 4liferrrsssss, oc messy asf but jk is too

⋆ WORD COUNT — 6.2 k

‘Something’s not right.’ Is what Sujin begins to think right off the bat when her boyfriend brings her to meet his “best friend”. Sujin already knew that Jungkook had a “girl” best friend wayy before she even talked to the man. All her friends were against it when she told them she was interested in Jungkook.

“No girl, you’re gonna regret it like big time. That man is going to have you looking like a fool.” They’d say but Sujin seemed hard of hearing..

Sujin knew what she was getting into but nothing could have prepared her for the hot piping mess being served in front of her face. For fucks sake her boyfriend couldn’t even fucking sit next to her because he chose to sit with “y/n”. Sujin wants to think it’s a childhood thing, maybe that’s why they’re so unnaturally close.

“Oh.” Sujin says when y/n tells her that no, they in fact met almost two years ago as college freshmans. (Sujin’s beginning to run out of ideas to make up in her head so she doesn’t go insane over the sight of you casually touching her boyfriend and Jungkook letting it happen?) Jungkook even helps separate your perilla leaf with his chopsticks.

What are you a child? Sujin’s NOT liking this so far.

“So,” Sujin smiles as politely as she can muster, “how’d you guys meet?”

You smile softly back at her, “My brother has a frat house and Jungkook happened to join, we only met cause my brother was forcing his frat guys to help me move into my new apartment. He made them do it shirtless which was pretty funny.”

Sujin nods slowly, “Ohh.. how nice. So like you guys started hanging out or what’s the deal?”

Jungkook shrugs, “I saw her manga books and we bonded over that,” he keeps it curt, like he’s not interested in talking to her (his own girlfriend), “we started chilling and yeah.” Sujin fucking hates when he talks to her like he’s bored already.

“He kept saying I reminded him of Bayonetta!” You pipe back in with a dreamy smile.

“Uh-huh, Bayonetta..” Sujin clears her throat and shifts around in her seat, “Uhh well, I think it’s getting a bit late no? Kinda time for me to get going.”

You purse your lips in a soft pout and nod at her, “I see.. I hope to see you again, you’re really nice and pretty.” You coo, “Jungkookie’s super lucky to have you,” Sujin appreciates your sincerity but she’s not so sure if she can look past how close you are with her boyfriend.

“You didn’t bring your car didn’t you?” Jungkook suddenly says, “C’mon I’ll drive you.” He rises to his feet and holds his hand out for you take.

Sujin’s jaw nearly drops as HER boyfriend slings your purse over his shoulder and helps you up, guiding you out of the booth by a hand to your back.

“Jungkook.” Sujin snaps, “I think she’s got it don’t you think?” Her boyfriend turns to look at her, and proceeds to give her the meanest fucking mug ever. Like if she had the audacity to ruin whatever the fuck was happening in front her. “What?” Sujin raises a brow.

You look up at Jungkook with those stupid puppy eyes of yours, “I can call an uber no biggie.” You say softly.

“Hey, since our meeting was cut so short, how bout I pay for it, yeah?” Sujin smiles while whipping her phone out and pressing ‘request’, like she didn’t have that ride ready to order.

Jungkook does that thing when he’s pissed where he pokes his tongue inside his cheek, he has the audacity to have a staredown with her but Sujin doesn’t back down. “..Yeah, I’ll walk you out then y/n.”

“It was nice meeting you.” You softly say while hugging Sujin tightly before waltzing out the door with Jungkook’s hand over your hip.

Sujin has to pinch the bridge of her nose, on one hand you’re the sweetest thing ever but c’mon you can’t be THAT dense can you? Sujin would have liked you in another world where you weren’t trying to get with her boyfriend.

Sujin looks out of the window and sees Jungkook leaning against the car door while you slip into the back. He’s telling you something and you’re looking at him like he’s hung the fucking stars or something. Luckily nothing happens and Jungkook closes the door before stepping back to watch the car take off.

“Fucking prick.” Sujin mutters under her breath as she steps out with a pissed look. “What the fuck was that Jungkook, huh? You gonna sit there and lie to my face and tell me not to worry about her? Answer me.” She lightly hits his arm.

Jungkook sighs deeply, “What? Fuck are you on right now, the night was going so good I don’t see the problem here.”

His nonchalant attitude makes her seethe even more, “Jungkook, she has no fucking boundaries and you don’t seem to give a shit about that, I’m the GIRLFRIEND here but this fucking turned into me meeting you two instead of her meeting me. It’s fucking humiliating watching her put hands on my boyfriend and worse that you chose to sit with her.”

“And yet you knew I was friends with her. Literally that’s everything everyone’s been telling you before I brought you here to meet her, be prepared for how close y/n is with me. This isn’t brand new to you Sujin.” Jungkook replies while fishing a cigarette out of his pocket.

Sujin watches in disbelief as he lights it and takes a drag like nothing, “That doesn’t make it okay for her to do that though. Close or not I don’t give a fuck Jungkook, you’re either with me or you’re not.” She snaps, “So tell me now before I waste my fucking time.”

Jungkook takes his sweet time, puffing away as he watches the smoke disappear into the night sky, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Sujin tilts her head, “Okay, what?”

“It’s over.” And just like that Sujin’s jaw drops for real this time, she’s utterly gagged into silence as she watches her (now) ex-boyfriend stomp out the cigarette before turning to her with a sinister look in his eye, “Bye.” He passes without as much as a glance, leaving her silent.

Sujin turns her head and watches him leave, “What the fuck.” She whispers.

.

(Not even an hour later.)

“Okay, this one or this one?” You held up two different babydoll dresses—one white with delicate frills, the other silk but more of a bodycon-type but it had a cute bow on it so why not.

Jungkook’s eyes briefly flick up from his phone, he stares at both of the dresses for a cool minute before nodding his head, “The white one.” He leans back with one arm on the bed and both legs spread apart (gosh him and his manspreading).

“I thought so too!” You happily say and carelessly toss it into the pile of clothes lying in your open suitcase, “Okay now help me decide between my sneakers or my ballet flats?” He doesn’t even answer cause he’s busy laughing at something on his phone.

“Jungkooookkk,” you huff irritably but this man does not look up. He just toys with his stupid lip ring while smiling down at his screen.

You let the shoes hit the ground as you quietly saunter over, slipping right into his lap with practiced ease. He doesn’t react because this is an all too familiar scene for him. He hooks his arm around your waist and tucks his chin over your shoulder, still scrolling mindlessly. “What’s up? Hm.” He murmurs.

“I needed your help choosing which shoes I should take.” You hide your face in his neck and lay one tiny kiss on it, “You’re mean.”

“Am I?” Jungkook brings you down with him when he slowly lays back on the bed. He tosses his phone somewhere and rests his arm behind his head. His free hand strokes your backside, cheekily stopping right above your ass before repeating.

Your hands settle over his toned stomach where his shirt has ridden up revealing his beautiful physique underneath. His damn Calvin Klein boxers hug him just right too, hanging low over his hips where a small amount of hair leads down…you know where..

“Mm-hm, ‘s not nice to ignore me.” You nod with a dreamy look, pillowy lips pursed (which make them much more alluring in Jungkook’s humble opinion).

Jungkook hums again and runs his hand over your ass, landing small little pats of appreciation here ‘n there, “It isn’t huh,” he trails off quietly while tattooed fingers make work of the bow tied around the front of your shorts.

You shake your head and come down so that you’re chest to chest with Jungkook, face leveled with his as the two of you stare into each other's eyes. “No,” you softly say, nimble fingers creeping under his shirt to trail up his middle with light feathery touches.

“No.” He softly mimics in a high-pitched tone that’s meant to sound like you, “You’re so fuckin’ cute, but you might wanna get a move on though cause the guys are gonna be here any minute now ‘n you don’t want them to come in and see what a desperate little thing you are? No huh,” he mock pouts while tapping your cheek.

“You’re mean! I’m not talking to you for ten whole minutes.” You huff angrily and get off his lap, “Stop laughing, it's not funny.” You’re whining again before you can even stop yourself. It makes him double over in laughter, shoulders shaking and all too.

“My bad, my bad, I didn’t realize you were still upset over the shoes.” He chuckles while sitting back up with messy hair, “C’mere I’ll make it better.” He waves his hand, “C’mere! I’m not joking!” He laughs because you look at him incredulously.

You fold your arms over your chest and turn away, “No, I have to pack remember?” You’re shoving clothes into your suitcase with a quiet huff.

“Yeah, yeah.” You don’t even notice when he comes up behind and hauls you up into his arms. Jungkook tosses you on the bed like nothing causing you to yelp in surprise as your body bounces off the mattress a little, “If I give you a kiss will you quit your fuckin’ pouting?” He smirks.

You nod vigorously, “I want one here, here, and here.” You tap different areas on your face.

“I said one, not fucking five,” he snorts while peppering your face in small smooches regardless because he could never resist a pretty girl like you, “dumb little thing you are.”

“They don’t count as real kisses.” You smugly reply.

Jungkook smirks, “Oh, and what does hm? Give your Jungkookie a kiss and show me.” Without hesitating you wrap your arms around his neck and press your lips to his.

You’re lips locked, softly moaning as he kisses the fuck out of you. It’s the way his lips glide over yours so smoothly like you’re meant to be kissing. All you can really do is dreamily sigh while his tongue runs over the seam of your lips. Of course you let him in and the kiss gets filthier if possible.

You feel his hand slide up your back slowly until he’s hooking his finger under the strap of your flimsy sleep top. He watches in hunger as your tit slips out from under the top, perky nipple already hard as he leans down to wrap his lips around it. The pleasure is hot when his tongue presses down on the bud, he has you whimpering quietly while burying your fingers through his hair.

“Mmm–Jungkook, wait,” you breathlessly sigh while pushing his face away, “Sujin.” You softly say while playing with his hair, “What ‘bout her?”

Jungkook stares back up at you through hooded eyes, “Who?” He replies to which you grin back, “Hm, just let me enjoy your tits in peace.” He crudely mumbles before taking your nipple back into his hot mouth.

He fondles and squeezes your other tit while sucking on your rather sensitive teat. The heat between your legs is unbearable, Jungkook knew damn well why you hated having your nipples played with yet he carried on without a care. Your poor clit throbbed from neglect and your pussy was slicking up by the second, you fear a glob would slip out if he dared to switch your positions.

“J-Jungkook..!” You huff and press your thighs together hoping to alleviate some of the heat.

He pinches hard causing you to whine, it doesn’t stop him because he’s then using a hint of teeth on your sensitive bud. “Oh..!” Your mouth falls open and your back arches off the bed, thighs shaky and wobbly.

Jungkook pulls away with a string of slick connecting to your nipple, “Turn over baby,” he smacks your ass hard and jiggles your cheek, “arch that pretty back for me, yeahh like that—low.” He darkly comments while watching you turn over with your hips raised high and front flat to the bed.

He shuffles around and gets behind you holding you steady with a hand to your hip. “Pull ‘em to the side,” he says while lazily pushing his sweats down, shoving them low enough till they’re right under his balls, “How desperate are you, hm? How bad do you want this cock baby?” He grins while slapping the tip through your dewy sticky folds.

You bite your lip and reach behind you to hold yourself open for him, “Bad, need it so bad Jungkookie..feel so empty without it.” You pout while pushing back until his cock gets trapped between your thighs, the thick shaft pressing right up against your throbbing little clit.

“Yeah?” Jungkook licks his lips, “Gonna let me have it?” He murmurs as his cock slides through the mess between your thighs, globs of slick coating the shaft.

“Mm-hmm.” You nod.

“Mm-hm.” Jungkook smirks as he lands a rough smack to your ass, “Push me in baby.”

You reach back to rub his cock through your folds, tapping the tip against your needy hole until it catches. Your breath hitches as the tip pops in, he doesn’t make a move to shove himself deeper or anything—he stays perfectly still.

“Jungkook!” You turn to glare back at him, “S-Stop teasing me.”

“I’m not doing anything, if you want it you know what to do.” Jungkook grins while biting his lip, “You know what I wanna see baby, don’t play dumb.”

You grumble under your breath and slowly push your hips back until your ass meets his pelvis. There’s a low squelch as the rest of his cock slips in and as much as you would’ve loved for him to fuck you, this was also good. You pant hotly into the pillow and wiggle around with soft little ‘mm’s as Jungkook rubs his hand over your hip and holds you steady.

“There you go, bring it back for me,” he huskily mumbles while watching the ripple of your cheeks jiggle each time your ass meets his pelvis.

Little clapping noises begin to rise subtly as your pace gets quicker and quicker. You meet him thrust for thrust, there’s a low fopping sound as his balls make contact with your puckered lips, pressing right up against you each time you bottom out.

Jungkook’s eyes are glued to the sight of your pretty pink rim hugging his cock tight each time he backstrokes. His cock is covered in a sheen of slick and he swears every time he pushes back in he comes back out with more.

“So messy,” he lays his thumb over your other puckered hole, “hear that?” He grunts, “Sloppy lil cunt taking me so well, got you creaming for me.”

Jungkook’s breath hitches when his thumb accidentally slips through the tight barrier and into your ass. You loudly mewl and buck your hips in surprise, it doesn’t hurt but it feels weird..weird in a good way though.

“Oh, you like that don’t you?” He licks his lips, “Baby loves having her holes filled up doesn’t she?”

You moan in response and bury your face in the pillow with muffled cries. The pleasure shoots up your spine and has you curling in on yourself. Your cunt throbs like crazy now and everything somehow feels ten times better than before.

“Answer me.” Jungkook slaps your cheek rather hard.

“Mmph–y-yes..!” You whimper despite the pillow being in your mouth.

“Yea,” he laughs as he suddenly snaps his hips up, “you love it don’t you? Can’t get enough of this cock.” He plows into you with repeated thrusts, each one jostling you up the bed and sending you into a pleasure hazed mind.

Your mouth falls open in a silent scream as Jungkook grips you by the hip with one hand and slams you back onto his cock. Your toes curl from the intensity of his cock slamming into your g-spot while his thumb fills your ass. The heat coiling in your tummy has you squirming and whimpering.

“Too much? Where you goin?” You don’t realize you’re actively moving away from him till his cock threatens to slip out, “You can take it baby, don’t run.” He laughs low while dragging you right back onto his cock.

In fact he follows you down till you’re laying flat on the bed and his thumb slips out of your puckered hole, “Gonna cum? Hm?” He lays flat over your back and hooks his chin over your shoulder, “C’mon, don’t go stupid on me.” He smacks your cheek gently a couple of times.

“Yes..!” You gasp breathily, “S-So, so close..” Your voice sounds wobbly and garbled, and the shaking in your thighs doesn’t stop.

Jungkook coos, “So close,” he buries his face in the side of your neck and leaves marks of his own there, “go on, cum on this dick.”

Your lips part and you let out a high-pitched mewl, your pussy spasms around him with your cunt squeezing and massaging his cock. Your eyes slip shut and you slump against the bed with a whine, the orgasm took the life out of you.

“Fuuckk,” he sighs as he slows down, grinding his cock in and out of the mess between your thighs, “good girl,” he groans softly until he comes to a stop and stills.

His cock throbs and twitches, spurt after spurt of cum filling you to the brim. You can feel some of it slide out with globs of your own slick. Jungkook hums deeply and gives your ass a pat of appreciation, “Shower?” He asks softly.

“Mm-hmm.” You nod still face down in the sheets.

“Mm-hm.” Jungkook copies while laughing to himself as he slips out of your cunt with a lewd squelch. You don’t even have the energy to fight with him right now, you’re just ready for bed at this point.

+

You can’t help the little yawn that escapes as you turn your face to tuck yourself into Jungkook’s side. Whose idea was it to take a roadtrip to Busan, you don’t know but you’re barely even awake after that rough fucking.

You and Jungkook had opted to sit in the back away from everyone and enjoy each other’s company instead. Jungkook’s hand came to rest over your thigh like that’s his permanent spot.

So far the ride is peaceful, Yoongi’s managed to successfully get you all out of the city and onto the highway (thanks to Namjoon’s excellent navigation skills). In front of you Jimin’s knocked out while Taehyung watches something on his phone. Namjoon’s talking with Yoongi about something you can’t bring yourself to care for.

You can feel your eyelids getting heavier by the second and it feels like you’re about to slip into the best sleep ever when Jungkook stops you. Not literally, but it still feels like it with the way he slides his hand up your bare thigh.

“Hm?” You sleepily look up wondering what on Earth he was up to now.

Jungkook pats you, “C’mere, want you on my lap baby.” He mutters as quietly as he can.

You rub your eyes and slip yourself on to his lap, tucking your chin over his shoulder and squeezing your thighs on either side of him. God bless that you chose to wear your thin sleeping shorts and slutty juicy sweater, Jungkook can just about feel your perky tits through the soft material.

“Shh.. not a peep or else I’m gonna gag you with your panties.” He mumbles low in your ear, stroking over your back to keep you calm.

“Jungkookie–”

“Jungkookie needs you to shut the fuck up, can you do that for me?” He squeezes your ass and kneads both cheeks rather roughly, “Good girl.”

“If they look, I’m not stopping. So if I were you I’d keep quiet baby, unless you want Joon and them to know how much of a cock hungry slut you are.”

He sounds so fucking calm but his words are the complete opposite, you find yourself holding in your desperate whines. “Can you..?”

“Can I what?” He slips his hand under your shorts and tugs it to the side alongside your panties, “Hm?”

You bite your lip and lift your hips, “Want something in me, I feel so empty Kook..” You breathe out and wrap your arms around his neck.

Through the drowsiness you faintly make out his soft curses as he whispers under his breath. Jungkook pokes at your slit and slips his fingers through your messy folds.

“Take my cock out,” he mumbles and you happily reach between the two of you to slip your hand into his sweats.

His cock throbs when your soft hand wraps around it, he has to bite his lip when you dig your thumb into the slit and swipe over the messy head. “Don’t tease..” He grunts with a small sharp smack to your ass.

You lift your hips and with his help manage to slip his cock through your dewy folds. You blindly slap the tip against your slicked up hole, the tip catching on your rim.

“Slow,” he sounds calm and collected but the way he swallows harshly tells you otherwise.

You bite your moans back and push yourself until your ass is meeting his thighs. The heat in your belly pools and your poor clit throbs. Is it you or the car feels hotter?

You hide your face in his neck and suck over old and new hickeys you’ve left these past days. Jungkook relaxes into the seat and sighs, luckily it doesn’t sound like it’s out of the ordinary.

“You can sleep now.” Jungkook off-handedly mumbles while closing his eyes, leaving you utterly speechless. You’re not entirely surprised given his little track record of being mean and shit.

“G’night..” You softly mumble and kiss his cheek, you lay your head on his shoulder and close your eyes. Maybe if you’re a good girl he’ll make you cum later on..yeah, that sounds amazing, you smile in your sleep and drift off into dreamland with a cunt full of cock.

.

“So hot..” You softly mumble while fanning yourself with a make-shift fan.

Everyone but Namjoon went out today to explore the town and shit. You opted to stay back and wait for the sun to die down to go out later. Namjoon said something about keeping you company so you didn’t mind.

Here you are laying on the ground with your legs thrown up on the couch over Namjoon’s lap. Your pretty babydoll dress rides up your thighs and you occasionally catch Namjoon’s gaze drifting down. What a sight is it to see—veiny big hands plastered over your soft ankles toying with your cherry charm anklet.

“Namjoon, if penguins are related to the bird family, how come they can't fly?” You softly say while looking at him through your lashes.

“I dunno,” He shrugs while stroking over your foot, “environmental and evolutionary reasons maybe?”

You pout and tilt your head back to watch the TV, “I think they’re cute.”

“Why don’t you find one and give it a kiss then?” Namjoon smirks in amusement, “Maybe Jungkookie can save you if it tries to attack you or something.”

“Not funny.” You whine kicking your sock-clad foot at him, but he catches it and tugs on your foot.

You squeal softly as he ends up dragging you upwards just a tiny bit, “Owie let go, you’re squeezing my freaking bone.” You giggle.

Namjoon lets your foot go with a laugh, “My bad, my bad.” He raises his hands in surrender, “You can tell your Jungkookie to kiss it all better when he comes back yeah?” He grins.

“Ugh you’re also mean.” You huff while sitting up feeling light headed cause you were laying on the ground for so long. “You and Jungkook.” You mumble and climb onto the couch with him.

Jungkook finds you two like that. You’re tangled up with Namjoon side by side, legs thrown over his lap as he strokes over your soft thigh. Namjoon’s mindlessly scrolling through his phone and you’re just you watching some animal documentary on the TV.

“Hey.” Jungkook greets while falling on another sofa.

“Back already,” Namjoon hums, “where’s the others?”

“Out, they went to the beach cause Jimin wanted to go. It was fuckin’ hot so I came back, we didn’t do much but walk around the tour shops and shit.”

You lift a leg in the air to admire your pretty anklet, “Did you bring me anything?” You softly ask.

“Yeah, it’s in the bag.” Jungkook replies calmly as he fishes his phone out and does whatever the hell he usually does on that thing.

With both men preoccupied with their phones you decide to head outside to sunbathe. God bless the airbnb for having a private pool. “Where you going?” Jungkook mumbles, not looking up from his screen.

“Sunbathing.” You curtly reply and head outside through the large patio doors.

It’s hot as hell but you don’t care as you kick your socks off and strip out of your babydoll dress. You happily lay your towel out on the grass and set up a mini umbrella. Once you're happy with your setup you lay on your back and slip your heart shaped glasses on.

You can hear Namjoon and Jungkook talking in the background faintly, something about Sujin but you honestly don’t bring yourself to care much. Along the lines Jungkook mentions Sujin texting him again, Namjoon says “oh shit really” and then Jungkook tells him everything.

“..giving… chance… again..?” You can’t make out the entire convo. You crack a slow smile and turn over on your belly, legs kicked up and your feet in the air as you call out to the boys.

“Can someone bring me my phone?” Your voice soft and velvety, you slip your glasses up on your head and flutter your lashes, “Please?”

Jungkook stops talking and looks over the coffee table before stepping out with your phone in hand. “Look at you all cute and shit, enjoying your sunbathing?” Jungkook asks as he squats down in front of you.

“Yep, it’d be funner if you and Joonie joined me though.” You softly hum while tilting your head up and letting Jungkook lay a kiss over your soft lips.

“Yeah..?” He murmurs low. It’s glaringly obvious you have this man wrapped around your little fingers. It’s like you didn’t even have to try with him.

“I’ll be right back.” He says and disappears into the house.

You roll over on your back with a satisfied smile, slipping your glasses back on as you hum, “The boy is mine, I can’t wait to try him,”

+

Maybe Jungkook’s the one trying you right now. It’s not even nine am yet..

Your thighs encase his head like a pair of soft earmuffs, he’s got his tongue dipped between your messy folds with your pussy stuffed in his face. Jungkook doesn’t seem to care though, he’s got his strong big arms wrapped around your thighs as he holds you down and makes you take it.

Your clit’s just as sensitive as every other part of you, and Jungkook just loves to make you shake. He traces the tip of his tongue over your sensitive bud, flicking it back and forth with quick strokes. It has your lips parting and your head leaning back from the cloudy pleasure.

“Oh..” You roll your hips upward into his eager mouth, something that greatly pleases Jungkook.

He slips his tongue lower and flicks it upward to get a taste of all that creamy slick gushing from your empty cunt. You slap a hand over your mouth and whimper when he goes back to your poor clit. This time though he wraps his lips around it and gives it a harsh, mean suck.

Jungkook flicks his dark eyes up to look at you, just watching as you lose yourself on his tongue. The way your tummy goes taut and your body stiff when he grazes his teeth over your clit sends a dark thrill down his spine. He wants to see more, so he’s going to get more.

“J-Jungkook!” You cry out as he stuffs his fingers knuckle deep into your pussy.

There’s a loud squelch each time he slaps his fingers up into your greedy cunt. Your pussy’s literally leaking as small dribbles of squirt oozes out with each passing second. You’re shaking, thighs struggling to stay open and not clamp down on his head. Your lower half shakes slightly from his rough movements and your pussy makes these nasty wet sounds.

“Wait,” you sob and reach down to grip his hair, “ ‘m so close..! P-Please, please,” you’re not sure what you’re begging for—go, stop?

The heat in your tummy builds quickly and you’re teetering on the edge of a powerful orgasm when he suddenly stops. All at once both his fingers and mouth are gone as he pulls away while harshly panting. You can’t even complain but the intensity has your heart racing with excitement and fear.

“Okay?” He quietly asks while stroking your thigh gently.

You take a couple of seconds to catch your breath, meekly nodding as you bite your lip, “ ‘m okay.” You softly reply.

He climbs up the bed and hovers over you, necklace dangling in your face as you stare up at him with glossy eyes. “Kiss?” You softly say while parting your pillowy soft lips. He’s very much happy to oblige of course..

You lazily make out, your lips feel swollen and they’re glossy from spit. He doesn’t let you pull away, he’s quick to chase after your lips and reel you back in with a hand to the back of your neck. His hand tightly grips your hair and teasingly tugs because he knows you’re a little slut for it.

You moan into his mouth and needily press yourself closer to him, hooking your thigh over his hip just so you could press your needy pussy against him. Everything feels hot and you don’t like it, Jungkook’s not helping with the way he drops his other hand down to your ass cheek, gripping it tight and using his grip to yank you even closer.

Body to body, you’re rolling your hips up to feel the tent in his boxers. It’s mouth watering when the curve of his thick cock presses into your inner thigh, so close to where you need him the most..

Jungkook tightens his grip on your hip, it’s bruising even as he presses himself into you and rubs his cock over your soaked pussy. The rough friction has your toes curling and another needy gasp escaping. He pulls away from the kiss with a wild look in his eye, he pants quietly as he shoves his boxers off and tosses them somewhere.

“Hold yourself open for me baby,” he holds his heavy cock in his hand, stroking over it slowly as he looks down at your glistening cunt, “just like that..” He mumbles darkly.

You hook your arms around your thighs and pull them up to your chest so that your pussy is laid out bare for him. You bite your lip in anticipation and try your best to stay still when he taps the tip over your swollen clit.

“Look so pretty like this,” he muses as he slips his cock in inch by inch, “prettier down here too.” He grins as he lays his thumb over your clit and rubs it side to side slowly.

You let out a long “mm” as his cock fills you over and over again, filling you in the right places combined with his gentle strokes over your clit. He’s got you dripping even more as his cock re-surfaces covered with your creamy slick.

Jungkook rolls his hips into yours slowly, you can hear the quiet grunts and moans slip from his lips as he remains focused on the spot where you’re connected. His face is scrunched in pleasure, and his thumb becomes jerky as he messily swipes over your bud.

You get the urge to ride the fuck out of him, he’s been nothing but doting and now you want to return the favor. Always the giver but never the receiver, and you’re going to change that.

“Jungkookie,” you softly sigh as his eyes snap up to your face, “wanna ride you,” you pout, “can I pretty please?” You purposely squeeze around his cock as he back strokes slowly.

“Yeah,” he softly breathes out and lifts you up into his lap as he switches places with you.

You huff as his cock somehow slips deeper in the new position, “No, you lay back and let me do it.” His eyes widened slightly at your demanding tone, “I wanna make you feel good too..” You pout and wiggle around in his lap.

Jungkook bites his lip and lets his hand fall to your thighs, “Fuck–okay, yeah,” he lays his head back on the pillow and swallows harshly as you smile down at him and lay a soft kiss on his lips.

“Fuck,” he groans when you turn around in his lap to ride him reverse cowgirl. He lays his hands over the fat of your ass and smacks each cheek repeatedly while you grind yourself in his lap.

Your moans spill from your lips as you arch your back and roll your hips back and forth. Behind you Jungkook sounds like he’s having the time of his life as he holds your ass tightly in both hands. The noises he makes only fuel your desire more as you rock yourself in his lap.

“Mm–fills me up so good,” you tilt your head back with a teasing smile, “can feel it so deep in my pussy.”

Jungkook growls low and spanks you harder, “Yeah? You like knowing you’re the only one taking my cock like this huh,” he smirks, “ ‘s all yours baby.”

You huff softly and look at him over your shoulder with puppy eyes, “Mine only.” You nod, “Not hers,” you roughly slap your hips back, catching him off guard as he grunts, “Right?”

“Only you.” Jungkook sighs as he tugs you back so that you’re grinding over his cock the way he likes, “Always yours.” He murmurs.

You smile happily and begin bouncing in his lap, your ass claps against his pelvis as low fopping noises build up. The bed creaks a little and your skin smacks together as you get a little wild with it.

Your moans rise in volume alongside his as the two of you lose yourselves in your rough fucking. Your pussy clamps down when the tip of his cock brushes over your g-spot repeatedly. You have to put your hands on the bed for support as you whimper and grind quickly on his lap.

“F-Fuck..” You whimper low as your thighs begin to tremble again.

Jungkook throws his head back with a low groan as he holds your hips tightly, “Fuck keep going baby, almost there,” he whispers breathlessly, “you can do it.”

You let out a cry and slam yourself on his lap until you go still as your orgasm hits you out of nowhere. It’s mind blowing as your cunt tightens up and a wave of hot pleasure comes crashing down on you. You shake in his lap and whimper out a garbled version of his name.

Jungkook quietly moans as he holds you still and bucks his hips up a couple of times until he’s filling you with his cum. His cock twitches and pulses through his orgasm, dully reminding you that you’re on planet earth still and you need to come down from your high.

“My pussy hurts.” You softly whine while looking back at him.

“My pussy hurts,” he mocks softly, “but who just got the dicking of their life hm? You did.” He pokes your cheeks and brings you back so that you’re laying with him, “You okay?” He chuckles.

You hide your face in his neck and nod, “Nap now, food later?” You softly ask.

“Yeah, I like the sound of that.” He grins.

TAGLIST: @fragmentof-indifference @jungkooksseuphoria @kooliv @angelarin @jjeonjjk7 @lilliankoo @pb-n-juju @ellesalazar @saweetspoiled @laylasbunbunny @prettyprincejk @cherrysainttt @hyunjinswifeee @joongraduatewithonor @hellbornsworld @leire-mia @m1sss1mp @lissful @winkii @lifeless-firefly @exactlygreatcoffee @taestoess @ayalies @floweryjeons @softtcurse @lilspinachwrld @tearyjjeon @littleobsessedkitty @lovelovelovebts @angeljmnie @rerefundslocals @bangtans-mama @thvhoe @maddkitt @tvse @ohjeon @teteswtnr @jkslovey12 @kelsyx33 @milfpo1ice @sluttydidi @ztyur @beomgyuult @shescharlie @sweet-sourhotcoco @lalita-7 @hazzzelsdimension @p34rluv @kook-net @bonita0-0 @vmapy @dahliadaenerys @frieschan @lilyflowerguk @sayokodiary @babycandy111 @looneybleus @ash07128 @gyukookswhore @rrosiitas

[sparklingchim]

game on | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 2.2k

genre: footballer!jungkook, fake dating, f2l

rating: pg

warnings: koo gets scolded for sleeping around 🥺, playboy jk <3, hints of a threesome 🫢, oc fights w a laundry machine

summary: jungkook is in desperate need to polish up his playboy image, and naturally, he turns to you for help.

a/n: hii my pretty besties!!!! it's my bday😋 so i wanted to share this silly piece i've been having so much fun writing!!! love uuu n treat urself to smth nice for me today <3 mwah😙

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Jeon Jungkook is a charming man – and he is well aware of the fact. He plays that card effortlessly.

Most of the time, it works in his favour.

But sometimes, it backfires spectacularly and gets him into trouble.

Which is why he stands in front of his fuming manage, who is radiating enough anger to fill the entire office.

The sight isn’t foreign to Jungkook. He wouldn’t say he is used to it, but he has found himself often enough in this situation to recognise the signs of deep trouble.

Not only is Jungkook’s charm complicating things, but the fact that he is famous too.

Sometimes, he uses that as an advantage. Not in an obvious way — never by flaunting his own achievements or demanding special treatment.

That’s not his style.

His name alone carries weight, and he knows how to let it work for him, quietly bending the world to his will... until the world pushes back.

And right now, it’s pushing back hard.

One thing Jeon Jungkook does enjoy about being a pro footballer, though, is the way women obsess over him.

He knows they love him – sees it in the comments they leave on his ig posts, sees it in the DMs flooding his inbox daily, and experiences it firsthand at public events, where hordes of fans scream his name. Jungkook thrives on that attention.

However, something he doesn’t love, and what he was never prepared for, is the media. The way they scrutinise his every move, how his face ends up on every headline anytime he does something remotely noteworthy.

And now, thanks to his latest shenanigan getting caught by the press, here he is. Standing in front of his manager, Taesung, and his PR agent, Jiwoo, eyes downcast, bracing himself for the scolding that’s already begun.

“You’ve gone too far this time, Jungkook.”

His manager speaks in a flat, monotonous voice, void of even the slightest hint of disappointment, as if he’d long since given up expecting anything different.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to clean up the mess you leave behind?”

A sense of guilt creeping up on Jungkook, even though he knows if he were just a regular guy, none of this would matter at all. And he finds it a bit unfair.

But to survive in this business, you can’t complain about unfairness.

“Have you completely lost your mind?” Taesung barks.

Jungkook remains silent. He forces himself to.

“If there was more involved than just alcohol-”

“No! Nothing like that,” he denies, his response firm and immediate. “It was just alcohol – and, well, just good vibes because we won the last match, and with the World Cup being next, everyone was just really excited.”

If he had known what kind of trouble a simple, innocent celebration of his team’s win at a club would bring, he would’ve gone straight home yesterday. He would’ve skipped the rounds of drinks, the flashing lights, the loud music, and definitely the attention. But hindsight was useless now.

“Good,” his manager says. “I’m glad you were happy.” Mock sympathy drips from his voice. “Perhaps the last time you are going to be happy this year.”

Jungkook nods, accepting the gravity of the situation. No more clubs, no more parties, no more girls.

At least, not for a while. His reputation had taken a few hits recently, and this latest mess wasn’t helping. He could almost hear the whispers: reckless, irresponsible, unprofessional. The kind of things that could ruin him if he didn’t get a handle on it.

He clenched his jaw. No more distractions. From now on, it was all about the game. He needed to remind everyone why he was Jeon Jungkook — the best on the field, not just the headlines.

“You’re no longer in for the World Cup. You’re out.”

His head snaps up at that. Did he hear that right?

“What?! What do you mean?”

“Myungbo doesn’t want you on the team anymore.” Taesung’s words sound heavy and final.

Jungkook’s heart pounds in his ears.

His world tilts. The room seems to spin, the edges of his vision darkening. This wasn’t just a setback — it was a disaster. The World Cup was everything to him, and now it felt like it was slipping through his fingers. The crushing weight of the news settles on his chest, making it hard to breathe. One silly night is all that happened.

He can’t believe that a single photo of him leaving the club with two girls clinging to each arm has cost him his spot on the national football team. He went home with two girls – so what?

But he doesn’t voice his frustration. He knows better than to add fuel to the fire. Speaking his mind now would only escalate the situation and make things worse. Jungkook knows from experience.

He swallows hard, forcing himself to stay calm. His pulse is still racing, but he takes a deep breath, focusing on controlling his emotions. He has to keep a level head if he’s going to find a way to fix this.

“There has to be a way to fix this.” His eyes move to Jiwoo, his PR agent. “Right?”

His manager fixes him with a stern glare. “Jungkook, remember the promise you gave everyone a few months ago?” Taesung reminds him.

Jungkook cringes. When he made a promise to avoid actions that might damage his reputation, he didn’t think it’d be that serious. He cut back on going out, made the effort to play the role of the “good boy” but really – come on. He can’t maintain that facade for an eternity. Especially after a triumphant victory like yesterday’s.

Taking away his spot on the national football team? He didn’t think that was possible.

“How many more times do we have to fix your problems, because you don’t care enough? How many times do we have to repeat this scenario?”

“I promise I’ll better myself,” he pleads desperately, looking back and forth between his manager and his PR agent. Someone has to believe him, help him.

“Do you genuinely believe this country wants to be represented by a 20-year-old boy, who can’t keep his personal life under control?” Taesung asks, eyebrows deeply pinched together. “This isn’t just about you, Jungkook. It’s about the team, the fans, and the nation. They need a role model, not a scandal waiting to happen.”

“I know. I know.” Jungkook scrambles for something convincing to say, desperate to sway their decision. This can’t be it. He won’t let his career take a hit because of something like this. “But – but this isn’t too bad. This is fixable. I can fix this.” His voice quivers with a desperation he barely recognises as his own. “Jiwoo.” Jungkook turns to her with pleading eyes. “You always know what to do. Please, help me”

“I did propose an idea but-”

“We’re not doing that,” Taesung cuts in. “It’s off the table.”

“What is it?” Jungkook’s eyes bounce back and forth between them. “I’ll do anything. This is – this is everything to me. You have to give me a chance.”

Taesung scoffs. “A chance? As far as I know, you have been given countless chances.”

Sweat coats the back of Jungkook’s neck.

Taesung understands just how much Jungkook has fought to secure his place on the national team. He’s well aware that it’s one of Jungkook’s greatest dreams, a pinnacle of his career that he’s poured countless hours of hard work and sacrifice into. That’s why, each morning, when he wakes up to the latest news of Jungkook’s escapades, he feels a deep sense of disappointment, texting Jungkook with a dejected shake of his head to visit his office first thing in the morning.

When it’s all he wants, like Jungkook claims, why doesn’t he act like it?

“If the head coach won’t give me a chance now, he’ll never do. This is my last opportunity to change his mind, make him rethink. I need to at least try.”

Jiwoo looks at the manager, waiting for his approval. He nods.

“Very simply put: you need a girlfriend,” she says.

For a second, Jungkook is at loss for words.

“A girlfriend? How’s that going to help?” Jungkook tilts his head in confusion. This is not how he thought Jiwoo was going to save him.

“You need a girlfriend to help polish up your image as a player. It’ll make you appear more like a gentleman, softer and nicer. We need to completely shift public perception and counter the negative image they’ve formed about you. It’s all about changing the narrative,” she explains.

“And that is not something we can easily achieve,” Taesung interjects. “Rebranding your entire persona is not feasible at this stage. You’ve been projecting what kind of boy you are to the media for the past two years. It’s going to be incredibly difficult to make a sudden shift look genuine.”

“No! We — I can make it seem real. This is my only chance,” Jungkook insists, his voice gaining a hint of determination. For a moment, breathing feels a bit easier again. “The World Cup is just a month away. That’s enough time to shift public opinion and prove I’m worthy of representing the country on the team.” There’s a hopeful lilt in his voice as he speaks, clinging to the belief that he might not have to bid farewell to his biggest dream after all.

But his manager doesn’t look as hopeful as Jungkook feels.

“How are we going to find a girl who will agree to this? Someone who isn’t an obsessive fan, understands this is purely professional, and can keep quiet? You won’t be able to pull this off.”

“I was actually thinking-” Jiwoo starts, but she’s cut off.

Jungkook hesitates, glancing between them before speaking. “Actually... I think I already have someone in mind.” His voice is more measured now. “That’s not the issue.” Jungkook doesn’t need to think twice.

Taesung sighs while Jiwoo looks at Jungkook apologetically.

“You can’t rebrand your entire persona from a playboy to a lover boy within a month, Jungkook. This is over.” His manager shakes his head, a sense of finality glimmering in his eyes.

One thing that Jungkook forgot to mention is that he is an extremely competitive man, too.

~

“This is ridiculous.”

You kick the laundry machine in frustration, but all you end up doing is yelping and clutching your aching foot.

“That’s the third time this month,” you mutter under your breath. “What did I even spend all that money on if it’s just going to break down whenever it feels like it?”

You shoot a death glare at the machine, teetering on the edge of losing your mind.

“Guess I’ll have to use the public laundromat again,” you sigh, grabbing the overflowing laundry basket filled with your and your roommate's clothes, and heading out of the bathroom with a huff.

On your way to the front door, the doorbell rings.

Please, you think. You were hoping for some quiet, uninterrupted time to deep-clean your dorm on this peaceful Sunday with no one around.

But when you peek through the peephole and see Jungkook standing there, your frustration melts away. You swing the door open, the laundry basket tumbling to the floor beside you in your haste.

“Jungkook!” you exclaim. “You’re timing is perfect! Can you please fix my laundry machine again? It’s been acting up, and I’m getting frustrated.” You groan annoyed.

Jungkook doesn’t share the same excitement upon seeing you.

You grow smaller and take an indecisive step back.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, noticing the tension in his features. “Did you lose the match yesterday? I couldn’t keep up because I had too much cramming to do last night.”

While studying medicine had always been your dream, the reality is less exciting. Right now, it means sleepless nights and relentless pressure. You know that pursuing this path will offer you many privileges later in life, but you have to suffer first.

“I need your help.”

His dark eyes, usually bright and full of energy, seem clouded with worry, and his hair falls messily over his forehead, like he’s run his hands through it a hundred times in frustration.

“Are you okay?” You study him closely, scanning his face for any signs of injury. Physically, he seems fine — still tall, muscular, and as fit as ever. But something is clearly off.

“You need to do something for me.”

“I can help,” you reply, your voice soft with concern. ‘But what is it…?”

“Can you be my girlfriend?”

You blink, repeatedly.

“Huh?”

You start giggling when he doesn’t add more. You expect him to clarify or laugh along, but Jungkook stays serious, stepping closer and gently taking your hands in his. You look down at them, then back up at his face, utterly bewildered.

“You’re silly, Jungkook. If someone on the team made you do this, tell them you did the punishment and quit acting so weird.”

It’s too early in the morning for Jungkook’s nonsense.

“No, ___, you don’t understand.” He squeezes your hands when he feels you trying to pull them back. “I actually need you to do it.”

“Do what?”

“Fake date me.”

[aakeysmash]

Tell me you love me

Pairing: f!reader x Sukuna Ryomen.

Word count: 2512.

Warnings: ANGSTTTTTT. An attempt at it at least lmao, let me know if I did a good job with it. A bit suggestive in the middle. Cursing. Mentions of cheating (mentions!!! No cheating in this house).

People often say that Sukuna would be obsessed with the reader/oc, but I think a relationship with him would be the hardest thing ever.

He doesn’t get the concept of being in love: at the start of your relationship he found out you were more tolerable than anyone else, he assumed that meant he liked being around you and went along with it. Of course he fell in love in the long run, but for him it’s embarrassing to admit it. He barely even said it when you asked him why he wanted you to move in with him.

It’s not like he isn’t obsessed with you: he’s obsessed with the way you just seem to get him, with the way you smile when he comes home from a long day at work, with the utmost kindness you treat people around you with and that he lacks completely. He’s mesmerised by you, by the curve of your hips, the brightness of your eyes, the softness of your hands on his body.

He doesn’t show it, though.

He’s used to being rough and redeems emotions as futile. Like he already said to you in a couple of your arguments, if you get him you get him, if not, he’s not explaining himself. Everything he does is thought of and automatically right, so why would he give you explanations?

But sometimes in relationships you need communication. He doesn’t see how intense it is to be next to someone who acts like he doesn’t care about what you want to share in your daily life. And again, he does care: if he could, he’d make a copy of you yapping and just listen to it on repeat while working. He loves how passionate you sound while talking about your hobbies, he finds the little tilt to your voice when you search for his approval adorable. He doesn’t see how difficult it is to be with him because he’s only been with you, and you’re so good at communicating and making him feel heard he doesn’t notice he’s not reciprocating your efforts.

And that means that he’s never the one who wants to resolve misunderstandings, because he thinks they don’t really exist. You were upset about your dish not coming out the way it was supposed to and instead of reassuring you it was still edible he straight up said it looked horrible and walked away? He’s not sorry. He spoke his mind, did he not? And why would you be sad about the truth?

You’re not weak, and you’re not shy either. Kind people are not necessarily stupid, and you’re living proof of that. He’d never be in a relationship with a weakling who doesn’t know how to raise her voice and stand her ground. You’re fierce in your own way, and you know how to manage his stubbornness 90% of the time. You don’t like being disrespected or ignored, and you made sure to talk his ear off whenever he did it. Not like he purposefully did it, anyway.

But as a person who understands emotions and feels emotions, sometimes being with him frustrates you. And it comes to a point where you debate on keeping being next to him or leaving him for good.

He’s not the only one who has hard days, but when both of you have one, the silence inside your house is deafening. You’re the one who usually starts up conversations, but your mind is occupied with other things. You’ve barely touched your food.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” He scoffs at dinner. He doesn’t like you frowning, it wrecks his heart. It makes him want to destroy the face of whoever took the smile he lives for off your face.

You sigh. “You know how my parents said they were coming to visit us next month? Well-”

He’s silent. Fuck, when did she say this? He thinks. Probably one of those days where the thought of your thighs suffocating him all night plagued his mind last week. Fuck, he’d take a bite of them right now if you let him. Maybe he could suggest it. It could take his mind off of his own shitty day.

“Are you even listening to me?” You say sternly. He notices you kept on talking while his mind wandered, but he disregards it.

“Wanna fuck?” He asks instead.

You’re baffled. “Sukuna, what the fuck?”

“Damn, you could’ve just said no, brat,” he says rolling his eyes.

You get offended. “Don’t fucking ask me what’s wrong if you’re not going to listen to me.”

“Yeah yeah, you were probably going to talk about how worried you are and shit. I don’t care about that. If you don’t want to get my dick wet I’m going to rub one out,” he says waving his hand in front of your face and standing up from his chair.

You huff out a sarcastic laugh. “Are you serious?”

“Would you prefer me to find someone else to do it for me?” He bites, snapping his head toward you.

He sees you widening your eyes. If there’s a thing you don’t tolerate is cheating, or jokes about it. He knows it. He knows it, dammit. You’re fuming.

“You’re an asshole. Fuck you. I’m sleeping at Nobara’s,” you spit at him, grabbing the purse you left on the side of the table and rushing out the door, slamming it.

When he’s left alone in your shared living room, he keeps on looking at your front door. The silence is making his head hurt, the only thing he’s hearing is the sound of the door slamming. Did he overstep? Nah, you were probably overreacting. He shrugs and finally moves from his spot, going to put his dish in the sink. He leaves yours on the table, because maybe you’ll be hungry when you come home. You usually are after an argument. You’ll come back after a couple of hours saying you didn’t want to worry him too much, you’ll sigh saying this can’t keep on happening and that you’re tired of arguing, then he’ll hug you and everything will be alright. Just like it always is. You’ve never left like this, though.

He ruffles his hair; he’s angry at everything and everyone. You should’ve got that he’s the one overreacting, why didn’t you get him like usual? Why aren’t you still back after 3 hours? He hates feeling angry. He hates feeling tired. He hates feeling in general. Most importantly, he hates that the hands in his hair are his and not yours. He hates the way right now he’s craving your soft voice reassuring him in his ear, your sweet words covering him like a blanket; his head on your chest listening to your heartbeat while lying on your couch, reminding you that you’re there. You’ve always been there. There’s no one else for him, there’s never going to be one. He’d never cheat, you’re so stupid for getting angry about it. Why did you get so mad about it? Suddenly, he’s thinking about random stuff you said that he ingrained in his head.

I love you too, Sukuna. I’ll wait for you to tell me that without me forcing it out, mh? I’ll move in with you, sure, if you ask me so that nicely.

You picked this book because it reminded you of me? Thank you, baby. I love it. Both the book and the fact you thought of me.

Can you stop messing up my sock drawer? No, I did not hide your cigarettes there. But please stop smoking, I love when you taste like my lip gloss and not that disgusting shit you inhale. Give me a kiss so I can prove it to you. I’ll take your breath away way better than tobacco.

He smirks while on the couch, alone. You’re so cute. He wants to bottle up your laugh. Why aren’t you back still? His mind doesn’t stop, though.

You hurt me, Sukuna. Why can’t you notice?

I feel like you don’t care about me.

If I hadn't come to you, would you have come to me? Or would you just have ignored this whole argument and acted like nothing happened?

Am I just filling up a random space you leave open for a significant other or am I the significant other that’s capable of filling that void?

That night he dreams of you. The way you glared at him asking him if he was serious, almost like a warning before you lashed out. He dreams of the hurt that flashed in your eyes when he spewed nonsense. And when he wakes up, you’re still not back. Your unfinished plate is still on the kitchen table.

But he’s prideful, that’s why you’re the one that’s always trying to resolve arguments. Yes, you’ll come back. He’s sure of it. You always came back during the 3 years you've been together.

A week passes by and he's going crazy. You haven't contacted him at all, and he didn't text first. He lies to himself saying it's because he's leaving you some space, but the truth is that he's scared. What is he even supposed to say? Hey, I'm sorry, I miss you, please come home? That's pathetic. He's taking a shower when suddenly his phone rings. His heart skips a beat and he rushes out to check if it's you. Please, let it be you.

Instead it's Yuji, his brother.

Yuji: Hey, what happened with y/n? She asked me to come get some of her things for her. Is she sick?

Sukuna frowns. Then he realizes that- you're going to move out. You're going to break up with him.

He goes into panic mode. He never thought about the possibility of you leaving him. He thought you would come back, like you always do. Why would you leave him? Is it because you finally realized that you're better off with someone who knows how to express their feelings for you? Did you get tired of him? Have you already found someone else?

He finds himself knocking on Nobara's door in the next ten minutes. He ran, he's sweating and it's starting to rain. He's out of breath, and he gets his hands on his knees while he waits for you to open the door. He's not ready to let you go. He can't even fathom a life where he doesn't wake up to you trying to get warm between his arms, without you nagging him while watching a film together, without helping you bake cookies while laughing with each other. Without not being able to talk from how in love he is while looking into your eyes. And he knows that if you leave him he's never going to be able to live in his own house ever again, or walk down the street you always do together, or go grocery shopping and not thinking about you while looking at vegetables. You always said you liked vegetables and he always lied about liking them just to see you excited about cooking them together.

"Yuji, I didn't think you'd be this fas- oh," you open the door and your face falls when you see it's Sukuna. He snaps his gaze toward your face when he hears your voice. He missed it so much. You're so beautiful. He missed all of you. So much.

Neither of you move, you just keep staring at each other. This time, he knows he's going to have to talk first. For the first time, he realizes how hard it actually is to confront someone first. Do you feel like this every time?

"Come home," he says. "Please," he adds.

You look sad. "I don't think I'm going to, Sukuna. It's been more than a week and you didn't even reach out to say... I don't even know what. I know you don't say sorry. You never do."

Your words feel like knives. From where you're standing you're taller than him, and he has to look up to look at you. It's like he's in front of the pearly gates of heaven and an angel is making him confess all the wrong things he did, except in this scenario you're the angel and the things he did are just what he thinks about all of this. About you in general.

And you're right, he doesn't usually say sorry. The words get stuck in his throat and he just gapes up at you, still catching his breath. Pathetic.

You sigh, then go to close the door. You don't look at him anymore and he feels like he can't breathe, and not because of the run.

"I'll come get my things next week. Go home, you'll get wet," you say. And your voice is clear, you're not mumbling, you must have thought about this. He sees how hard you're clenching your jaw to appear resolute, your nails hurting your palms from how hard you're closing your hands. But you still manage to worry about him, worry about him possibly catching a cold from the rain. And he loves you. Fuck, he loves you so much.

"Wait," he manages to say. You look at him with longing. With sorrow.

And he feels like he's crying to the angel in his afterlife when he opens his mouth again, thorns in his throat getting tighter, suffocating him. But he doesn't cry here, in front of you, even if maybe you'd like it. You'd probably say that you appreciate him showing emotions, maybe tease him for it, but you'd like it. He'd kiss you while you're still laughing, saying you're stupid, and you'd continue laughing.

"I love you," he rasps out. The words feel so unfamiliar to his tongue, but so familiar to his ears. You always tell him you love him. "I'm sorry for being a shithead. Please don't leave me. I promise you I'll get better at this communication shit," he begs.

You still don't move, but he sees you getting softer.

"Go home, Sukuna. We'll talk about it when it's not raining," you utter.

"No, I don't fucking want to," he snaps. You're startled, and he cringes. He's really not used to all of this. He doesn't like scaring you.

"Fuck, I meant to say I want to get over it right now. I didn't want to scare you. I want you back, Y/N. Please, have me back. I'll get better for real," he says while getting progressively closer to you.

"You promise?" You ask, now shorter than him. You're a step of distance from each other.

"I promise, baby. I'll make you the happiest girl to ever exist," he tells you, looking at you intensely.

"Start by saying you love me again," you mumble, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your head on his chest. He engulfs you in his own arms, inhaling the smell of your shampoo, then snorts.

"Sure. I'm in love with you, brat."

Being in a relationship with Sukuna is hard, but he loves you easily.

[barnacles34]

Steamy Mornings and Massages (Winter x Male OC)

7k words

Tags: smut, fluff, office sex, office massage, soulmates, romance, very love-heavy

Chapter 1: The Day After

"Let's just stay here," Minjeong murmured, pressing soft kisses to the crown of Junho's head. The morning alarm had shattered what his typically precise mind had categorized as Optimal Comfort Configuration™, but neither of them had moved to silence it[1].

His face remained buried in the crook of her neck, accepting what his mind reluctantly acknowledged as the only form of comfort he'd ever truly wanted. "Well, my secretary," he rumbled against her skin, the possessive pronoun carrying new weight in the morning light, "on a very important day, doesn't want to go to work?" Despite his words, his arms tightened incrementally around her waist, betraying his own reluctance.

Minjeong's embrace constricted in response, her Busan accent thick with morning warmth. "What are you going to do? Fire me?" Despite the implied challenge, she still continued to press soft kisses on his forehead. He tightened his embrace further, relishing in the warmth of Minjeong.

The challenge in her voice activated something primal in his executive functioning. His teeth grazed her neck in warning, hovering over precisely the spot that would make any low-necked blouse useless to wear for the following days. "Maybe," he murmured, his hand sliding to the small of her back with deliberate intent, dangerously close to the curve of her backside, "I'll fire you and keep you here, all day long, so that you belong only to me."

"That's..." her breath hitched as his hand dropped lower, "...rather unprofessional of you."

He lifted his head just enough to fix her with that boardroom stare that never failed to make her pulse race. "Says the woman currently preventing her CEO from attending his meetings." Her CEO? Something warm raced inside of her—she thought, her ceo? And this time, she wrapped her arms tighter—however much her thin arms could tighten; nevertheless, an affectionate hug.

"I prefer to think of it as optimizing your morning routine," she countered, though her professional efficiency was somewhat undermined by the way she melted under his touch, furthermore when he traced the curves of her backside. "Some things are more important than the Zhang Corp merger."

His laugh vibrated against her throat. "Careful, Secretary Kim. That sounds dangerously close to insubordination."

"And what does the CEO do with insubordinate employees?" The question emerged soft and weaker than intended as his mouth traced a deliberate path along her collar, trying her most obnoxiously.

"That depends," he murmured, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that made her breath catch. "Are they all as beautiful as you when they disobey direct orders?"

She attempted to maintain her composure, though her hands betrayed her by pulling him closer. "I wouldn't know. I've never seen you like this with other employees[2]."

"No," he agreed, suddenly serious as he raised his head to meet her gaze. "You haven't. You won't."

The intensity in his eyes made her throat tight. "Promise?"

Instead of answering, he caught her mouth in a kiss that effectively ended all discussion of work protocols and proper business conduct[3]. The morning sun painted complex equations of light across their entangled forms, but for once, neither of them was counting the minutes.

—

[1] The first recorded instance of CEO Kim's morning alarm continuing past its initial 0.3-second alert phase, a fact that would require significant updates to the home automation system's behavioral prediction models.

[2] The security system's emotion recognition protocols flagged this moment for what its algorithms could only classify as "Unprecedented Display of Executive Vulnerability."

[3] Later analysis would suggest that certain forms of insubordination yielded surprisingly positive results in terms of overall company morale, though these findings were kept strictly off the official record.

—

"You haven't eaten properly in days," Minjeong observed softly, her fingers tracing the subtle tension in his shoulders that most wouldn't notice. But she wasn't most people—she'd spent months learning to read the microscopic signs of his stress levels[4].

"I've been eating," he defended, though his attempt at authority was somewhat undermined by the way he instinctively relaxed under her touch.

"Coffee and quarterly reports don't count as meals," she countered, continuing her gentle exploration of his shoulder muscles. "I've watched you skip lunch three times this week alone."

He lifted his head to study her face, finding that mix of strength and tenderness that had first undone him. "You keep track of my meals?"

"I keep track of everything about you," she admitted, not backing down from his intense gaze. "Someone has to notice when you forget to take care of yourself."

His hand curved around the nape of her neck, thumb brushing her pulse point. "And you've appointed yourself to that position?"

"Consider it an extension of my secretarial duties," she murmured, then gasped softly as he tightened his grip in warning.

"There's nothing secretarial about the way you take care of me," he corrected, voice low and dangerous. "Is there, Minjeong-ah?"

The informal address, rarely used, made her breath catch. "No," she agreed quietly. "There isn't."

He studied her for a long moment, his analytical mind cataloging the flush in her cheeks, the slight quickening of her breath, the way she yielded to his touch while somehow maintaining that core of quiet strength[5]. "You're dangerous," he finally said, “dangerously beautiful, so beautiful,” then a kiss on the side of her neck which, eventually, will turn into a hickey and Minjeong hadn’t the power to resist her CEO’s advances anymore.

"Me?" She replied, out of breath, tremored, brilliantly transformed by her smile—the type of smile men fight wars for, the type of smile sinewy sociopathic CEOs would drop down for. "I'm just trying to make sure Korea's most brilliant CEO—I mean, my CEO, remembers to eat breakfast." Her small hand collected the waves of his hair, the aroma of the shampoo she recommended wafted in the air.

“Minjeong, you’re driving me crazy.”

“Is that a problem?” She pulled back her hand along his scalp, gathering hair, then trailing all down his nape, to his back: the type of affection that says, even if you were insane, I’d still be crazy about you.

Instead of answering directly, he pressed his lips to her forehead, then her temple, then the corner of her mouth—a calculated sequence of kisses that made her melt further into his embrace. "The only problem," he murmured against her skin, "is that you're making it very difficult to want to leave this bed."

—

[4] Her observation logs, never shared but meticulously maintained, included such details as the precise angle of his jaw when overwhelmed, the subtle shift in his typing rhythm when stressed, and the exact tone of voice that meant he'd skipped meals.

[5] The home automation system's behavioral analysis protocols struggled to categorize this new dynamic, where authority and surrender seemed to flow both ways simultaneously.

—

"Three days," Minjeong continued, her fingers finding the knots in his shoulders with practiced ease. "You've had that tension here since the Singapore deal started falling apart." The morning light caught the subtle furrow in his brow as he processed her words, realizing she'd been tracking his stress levels without him noticing. Her touch was methodical yet tender, each pressure point targeted with the same precision she applied to his scheduling.

"I didn't think anyone had noticed," he admitted, then caught her knowing smile. "Except you."

"I always notice," she replied simply. "Like how you've been drinking twice your usual coffee intake, or how your left eye twitches slightly when the board sends those passive-aggressive emails." Her hands moved lower, finding another point of tension. "You hide it well, but not from me."

He caught her wrist, bringing it to his lips. "It becomes…oddly weird when I see you do the things I usually do." The tease in his voice was softened by the way he pressed kisses to her fingertips.

"Consider it preventive maintenance," she countered, not backing down despite Junho trying to hide his habits under the rug, not backing down despite the heat in his gaze. "Someone needs to monitor your functionality levels[6]."

"Functionality levels?" His laugh rumbled against her skin as he shifted to hover over her. "Is that what we're calling this?"

"Would you prefer 'executive performance metrics'?" She managed to keep her voice steady even as his mouth traced a deliberate path down her throat. "I have spreadsheets..."

"Of course you do," he murmured, teeth grazing her collarbone in retaliation. "My perfectly thorough secretary, tracking every detail."

"Not just details," she breathed, hands sliding up his chest. "I know when you skip lunch to avoid the board members. When you stay late reviewing reports that could wait until morning. When you need..." she paused as his hand curved possessively around her hip, "...someone to remind you that you're human."

The words hung between them, heavy with meaning. Junho lifted his head to study her face, finding that unique blend of submission and strength that had first undone his carefully constructed defenses[7]. "And you've appointed yourself to that position?"

"Someone has to." Her smile carried traces of Busan sunshine. "Besides, I'm uniquely qualified."

"How so, Minjeong-ah?” Another tease. 

“Because you love me.” Minjeong stated, matter of factly. And this time, Junho seized her tight, trapping her under him, seizing her two thin wrists. Then, pressed a deep kiss onto Minjeong’s delicate lips. After a while, he released himself from the kiss, the kiss that Minjeong reluctantly let go of—her lips pointing outwards like a duck as he left. Finally, he said, “That’s right, I love you.”

Her stomach stirred with butterflies and more.

—

[6] Her personal files, never shared but meticulously maintained, included detailed protocols for managing various levels of CEO stress responses, from subtle intervention to direct action.

[7] The exact moment of this defensive breach had been logged by the building's security systems, though the footage was classified under "Executive Privacy Protocols."

—

Minjeong lingered in bed, her heart performing calculations that had nothing to do with quarterly reports. The smart home system's sensors detected her elevated pulse rate, though no algorithm could properly quantify the joy radiating from her smile[8]. She stretched luxuriously against Egyptian cotton sheets that still held traces of his warmth, letting herself marvel at the reality of being here, in his space, surrounded by evidence of Junho.

Her mind couldn't help but catalog the endearing chaos around her—academic journals scattered across surfaces, a tablet displaying economic projections that had clearly been reviewed at 3 AM, several coffee cups in various states of abandonment. The morning light revealed what darkness and desire had hidden the night before: Junho's private space was a fascinating contradiction to his public persona, a detail she filed away with all her other precious observations of him.

Rising with practiced grace, she padded across cold hardwood floors, her bare feet gliding across the floor. His dress shirt from the previous night—the one that had hung open as they'd discovered more interesting uses for his mahogany desk—called to her like a siren song. She slipped it on, the fabric carrying traces of his unisex cologne and something uniquely him that made her stomach flutter[9].

Junho emerged from his ensuite bathroom to find her like this: drowning in his shirt, examining his space with that careful attention she brought to everything concerning him. His breath caught audibly.

"That's mine," he noted, his voice carrying that dangerous edge that never failed to make her pulse race.

She turned to face him, letting the hem of his shirt brush against her thighs. "Really? I think it’s mine."

—

[8] The home automation system logged this moment as: "Secondary User Biometrics Indicating Unprecedented Levels of Serotonin. CEO Response: Highly Favorable."

[9] Security footage would later reveal this as the exact moment CEO Kim's usually impeccable morning routine experienced a critical efficiency failure, though no one questioned why that particular shirt never made it to the dry cleaners.

—

"You know," Junho mused against her neck, his hands tracing idle patterns on her thighs, "for someone so concerned about my eating habits, you're being very distracting in my kitchen."

"Me?" Minjeong's attempt at innocence was undermined by the way her fingers kept playing with his hair. "I'm trying to feed you."

"Wearing my shirt. Sitting on my counter." His smile carried equal parts mischief and heat as he pulled back to look at her. "I'm starting to think this is corporate sabotage, Secretary Kim."

She tried to maintain her professional expression, though her lips twitched. "I would never compromise company productivity, 사장님."

"No?" He raised an eyebrow, fingers sliding deliberately higher under his shirt. "Then explain why Korea's most efficient CEO is currently contemplating skipping his 9 AM."

"Poor executive guidance?" she suggested, then squeaked as he nipped her earlobe in retaliation. "I mean... clearly you need better supervision."

"Is that your professional opinion?" His laugh was warm against her skin. "And I suppose you're volunteering for the position?"

"Well," she threaded her fingers through his hair, tugging gently, "I do have extensive experience in handling difficult executives."

He lifted his head, eyes dancing. "Difficult?"

"Demanding," she amended, then added with deliberate sweetness, "High-maintenance?"

"You," he declared, catching her wrists and pinning them behind her back with one hand, "are getting dangerously bold with your performance reviews[12]."

Her answering smile was pure sunshine. "Does that mean I'm not getting that raise?"

"Oh, I'll give you a raise," he promised, his free hand sliding up her spine as he pressed closer. "Right after we discuss your insubordination."

"I have a presentation prepared," she managed, though her breath hitched as his mouth found that sensitive spot behind her ear. "Complete with charts on CEO stubbornness metrics..."

"Using company resources for personal research?" His mock disapproval was somewhat undermined by the way he couldn't stop smiling against her skin. "That's a serious violation of corporate policy."

"And what's the penalty for that?" She arched into his touch, shameless. "More overtime with my boss?"

"Definitely." He captured her mouth in a kiss that tasted like laughter and promise. "Starting now[13]."

—

[12] The home automation system registered this interaction as a significant deviation from standard performance review protocols, though it noted remarkable improvements in overall satisfaction metrics.

[13] Later analysis of the kitchen's usage patterns would reveal this as the morning the coffee maker recorded its latest ever first brew, a delay that would become surprisingly routine.

—

"We're going to be late," Minjeong observed, though she made no move to leave her perch on the counter as Junho's hands mapped new territories beneath his borrowed shirt. The morning sun painted gold across his shoulders, and she couldn't resist tracing the light with her fingers.

"Concerned about punctuality now?" His smile was wicked against her collar. "After deliberately sabotaging your CEO's morning routine?"

"I would never," she protested, then gasped as his teeth found that sensitive spot below her ear. "I'm simply... optimizing your schedule."

"Is that what we're calling it?" His laugh vibrated through both their bodies as he pressed closer, effectively trapping her against the granite. "And how does this particular optimization benefit the company?"

Her fingers curled into his hair as his mouth traced a deliberate path down her throat. "Improved executive mood... increased satisfaction metrics... better work-life balance..."

"Very thorough analysis," he approved, his hand sliding higher up her thigh. "Though I think we need more data points[14]."

"준호야..." Her professional composure cracked entirely as his fingers found bare skin. "The Zhang Corp meeting..."

"Can wait." He lifted his head to meet her gaze, his smile carrying that perfect blend of authority and affection that never failed to undo her. "I'm conducting important research."

"On what?" She managed to arch an eyebrow despite her rapidly dissolving coherence. "How to make your secretary lose her mind?"

"Girlfriend," he corrected, voice dropping to that dangerous register as his thumb traced patterns on her inner thigh. "And I believe we were discussing your performance review[15]."

Jun abruptly stopped their performance review midway because the deal was on the line and time was running short. Minjeong was reminded of this painfully by how Jun pulled away from the kiss—she was pouty about it until they reached the office, when her damascus-like resolve kicks in.

—

[14] The kitchen's environmental sensors registered multiple instances of what could only be classified as "Critical Protocol Deviations," though these readings were automatically archived under "Executive Privacy Settings."

[15] HR would later note a curious correlation between the CEO's improved mood and these new "morning performance evaluations," though no one dared to investigate further.

—

Chapter 2: The Meeting

The Zhang Corp representatives sat across the mahogany conference table, their expressions carefully neutral as they reviewed the merger proposals. Minjeong maintained her perfect professional facade, though her pulse quickened every time Junho's hand brushed hers as she passed him documents[1].

"The third quarter projections," she murmured, leaning close enough that his cologne made her thoughts stray to their morning activities. His finger tapped twice against the paper—their private signal that he needed a moment to compose himself.

"As you can see," Junho addressed the room with that commanding presence that made board members squirm, though Minjeong could detect the slight roughness in his voice that hadn't been there before their morning 'delay', "our integration timeline is aggressive but achievable."

She took her seat beside him, crossing her legs in a way that made his pen pause fractionally on the contract. Two could play at this game of professional torture. His response was to rest his hand on her thigh under the table, hidden from view but commanding enough to make her breath catch[2].

"Secretary Kim," he said smoothly, his thumb tracing dangerous patterns against her skin, "would you pull up the logistics breakdown?"

"Of course, 사장님." She managed to keep her voice steady as she reached for her tablet, though her free hand found his wrist under the table, her fingers curling around it in what could have been either submission or warning.

The meeting proceeded with perfect corporate efficiency, though the undercurrent of tension between CEO and secretary created what the room's environmental sensors could only classify as "Critical Atmospheric Pressure"[3].

—

[1] The conference room's biometric scanners noted elevated heart rates in both CEO and secretary, though this data was diplomatically omitted from official meeting records.

[2] Security footage would later require careful editing to maintain professional appearances, particularly regarding certain "under-table activities."

[3] The Zhang Corp representatives would later confess to the fact that they could tell what was happening, no amount of demure leg-crossing could hide it. Though, they ignored it in order to get that deal (which was integral to them).

—

The private office door clicked shut behind them, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across imported marble floors. Junho rolled his shoulders, tension evident in his posture despite the meeting's success[4].

"Come here," Minjeong said softly, recognizing the signs of his post-negotiation stress. She guided him to his leather chair, her hands already moving to his shoulders. "You get so tense during these meetings." Instead of standing behind him and the chair, she stood in front, impending a mount to get ‘better access’ to his shoulders.

"Keeping my hands to myself requires considerable effort," he admitted, then groaned softly as her fingers found a particularly tight knot. "Especially when you keep giving me those looks."

"What looks?" Her innocent tone was betrayed by the way her hands slid lower, tracing patterns down his upper chest. "I was being perfectly professional."

He caught her wrist, tugging her to face him. "Professional? Is that what you call that thing you did with your pen?"

"Taking notes?" She smiled down at him, letting her fingers trail along his tie. "I'm very thorough in my documentation."

"Very thorough," he agreed, pulling her into his lap with practiced ease. "Though I noticed some interesting gaps in the meeting minutes."

"Oh?" Her hands returned to his shoulders, kneading the tension even as she shifted closer. "Like what?"

"Like how many times you deliberately brushed against me," his voice dropped lower as her fingers worked their magic, "or how your skirt kept riding up when you reached for files[5]."

"Maybe," she breathed, her ministrations becoming less therapeutic and more intentional, "your secretary just needs better supervision."

His laugh rumbled through both their bodies. "Is that what you need, Secretary Kim?"

Instead of answering, she pressed a kiss to that spot below his ear that always made him growl. His hands tightened on her hips in warning, but she didn't stop her exploration of his neck, her fingers still working the tension from his shoulders even as she created a different kind of pressure entirely.

"The door," he managed, though his hands were already sliding under her blouse.

"Locked," she murmured against his skin. "I'm very efficient."

"My perfect secretary," he agreed.

—

[4] The office's environmental controls registered what could only be classified as "Post-Meeting Stress Relief Protocol: Executive Override Engaged."

[5] The meeting's official minutes would maintain strict professional standards, though certain observations were kept in much more private records.

—

"You're still tense," Minjeong observed, her fingers tracing new patterns down his spine. The afternoon light painted gold across his desk, where various merger documents lay forgotten. "Let me take care of you properly."

She slid from his lap, moving behind his chair with practiced grace. Her hands returned to his shoulders, this time with more purposeful intent. Junho's head fell back as she worked a particularly tight knot, a sound escaping him that had nothing to do with professional conduct[7].

"That noise," she murmured, leaning close enough that her breath teased his ear, "is definitely not going in the meeting minutes."

His laugh turned into another groan as her thumbs hit a sensitive spot. "Keeping secrets from the board, Secretary Kim?"

"Only the interesting ones," she admitted, her hands sliding lower, tracing the muscles of his back through his expensive shirt. "Like how my very commanding CEO turns to putty when I do this..."

His hand shot up to catch her wrist in warning. "Careful," his voice carried that dangerous edge that made her stomach flip. "You're getting bold with your observations."

"Just maintaining detailed records," she breathed, not backing down despite his grip. "For example, when I press here..." Her free hand found another knot, making him inhale sharply. "Your left eye twitches slightly. And when I do this..." She leaned forward, letting her lips brush his neck. "Your pulse jumps exactly like it did during the merger talks[8]."

The chair spun suddenly, Junho pulling her back into his lap with decisive force. "You," he growled, hands spanning her waist, "are playing a dangerous game."

Her smile was pure innocence, though her fingers were already working his tie loose. "I'm simply being thorough in my duties, 사장님."

"Your duties," he repeated, watching her with dark amusement as she stripped his tie with expert efficiency. "Is that what we're calling this?"

"Would you prefer 'executive stress relief'?" She gasped as his teeth found her collar. "Or maybe 'personnel management'?"

His laugh vibrated against her skin. "I prefer," he murmured, hands sliding deliberately up her thighs, "when you stop talking altogether[9]."

—

[7] The office's audio sensors temporarily malfunctioned during this period, a technical glitch that occurred with suspicious regularity during certain "private meetings."

[8] Her personal files contained extensive documentation of CEO behavioral patterns, though certain observations were encrypted under "Private Research: Ongoing."

[9] The afternoon's remaining meetings would require creative rescheduling, though no one questioned why the CEO's mood had improved so dramatically.

—

"You missed a spot," Minjeong murmured against his mouth, her fingers finding another knot of tension in his shoulders even as she shifted closer in his lap. The leather chair creaked softly beneath them, a sound that would forever carry new associations in both their minds[10].

"Did I?" His hands slid higher beneath her skirt, mapping territories that were becoming dangerously familiar for office hours. "Or are you just making excuses to keep touching your CEO?"

She pulled back just enough to give him that look—the one that somehow managed to be both defiant and yielding. "I take my responsibilities very seriously, 사장님."

"I've noticed," he growled, catching her wrist as she tried to maintain the pretense of massage. "Like how seriously you took those meeting notes earlier. Very... thorough."

Her laugh caught in her throat as his lips found that sensitive spot below her ear. "I was documenting important observations."

"Such as?" His teeth grazed her pulse point, making her grip his shoulders for balance.

"Such as," she managed, though her professional tone wavered as his hands grew bolder, "how the great Kim Junho gets distracted when I cross my legs. How your voice drops exactly half an octave when you're trying not to react to me. How you tap your pen twice when you're thinking about—"

He silenced her with a kiss that effectively derailed all attempts at analysis[11]. When he finally pulled back, her dazed expression made him smirk. "Any other observations to record, Secretary Kim?"

“I must’ve forgotten, I usually remember better when you kiss me.” She hinted, and he obliged, letting his lips connect yet again with Minjeong. This time, the endless teasing reached a breaking point that both of them coalesced to at the same time.

He tightly grasped her backside then pulled her up from the executive chair to the executive table. Wherein, she was splayed across the wide table. “We really have to ban tables when we’re around each other.” She joked. 

“That’d be a terrible idea.”

“How so?”

“Where else could I splay you across like this, then explore you, centimeter-by-centimeter?”

“Hmm…” she hummed, pleased, "Yeah?"

“Yeah.”

“Then come here, my ceo.”

“My beautiful secretary, whatever shall I do with you?”

“I don’t know, why don’t you find out?” She pulled as tight as she could, locking her arms around his neck.

He obliged, meeting lips with her once again. He felt the softness of her face as he explored deeper into the kiss, forgetting time and everything except what was being shared between them. Journeying his hands further, entangling it into the silken strands of his lover as he deepened the kiss, and she replied with a deep sigh—trembling with a mix of her high register. 

“You’re such a good woman for me, Minjeong.” He said before nipping at her lower lip, catching it softly between his teeth with a teasing tug, Minjeong let out a breathless laugh, “you’re devouring me, Junho.” Regardless, he dug deeper, letting his entire body shift into Minjeong’s malleable, petite body—letting his hand explore more of her silken strands, almost saying, yes Minjeong, that is my purpose: to devour you.

Now, instead of every 5 seconds, Minjeong’s soft moans that only served to goad Junho on were musically released into his ears every second. Precautiously, she asked, “how good is the soundproofing in your private room-ah!”

“Not good enough to hide your moans, dear.” He replied, his voice like rough gravel. Her eyes widened suddenly from the need to hide her moans. Yet he dug deeper, letting his loin rub against her wet bottom, daring her moan out loud.

Despite all the regulations, the possible condemnation, their passions only grew more. Mouths moving in sync, gazes meeting momentarily, it wasn’t just kissing anymore—it was a language. The type of language where Minjeong coalesced to his dangerous games and learned to enjoy it, almost as much as him.

“Junho, seriously, I don’t want to be seen as-”

“Minjeong-ah, I don’t give a single fuck if my employees hear you and I.” The teeth that so brazenly tugged on her lower lips trailed down her neck, tracing the soft tendons.

Whispering, in a verbose way, “And as you are my secretary, my extension, my life-line, you’ll follow. Me.” And as Minjeong was getting battered by the gravel-slung voice of Junho—she hadn’t noticed how her blouse was opened, bra pushed down to reveal the breasts that he was so infatuated with—only until she felt the torsion of her nipple.

“Ngh!”

“I love that, Minjeong, scream out. I’ll fuck you until the entire floor hears you call my name.”

And another wet mewl that inspired his further deviance.

Feeling the soft suction of his mouth on her neck, she deduced that it could only mean one thing: another hickey just placed above the collar of her blouse, the same sort of hickey that the Zhang corp executives couldn’t keep their eyes off of—any justification in their minds that it was a skin discoloration was debilitated by how intensely Minjeong and Junho shared those deadly glances, likely to jump on each other as soon as they left—and they were right.

“Junho—ngh!”

“Louder.” He replied, testing her, “fucking. Louder.” Then he pressed deeper, grinding his rough textured pants on the creamy soft bottom of Minjeong.

“Please Junho, seriously.” Was all that she could get out of her bated breaths, her deep moans.

Then suddenly, he stopped, caressing the softness of her cheeks with his, back-handed, knuckles.

“You look so beautiful when you’re all tired and exhausted, did I tell you that before?” Letting the tune of his voice marinate with Minjeong (who was recovering from how hot and bothered she was just a second ago).

However good his intentions were, he wasn’t perfect. The way Minjeong’s body looked splayed against the messy paperwork, her blonde hair all frizzy and stuck to the desk, how her chest went in-and-out catching all the breath she lost—all of it made it impossible for him to resist anymore.

He pounced on her again, connecting lips against her wet, trembling lips that nonetheless accepted him so openly, like a warm cup of milk tea on a winter morning. That momentary pause had changed everything, Minjeong—now fully conquered by him—was begging for that penetrative action that he would give out so liberally to her.

“Naughty woman, bad secretary, what else?”

“Junho’s toy.” 

“Fuck.” And in a flash, his belt flew off, then in another flash, his pants fell down. 

“Tented much?” She was truly in no position to tease: a strategic error.

He grinned at the statement, finally, teasingly, let his underwear fall inch-by-inch. 

Simultaneously, she bunched up her legs then pulled off her panty that revealed the color combinations that he would die for. Though before he could look for longer, she crossed her shins—hiding the cause of Junho’s demise behind her thin legs.

They shared a giggle before Jun hugged her soft body.

“I will penetrate you in this office.”

“Yes. It appears so.”

“No, like, do you consent?”

“Idiot..” Minjeong pulled him in for another kiss. Which, coincidentally, made his tip graze her engorged and swollen core, Minjeong almost came instantaneously from that alone.

And he could tell, laughing, “Seriously, Minjeong?”

“It’s your fault, you trained me like this.”

“This is like our 3rd time.” He said, as if to brush it off.

“This is my 3rd time.” 

And Minjeong would be certainly hurt by the thought that Junho’s partners before her made it more than his 3rd time for him—some of them, the girlfriends, she saw. 

He caught on the clues before it was too late, “Minjeong, not to compare, but who else have I been so crazy about? Who else did I track for every minute of the day? Who else did I let in my home (his girlfriends didn’t, actually, get to enter his home)? Who else would make me lose composure when they’re out of my sight-line?”

Letting his forehead touch against hers, he could feel her heart rend and beat and do all sorts of bothered gymnastics.

“It’s always been about you, Minjeong. You are the brilliance of my life, the expansion of a born star—bright from millions of light years away.”

And she needn’t say anything or reply. Absolving him by wrapping her arms tighter around his nape, then holding up her head to desperately kiss Junho again and again.

In between all the kisses, he penetrated Minjeong. His length, constricted against her core, travelled softly—wringing out all sorts of noises. Her swollen pussy wrapped around him gently but tight. “I love you, Minjeong.” Was the last thing said before Minjeong’s eyes went into the back of her head—a cute habit—before she orgasmed and creamed all over.

As per her request, Junho didn’t stop. He let his hips move as slow as he could possibly go before it could be called torture. During all this, Minjeong grabbed for stability as she was getting fucked through her orgasm, feeling that intense thrusting from the love of her life as she covered his length in more of her slick.

“Oh f-” He covered her mouth this time, respecting her wish to stay at least a little lowkey in the office, whatever the hell that meant right now. Then, shallow thrusts turned into slow thrusts all the way to the hilt, getting Minjeong to scrunch her face in pleasure, eyebrows knitted in the highest pleasure, her mouth agape with strands of her saliva connecting the roof of her mouth to her tongue.

“I love you, Minjeong. Fuck. This is insane, having sex with you in my office.”

“Ngh~ I - I love you so much,” was all that she could get across before succumbing to her dopamine receptors—eyes joining the back her head. Junho connected lips with her again, letting her legs lock around his waist, then rubbing his pelvis against her engorged core, clitoris and all.

After Minjeong finally got used to the familiar motions, he grasped her thin waist, almost wrapping his two hands around the entire circumference of her tight waist. Then their eyes met momentarily, Junho had the I am going to fuck you through this desk eyes whilst Minjeong had the prey eyes that relentlessly coalesced to him. Though, before he could go wild, he brushed off the stray hairs stuck to her forehead, gave a reaffirming kiss on her forehead before pumping all the way in.

The small of her back surrendered to his tight grip, bending against the pushes and pulls. Her legs tightened the lock around his waist—almost painfully tight, but that didn’t matter to him, who’d get to pummel her soft pussy.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he planted his body against Minjeong’s, pinning her two thin wrists against the stable table.

“You’re fucking me so good, Junho,” Minjeong replied, her rare use of the curse made him chuckle by the side of her head. 

“That’s right, baby,” Junho bear-hugged Minjeong, only thrusting deeper and deeper, pelvis rubbing against hers, to make her cum again.

“NGHHH~!” The abrupt moan startled him and herself—however, they didn’t care as much about the employees anymore after indulging in each other’s bodies. Instead of stopping or evaluating the situation—as the rationalists would do—they dug deeper into each other, trying to carve each other with their soft and swollen lips.

Suddenly, he lifted Winter and turned her over. Bending her back against the table before dipping his cock into her pussy again. This time, the entrance was entranced with the soft, tight, wet feeling that he was fully obsessed with. This time, he had more ready access to her soft ass that was so soft and supple that he had to relieve it of its aesthetic beauty: with some redness spread across her ass.

“Oh my god!” Winter squeaked as she reacted against the heavy-handed slap against her ass, loving it, spreading—overflowing—his length with her slick.

Leaning over, he held Minjeong’s chin for the last stretch, considerably slowing down and enjoying each other’s presence.

“How much do you bet the coworkers will give us bad looks?”

“The female workers already give me horrible ones.” She said whilst her chin was held stable by his hand, still moaning against the soft thrusts.

“Hmm, broad generalization. How do you know this?”

“That hickey that you gave that was far too purple and far too above the collar of my blouse.”

“No long-necked turtleneck?”

“No, that’d ruin the point, I wanted to show off the gift my Junho-ssi gave.” That was the moment when he moaned hard, pressing deep inside Winter before releasing all his seed—the seed that Winter felt bounce against her cervix, making her moan out and squeal happily.

“God. Minjeong, you will be my demise.” He sighed before Winter turned around and kissed him, “as long as I get to stay with you, through demise and all,” she said between the kisses.

—

[10] The office furniture procurement department would later note an unusual request for "enhanced stability features" in executive seating, though they wisely chose not to inquire further.

[11] The building's environmental controls registered what could only be classified as "Critical Temperature Fluctuation - Executive Override Protocol Engaged."

—

Evening painted Seoul's skyline in shades of amber and gold, the office gradually emptying as another corporate day drew to a close. Only the executive floor maintained signs of life, though its usual efficiency had given way to something far more intimate[12].

"We should go home," Minjeong murmured against Junho's shoulder, though she made no move to leave her position in his lap. His shirt had long since been unbuttoned, her blouse delightfully rumpled, both their professional facades thoroughly compromised.

"Should we?" His fingers traced lazy patterns up her spine, his other hand still possessively curved around her hip. "I rather like having my secretary exactly where she is."

She lifted her head to meet his gaze, finding that unique blend of authority and affection that never failed to make her heart race. "Your secretary has plans for you."

"Oh?" His interest visibly peaked. "More performance reviews?"

"Better." She smiled, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I'm cooking you dinner. Besides, breakfast was skipped."

The surprise in his expression made her laugh softly. "You don't have to—"

"I want to," she interrupted, then added with deliberate sweetness, "Unless my CEO is refusing a direct offer from his girlfriend?"

His hands tightened on her waist. "Using that title to manipulate me now?"

"Is it working?" She bit her lip, watching his eyes darken at the gesture.

Instead of answering, he pulled her into a kiss that suggested dinner might be delayed[13]. When they finally broke apart, his smile carried dangerous promise. "Your place or mine?"

"Yours," she decided, fingers playing with his collar. "Your kitchen needs christening properly."

His laugh rumbled through both their bodies. "Just the kitchen?"

"We'll see how dinner goes," she teased, then squeaked as he stood suddenly, lifting her with him. "준호야!"

"Efficient time management," he explained, setting her on her feet but keeping her close. "The sooner we leave..."

She pressed against him, deliberate and knowing. "The sooner you can help me... cook?"

"Among other things," he agreed, already reaching for his jacket. The predatory grace in his movements suggested cooking might not be the evening's primary activity[14].

—

[12] Security logs would note this as the third consecutive evening of "Extended Executive Hours," though the actual nature of these extensions remained diplomatically unrecorded.

[13] The office's automated systems began learning to expect these end-of-day delays, adjusting power consumption accordingly.

[14] The kitchen's motion sensors would later flag unusually high activity levels, though whether any actual cooking occurred remained a matter of some debate.

Fin

I fixed some stuff that I executed poorly before, like the crazy amount of math references; which, in foresight, was far too much.

I really had to get this out quickly. Now, I think it's a good idea to not expect anything from me for an entire month (hopefully not).

hope u enjoyed.

[megamindsecretlair]

heyyyy sugarplummm, you already know why i’m here🤭🤭🤭. i’d love to a request for teddy richmond??? im thinking smutty smutty down to the ground, but i NEEDDDD overstimulation from oc to teddy and him tapping out??? some crazy crazy shit LMAOOOO please and thank you, i would forever be in your debt🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂

A/N: Hope I did it justice! I read a FILTHY fic from @planetblaque, make sure you check her fic out here! Good & Plenty

Ruined

Pairing: Daddy Dom!Terry Richmond x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. SMUT. PWP, cursing, PIV, oral (female and male receiving), fingering (fem receiving), teasing, size kink, dirty talk, face sitting, mean Terry, daddy kink, praise kink, overstimulation, reader is able to be picked up, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some, rushing.

Summary: See Ask. Story by @uniqueoutlierblog . Terry has been spending more time in the gym lately, preferring to retreat into his head like he often does. Tonight, however, you aim to take his mind off of his worries if only for a little while.

Word Count: 3,232k

AO3 Link

A/N: Ya'll don't ask about this man no more! I need to focus on this book, lordt LOL. He has rotted my brain, enjoy! Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

Your favorite part of your nightly routine was watching Terry workout. He was never more so in his element then when he was pumping iron, blasting his metal music, and in the zone. He became so focused, lifting weights, leg day, arm day, biceps, triceps, and whatever else he managed to hone into a deadly weapon.

You joined him most nights, but quickly became entranced in the way he lifted his body doing pull ups. Or working his legs out on the machine. Your home gym was nothing to sniff at. Making him deck it out in all of the equipment he ever wanted when he got his settlement from Shelby Springs. 

You liked using the bike mostly, setting a program, and pretending to ride up the side of a mountain. You were able to zone out, picturing the mountain air and the subtle breeze. It was a wonderful sight to behold but did little in comparison to Terry’s massive form. 

Terry had been a little distant lately, spending more and more time in the gym instead of resting. You entered the gym now to find him facing the wall of mirrors along the far wall, watching himself as he lifted heavy weights in his arms, doing curls. 

Something was bothering him. You bit your lip as you watched him. What could it be? 

He was focused, not even noticing that you were standing in the doorway. He wore a dusky blue tank and black shorts, compression shorts underneath showing off massive thighs. His earphones were in his ear, probably listening to his favorite band. 

You thought over what could possibly be his problem… it occurred to you. It was the anniversary of all the shit that went down. Losing his cousin, violence, racism. You sighed, wondering why he didn’t say anything. Then again, he wasn’t the type of man to burden others with his thoughts. 

You sauntered into the gym, taking off your pajama shirt as you did so. You wore no bra underneath so you were bare to the heated room. Your eyes were trained on Terry beside you, soaking through his tank top with sweat. The tattoos on his forearm moved with him, the star and moon on his arm curling.

You stopped beside him, taking off your sleep shorts and panties in one fell swoop. You grabbed your own set of weights and went through a series of light reps, stretching out your limbs and loosening up your body. 

Terry looked over at you and then faced forward. He did a double take, nearly dropping the weights in his hands. He caught them at the last minute, placing them down on the dumbbell rack. 

“What you doing?” He asked, a smirk curving his face. He took out one of his earbuds.

“Working out, what does it look like?” You asked. You didn’t look directly at him, opting to look at him in the mirror. That was easier. Easier to admire his face without having to look at his eyes dead on. Sometimes it seemed like he looked right down to your soul. 

He licked his lips, siding up to you. He was huffing with exertion, reaching up to grab your shoulder. You sidestepped him, tsking at him. “You didn’t finish your workout,” you said.

“You gon’ do me like that?” His voice. Good god. He pitched it even lower, sounding put out and superior at the same time. 

“Finish your workout. Go on,” you said. You switched up your stretches, adding in lunges and stretching your thighs. 

Terry admired what you were doing, the jiggle in your ass, and the sway of your breasts as you moved. He looked at you in the mirror and you smiled at him. He nodded and then yanked off his tank top. 

You faltered in your own routine. His body was insanely ripped. Like a lifelike painting. Like an artist painted each and every ab. You admired the way his body moved. Effortless. Easy. His eyes were trained on you as he took off his shorts and compression shorts, letting his dick spring free.

He was already semi-hard, long and thick, as the tip slapped against his inner thigh. He pulled his other earbud out, tapping away on his phone to put on a playlist you both enjoyed to pump through the house’s speakers. “Coming Undone” by Korn began to blast through the speakers and the dirty beat had you feeling excited. The vibrations in the floor tingled your bare feet. He moved back to retrieve his weights, standing beside you as you both got into your workout routines. 

No words were spoken as you looked at each other, eyes dragging along each other’s bodies like a physical caress. His wide chest glistened with sweat as he pumped his arms, curling those biceps that you just wanted to sink your teeth into.

Your plan was to take his mind off of things, coax him into relaxing, and then talk about what was in his head. But you were making your own self bothered, staring at his lean hips, thick thighs, and strong legs. 

Your pussy throbbed, as you stared at his dick moving with his effort. Wet slick starting to pool between your legs. 

You grunted as you lifted shaking arms to put away your weights. You weren’t as skilled as him and that was okay. You would work yourself up to his level. Sculpting your own body the way you wanted. 

You free-stretched, lifting your arms above your head and pushing out your chest. The room seemed to get hotter. You felt every inch of Terry’s gaze on your body. Everywhere his eyes roamed, your body tingled. You were connected to him on a deep, spiritual level. 

Terry put away his own weights, the metal clanging above the music playing. The song continued to blast, making your body sway to the chorus. Terry stalked forward, licking his lips, eyes looking his fill as he approached you.

“Time for pushups,” you said. 

Terry smirked, encroaching into your personal space. He leaned down to kiss you and you turned your head at the last minute, making him kiss your cheek. He chuckled. “You think you’re cute,” he said against your skin.

You shrugged, a big smile on your face. “Just a little,” you said. You pinched your fingers to show him how much. He laughed, sinking down to his knees. He got into position, facing the mirrors. You climbed onto his back. He tested a few push ups before flicking his eyes towards yours in the mirror.

Wordlessly, he began. He lifted you with ease, not a grunt on him as he kept going, kept pumping his arms. Sweat dripped from his face. You felt his muscles bunch between your legs. You giggled, excited from the high of being lifted on his powerful back. 

“Good Daddy,” you purred on top of him.

Terry stopped, staring at you. You smirked and leaned forward, redistributing your weight so you didn’t hurt him. You licked the shell of his ear and he shivered from head to foot. “Such a good Daddy to me,” you moaned in his ear. 

Terry shook his head, starting up the push ups again. You rubbed his back, caressing him, scratching your nails against his skin. He groaned, body shuddering again. You continued to tease him, running your nails anywhere you could touch. 

“Fuck,” he moaned. 

“I can’t wait until you’re all done, sweaty, feeding me that long dick of yours,” you purred in his ear. 

Terry stopped again, arms extended. He smirked at you. God, he was fucking beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous. He literally took your breath away whenever you saw him. A sigh carried off in the wind. 

Music thumped as you looked at each other. Your thoughts were probably broadcast all over your face. You took a quick peek at yourself. You were perched on top of him like a lazy, feline goddess. Brown skin gleaming, eyes low, bottom lip between your teeth. You looked so pretty like this. Felt pretty. Felt amazing because he made you feel like you were flying every time you were with him. 

You moaned, thinking of him. Of how wonderful he truly was to you. An entire gift. You rubbed yourself on his back, finding that little bit of friction to keep you going. “Oh shit,” you moaned, head falling forward onto his shoulder. You moaned, getting yourself there.

“Hol’ up.” Terry’s rough voice cut through your fog. He lowered himself to the ground and he rolled to the side to let you off. You climbed off of him and then faced him on the floor. 

“You think you get to play with what’s mine?” He asked. He got to his feet, pulling you up with him. 

Your thighs tingled as he stepped into your personal space. He grabbed your hand and pulled you onto the weight bench. He straddled it, laying down. You hopped onto him, and he groaned. He must feel the slick between your thighs rubbing against his stomach. His muscles flexed beneath you and you closed your eyes, pussy fluttering. 

“Mine,” he growled, winking at you. He pulled you to slide over onto his face, lips sliding through your folds.

“Oh, god,” you sighed and moaned. 

Terry hummed, licking his lips. You felt the entire motion, pussy growing wetter from the action. He began to lick you in earnest, moaning between your legs. You gripped onto the weight bar above the bench, held on for dear life, as your legs shook. 

The song switched to “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails. Terry followed the erratic beat, flicking his tongue across your clit rapidly, making you shake and twitch on top of him. “Oh, fuck, Terry, shit, oh fuck,” you moaned. 

Terry chuckled, gripping onto your ass and spreading your ass cheeks. Terry wrapped his lips around your clit and suckled. You screamed, your toes pushing you off of him from the ground. Terry held on, using his tongue to tease around your entrance. 

Stars were blinking on and off in your mind’s eye, lower belly burning with desire. “Terry,” you begged, voice weak and pathetic. Oh fuck, you were about to cum. You began to sink onto his face, putting all your weight down when Terry moved his lips. He pulled away from your entrance right before you were about to cum. 

You groaned, leaning back to look at his eyes. There was something deeply erotic about those mesmerizing eyes staring up at you from between your thick thighs. He winked at you and then pushed you off of him. 

He sat up so that you straddled his lap. “Ready to stop playing games?” He asked, wiping your essence off.

“Who’s playing?” You asked. You blinked at him innocently, wrapping your arms around his neck. His dick was nestled in your ass, growing harder as you rubbed yourself against him. He hissed, hands flying to your waist to steady you. 

You kept moving, kept rocking and rolling your hips so that your wet pussy rubbed against him. “Baby, the games have just begun,” you leaned down and whispered in his ear.

He pulled back, his eyes crinkling as a smile split his face. It was a predatory grin, full of evil intent as he kissed you. You sighed, nibbling on his big, juicy lips. He suckled your bottom lip into his mouth, and you moaned, canting your hips forward once again. 

“Another Way” by Sleep Theory came on, turning up the heat. The heavy beginning reverberated under your skin as you scratched at his nape. You moaned into each other’s mouths. Terry’s hands on your waist were no longer hindering you from rubbing on him, grinding on him. 

Terry cursed, his hand slipping between your legs. “Good fuckin’ girl. Getting wet for Daddy,” he said in awe. 

“You make me so fuckin’ horny, I can’t stand it,” you confessed, capturing his lips with yours again. It was all true. The way his body felt beneath your questing fingers. Tracing every vein, every muscle, every inch of skin. It all served to turn you on more, drive your desire higher, reaching new heights. 

“Let me train that throat,” he said, more of a command than a question. You smirked as you slid off of him, already planning your method of attack. 

Terry scooted forward on the weight bench, and you gripped his thighs for stability as you lowered to the floor. You smiled, grabbed his dick, and rubbed the bead of pre-cum across your lips. 

Terry moaned, licked his lips, tilting his head at you. Your pussy throbbed at the way it made his eyes narrow, made him look cocky. You aimed to change that. You opened your mouth, sucking him down and he groaned as you took him down to the base. 

It was hard, no lie, considering his size. But fuck, you were greedy. You breathed through your nose and then slowly dragged him out of your mouth, making sure to lick every inch of him. 

“Fuuuuck,” he moaned, throwing his head back. He grabbed the sides of your face, stroking his thumb across your cheek, before moving your head faster, making you take more of him. 

Silly boy. You resisted, pushing against his hold. He grunted before he let up and that’s when you took over. Giving him the sloppiest, messiest, nastiest head you’d ever given him. “Shit, let me get out yo way,” he breathed, his moans competing with the sounds of the song playing in the background. 

You stroked him as you sucked him off, his tip leaking cum. The salty taste of him made you moan, made your thighs tingle. You moved your fingers between your folds, rubbing your own clit as you sucked him off. 

Curses flew from his mouth, eyes squeezed shut. Fuck, he was perfect. Absolutely perfect. His mouth dropped open, jaw going slack. He groaned, eyes crinkling with the effort. You took him deep, near gagging, bobbing up and down on his length like you were trying to suck the soul out of his body.

“Shit, slow down,” he said, voice growing needy. 

You didn’t listen. You kept going, kept going faster, shaking with the effort. Rocking back and forth on your fingers and bringing your own pleasure back to the front. Back from where he teased. 

“Damn girl,” he moaned. His jaw flexed with restrained effort. You moaned around his dick, humming, flicking your tongue across his sensitive tip. You suckled him there, drooling. Your saliva and his pre-cum dribbled down your chin. You locked eyes with him, spat on his dick, and then sucked him back down. Returning to the pace you set, sucking with extra pressure.

“Fuck, fuck,” he panted, his hips pushing up. He tapped your cheek softly and you reluctantly pulled off of him. His huffing breaths were better than the music. His eyes turned deep blue like a lagoon, drunk with pleasure. 

His eyes narrowed, staring at you like you stole something. You licked your lips, licking up any extra taste of him. He watched you do it, before he grabbed your shoulders and pulled you to him.

He kissed you, lips soft and sweet. You opened your mouth to him, to his exploring tongue, to the bite of his teeth. You moaned, hands trapped by your side. 

He stood up abruptly, pulling you over to the mirrors. He wrapped your legs around his waist, pushing your back against the cold, smooth glass.

You yelped, trying to get away from it. Your skin was too heated for it, too sensitive. “Terry, please,” you moaned.

“My turn, baby girl,” he said. He grinned, sliding into you with no preamble. Your mouth dropped open with a scream as he split you open. 

“T-T-,”

“Shh, shh, Daddy’s got you,” he cooed as he moved in you like he was punishing you. He was relentless, moving like a jackhammer. Like a well-oiled machine. He held your legs spread open, taking his dick.

“T-too, mu-uch,” you cried, pussy flooding his dick. He was pounding into you so good, your vision turned black. Your ears began to ring. Your back tapped the mirror, shaking it, with the force of his deep thrusts. 

“Too much?” He asked.

You held onto his shoulder, nails digging. “Too good, too good,” you moaned. 

He moaned with you, synching up your sounds and bringing a new level of intimacy to the moment. He stared in your eyes, nose to nose, heavy breaths fanning across each other’s faces. The wet, dripping mess you made was leaking down your ass and leg, growing wetter. 

“How ‘bout now?” He asked. He increased his thrusts, angling you so that he was fucking up into you. The tip of his dick rubbed against a deep spot inside of you, rubbing up into you and making you see stars again. His dick was huge, splitting you, and god it felt so fucking amazing. 

“Meanie,” you whimpered, grip growing weak. 

Terry kissed along your jaw, your cheeks. “So fuckin’ pretty. So fuckin’ good for me. Such a good girl, creamin’ on this dick. You always know just what Daddy needs, huh?” He asked. 

“Daddy, please! Please let me cum, please, please,” You begged. 

His dick throbbed and you crumpled, falling into that abyss of pleasure. Where it filled up your entire being. All of the teasing and edging just sent you overboard, losing yourself and finding yourself in an endless loop of give and take. You twitched and jerked, moaning loud in his ear. 

“Fuck. Grip that shit. Show Daddy you love it,” he said. “Show me. Show me.” His thrusts grew frenzied, hips out of alignment, as he lifted one of your legs higher on his hip and then groaned as he climaxed.

His hot, pulsing seed filled you to the brim. “Ahh, that’s my good girl. Take all of me,” he cooed. 

“Oh fuck,” you moaned. 

You lazily found each other’s lips. He stilled against you, deeply lodged inside like he lived there. Like he didn’t want to leave. Hell, you didn’t want him to leave either. If you could live like this, you would. Never going a moment without him buried in your pussy where he belonged. Where he was always meant to be. 

Terry kissed your temple and slowly, so slowly, pulled out of you. He looked down as he watched himself exit, a thick load of cum spilling out behind him. Your pussy contracted, trying to push him all out. You shivered as the cum slipped down, leaking onto the ground. 

“Ruined,” he said, smug smile to accompany his words. You looked up at him and kissed him, needing his lips on yours just one more time. 

“Thank you, Daddy,” you whispered against his lips. He smiled against yours, leaning back just far enough to look you in the eye.

“I think I have a few ideas for the sauna,” he said.

“The sauna?” You asked. He fucked you so well, you didn’t think you could walk straight at the moment. However, there were plenty of areas to sit in the sauna. Light bulbs flashed in your mind, thinking of what dirty schemes he was up to.

Terry grinned, turning away from the mirrors and heading towards the sauna. You giggled and talked to him the entire way there.

The end.

There will be more, but seriously ya'll. Stawp distracting me! The Secret Terry Richmond Files

Taglist: @planetblaque @chaos-4baby @amethyst09 @ciaqui @we-outsiiiide

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[s-4pphics]

soul ties. part I (e.w.)

SYNOPSIS: a product of brokenness. WORD COUNT: 13.4K WARNINGS: ellie’s a painter/art dealer, heavy angst[oc is suicidal and has dissociative episodes + abusive parents/SEXUAL ABUSE(nothing explicitly written but aluded to) + patriarchy/men being predatory/traditionalist households + mentions of cheating + alcoholism + disordered eating/self-harm(cuticle picking) + thoughts of murder + mommy issues/daddy issues + parental grief + homophobia + more patriarchy but with dykes + unhealthy relationships with sex(coping) + brief mention of masturbation + sexual tension + making out + fondling + slapping + DUBCON + just matching freaks to avoid trauma], miscommunication, just 2 socially inept crash outs lol  A/N: hellloo lol. fixed plot bc im venting… s been a very rough few months. i was convinced i lost my very acute skill so uhhh consider this a test. uhh what else… idk when i’ll be back bc im now a piano player #NEWFOUNDESCAPISM LOL.  suggestion: this technically could b read alone but if u care ab context read this first. then this. that is all LOL byeee :p hi taggies we back: @dyk3ang3l @acidblum @mellifluousgirll @elliesatchel @callmewhenyoukan @natgf123 @elliesstella @spaceforescape @floridaopal @lonelyfooryouonly @ellies-converse @amiorca @darkerstarsstuff

fuck the bitch that made this game.  dont buy his shit.

aid links from my inbox: one, two, three, four

What to do, what to do… 

Ellie is a wreck. An agitated, craving, mess. 

What to do… Love your wife, fuck the daylights out of your wife, kill your wife before she kills you… What to do… 

It can’t be that hard to hide a body. Is it still murder if it’s self-defense? Ellie’s sure the next bath you run for her will either be filled with bleach or result in her being forced underwater until she’s lifeless. There are lots of people willing to get their hands dirty for her if that’s the case. Not a trace of you or her would be left and she’d finally be able to escape with only the clothes on her back. The weightlessness in her pockets wouldn’t move her in any way. Nothing compares to freedom. What a suffocating life she lives. 

The guest room mattress becomes less and less plush every time she lays in it. The sheets are itchier and cold and she’s stuck pondering with each swirl of the ceiling fan, wet hair wrapped in a bath towel; restless, fidgety, and honey-like ache in the pit of her stomach, mind warped with lecherous thoughts of her wife that she despises but not as much, her supposed life partner and fuck, how did you two get here…

Stuck with a tension so thick it permeates your home; if you’d even call it that. You’re both successfully trapped between your own walls; Elegant windows take the place of rusted, metal bars that confine you from the life you both dreamed of before all this; one soft and doting and colorful, one where your light isn’t dulled. 

Why does she feel so guilty, suddenly? You’re not lovers, and neither in love, so why does her chest ache with every glance she steals when you’re unassuming? The pain that’s always etched on your face, and if not, in your eyes — fills her with regret. She would abandon you for days — weeks at a time, not at all concerned about what you might be experiencing to rid herself of shame. And to think that you were merely a younger version of your mother; villainous and cruel and greedy when… when you’ve barely spoken. She finds herself, unfortunately, reminiscing on how bushy-tailed you were after marriage. So eager to please and prick her mind and annoyingly mechanical. You cooked at the same time everyday. Cleaned, did both your laundry, sunbathed, swam in your pool. She hated how rehearsed your lifestyle was; it reminds her of the worst parts of her childhood. When her mother was alive. So, Ellie chose to step out on you the second you took her last name; ravaged other women, released her anger and desires on strangers when she should’ve had you beneath, above, on your knees for her. Where has that craving to harm you gone? For months, she’s ached for your suffering to mirror hers, but now… What’s happening to her? What’s happened to you? 

Ellie believes you’ve lost it, and somehow she’s found herself chasing that unforeseen part of you; unfiltered and angry and wild. This manufactured doll your mother molded you into is shattering at the core and Ellie craves to see more of you. Guilty. As hurt as you were, that night was the most alive she’s seen you be. You shouted and cried and tore at the seams, desperate for someone to hear you, and Ellie did. Loud and clear. She saw you for what you are. Mangled from the inside out, entirely hopeless. Just like she is. An unspeakable link that binds the two of you.

Soul ties. 

She shook and pleaded for you to enter the bathroom and see her battered against the shower wall with a hand between her legs and your name dripping from her lips, but the knob never twisted. Her orgasms were unsatisfactory, and she accepted with irritation that it was because you weren’t there. She ignored the throbbing between her legs and vacated the bathroom. Ellie, with legs that trembled, found you wrapped in satin and snoring. They sounded like whistles. 

She stood for a while, just watching you twitch and wiggle in your rest, eyes glazing to the space beside you that could easily fit another body. The sheets are already warm from where you lay. The two of you have never slept in the same room, let alone bed. 

Her feet carried her out. Silently left the room with an unfamiliar ache in her chest. 

Her mind made an enemy out of you because that’s what you are. When she thought her life couldn’t get any worse, you appeared and destroyed everything in her path. Left her world in ruins. Disrupted her pattern. You’re an enemy and deserve to hurt. 

Aren’t you? Don’t you? 

Everything is unclear. Ellie hasn’t been this conflicted since she was 15. She wishes she could sleep forever so she wouldn’t be forced to think. 

If she had any sense left, she would paint her agony away. In the past, her mind would shut down with every splash of color on a canvas to compensate for the darkness that conjured in her mind. She refrains from that now, though. She’s horny; scared she’ll start imagining what your pussy looks like and sketch it all over the bedroom walls. That’d be too much; a boundary that will remain untouched.

But her brain knows she’s not a good person; she can’t help but imagine how gorgeous your pussy is because you are and she’s known that since the beginning, the second she saw you drenched in white. Drenched in sorrow. 

She clutches your wedding band in her palm. 

What to do… what to do… 

Birds are artists. 

They never fail to sing every morning; sonnets aimed to awaken life as sun rays spill from behind mountains. You've always appreciated their tunes whenever you were pulled from a hollow rest, no longer surrounded by darkness. 

Maybe it was the routine your mother set for you from young. You were 9 when she first coddled your drowsiness as she shook you awake at five in the morning; the early bird catches the worm, a saying you naively assumed as preparation for the day, for your homeschooling. An energy booster, possibly. Motivation. Something to get you through. 

How stupid could a child be? 

You were 12 when your cycle started. You were 12 when you realized that your mother never envisioned actual birds and worms like you had. Your mother has games she plays and she cheats. She’s had you on a leash for the past decade; the scars around your neck are forever a reminder of the hell you’ve endured under her hand. It took no effort on her part to be uncaring of your suffering, and somehow that aches more than anything else. 

Even more than the existence of him. A demon walking.

Animals aren’t like your family. Birds aren’t. The minute specks of sunlight begin, their job starts, and they complete it happily without compensation or praise or the slightest acknowledgment. Everyone wakes, and they fly to anywhere to wake the next. 

But wealth is dirty. Wealth makes people dirty. They swindler and lie and experience life with a vacancy that’ll never be filled with anything but greed. Your mother trained you for years to accept whatever was given as long as you were taken care of. Play your part, she’d say. It took you years to learn her strategy — and unlearn yourself — but you’re here. Married. Successful by association. Rich. Unhappy. Unloved. 

Birds guided you. They never shy from their duty, and you hadn’t either… 

But you’re human. You crack and cry and scream and you hate. You despise so strongly that you lash out and everything in your path becomes victimized. Sometimes it gets to a point where you crave blood. You want to drown in it, drink it until you’re sick. Your soul is dead. Everyones’ should die with yours. 

You don’t know who should go first. Your mother, your stepfather, or your wife. 

You want to swallow Ellie whole—

“Good morning.” 

You’ve never seen Ellie not dolled up. She clearly just awakened with her wrinkled MILFS ONLY shirt and sporadic hair. Timidity doesn’t suit Ellie. You're so used to seeing her exasperated. Her weary eyes don’t meet yours. You should tell her your plans to adopt a hummingbird. Or maybe you shouldn’t. She might laugh at you.

“Hello.” 

“… Hi.” She seems like she wants to say something. You sip your coffee. 

“My dad called.” 

You hum around the rim of your mug. “Woke you up?” 

She merely shrugs. “I uh… did anyone tell you about tomorrow?” 

“Of course not.” 

You don’t expect Ellie to flinch at your tone. You weren’t that sharp, were you?

You might’ve been because she slows her speech. Like she’s approaching a wounded animal, “Dad’s hosting a dinner. Corporate bullshit but we have to go.” 

“Why.” 

She squints at you. “Why what.” 

“Why do we have to go.” Your mug lands on the table harder than expected. 

“To make mommy and daddy look good.” She sneers while approaching her seat, “Did you forget?” 

“I just thought they wouldn’t want two dykes contaminating their spaces anymore.” 

Ellie snorts. “They don’t. Companies do. Gets their cocks hard. Two gay daughters, how progressive!” She mocks and plops on the chair directly across from you, wiping at her eyes. Your throat dries when you notice her wedding band. She hardly ever wears it. You don’t know where you left yours. Since when does she care to wear it? “They’ll do anything they can to get on their good side. They’re… merging organizations or whatever the fuck he said.” 

She swallows. Shrugs uncaringly, “We going?” Her eyes watch your hands squeeze your mug. 

“Are we.” 

She regards your cup with caution. Does she think you’ll throw it? The thought nearly makes you laugh. 

“Yes.” She answers. 

“Okay.” 

Your wife finally looks up and stands, nose upturned, “Okay? That’s all you got?” 

“Yes. Okay.” You sip silently. Your foot taps on hardwood. 

“Excited to see your family? You like ‘em now?” 

Excited is laughable. 

“No, I don’t.” 

The sudden calamity from your wife confuses you. She tugs at the strands that flop on her head in agitation. They look soft as they bounce with her pacing. You’ll never feel them. Or you might later. Who knows with her. Who knows with you. 

Ellie’s still talking. Her arms flail like she’s annoyed by you. You’re not sure why. You’re following. You’re allowing her to guide. To control. That’s the entire point of this. That’s why you’re going to dinner with her. She told you to go and that’s it. 

Play your part play your part play yo—

You don’t remember much of anything; the past, the present, but you recall what Ellie sounds like when she’s angry, whether it’s at you, her father, the woman her father is fucking or married to or whatever. If you’d listen, you’ll discover what ticked her off, but your ears ring too loud. Much louder than her screaming. 

You sip your coffee silently. Ellie leaves you at the dining table with a slam of a door. 

You think it’s the first floor’s guest room. 

The sun sets. Ellie can’t remember the last time she’s been home this long. 

She hates the weekends. The gallery is never open and she can’t drown herself in deals. She hates being home when you are. Why the fuck are you always here? You don’t have friends, a job, a life outside of this goddamn house? There’s a sinking in her stomach at the thought of your isolation, but she ignores it. Tries to ignore it.

… Can’t really ignore it. How pestering. You’re a pest. 

She knows nothing about you, only bits of your past expressed through photographs at your mother’s or outbursts in your bedroom. Your stepfather is fucking creepy and your mother’s glare is killer, but that’s about it. Still, she doesn’t think she can hate your parents more than you. 

You’re so fucking weird. Just like them. Unforgiving and unchaste one day then apathetic the next. How the fuck can one communicate with a person like that? 

That feeling in her chest again. Sharp and annoying. Try try try, it says. Begs from her. 

Try and do what? Do fucking what—

It took Ellie 3 seconds to unlock the guest room door and fly down the stairs when a crash rings from the first floor. Glass clatters and you sound in pain and oh fuck did someone break in

There’s red all over the kitchen floor but it’s not blood it’s red wine. Red wine red wine it’s not blood— 

You’re on the kitchen floor surrounded by green shards and dressed so pretty. Hair coiled and free and your face is done up and you’re wearing flowers. There’s flowers all over and your skin shines and why do you have heels on like a play doll?

Ellie palms at the scattered racing of her heart. Everything’s fine, her brain blares, She tripped, that’s it. Clears her throat. Rustles her hair to appear normal. 

She’s not dead. 

“… You good?” 

An unsteady hand rises to throw her a thumbs up. Your body wobbles when you attempt to stand. Ellie ushers to the counter to slide on her slippers, tells you to stop when your palm nearly plants on a shard. 

“Move back before you hurt yourself.” Ellie takes a quick lap around the kitchen for the broom and dustpan. Finds you just as quickly so you don’t accidentally slice an artery. 

Your lashes flutter and her heart follows suit, taking in the mess. “I think I fucked up.” You croak.

Hearing you curse is always odd. She huffs, “It’s fine. Can you stand?” 

Your head shakes and your bottom lip juts. “My… my shoes…”

You slowly plop onto your bottom and rest your back against the dishwasher. You struggle to grip your buckles to pull and slide the strap and Ellie remembers why she hates heels. She sweeps the glass away from you and realizes she should’ve mopped first because the bristles are soaked and streaking the clean parts of the crystal porcelain. When was the last time she cleaned? The maids always do. Sometimes you help. 

You look stunned when Ellie moves to squat in front of you. Jumps back when she adjusts your ankle. 

Her palms hang in surrender, “I’m gonna help you. Relax. Do your knees hurt?” 

You landed right on them. They should. You don’t disarm, eyes guarded and body locked tight, but you shrug. It’s good enough for Ellie. 

She unravels the buckles around both your ankles and tosses them next to you and you just watch. Ellie’s glances are quick and flitting, but she follows the traces of her hands; the sharp inhales whenever her fingers brush against the skin of your leg. You’re not as close as you were last night but she can smell you. Her chest is throbbing. You look like you’re about to cry but you’re drunk. It’s meaningless. Drunk people cry. 

Try try try try 

“Can you stand now?” She croaks. 

It takes a second for you to register her inquiry, but you shrug, and she sighs. When Ellie stands, both her hands extend out to you, but you don’t accept them; She gets jittery under your scrutinizing gaze after nearly a minute passes. Her throat dries and her face burns when you brush her hands away; standing on your own is an unstable journey, but you do, back against the counter to stabilize yourself. You look ill. Your brain must be jumbled. 

“Can you get upstairs on your own?” 

“You talk a fucking lot. Shut up.”  

The corner of Ellie’s mouth rises, but she says nothing. Gives you space to move. 

You take one step, then two more, then your eyes shut and your throat jumps. Uh oh.

“Oh shit, come—“

Ellie guides you to the garbage can near the front of the counter, away from the glass, and you dry heave. Liquid splatters inside the can and Ellie hates this so fucking much. The sounds are enough to make her own stomach lurch. It’s been a while since she’s been around someone this drunk. 

But she holds your waist so you don’t faceplant into your own vomit. 

“Get it out,” She hums with a grimace, “You’re fine.” An I gotcha almost rolls off her tongue but she catches it. She glides a comforting hand over your curved spine because you’re drunk and you won’t remember such gestures in the morning. She prefers it that way. 

You’re not gagging anymore so Ellie removes herself from you. Until she hears a whimper. And a sob so quiet she assumes you’re trying to mask it. Drunk people cry; she’s seen it countless times. Why does that seering feeling spark in her chest for what felt like the billionth time today? Fucking try, for fucks sake! 

“Let’s… let’s get you—“

“I wish I was dead.” 

Your prayer is hollow. Not even sad despite your tears. So, so empty. Ellie’s seen this before, experienced that nothingness countless times, but despite it all, she never learned how to console. Hell, she barely knows how to self-soothe without falling victim to her dark temptations. Even her paint brushes can’t eliminate the constant ache she feels. She just watches the tremble of your shoulders from behind. 

“I really don’t wanna go tomorrow.” You whisper. 

Ellie sighs. There’s no other choice. You know the stakes; follow your families’ commands or lose everything at the drop of a hat. They’ll leave you both on the streets to rot with no remorse if they please, replace the two of you with two normal children. Het children that won’t deviate. You’re both on thin ice as it is. Mainly because of Ellie. She can’t seem to keep herself out of trouble.

“I…” 

I’ll be with you the entire time. I don’t like being around those cunts either. 

“It’ll go by quickly.” She settles. 

“I hate when p-people look at me.” 

“Me too.” 

“I wish my family loved me.” 

Ellie’s softer now. Only slightly. 

“Yeah…” 

A tug in her ribcage. Try. Please, try. 

“Me too.” 

The pounding beneath your skull wakes you quicker than the birds. You shove your face in the pillow you rest on. 

The devil tells you to check the time so you do. The bedside clock says noon, meaning a new day, meaning it’s Saturday meaning you’ll die. Maybe not physically but mentally. You’re so drained and you’ve barely opened your eyes; the idea of leaving bed alone is enough to exhaust you. Your wrists and legs ache like fucking hell on top of that. 

You make fists with both hands. Repeatedly clench and unclench. The weight is different on your wedding finger. Heavier. You haven’t seen your ring since yesterday… or a few days ago — you’re not really sure. You must’ve found it in your drunken stupor. Just when you hoped to never see it again. 

The universe will always remind you who you are. 

If you stand you’ll vomit but your phone is ringing from the drawer you stuck it in weeks ago. How is it not dead? You know your mom’s calling. You hate that she is… 

The ringing stops and you thank the heavens. 

You curse them when it starts up again. 

The drawer slides open with reluctance. The ringing sounds 20 times louder. You retrieve your device blindly and your throat snaps shut when you speak. 

“You rang.” 

“Did your… partner tell you about tonight.” 

Hard and distant. That’s how she speaks to you. Your heart cracks. 

Your mom already knows Ellie did. She loves to bother you with nonsense. You don’t think she’s ever called Ellie your wife. 

“Yes.” 

“You’re attending.” 

“Yes.” 

“Good.” 

“Is that all.” 

“Your gown was delivered here. Come by well before 8 to get ready.” 

And she hangs up. Just like that. Always. She’s never told you to have a nice day, or to rest well, or that she loves you, at the minimum. And if she had, you don’t remember any of it. There’s a lot you force yourself to forget. 

The selfish part of you disregards the burning of your eyes to stare at your phone — low battery and… no messages. No texts, no phone calls from anyone except your mother, no likes on Instagram because your mom scared you into not making one when you were a teenager. No one cares about you. People care about your wife, though. Maybe because she’s talented; she’s certainly not nice. 

Your darkest memories are always the most prominent. 

Your phone drops to the floor and you don’t reach for it. You just pray to sleep again. 

Tonight will be interesting. 

The ride to your mother’s is silent. 

At least she chauffeured the two of you. Ellie can be scary when she drives. You’ve never been in a car with her, but she did ram into a lamppost on the sidewalk a few nights after your wedding. 

Your wife is already dressed despite the party being hours away. She sits right next to you in all black; in a trenchie and turtleneck and slacks and loafers with fur and gold jewelry. When she descended the staircase, you gawked when she wasn’t looking. So simple, but she had your heart fluttering when she’d asked, ready? You’re still in your sleep shorts, teeth unbrushed and starving. When was the last time you ate? 

What an embarrassment — you’re an embarrassment, but you can’t bring yourself to care anymore. If only newly wed you could see herself now. 

You swallow a lump when you feel eyes on the side of your face, but yours remain glued out the window. The closer you get to your mom’s, the faster your mind starts to shut down. Everything passes you by in a blur. 

By the time the gates with your father’s initials come into view, your thoughts go silent, only filled with the calming images of nature and the song of birds. Your only escapism. 

The only way you’ll make it out of here in one piece. 

Ellie! Darling! We’ve missed you! Give us a smile! 

Ellie! Ellie, look this way! 

Ellie, where’s your wife? 

She wishes she knew. You’d barely made it into your mother’s home before getting swept down the hall by 4 other people who poked at your appearance. Ellie didn’t even get to give your mom the passive, spine-chilling hi, mom like old times before another SUV came to whisk her away from that hell hole. Her dad always knows somehow. 

She hates being at your mom’s; it’s stifling and quiet and the aura is dark. Like mother, like house or whatever the fuck. 

She scowls when the bombarding questions redirect to you. Some concerning, some sarcastic, some raunchy — those get under her skin in particular — and she can’t stop fiddling with her ring. Her chest tugs tugs tugs. 

Trouble in paradise? 

You were caught leaving the bar with another woman on your arm a few weeks ago! How’d your wife react to that? 

She doesn’t know. She’s never home to see you break. 

Guilt ate at her when the door of your mother’s mansion shut behind her, but she disregards it now. You shouldn’t be forced to listen to their guised jabs; You get enough of that from everyone in your life. She hopes you’ll go through the back entrance when you arrive. 

When will you get here? 

Ellie’s never made an event appearance without you. You’d pose and fidget and display awkward affection so that they’d buy your love a little bit, then enter the gathering as two separate hearts, riddled and torn, never to cross paths until the bustle is over and it’s time to go home. 

Finally, security moves and barricades her until she gets past the 20 foot gate and treads the steps. The flashing cameras are still blinding from behind. 

The tended garden is the first thing she notices. Wide and green. The daisy and rose bushes are no longer tangled with weeds and surrounded by dead grass and gnats. How could Joelene not see that and be vengeful? Ellie and her dad may not be close anymore, but she knows him; maybe even more than he knows himself. He still misses her mom after everything, and chooses to express it through her favorite hiding spot. Keeps the flowers that bloom and trims the ones that don’t so she lives through them. Ellie hardly remembers a time when her mother wasn’t covered in dirty overalls and sunburnt. 

She manages to hold it together when the large double doors open. The violins suddenly sound like nails on wood. 

Voices fade into nothing. People are outside your car. Light hurts so terribly. 

One second you’re here, the next you’re not. Your mom and her husband sit across with twined arms and the lace from your dress is itchy and you wanna disappear. When you blink, you’re gone. You only exist on this plain if your eyes are open. 

Something hard and leather brushes against your ankle, scratches against your stockings, slow and snake-like. You know what it is, who it is, and you freeze, eyes locked onto your mother. No matter your hopelessness, there’s still a young girl in you that wishes your mother would defend, act on anger, be disgusted at minimum. At least when his crimes are done in secret you can’t blame her for not knowing. 

But you’re here and she’s here and he’s here. A shared secret between the three of you. 

His shoe doesn’t halt on your leg. Your mother never looks at you. 

Birds and songs and sonnets. You’re a bird and you can fly against the strongest winds. Music is your guide and you follow the clouds. 

Your fingers twist together in your lap and the black interior of the car glows red. If only… he’s not the only one with sick intentions. If only. 

You’re flying you’re flying you can fly and there’s someone who’ll love you gently. They’re out there somewhere and you’ll find them and they’ll find you like every trial was worth it. 

Patience. That’s all you need. Just be patient. 

The rest of the car ride is unbeknownst to you. Next thing you know, your door is being opened and two men await your entry at the glass door. 

Champagne is good. Tequila is better. The two mixed is hell. 

Ellie’s throat burns and her mind swirls but she plays it off well enough. Mingles with pensive, old bastards while their daughters’ gawk at her with bright-eyed curiosity and you haven’t arrived yet. 

She lost her dad somewhere in the night. He greeted her briefly upon her arrival, pointed out the important men of the night, called your mother a selfish bitch, then walked off with his mistress by his side. Ellie’s eyes keep meeting the back door from the living room. 

Where are you? 

“Ellie!”

She downs the rest of her chute and guards her agitation with a grin. Shakes the hand of… 

What the fuck was this dude’s name? 

“It’s an honor! Your art is incredible! I’ve truly—“

—Fucking Ronald? Reginald? … Ronald might be it—

“—Your father, ya know, he’s an interesting man, incredibly smart! I’ve never—“

Her dad gave her a run-down of the … merging or whatever the fuck but what the fuck did he say and holy shit, is she sweating? The man’s handshake threw her off, frankly; almost snapped her wrist in two. Fucking old piece of shit. More business jargon that she pretends to understand and care so much about because it’s a show after all. All cheers and stiff laughter. 

“And your wife! By God, what a looker!”

Her jaw clenches. Where are you where are you where are you

“What we’d give, I mean, c’mon!” Men that pass laugh with him and it’s taking everything in Ellie not to smash this glass over his head. One quick swing and it’s over. For him and her. How promising.

“Where is she anyway? You two didn’t come together?” 

“She um, she’s with her parents right now. They’ll be here.” She jerks her chin toward the entrance. 

“How lucky are you. Treat her like the star she is!” It looks like the shithead’s leaving, but not before taunting, “Holler when she arrives, will ya?” 

And just like that, he leaves Ellie to simmer. Three deep breaths. A man in a suit and tray filled with champagne waltzes passed her and she snags two glasses. Downs the first in one thick swallow before another clinks with hers. 

Why does everyone keep fucking with her? 

“Cheers.” 

Ellie doesn’t need to look to know who it is. She scoffs. “Sounds like you’re having fun.” 

Jolene stands next to her, shoulders slouched and dress glowing under the chandelier. She arches a dark brow, “Who wouldn’t? Men are the most entertaining when they’re on ego trips.” 

“Same goes for my dad?” She snips, and Jolene shocks her with a smile. 

“Meh.” 

“Why are you here.” 

“I just told you—“

“No, where are you here.” Ellie gestures between them, “Why’re you talking to me right now?” 

Jolene downs her drink and shrugs, “My attempts at bonding. On a scale of 1 to 10, how shit were they?” 

“900. Leave me the fuck alone.” Before Ellie can run, a hand clamps down on her wrist. 

“I know—“ The woman rushes, “I know we don’t have the best relationship, but I’m not—“

Ellie almost corrects her out of pettiness; They don’t have a relationship, period. There’s no best or worst. But her sudden desperation halts her. 

“—the enemy. There’s not a lot for us in these spaces. I just wanted to try and establish something. Anything. Between us. It can be so lonely without a real support system.”

Ellie hates the direction her heart turns her mind. Suddenly you’re there and you’re crying and clawing at your chest and Ellie just watches like she did that night. So powerless. So empty. 

But Jolene isn’t you. She chooses to be selfish. Yours comes from self preservation and nothing else. 

Ellie snatches her hand back and throws her the deadliest stare. “You don’t know shit about being lonely. You’re the one who gave up everything you had to fuck my dad when my mom wasn’t looking. How much did you care about her loneliness then? Hm?” 

The timing was perfect, really. 15 year old Ellie watched her parents get into one of their most abhorrent arguments; her dad leaves first, then her mom, then only one of them returns, and it was not her mother. Imagine her shock when a news reporter confirmed that her mother’s body had been thrown in a garbage bag and left in a dumpster to rot. It only took two weeks to mourn before he was marrying another woman. 

Nobody cared that her mother had been shot or stabbed or gutted. She was just a woman married to a successor who raised a deviant child. 

Ellie forces herself to not point fingers, though. Anyone could’ve killed her, she always reminds herself; to keep her from going fucking crazy. But timing… 

How telling is time. 

Jolene’s eyes widen and her grip weakens. Ellie takes that as an escape before she has a breakdown in front of the caviar platter. 

She barely takes a step before she collides with a body. 

Funny. 

She bumped right into a star that shines a royal blue. The woman of the hour, for sure. In her mind, at least.

“Sorry.” You whisper.

“You’re fine. All me.” Ellie says lowly as she takes you in, and you do the same to her. Shy, but yearnful glances. Glossed lips tightly sealed and brows tense. Your dress shimmers and holds you snug and she feels guilty for staring at your curvature. She’s suddenly hyper aware of the vultures that disguise themselves as men and she has an instinct to hide you. And your ring is on. The thumping in her chest picks up. Only slightly. 

“It’s great to see you again.” Jolene says shakily from beside Ellie and she almost loses it before a grating voice interrupts. 

“You, as well. And your husband is…?” 

Your mother. And her lap dog wagging his tail beside her. What a bitch. Both of them. 

Your stepdad says something and you inhale sharply and no one notices but Ellie. She studies you carefully. You look like a frightened cat with a frilled tail as he speaks. Claws out, not because you’re ferocious, but so, so scared. She glances at your stepdad; greasy smile while he ogles at Jolene; what a nasty son of a bitch. 

Ellie whispers to you, “Is everything o—“

“Joel! Man of the hour! How are—“

“Where’s the bathroom again?” You whisper back. 

Ellie takes your hand in hers and flees while the family’s distracted, leading you down a hallway that’s way too long with lights too bright. 

She gestures towards the door. “It’s… This is it. One of ‘em at least.” 

“… Thank—“

“What’s the matt—“ 

“I’m fine.” 

“You look like you’ve seen a fucking ghost. Did that piece of shit say something to you?” Ellie glances to make sure no listeners are hiding in the shadows. 

The widest smile grows on your face as you laugh, hearty and loud with your head thrown back. Ellie stares in confusion. 

“Oh, Ellie! You’re so silly,” She jumps when your hands hold her cheeks. You’re fucking freezing and they tremble. Your eyes are a dark void. 

You lean in closer, lips right against her mouth and they part slightly on instinct. She’s concerned and should ask more questions, but your skin is so soft. Are you gonna kiss her, she wonders? You haven’t kissed since your wedding; your breath hits her mouth and her tongue swipes her lips. Her eyes flutter shut and she aches to touch you—

“Save a seat for me, love? Please?” 

It happens so fast; the frost of you is gone and the bathroom door slams shut while an elderly woman fondly whispers, “young love,” as she walks by. Ellie only nods with a rigid curl of her lips, throat cinched too tightly to swallow. 

You puzzle her. She’s tempted to wait for you, to ensure you make it back safely without bombardment, but then 

“Ellie! Why didn’t you call me! Your wife made it safely, I see!” 

A hand claps on her shoulder while men laugh from the side, boisterous and predatory and so wide their fangs show. Ellie’s sick and a war rages within her. 

“Your father sent me to find you! It’s time to eat!” 

She sends them a weak smile. She rushes away from the door and they follow close behind. 

Anything to lure them away from you. 

Attendees have dwindled, only Ellie and her family and you and yours and some CEOs that are really getting on her fucking nerves. But you’ve eaten, thank God. She can breathe a little. 

Only a bit, though. You’re putting on a fucking show and it’s scaring her; Even her dad seems impressed. Charmed by you. Clinking glasses and telling jokes and smiling. Did your mom hold you at gunpoint before you got here? How much did you drink? Not much from what she’s seen. 

That one fucker from earlier — Raymon or Robert or whatever the fuck — keeps leaning over the table whenever you do. Peeping at your chest, probably. She wishes these steak knives were sharper. 

“So! Our young couple,” says Old Bitch with a Combover and wiggly brows, “When are we getting those heirs?” 

You cough uncomfortably and Ellie squirms in her seat. Your mother scoffs, “Two women can’t have children—“

Said Old Bitch shrugs, “Well, not biologically—“

“My point exactl—“

Ellie’s father cuts in with a tense grin, “When they get to that point, we’ll discuss their options. There’s… many nowadays, evidently.” 

Neither you or Ellie interrupt, but she notices you’ve moved closer to her. Inched your seat a bit. You squeeze your hands so hard in your lap she’s scared they’ll shatter where they lay. You’re not smiling anymore. 

Her dad and your mom are subtle with their blows at one another; snarky with brutal stares, unremarkable to strangers, but you and Ellie know. When dinner ends, you’ll both be caught in their crossfire. 

“There’s no shame in me wanting my grandchildren to be by blood. I shouldn’t have to go shopping for an heir.” Your mother hisses. 

“Sh—“ Joel huffs with disgust, “Shopping for an heir? That’s what you think adoption entails?” 

“Does it not?” Your mother’s tone rises. 

Reggie, Rory, or Russell interjects with a dismissive wave, “C’mon, you too! No need to argue. I’m sure girls like them will be fine with obtaining children! It might be more… complicated, I will say!” 

“May I be excused?” You croak, and Ellie straightens. 

“Why? So you can wallow about dying childless?” 

The table silences. No laughter, no wittiness. Completely still. That wasn’t from your mother. Ellie doesn’t remember the last time she’s heard your stepdad speak so clearly. Her blood thrashes beneath her skin so harshly that her tongue unties. There’s a darkness in her that whispers, “grab that steak knife”. Brutalize him. Just for a second. Do it for you. 

Do it for her. 

“Go fuck yourself.” She spits. 

Your neck almost cracks with the speed you turn to her, eyes wide as the moon. Her father condemns, “Watch your mouth, Ellie.” 

“Or what, you old fuck?” 

Her heart rattles noisily in her chest; her hands shake where they rest on her lap, her cells trembling with the instinct to harm. The gaze of her father is distant and filled with inadequacy for his only line. Nothing unbeknownst to her, but there's a flash of something so deep, so forbidden for them, but she sees it every time they hold contact. Beneath all the loathing and lesions left to drain, there’s longing. An inkling of gratitude that she knows he’ll suppress until he’s buried underground. He’ll never look the same to her, and she imagines the same for him. Too many bridges burned. 

“How’d I do?” Ellie rasps to him, “Hm? The night went how you hoped?” 

Look at what you’ve done, she hopes her eyes say. Tears welt against her will. When was the last time she cried in front of him? She hadn’t even given him that honor at her mother’s funeral years ago. 

Ellie’s stiff stature nearly cracks at the light brush atop her knee. A wind catches in her throat when a pinky turns into three fingers, then five, then a palm that squeezes comfortingly, desperately. Maybe partly to keep her glued to this chair. She gulps the dryness down and a flame lights in the pit of her stomach. 

Her glance to you is brief, barely out of the corner of her eye, but you’re watching her. Intensely, and it scorches her cheeks, all the way down to her neck. Scared cat. Scared cat. Shrilled and cold and frightened to hell and she despises it. 

What changed? She’ll always wonder. That look hardly shook her a week ago and now it makes her teeth ache. 

Suddenly, it’s too warm here. 

“Get up,” Ellie rushes you. Grabs your arm and yanks you from your seat, “Not dealing with this fuckin’ bullshit tonight. We’re leaving.” 

There’s suddenly shouting from all directions of the dinner table with each step Ellie takes for you, but you never drop her hand. She clenches it tighter when you finally reach the back door. 

The door slams shut on the wreckage behind you. 

Consider plan MERGE a bust. 

Ellie’s a thief. You think. Maybe. 

Is it stealing if the car belongs to a family member? Where she snagged the keys from? You don’t remember. One second you’re at dinner, then watching the city pass you by the next. It’s silent in here. 

“Stop.” 

You slam back into your body. Still in the car. You wish you were asleep. 

“Huh?” 

Her eyes watch the road, but a hand rests on both of yours to pry them apart. 

“Stop. I hate that sound.” 

“… Wha—“

“You’re gonna rip your skin off if you don’t stop.” 

… Oh. Yeah. Bloody cuticles. It was all accidental, you swear. 

“Sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize.” Her eyes shut briefly and she sighs, sounding so worn. Exhaustion is her white flag. “Just stop.” 

“Alright.” 

“Thanks.” 

It’s quiet again. The red from the stop light reflects in the car and you’re instantly reminded of your stepfather. 

“Ellie.” 

“Hm.” 

“We should get a bird.” 

“… And do what with it.” 

You shrug, “Pet it. Feed it, too.” Sing with it, you wanted to add. Ellie would’ve probably laughed at you. 

She snickers dryly, “That’s usually what you do with a pet.” 

“I never had one.” 

The light turns green and the car revs. Your wife hums, “I had a fish once or twice.” 

“Lucky.” 

A small — very, very minuscule grin quirks Ellie’s lips and your heart hollers. For joy? In warning? 

“Not really. They kept dying so I gave up.” She snickers to herself, and you can’t help but stare. She starts talking then. Eyes gone, tension gone. She’s suddenly relaxed. 

“My mom… she, uh… loved water. Was always in it or… watching it on TV or something. She always bought fish from fucking… PetCo—“

“PetCo?” You laugh, then Ellie does. 

“Right? She’d take me and be like, “get one”. And I went home with a new fish every time.” 

“I thought you only went once or twice?” 

“… Times 100,” She giggles, “My mom lived there. She would always talk to the cats through the glass.” 

You don’t hesitate, “I wanna go.” 

“To PetCo?” 

“Yeah.” Why not? 

Everything is almost over. So, why not? 

“… K.” 

“So we’ll go?” 

“Mhm.” 

And the conversation ends. The car is silent. Suddenly tense again when you ask, 

“Do you think we’re cut off?” 

Ellie’s jaw clenches and the car is suddenly tense. Back to square one. “Possibly. Tonight was a shit show. It went by fast, at least.” 

“What’s gonna happen to me?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I’m…”

Alone. You’re fucking alone and know nothing about life outside of what was built around you. Without it, you’ll spiral and fail and face a dreadful reality. No more rose colored glasses even if they’re browned and wilted as is. You’ll be eaten alive by the creatures in the night without a protective border. 

But the curse will end. You won’t inherit or be forced to lie or play a game that ends in fire. Decades of legacy down the drain just like that, and by your own hand. It fascinates you, that power. A force you’ve been withheld from. 

“I don’t know.”

“Still thinking about divorce?” A void in Ellie’s tone. 

“I don’t know.” 

“They’ll never allow it, you know that, right?” 

“What if I just leave?” 

“And do what?” Her voice raises. 

“Who knows. Who cares.” 

“Please,” Ellie exasperates, “Your mom will get fucking SWAT to bring you back.” 

“What good will a corpse do for her?” 

You’ll be dead but you’ll have a bird. A colorful one. That’ll be your legacy. That’s all you need, really. Ellie doesn’t say anything. Neither do you. 

More buildings flash by and suddenly you’re home. Parked in the garage with Ellie beside you, gazing off into opaque walls. You wonder what she’s thinking. If she sees everything in black and white like you do. Maybe she’s the opposite, vision bright and full of suppressed color. She is a painter after all. 

“What’re your plans?” Ellie suddenly whispers. 

“For?” 

“Life. The future. Anything,” She pries and digs for something, “There has to be something that interests you! That gets you excited! There’s so much shit to do.” 

You shrug. Not much. Not anything. 

“I used to be excited for my wedding,” You mumble, “Like… as a kid. White dress and flowers and everyone’s just excited to be there. For love, and whatever, you know? That’s how it was in movies, at least.” It’s embarrassing to admit, but it’s off your chest. The unhealthy romanticization of the happiest day of your life ended up being just another day to honor the greed of your families. Everyone was so lifeless when they watched you and Ellie kiss. It hadn’t even lasted 3 seconds before she shoved the band on your finger with teary cheeks. Such beautiful scenery was wasted on misery. 

You look over and Ellie’s eyes are roaring, palms squeezing together in her lap while her wedding ring twists around her finger. You watch it cycle. 

“Now I…” You chuckle sadly, “I just want a bird, to be honest.” 

With your heels and purse in hand, the car door opens and you exit, forcing yourself not to peek through the windshield at Ellie again. 

The second floor, your bedroom, your bathroom, are all quiet. Did Ellie not follow you inside? For a while, you envision what it would be like if you weren’t married. If you weren’t born as you, would your world be this still? 

It haunts you in the shower. Wolffish eyes and dry hands grasping at your shoulders and waist but everything’s quiet. 

You wash your face, brush your teeth, wrap your hair alone. You wonder if anyone is actually in the house. Was Ellie a figment of your imagination? Is this one of the nights that proves she doesn’t exist and that your brain is your greatest enemy? You shove your face into the mattress before your thoughts venture. Silence rocks you to sleep, but not forgetting the taunting desire to know 

Is death this quiet? 

Your mom’s calling. 

Vibrations rattle in your bedside dresser. The sun isn’t up yet. The birds are still resting. She never calls this early… or late. Something bad must’ve happened. It takes 17 seconds for your drawer to stop shaking before it starts again. 

You can’t move to answer, though. Your body isn’t yours at the moment. Your soul will reclaim its shell soon enough. Or maybe it won’t. 

Your drawer shakes shakes shakes. Your heartbeat eventually matches the pace of its vibrations. You think it’s been 20 minutes. Maybe longer. When will the birds wake? 

Finally, the calls stop. Your eyes shut again. Instantly taken by darkness. 

You never wear normal clothes. 

Ellie’s only ever seen you in thousand dollar dresses and high heel shoes that scrape your achilles and cloth that squeezes you so tight she thinks she might explode by just looking at you. No matter how fucking good you look in them. 

So what the fuck is that? Moreso, why does she like it so much? Her cheeks are on fucking fire and her heart is trying to flee its enclosing. 

You have a t-shirt on. A simple, non-Gucci white tee that says LAS VEGAS and black shorts and a scarf on your head and socks with squirrels on them. Is this the fucking matrix? 

You never wake up this late, either. It’s 20 till 10. 

“Did my mom call you at all?” 

No… no she didn’t… Why can’t Ellie speak? She’s sitting there gaping like a fish and taking guilty glances at your nipples through your shirt. She shakes her head. You nod yours. 

“I uh…” She mumbles with a cotton mouth when you step into the kitchen, “I made coffee.” 

“I smelled it.” You serve yourself at the counter. 2 Splenda packs, no cream.

“Did your mom call you?” 

“Yes.” 

“What’d she say?” 

“I didn’t answer.” 

… Interesting. Odd. Her calls are never missed by you. 

“I hope it’s something bad.” 

Ellie swallows her sip thickly. “… Damn. Why?” 

“She deserves it.” You say calmly while stirring. “He does, too.” 

“Your dad?” 

“My stepfather,” You hiss and slam your mug on the table. Ellie flinches, “Yes.” 

Her palms raise in surrender, “Sorry.” 

“Where do you go at night?” The chair across from her scrapes on hardwood when you sit. 

Nowhere, recently. Ellie shrugs as nonchalantly as she can, “Anywhere. Wherever I want.” 

“Take me next time.” 

She pauses her sip to ogle. “Hm?” 

“Take me. I wanna see what’s fun for you.” 

Ellie huffs a shocked laugh, “No, you don’t.” 

You squint, “Yes, I do. That’s why I’m asking to see.” 

“It’s not your scene, dude, trust m—“

She jolts where she sits when a hand — your hand, soft and agile and cold, slams down on the table, rattling both your mugs and the vase that holds dead flowers, nearly shattering the glass with an accusatory finger. 

“You dunno know shit about me! I’m fucking going whether you like it or not! Whether she likes it or not, and if I have to do it myself, I fucking will, you fucking psychotic fucking bitch!” 

You rise and stomp to where she sits with a pounding heart and a lecherous swirl in her gut. You look about ready to slice her open with a blunt butter knife. 

“You treat me like fucking trash just like everyone else,” You whisper venomously, and Ellie shakes, “The least you could do is listen for once. Scared to take me to the place you cheat on me at? Don’t want me to see it? That’d be too real, huh?” 

Ellie exhales a shaky breath of your name, but your nails, cut and manicured to perfection, sink into her cheeks so tightly that she winces and blushes and her tummy twists with heat. You don’t flinch when her fingers delicately entangle around your wrist; doesn’t want you to think she’s holding you there even though she is. 

“You’re gonna show me a good time tonight. If it’s as fun as you say, that shouldn’t be an issue, right?” 

Her eyes must read yes, yes, it’s not a problem; Your grin is wild like a hyena; pretty lips swelled around pretty teeth and you always smell good. Caramelized sugar and nectar.  

“Who knows,” You purr and Ellie feels goosebumps forming, “Maybe I can meet one of your little friends.” 

She chokes around a gasp before her lips curl into a conniving grin, cheeks plush around your fingers, “Aren’t you a little hussy.” 

“Fuck you.” You shove her so hard her back collides with the seat but her eyes glow pink. She watches you leave the kitchen and stomp up the steps with a burning chest until a door slams from upstairs. She releases a breath she didn't realize she was holding, wracked and desperate. 

-

-

-

Ellie will never admit — or maybe she will, but she purposefully uses your shared bathroom to catch glimpses at you. She always expects to find you out cold and wrapped in warm blankets, chest fluttering with each twitch of your socked feet that peek from below the blankets. 

What she doesn’t expect to see, though, is your phone shattered to pieces and left to drown in the clogged sink. Right next to a weighted rubber mallet; Where’d you find that? All your pent up emotions were taken out on your device… and the counter, apparently. The marble is chipped. 

She can only laugh in astonishment. Amazement. Fear when she realizes… 

Your mom.

Did you ever answer the phone?

Another day you’ve slept away. Either you were dreaming or someone was holding you suffocatingly tight; you enjoyed it, strangely. The sun is completely gone and there’s rustling and music echoing from the bathroom. Ellie’s in there. 

All the blood rushes to your head with how quickly you sit up, but your feet carry you past your closets until the light from the room sizzles your vision. 

Your wife stands by the mirror, drying her hair with a towel with a cigarette between her fingers. The guitar synths coming from her phone are grinding in your ears. 

Is she really keeping her promise? 

Did she promise to take you? You don’t remember. 

“Hi.” Her eyes meet yours in the mirror and your spine twitches. You say nothing, so she chuffs with a teasing lift of her lips, “Chickenin’ out?”

“No.” 

“K.” 

“What do I wear?” 

She shrugs, “Whatever you want to.” She speaks around smoke and her timbre’s dry. 

“What are you wearing?” 

“Whatever I want to.” 

She must sense your skepticism because she’s suddenly reassuring, voice crackly, “You’re not under any expectations tonight. You wanted me to show you what I do for fun, and I’m gonna. You just have to do your part and enjoy it.” 

Your nails dig into your thighs while you watch her. She has her ring on and her body wash coats the room in cinnamon. With a pounding heart, your hands slowly drag up your sides, fingers dragging at the hem of your shirt. She’s not looking. 

Enjoy it…

“Did you eat today?” 

“No.” 

She gives you a look. Stern. What is she mad about? Your tummy flutters, “There’s leftovers downstairs, you can have ‘em,” She shakes her wet hair and puts on her glasses, checks her watch, checks her phone, hits her cigarette. “We’re kinda behind so you should get read—“

Enjoy it. 

Her eyes meet where your shirt drops to the floor, breasts on display while your hands inch up your legs to drag your shorts down, all while you watch her. And she watches you. It’s overwhelming, your wife as an audience while you undress. But she told you to enjoy it. Enjoy the night. Enjoy the stares. Enjoy the attention. Enjoy her, for once. It all seeps into your pores. You step out of your bottoms and peel your socks off. 

Ellie drinks you in slowly. Says nothing. Simply takes her time memorizing every line, curve, dip, scar of you. You like how ravenous she looks. The sin in her pupils only darkens when your thumbs hook in your underwear to shed them. They dangle from your index finger when you walk; You smile when her throat jumps. 

She watches your filled hand travel to her pant pocket to shove the flimsy cloth in. The muscles in her back twitch when your finger traces her spine. Ellie’s pretty, littered in cute, red and brown spots. 

“I’m gonna shower.” Your lips brush her ear, and goosebumps rise all over her arms. Her eyes flutter in a pleasant blink, nodding in understanding. 

Your wife takes her lighter and reignites your favorite candle while your water warms. How sweet of her to set the mood for you. 

Ellie finishes her cigarette while you lather, watching her through the fogged glass of the shower walls, massaging soapy hands into your breasts and your legs and everywhere. She lights another at some point, bent over the counter while she smokes, ogling you through the mirror shamelessly. You smile when it settles in your chest.

You’re gonna fuck your wife tonight. 

What a fucking oddball you are. It’s cute. A little sexy, too. Only a little, she swears. 

… Fuck. 

She waits for you on the bed, dressed and jewelried, fiddling with her watch out of nerves because what the fuck are you playing at? Whiplash; that’s what she’s had all fucking day because of you. She works in the morning, for fucks sake. 

Still…

Does she deserve this sudden… What the fuck even is this? Certainly not affection; you nearly strangled her at the dining table. Attention, possibly? Seduction? She’s wired to hell, she wants you so bad. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

She could act on her attraction, sure. She’s positive you’d allow her to take whatever she wanted because that’s what you’re trained to do; to satisfy your partner — husband, she imagines your mother grating — in any way he desires. But Ellie’s not a man, and she doesn’t want that. She needs you to love it, to crave it as much as she does. To take from her like she dreams of taking from you. Ellie needs you to batter her, and if you’d like, she’ll do the same to you. 

If only you’d give her something tangible. Teasing isn’t enough. She’s desperate to get a grasp on your headspace; she wishes she could prick and prod at your brain for a second. What an experience that would be. 

You enter the bedroom like a ghost; hair still wet and coily, dressed in all black like she is, only decorated with gloss and earrings. No heels either. Just very shimmery looking flip-flops. Ellie bites down a smile. 

“Where are we going?” 

She shrugs at your inquiry, “Somewhere really, really loud.” 

“Will people find us?” Paps, you mean. Ellie denies. 

“Not where I’m taking you.” 

“Must be secretive.” 

She tuts, “Not… well, maybe. It’s fun though. I think you’ll like it.” 

“Okay.” 

Ellie stands with her wallet and keys and kiddingly offers you an arm to hold onto. “M’lady.”

But you don’t accept it; back turned, halfway out of the room towards the stairs.

Pleasant. She doesn’t mean to smile. 

She makes sure to grab the to-go box from earlier before locking the front door behind her. 

It is very loud here. And hot. And raunchy. 

… You like that. Your mom would have a heart attack if she were to ever walk in here. 

The trip to this whatever, wherever place was pretty far. You counted every second of the nearly hour ride, mainly because Ellie’s jittery knee made you nervous. It’s smaller than you assumed, but not quaint. Not at all. There's a ruckus from the entrance to the back exit, people your age and older, screaming and shouting words that you don’t know while people pound on drums and shred on guitar. They sweat through their clothes while their makeup streaks down their faces as they make love to microphone stands. 

… Better than tea time, you suppose. How exhilarating. Your heart’s pounding like crazy.

Not much can be said between you and Ellie. You can’t hear over the bass and rumbles from the floor but she holds your hand and small purse. Guides you to a small section in the back with a bar. She hands the tender her card and… that’s it. Four clear, questionably large shots are poured and slid to her like nothing. You want all of them. 

Ellie seems so at home as she guides you, already a burning shot down, into the crowd. You’re shoved instantly by party goers, but she catches you, holds you strongly. You look at her, puzzled with shock, but she uncaringly lifts her shoulders, downs a shot, and starts thrashing. 

Your jaw slacks and lights beam and flicker at a rapid pace but you’re smiling. Your wife meshes with the scene so nicely. You wanna be like that. So you follow. You drink and jump and flail and scream your head off. 

You and your wife are synched for once. Terrible dancers. No rhythm whatsoever. Who cares who cares who cares.

You wish your mom was here to see you like this. You hope your mom’s dead so she never has to see you like this. A thought so dark shouldn’t bring you this much joy. You laugh and holler at the imagery. Blood all over the marble. Blood all over the doors of your childhood home. Blood blood blood everywhere because they deserve it. Look at what they’ve done to you. Sick evil people.

You wanna kill your stepfather. This music makes you wanna kill your stepfather. It’s gorey in itself, almost. Abborherent verbiage. You think Ellie wants to kill your stepfather, too. You should ask her later. Maybe when you're both sober. Maybe you should make your mom watch you skin him alive. Him dying would damage her more than you ever could. 

When your eyes open, Ellie’s gawking at you, seemingly surprised. Impressed? She holds your cheeks to get your attention, gesturing, asking if you want another drink. You nod and shout in her face and she laughs. Ellie holds you by the waist and guides you to the bar. The bartender must like Ellie. You leave with a full bottle this time. 

You and Ellie pass it between yourselves, the night becoming more and more broken. Touchy. Feely. Ellie rubs all over you while you pour liquor into her mouth. A bit dribbles down the sides but she doesn’t care. You don’t either. So you lick the drops from her neck like a cat with milk. Ellie stops and you stop and everything stops. It’s just the two of you, suddenly; all other patrons evaporate to nothingness. Her eyes are blown and heavy as she searches your face, and they halt their wandering at your lips. She’s thinking about it; You want her to see how bad you crave it. Even if it’s just for a second. She smiles, pleased. You shudder. 

But she doesn’t do it. She spins you so your back is against her chest, lips at your neck while she pushes her hips into your ass. She’s messy, drenching your already sweaty neck in spit. Her nails dig into the fabric of your dress, guiding your hips, swaying you on her. You follow. You follow so blindly because you like her hands on you a little too much. You drink and drink and drink. Everything feels light. Good. 

You think Ellie’s speaking to you. Or singing words in your ear. Or maybe she isn't speaking at all. You’re not sure, but your face is burning hot. She tongues at your ear and you make a noise that you can’t hear but hope she can. You need this. 

Her hands are suddenly slow where they crawl up your sides until they rest on your breasts. Your empty hand lands on one of hers to squeeze so that she can squeeze you. You feel her smiling on your skin when your jaw slacks. 

Your head turns to chase her mouth, but she does you one better. Whisks you once more so your chests smash together. She snatches the bottle from your hand, takes one last swig before passing it to eager, drunk hands that wave from behind. You gasp when her thumb catches your bottom lip, pulls it down to get your mouth open enough for her to dribble liquor into. You moan loud enough for Ellie to hear over those booming drums, swallowing down everything she gives, nails sank into her waist while her hips push into yours. When you swallow the last drops, she kisses you. Messy and hot, tongue and teeth; it gets your heart singing. Her pink muscle swirls inside of your mouth and your arms wrap around her neck, yanking her into you so no space is left. Her hands are everywhere; tangled in your hair, grabbing at your hips, your ass, your thighs. Everywhere everywhere everywhere like she can’t get enough of you. You’re overwhelmed and high out of your mind but you follow her guide. Anywhere she wants you, you are. 

Maybe you’re just as bad as she is. After everything she’s done, you should hate her. You think you do. You hate her for leaving you. You hate her for embarrassing you. Abandonment. Her only gift to you. Maybe that’s why you kiss her with such conviction. 

Her touch is passionate; strong but not forceful. She breathes you in like a rarity, something she treasures, all while she licks and tugs at you like a slut. There’s a pulse deep within you when her lips enclose around your tongue to suck it. Your thighs squeeze and she grins madly, giving you one last innocent peck before she grabs your hand to spin you. You laugh and twirl with her. 

You understand why people fall in love so fast. You hate that you’re one of them. 

Or are you simply as delusional as they come? 

You’re even more enthralling when free of restraint. 

Ellie’s drunk and sweaty and exhausted but she uses every last bit of strength to stare at you. She sits at the bar as the crowd dwindles, artist after artist, established or aspiring, all go on to perform, and you haven’t taken a break once. You simply twirl and spin and mouth incorrect lyrics with the widest smile on your face, all while Ellie brings you her drinks to finish. 

You’ve been here for hours it seems, but Ellie can’t drive. But the night is young. You certainly don’t look ready to go home. 

What more can she show you?

“Thank you all for comin’ out! Tonight was a dream—“

You’re a dream, Her chest screams. You you you you fuck—

You clap like the happiest seal on the planet before spinning around to face Ellie. It happens in flashes: you come closer and closer until you’re in front of her, warm hands on her cheeks, ears tingling when you whisper, 

“I didn’t get to meet your sluts.” 

You sound upset about it. Ellie stumbles about how they didn’t come, how they’re not here. How she doesn’t wanna see them right now and she means it all, but you don’t believe her, and her chest hurts. Guilty guilty guilty. 

“Get up.” You step away and Ellie pains to pull you back, savor the night a second longer. But she signs the receipt before following you towards the exit. The cold air feels so good. She needs water now. 

She gives you a little yank when you start wandering the opposing direction, “Come… come here. This way.” 

You grin and slur, “Where to?” 

Ellie’s brows wiggle playfully, “Gas station. You hungry?”

“…Yes.”

Ellie extends her hand for you to hold, and surprisingly, you accept. Her heart jolts to life. 

The walk is quiet. Your eyes are glued to the sky, wide and innocent; the large moon entrances you, surrounded by glittery stars. You both wobble down the sidewalk, trying to avoid bumping into pedestrians and other drunkards. She thought the rowdiness of nightlife would frighten you, but you seem drawn to the chaos.  

Soon enough, you’re both surrounded by aisles filled with chips and sodas and a fuck ton of candy. Ellie cringes at the fond stares she gives you holding 4 packs of watermelon sour patches. You’re cute as hell right now. Have you never been to a convenience store? What the fuck. 

“El! El, what the fuck! Where ya been!” 

Her sluggish brain is trying — really trying to figure out who the hell just left the staff room and is walking towards the two of you. It’s someone that knows her name or whatever shortened version they’ve created and the closer this person gets the more you shield yourself behind her fuck fuck fuck

Arms latch around her neck in a strong hug. Muscular, nice voice, smells like cherries. 

Abigail Anderson. Shoulda known. Great. 

“Jesus fuck, you smell like my dad’s liquor cabinet! We fucking missed you! We haven’t seen you in…” 

When Abby pulls back, her eyes immediately find you. Ellie steals a glance; eyes wide, soft with curiosity. They darken slightly when they lock onto Abby’s shoulders, all the way down to her arms and Ellie… why the fuck does that annoy her? 

“Who’s that,” Abby whispers suggestively and Ellie sighs. Scratches at her eye in irritation. 

“I’m her wife.” You say causally, and it shocks both of them. Abby moreso. Did Ellie never tell her? She’s sure she did. Everyone knows she’s married… right?

“Wh— wife?” Her eyes shift onto Ellie, “Bitch, you got married? What the fuc— when—“

“3 months ago.” You answer.

“Fucking — holy shit. Congrats? Uhh… sorry! Nice to meet you! You’re gorgeous, by the way,” She stutters to shake your hand, but you accept it, “I’m Abby!” 

“Hi.” You smile in delight and your shoulders relax. Abby smiles just as gently and Ellie thinks it’s time to go because you’re both getting on her nerves. 

“Alright, well, we're gonna pay, so… yeah. I’ll text you tomorrow or something. We’re tired.” 

“Mhmm,” Abby hums cockily, eyes glued to the mess Ellie made of your neck, “Looks like y’all had a great time.” 

“We did,” She confirms with pointed eyes, “See ya.” 

“Byeee.” Abby sing-songs with a chuckle before Ellie leads you towards the service counter to dump your snacks. Ellie gives the cashier a familiar nod. 

“Is she who you fuck?” 

Ellie chokes on her water and the cashier gawks at you from behind their reading glasses. You couldn’t have been any fucking louder in that moment, what the fuck.

“What—“

“Do you fuck Abby? I hope not in that bathroom,” You clumsily point to the gender neutral sign near the entrance. “I heard they’re filthy—“

Ellie whispers even though there’s no point, “Dude, are you fucking crazy—“

“… It's just a question—“

“Have a nice night.” 

The cashier rigidly hands Ellie the stuffed baggie and receipt. She snatches them before snatching you to leave. She drops your hand the second briskness surrounds you, “The fuck was that about?” Her chips are calling her. She needs a stress reliever. 

“What—“

She squeezes the bag and the pop rings like a gunshot, “Why the fuck are you asking if I fucked Abby? What the fuck—“

“She’s hot and you kinda are… to a certain degree, I guess. I just assumed.” 

Ellie’s appalled, but doesn’t have the energy to look offended. “Stop assuming, it’s… that’s fucking weird—“

You simply shove tiny watermelon slices in your mouth and steal her water to chug it. She watches you impatiently before you hand the crumpled, half-empty plastic back to her. She downs the rest and discards it some-fucking-where. 

Her thoughts are clouded. Did she fuck Abby? Are you forreal—

“I don’t care, you know.”

“About what?” 

You shrug, “If you fuck her.” 

“Please be quiet.”

“Okay.” 

You both do for a while, dead grass and Dorritos crunching around you. 

Until Ellie speaks again. 

“You’re quiet.” 

“Mhm.”

“Sleepy?”

“Nmhm.” 

Wide awake, actually. The world passes you by with each step the two of you take, swirling with bright lights and laughter. You follow Ellie closely, handfuls of candy shoved in your mouth while she munches on her chips. You never had those orange triangles before. Neither of you are in a rush to make it back to the car. Can Ellie drive in this state?

“Do you, uh, like places like that? Concerts?” 

“Yes.” You break out in a grin. 

“What else do you like?” 

“I dunno. I haven’t… experienced much.” You shrug, accidentally brushing against your wife’s shoulder. Electricity sparks near the end of your spine where a steadying hand rests. “Your friend… does she go with you? To concerts?” 

“Who?”

“Aaabby.” You tease, mocking the blonde girl from earlier, and Ellie’s expressions flattens. She's unsure why. 

“Oh, uh… yeah,” Her chip bag is suddenly very interesting. “Sometimes. I met her at one a few years back after a showcase I hosted.” 

“I like her.” She’s nice and smells nicer. You regret not shaking her seemingly strong hand a few seconds longer. Strong all over, actually. 

“… Uh huh.” 

Your brow arches at that, “Does that bother you?” 

“Why the fuck would it bother me? You can like whoever.”  

“Exactly how you like whoever, huh?” You sneer lazily, and Ellie goes stoic. And just like that, the conversation dies once more. You’re glad for it; selfishly, you’d rather refrain from telling your wife about how attractive you found her friend. She’s left you guessing under too many circumstances. Consider this a sliver of revenge. 

You both make it back to the parking lot in silence, minus Ellie’s agitated crunching. You lean against the passenger door while you watch her dig around for the keys. 

“Where to?” 

“It's almost 4 in the morning.” She hisses. 

“So?” You came home later than that for weeks. You wanna say it. You should say it. Grind your thumb deeper into that open wound, but you save it. Another day, maybe. Maybe not. 

“So we’re going home. I’m tired.” 

“Well, I’m not.” 

“Okay? Whatever, I’ll drop you off somewhere.” 

“You wouldn’t leave your poor, defenseless wife unattended, would you?” You whisper slowly, and Ellie tenses when you plant a soft hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t acknowledge you, just stares through the window behind you. You scoff and drop it by your side. Cross your arms stubbornly. 

“You’re mad because I like Abby.”

“There’s nothing for you to like! You just met her.” Her voice raises, and annoyance flares in you. 

“Exactly! I just met her, and I like her! The fuck did you think I was gonna do? Flash her right in front of the gummy worms?” 

“I don’t know! Fucking maybe!”

“So you can fuck other people but I can’t?” 

Ellie’s very close to you suddenly. Your heart jumps, “Oh, now you wanna fuck Abby? She’s the first person you’ve interacted with besides me since we got fucking married!” 

“SO?” You holler. 

“SO YOU’RE NOT FUCKING MY FRIEND! ARE YOU INSANE!” Speckles of spit land on your face and it sizzles into your pores. You might be. You fucking are. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Ellie’s forcing herself into your space, so why do you fight? Why are you hungry? 

Your palms crash into her chest and she nearly loses her balance, “I DON’T NEED PERMISSION FROM YOU! WE’LL FINALLY BE EVEN, YOU FUCKING WHORE!” 

“Yeah? Think Imma fucking whore?” Her grin is sinister, and excitement coils in your belly. Gets your fingers twitching from how hard they’re clenched. 

“Maybe I do.” Vehemence scathed your tongue. 

“You know what I think?” 

“I don’t care—“

“I think you do.” She mumbles against your cheek, “I think you’re jealous.” 

You still. Ellie’s eyes pierce through yours, burning and hot, nostrils flared: she looks like she could snap you in half. Your spine tingles with delirium. 

“You’re mad because I get to be. I can exist and fuck and party and come and go as I please and you hate it. You wish you could do what I do.” She stares like you killed her mother yourself. Strangled her with your bare hands. “I don’t have mommy and daddy breathing down my neck every 2 seconds. You want that so bad it makes you sick.” 

“So why stay?” 

It shocks her. You don’t waver; passive as usual. 

“You’re free and can do whatever you want, right? Why are you here? Go and be that. Be whoever you wanna be because you can.”

Everything will be over soon. Might as well. Ellie simply glares through you. 

Curiosity is your worst enemy. Might as well ask. 

“Why’d you defend me at dinner?” 

What does she know what does she know what does she know what

She rubs her eyes stubbornly, “Oh my fucking god, who gives a fuck!” 

“Me! I give a fuck! Why’d you do it! Why! You’ve never done it before!” 

She knows she knows she knows she knows she knows she knows

“BECAUSE FUCK HIM! FUCK EVERYBODY THAT DID THIS TO US! FUCK YOU, TOO!” 

You might cry, you might not. You’re unsure of everything and you’re angry and hurting. Ellie’s a reflection of you, and vise-versa. You hate her hate her hate her. 

Hatred. It might be the reason why kissing her feels so good. Because it shouldn’t be happening. Ellie shouldn’t have you trapped between her and her car, grinding so harshly into you that your spine bends. You shouldn’t tug at her hair to expose her neck to lick and suck and bite her neck red while she curses in your ear. 

This is the distraction you’ve been desperately searching for. To think you’d find it in your wife after all this time. 

“I’d be a whore for you,” She shamelessly seers against your throat, hands wandering to unbutton her own pants, “You know that, right?” 

… That’s cute. Makes you blush. 

“Yeah?” Her laugh is thick like syrup, “Gets you hot? Knowing how easily I’d give it up for you?” 

That sideways grin makes you tick. Your hand closes tight around her throat and she nearly bloodies her bottom lip with her fangs. Your wife looks pathetic; thumbs hooked into her pants, so ready to drop them for you in the middle of the parking lot. People are wandering about; she’s willing to fuck in front of them? 

How pretty would she look trying to be quiet for you? Nervous eyes searching for privacy, praying no one walks by and sees her on the edge with your hand down her underwear. Hopefully no one recognizes her, pulls out their phone, records the two of you. Blasts you both on social media while Ellie moans in your mouth. What would people think? Your families? How ashamed would they be? Their two girls making a mess of themselves in public. 

The thought makes you smile. Scares you. Makes you choke her harder. Her pained whine vibrates in your palm. 

“Get the fuck in the car.” 

The windows fog with the heat of your bodies; her body trapped beneath yours in the back seat that’s roomier than you anticipated. She rolls your hips on top of her, desperate and eager to rip your fucking clothes off and feel you for real. Your dress rests around your hips, your panties on display and she wishes she could see them. She only has her hands for reference, tracing over each thin seam littered with lace and patterns she tries to memorize. Your tongue belongs in her mouth. You feel so fucking good; you’re not close enough. She needs you closer. 

Her mouth chases yours when you finally separate, only connected by a thin string of saliva, but a stern hand collides with her chest to keep her flat. Her hands tickle your waist. Rests your dress even higher until she can see your belly button. 

“Wanna know a secret?” You whisper down at her, and she smirks. 

“I know you’re a virgin, baby.” She whispers giddily, and your teeth grit. A flame coils in your chest. You ignore her.

“You could’ve had me after our wedding, you know? With my face buried in the pillows and my ass in your face. I would’ve let you do whatever you wanted that night.” 

Your sudden vulgarity stuns her silent. Your wife looks like she’s imagining it; lip bruised from both your and her teeth, mind racing with filth of you in every position she can think of. She wouldn’t have been able to separate from you if that was the case. It’s one of the reasons she kept her distance; those pretty brown eyes rolled back would’ve put her underground. She’d never tell you that. 

“But no,” You say like it aches, “You wanted to go and bend over all those girls that follow you around like fucking dogs. You wanted a bitch, not a wife. Right or wrong?” 

She can barely breathe and your hand pressing on her chest isn’t helping; reduces her to sharp gasps that make her lightheaded. The more ragged they become, the harder you press. Your brow arches when she innocently bares her teeth. 

Her palms squeeze at your ass, “I thought about you the entire time—“

Your hand cracks and her head flies to the side. Right on her left cheek is the already reddening imprint of your hand. The crackles in your palm are numbed by the alcohol and your core burns at the shock on her face. She gawks off to the side, that meddling smile dropped completely, chest ragged with her breaths. 

“Ellie, put your hands down.” You spit, and they drop from you completely, palms flat on the seat beneath her. 

“You had every chance to do right by me and you wasted every single one.” You sound like you’re about to cry; Ellie’s too scared to look at you. Not the good scared that she’s felt around you this entire time, but a hollow scared. The one that freezes you. Her fight or flight is triggered. 

“I think you owe me an apology.” You whisper against her burning face before you kiss it gently. A pained groan escapes her, and you laugh. Loud, in her face. Even louder when she tries to grind her hips up into you. 

“Take us home, wife.” 

[lupinqs]

PROLOGUE ━━ Beginning of the End

☆ ━ pairing: hopkins!paige x oc (dani callan)

☆ ━ word count: 3.8K

☆ ━ warnings: small mention of homophobia, underage drinking, think that’s all idrk

☆ ━ links: my masterlist, take me to church masterlist

☆ ━ author’s note: hi!!!!! this is the prologue to my new hopkins p fic and i’m so excited cause it’s taken me so fucking long to actually get this whole fic cooked up but now it’s here and the chapters shouldn’t take too long to come out. anyways you could lowkey probably read this as a one-shot but i have so much more planned for paige and dani so if you wanna keep reading, just be prepared for lots of angst 😊

DANI CALLAN sits at the desk, curling the last remaining pieces of her hair, her irritation simmering just beneath the surface. It’s late May, and the warmth of the Minnesota summer is just beginning to set in, but the night air outside does little to soothe the sheer annoyance that has gripped the girl all day. Tonight is the last night she has with Paige before her best friend is whisked away for the summer due to her thousands of basketball obligations. And guess where they’re going?

A party.

A party. Dani fights the urge to scoff at the thought, jaw clenching.

Paige is excited, though. She’s been excited ever since her basketball buddy told her about it earlier this week, buzzing with energy. “It’ll be fun,” she said, her blue eyes shining with that infectious enthusiasm that makes Dani melt every time. “One last hurrah before I’m off to camps and Thailand and everything else.”

Dani tried to muster some enthusiasm, tried to match Paige’s smile, but she could feel her own fading before it ever really took hold. Because she doesn’t want to go to a party tonight. She doesn’t want to waste the precious few hours she and Paige have left together surrounded by a bunch of people they hardly know, shouting over music, drinking cheap alcohol, pretending to have a good time. Dani wants to be alone with Paige, have her best friend all to herself. She wants to talk. To laugh. To maybe, just maybe, get the courage to tell her what’s been weighing her shoulders down for months now.

But instead, they’re going to a party.

Dani sighs, turning the curling iron off as she catches her reflection in the mirror. Her hair falls in long, loose waves down her back, light makeup coating her face. She wears a simple tank top and jeans—nothing special. She doesn’t feel special tonight. She feels like she’s being cheated out of something, and she can’t even put her finger on what it is.

“Dani! You ready?”

Paige’s voice rings out from the hallway as she opens the door to her bedroom. Dani grabs her phone and looks up and over at Paige, who stands in the doorway with a radiant smile on her face. She’s dressed in all black—black leggings and a black long sleeve—with her favorite pair of lavender dunks on her feet. Her blonde hair’s been done up in its usual ponytail, and she’s got a little bit of mascara coating her lashes. She looks effortlessly beautiful, like she always does, and for a moment, Dani forgets all of her frustrations.

“Yeah, I’m ready,” Dani lies, forcing a smile.

“Great, c’mon,” Paige says, grinning as she takes Dani’s hand, the pair of them leaving Paige’s house through the front door.

As they walk down the street, Dani can’t help but feel a pang in her heart. She’s grown up next to Paige, and this street, this neighborhood, has been their playground for as long as she can remember. Every corner holds a memory, every crack in the sidewalk a story. And, now, with Paige leaving tomorrow, Dani feels like she’s about to lose a piece of herself. Sure, after the summer they still have the entirety of their senior year together. But after that? Nothing. Because Paige will have summer sessions and be at UConn and become a basketball star and Dani will still be here. Of course, there’s been short, hopeful conversations about Dani going to Connecticut, too, so that they can spend their college years together. But Dani knows it’s unrealistic—her dad wants her to stay in Minnesota so she’ll stay in Minnesota. And Paige will be a thousand miles away, starting a new life that doesn’t involve her childhood best friend.

“Who’s all gonna be here tonight?” Dani asks as they walk along the sidewalk, trying to start conversation.

“Oh, everyone, I think,” Paige says, bobbing her head enthusiastically. “I mean, y’know probably like the same crowd from New Years. Maybe more, since some of Luca’s college friends are back. Ion know, prolly whoever’s in a five mile radius that’s wanting free booze. I’m sure it’ll be fun.”

Dani nods and bites her lip, trying to swallow down her disappointment. “Yeah, fun,” she echoes, trying to sound convincing.

They walk in comfortable silence for a little while, Paige sometimes purposefully walking into Dani and making her stumble a little. Dani watches the blonde out of the corner of her eye, heart banging against her chest as if it’s a jail cell, forced to hold inside everything it longs to say. She wants to tell Paige that she doesn’t want to go to this party, that instead she wants to spend their night together, really together. She wants to tell Paige that the idea of losing her for three months—and then, once they graduate, for forever—has been tearing her apart inside.

But most of all, she wants to tell Paige that she loves her.

The thought has been haunting Dani for months now. It crept up on her slowly, in quiet moments and stolen glances, until now it’s become all she’s able to think about. She’s tried to push it down, tried to convince herself that it’s just a phase, just confusion. But the more she tries to ignore it, the more it seems to consume her.

Dani’s never been in love before. Sure, she’s dated boys in the past, liked them enough. But it’s never felt real, not like it does with Paige. Because Paige makes her feel alive in ways that no one else ever has. And that? That fucking scares the shit out of Dani. It scares her because she knows exactly how her dad would react if he ever found out. It scares her because she has no idea if Paige feels the same way. But most of all, it scares her because it’s not right—her liking another girl like this is wrong and it’s bad.

(Sometimes, though, it feels so right.)

And yet, tonight, with Paige leaving in the morning, Dani feels like she’s running out of time. Maybe tonight she can find the courage to say something—anything. Maybe tonight she can find the words.

(She doubts it.)

The party is already in full swing when Paige and Dani arrive. The house is packed with people, the music blaring so loud that the Callan girl can feel the bass thumping in her chest. The air is thick with the smell of alcohol, weed, and sweat, and Dani fights the urge to turn around and walk right back out the door. But Paige is already pulling her inside, their hands linked, her excitement palpable.

The pair make their way through the crowd, Paige greeting people left and right, voice loud and grin never wavering. Dani tries to keep up, tries to match her best friend’s energy—but she feels like she’s drowning in a sea of noise and bodies and it’s making her anxious.

It’s at times like these that Dani realizes just how different her and Paige are. Paige is outgoing and extroverted, a ball of energy and enthusiasm and it’s hard to ever keep her in a single place at once. She talks and talks and talks and she’s so charming she could probably make anyone fall in love with her. Dani’s the exact opposite. She’s introverted, preferring a small circle over a large one. She’s more withdrawn and quiet, and likes to listen instead of speak. She’s reserved and she doesn’t mind it—except when she’s at places like these.

“Hey, I’m gonna grab us some drinks,” Paige shouts over the music, leaning close to Dani’s ear.

“Okay,” the Callan girl nods, watching as the blonde disappears through the crowd.

Left alone, Dani takes a deep breath, glancing around the room. She recognizes a few faces, people from school, but none of them are close friends. None of them are Paige. She briefly talks to the boy that was her Chemistry partner for the majority of last semester, before excusing herself and gravitating towards a corner of the room, away from the chaos, where she can at least try to collect her thoughts.

As she stands there, watching the party unfold around her, Dani’s mind begins to wander. She thinks about how different things are gonna be this summer, without Paige. She thinks about the way Paige smiled at her earlier, how her touch sent shivers down Dani’s spine. She thinks about what it would be like to kiss her.

“Dani?”

She blinks, snapping out of her reverie at the sound of her name. She glances up to see Paige standing in front of her, two red solo cups in hand and a concerned expression painting her face.

“You okay?” the blonde asks, handing Dani one of the cups.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” the girl replies, taking the cup and offering a weak smile. “Just… thinking.”

Paige’s concern doesn’t waver. “You sure? You seem kinda, like… Ion know, off tonight?”

Dani hesitates, the words on the tip of her tongue. She wants to tell Paige everything. She wants to pour out her heart right there, in the middle of this stupid party, and finally let her best friend know just how much she means to her. But the words don’t come, stuck in the back of the brunette’s throat. She can’t bring herself to say them.

Instead, Dani takes a sip of her drink—some sort of vodka lemonade, she thinks—and forces herself to smile. “I’m good. Just a little overwhelmed, I guess. Big party.”

Paige studies her for a moment longer, blue eyes searching her best friend’s face for answers. Then, she seems to accept it, her grin returning as she leans in closer.

“Okay,” she agrees. “But lemme know if you need a break, yeah? We can always go out back on the swings for a bit or somethin’—just you and me.”

Just you and me. Dani’s heart skips a beat at the words, and she feel the tips of her ears beginning to redden like they always do when she’s flushed. However, before she can respond, someone calls out Paige’s name from across the room. The blonde girl glances over her shoulder, her smile widening when she catches sight of who’s beckoning her.

“Hey, I’ll be right back, okay? Don’t go anywhere,” Paige says, giving Dani’s arm a reassuring squeeze before heading off to greet some tall boy that Dani can only assume is another basketball player.

The brunette watches her best friend go, feeling a pang of disappointment settle in her chest. She’d been so close to saying something, so close to telling Paige how she really feels. But now, the moment is gone, swept away along with Paige, leaving Dani alone once again—albeit, with a drink this time.

The night wears on, and Dani tries her best to keep up with Paige’s energy, but it only seems to be getting harder and harder. Paige comes and goes, sometimes bringing Dani with her, sometimes not. She moves through the whole party, laughing and talking with everyone, her charming smile never faltering. For a while, Dani follows along with her best friend, almost like a lost puppy. It then dawns on her just how pathetic she is as she endures Paige’s conversations with basketball bro after basketball bro. Eventually, Dani can’t take it, excusing herself. As she walks away, it feels like it’s Paige slipping from her grasp, even though it was Dani that left the blonde girl’s side.

Dani finds herself in the kitchen, making herself another drink to keep busy. And then she downs it. And repeats the process. It makes things easier, more bearable.

She keeps going for far too long before a voice calling her name interrupts the ongoing process. Dani turns to see Thaliah Sommers, and, when her eyes set on the girl, her shoulders automatically relax and she breathes out a sigh of utter relief.

“Oh, thank God,” Dani whines, leaning into Thaliah and resting a head on the girl’s shoulder.

Thaliah has known Dani and Paige since the fourth grade, when the trio had to share a table for half the school year. It sparked a long-lasting friendship, and Dani and Paige would both probably tell you that other than each other, Thaliah is their best friend. And Jalen Suggs, too. Even though he goes to a different school, Paige and his basketball connection ended up becoming more genuine and the blonde had introduced the boy to Dani and Thaliah, which basically became history. The four clicked almost instantly, and they’ve been great friends since. But Dani knows Jalen isn’t here tonight—he’s out-of-state, for basketball. He won’t be back til the end of July, she’s pretty sure.

“You having fun?” Thaliah asks as she wraps a friendly arm around Dani’s side, letting the drunker girl lean on her. Dani shakes her head, pouting childishly. Thaliah chuckles a little at the sight. “Anxious?” she adds, knowing the Callan girl well.

“And disgusted,” Dani nods, watching a boy chug from a keg across the room, beer spewing around him.

Both girls laugh at the sight, and then Dani’s had enough, eyes flitting away from the scene to a different one. She wishes she would’ve kept her gaze on the boy instead. Because this is much worse.

Over, near the back door, Dani sees Paige. Paige Bueckers, clear as day, in the flesh. And she’s kissing someone. A girl. A pretty blonde girl that Dani doesn’t recognize. The sight hits Dani like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of her.

She stares in disbelief, her heart pounding in her chest as she watches Paige pull the girl closer, their bodies pressed together, their lips moving in perfect sync. Dani digs her fingers into the side of her solo cup, crumbling it slightly; she feels like she’s going to be sick.

“Even more so now,” Dani mumbles, referencing her last comment.

Thaliah’s eyes widen, starting, “Dani—”

But Dani won’t hear it. She won’t hear anything. Without thinking, she turns and practically bolts from the house, her drink forgotten on the counter as she pushes her way through the crowd. She needs to get out of here. She needs to breathe. She needs to get as far away from that sight as possible.

The cool night air hits her like a splash of cold water as she stumbles out onto the front lawn, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Her mind races, a jumbled mess of emotions that she can’t untangle. She feels betrayed, hurt, angry, but most of all, she feels stupid.

So fucking stupid.

Stupid for thinking that Paige could ever feel the same about her. Stupid for believing she had a chance. Stupid for letting herself become enough of a mess to not only like another girl romantically—but for that girl to be her best friend.

“Dani! Danielle, wait!”

Paige’s voice calls out from behind the girl, and Dani feels her heart lurch. She doesn’t want to stop. She doesn’t want to face Paige right now, not after what she just saw. But her feet betray her, slowing to a halt as she reaches the sidewalk.

Paige catches up to her, slightly out of breath, her expression a mix of confusion and concern. “Dan, what the hell? Why’d you just run out like that?”

Dani turns to face the basketball player, and the anger she’s been holding back finally begins to boil over. “Why do you think, Paige?” she snaps, voice trembling slightly as she tries to keep her eyes from swimming.

Paige frowns, clearly taken aback by the venom in her best friend’s words. “I don’t know!” she replies, throwing her hands up. “That’s why I’m asking! What’s going on with you tonight?”

Dani lets out a bitter laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. “What’s going on with me? What’s going on with me? You seriously don’t fucking get it, do you?”

Paige’s confusion only deepens. “No, I don’t! Dani, please, just talk to me—what happened? What’s wrong?”

Dani clenches her fists at her sides, trying to keep her voice steady. “I just watched you make out with some random girl, Paige! That’s what happened! That’s what’s wrong!”

Paige’s eyes widen with realization, her baby blues flitting across Dani’s face in almost a panic. She takes a step closer to her best friend as she quickly says, “Oh… oh, shit, Dani, I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

“Exactly!” the Callan girl cuts her off, her voice rising. “You didn’t think! You never think! You don’t think about anyone but yourself!”

Paige recoils as if she’s been slapped, her face falling. “Dani, that’s not fair…”

“Isn’t it?” Dani shoots back, anger spilling over once more. “You didn’t even care that this was our last night together! You didn’t care that I wanted to spend it with you, just the two of us! You only cared about going to this stupid party and kissing some random girl! Like I don’t even matter to you!”

Paige’s eyes fill with tears, and she reaches out to touch her best friend’s arm, but she jerks away. “Dani, please, that’s not true. I promise you it’s not. You matter to me more than anything. I just… I don’t know what to say.”

The brunette’s anger begins to wane, instead replaced by the overwhelming sadness that’s been building inside her all night. Her eyes swim and blur as her voice softens, shaking with emotion. “Then why does it feel like I’m losing you? Why does it feel like if I don’t hold onto you as tight as possible, you’ll slip away from me?”

Paige stares at her, eyes shining with unshed tears. For a long moment, neither of them say anything. The only sound is the distant hum of the party and the rustle of leaves with the breeze. Dani’s heart pounds in her chest, her pulse quickening with each second that passes.

Finally, Paige takes a deep breath and takes a step closer to Dani, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re not losing me, Dan. I promise you, you’re not.”

Dani stares at her, vision blurred with tears, voice breaking. “Then why does it feel like I am?”

Paige stands still for a long moment, shutting her eyes tightly. When she opens them again, tears begin to spill down her cheeks. “Danielle,” she starts quietly, and Dani’s eyebrows furrow slightly at the usage of her full name. “Danielle, I have been in love with you since the sixth grade.” The statement makes the brunette’s eyes widen, jaw going slack, as her own tears finally begins to fall. “Remember when I got that concussion, at my game? You— you came to my house as soon as you found out, and you were crying at the thought of me being hurt. And I was the one that had to console you. And— and then you”—Paige sniffles and swipes a hand across her nose—“you kissed me on the head and told me that you would always take care of me. And that was when I knew. I knew that I loved you and that I could never ever really be with anyone that wasn’t my best friend, Danielle Lizzie Callan. I knew it then, and I—I know it now.”

Paige pauses, and then her voice breaks even more when she starts again, “But I’ve been so scared to tell you. I never thought you liked girls, I always thought you were straight. There was no way you could love me back, right? And I—I know how your dad feels about it all, and you know how long it took me to even tell you I liked girls because I was afraid that you felt the same way towards it that he did. And even when I found out you didn’t, I still thought that a girl being in love with you—that me being in love with you—would disgust you and you’d hate me for it. So I never said anything.”

Paige ducks her head as a sob cuts through her throat. Dani takes a step closer, reaching up to cup her best friend’s face in her hands.

“I don’t hate you, Paige. I could never hate you,” she tells the blonde sincerely, keeping her voice even. “And I could never hate you, because I’m in love with you, too.”

Before Paige can say anything, Dani leans in and presses her lips to the blonde’s. The kiss is soft at first, tentative, as if they’re both waiting for the other to pull away. Even if Dani feels her cross necklace begin to burn into her skin, she can’t stop. She won’t.

All the anger, all the hurt, all the confusion seems to melt away in that moment, leaving only the overwhelming relief of finally, finally knowing that Paige feels the same way. Dani keeps on kissing her, hands slipping from her cheeks to the nape of her neck as Paige’s hands find their way to Dani’s waist.

It isn’t perfect. It’s messy, and frantic, and a little sloppy, but it’s real. And it’s them.

When they finally pull apart, both of them are breathing hard, their foreheads resting together as they try to catch their breath. Dani feels like she’s floating, feels like she’s dreaming, and she doesn’t ever want to wake up.

“I love you,” Paige whispers. “I’m sorry it took me so long to say it.”

Dani feels her heart swell up with so much happiness it might just burst. “I love you, too, P. So much.”

They don’t go back to the party. Instead, they go to Dani’s house, where they planned to have a sleepover anyways. The walk is short, and they do it hand-in-hand, swaying a little and giggling a lot. When they get to Dani’s porch and the girl begins to shuffle for her keys, Paige takes the opportunity to peck her neck from behind over and over and over again, whispering in the girl’s ear, “I love you.”

It’s so refreshing to hear Paige say it that, for a moment, Dani forgets about her keys and pulls her best friend in for another kiss on the mouth, closing her eyes and savoring it.

Eventually, they do get inside and find their way up into Dani’s bedroom. They change, and shuffle their way under the covers, bodies close, skin touching. Dani tries not to think about her father in the room beside hers, or the bible on her bedside table.

“I don’t want to leave you tomorrow,” Paige murmurs against Dani’s collarbone, sighing.

Dani’s heart slows at the thought, a deep pang, but she knows that there isn’t another option. “I don’t want you to leave either. But we’ll be okay. We’ll miss each other, but we’ll be okay.”

Paige nods, looking up and letting her eyes flit across Dani’s face as if she’s trying to memorize every detail of it. “Yeah, we will.”

(They won’t.)

[nayaesworld]

Mafioso

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Warnings: Murder, manipulation, drugs and violence

Terry Richmond X OC!Marina

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The collective clink of champagne glasses filled the large venue as self-made millionaire and philanthropist Terry Richmond concluded his speech at the second annual charity event for Black women and children. Thunderous claps and cheers bounced off the walls as he exited the stage and came down to thank each and every single person that had come out to support and donate to the amazing cause. He was elated and proud of the turnout; truly grateful.

At 43 Terry felt at the height of his career. The comings and goings of life reflected well on his face and he carried all those trials and triumphs with him on his sleeve next to his heart. His story was a story of the people.

The night was a huge success. A large volume of high profile people had pledged and donated to this cause right along with him. Close family and friends came out in support and he circled around the room checking in on them and taking breaks to hit a shimmy or two on the dance floor.

He had also allowed some of his favorite black journalists and reporters to give interviews, but he was most interested in one in particular that had been very vocal and fierce about the safety of black children in spaces that society deemed not fit for them. How many times had a black child been harmed or put in a traumatic situation due to racism? Far too many times to count and they deserved a space to perfect their crafts without fear or judgement.

Marina Evans was a woman of poise, integrity, and culture, and at 25 she was at the top of her game. Not many could deny her journalistic credentials. She was the first person he wanted to give an interview to tonight and he sought her out quickly through the sea of people. The bold black gown had been a wondrous choice against her bronzed skin. Honey blond braids highlighting the warm undertones of her skin and dark expressive eyes styled with a natural set of wispy lashes. She was a show stopper. A true beauty.

She had just ended an interview with Weston Troy, a filthy rich middle aged man that owned a few hospitals in the area. Her eyes drifted over to him and she began to set up for his interview. A warm welcoming smile graced her face and he made sure to return it. Cameras and microphone ready, Terry adjusted his black suit and freed his mind.

“Tonight I am here speaking with local philanthropist and founder of ‘Hearts of Grace’ a charity founded to give aid and relief to underprivileged families…and without further ado I’d like to welcome Mr. Terry Richmond. How are you feeling about the turnout tonight… did you project the earnings for year two to surpass year one by so much?”

“ I’m feeling amazing tonight, the turnout was more than I could have ever imagined. When I initially started this charity I had no idea that anyone would ever give money to the cause at such a high volume, it's too often that things within the affiliation of the black community are not taken seriously or into consideration… I would like to change that, and with all the resources at my hand I'd be foolish not to invest it into people who look like me and sound like me.”

“I love that, what you did here tonight was jaw dropping. The kind of things I want to see more of, what does it mean for you to give back and support black families,businesses, and neighborhoods?” He pondered a bit before answering and pulled his lip from his teeth.

“It means that I have an opportunity to cater to and serve these underprivileged families, I too come from very humble beginnings. I grew up in a single parent household, it was just me and my mother so sharing this wealth with many people is top priority.”

“Terry, that is just amazing, I’m excited for more people to hear your story… for you it's been a long time coming, but for many of us this is our first time seeing someone who we relate to so much do as many great things as you have…and that brings me to my next question. How does being a role model to the younger generation speak to you?” Her questions were definitely living up to her reputation, she asked the real shit and he paused to gather his words, this was a passionate subject for him so finding the right words was essential.

“Being a role model for the younger generation entails a particular type of character and finesse… I want them to know that yes hard work and dedication can afford you the luxuries of life, but I also want them to understand that mental health is just as important um..if not more important than any career field or industry they choose.”

“I also saw that you named your charity after your mother Grace, how does it feel tonight to share this with her… I’m sure she is so proud of you.”

“My mother means the world to me…for any time I was ever in trouble or needed her she picked up the phone, she lifted me up, and she molded me into the man I am today. I don’t care how old I get or how many things I achieve, I'll always be her baby.”

“It was such a pleasure to interview you tonight, I thank you so much for taking the time out of your busy schedule to allow me to talk and pick your brain.” Marina had interviewed many men and women of different backgrounds and profiles, but none had ever struck her as truly genuine people quite as he did. He truly meant those words.

“Oh no anytime..you’ve had the best questions I thank you for that. And when I’m ready for another interview I know how to find you, thank you for coming out tonight Ms.Evans I truly appreciate it.” Terry left it plainly at that. He didn’t wanna seem weird by telling the young girl that he was an avid viewer of her podcast and hadn’t missed any episodes thus far.

The night carried on and people filled their bellies to the brim with liquor and a catered banquet of savory mouth watering food. Terry was on his second plate of food and had been cackling loudly in his mothers ear, all tipsy and giggly from the constant glasses of champagne.

“Boy you are just tickled to death ain’t you, what’s so funny son?” He rested his head onto her shoulder and squeezed her into a warm hug.

“I’m just happy ma..that’s it. Tonight turned out amazing and I get to honor you right along with it..I hope you’re proud.”

“Son is proud even the word for what I feel? You make me ecstatic, I hoped and prayed for so many long nights for you to have something…anything to call your own, and look at you now.” Grace pressed a kiss to her son's forehead before standing from her seat.

“Walk your mama to her car, I’m going to turn in for the night.”

Terry walked his mother to her car and watched her disappear into the distance before he walked back into the building. Standing with his hands in the pockets of his smooth slacks, he surveyed the area with calm eyes. He was looking for someone. Ahh there she is. Honey blond braids swaying gently behind her as she rocked in her chair to the music. Headed in her direction he grabbed a freshly poured glass of champagne from the table and handled the delicate glass in his hands carefully.

Cognac eyes met his as he finally made it into her line of vision. “Champagne? I wasn’t aware you were still here Ms.Evans.” Her pretty manicured hand accepted the drink from him and she sipped a little before answering him.

“Yeah I guess I’m a bit of a recluse…I prefer to fade into the background at events like these. Sometimes it’s better to just watch.” Terry hummed in his throat before taking a seat in front of her crossing his left leg over his right.

“And on that point we do agree…for causes such as these I can show up no questions asked, otherwise I’m home nose deep in a good podcast.” His deep rumbling laugh coaxed a cute chuckle from her mouth.

She sipped a little more of the sweet champagne before she answered him. ”Oh wow me too , so you have a favorite one you listen too?”

“Yes…yours. It’s the only one I can sit through and enjoy without a missed episode. You’re great at what you do Ms.Evans…very captivating topics.” Terry watched a hand press to her chest in shock as her mouth fell in shock.

“You watch lil ole’ me, wow Terry I really appreciate that. And I try to make things interesting as well as informative… I'm happy it reaches you well.”

“There’s nothing little about the work you do, remember that.” Maria shyly tilted her head to the side, peeking up into his face from under her lashes.

”Thank you so much Terry, you have the kindest eyes by the way…sorry if that was weird.” He dropped his head and let his eyes lock onto hers and watched her skin heat up under his gaze.

“No no, not weird at all. I receive that..thank you beautiful.”

Terry enjoyed picking her head for the reminder of their time together. By 9pm the event had wrapped and everyone filed out of the large double doors to head home. Terrys large hand graced the small of her back not wanting to lose her in the crowd of people, he hated that their time was cut short because he had really enjoyed chatting with the smart woman.

“Did you drive here?” He looked down at her once they’d made it outside, the middle of people around them creating the perfect bubble for tj to talk.

“Mhmh I did.. I’m right over there, the black Acura.” Her dainty finger pointed at the sleek Acura suv that was coincidentally parallel parked behind his Manhattan Green BMW X6.

“ I’ll walk you..we’re parked right by each other.” Her heels clicked against the dark asphalt and she let a yawn escape her pretty lips.

“Tired Ms.Evans? Sorry to keep you so late, I’m sure you have other obligations.”

“Mhm it’s all the food and champagne getting to me, and no please don’t apologize I had such a nice time tonight… thank you again for extending an invitation to me.” The two stopped in front of her suv and it had Terry wishing he could turn back time.

“And miss an opportunity to talk to the gorgeous and seriously intelligent Marina Evans… not a chance. Thank you for your support, and drive safe.” He helped her step into her vehicle before he closed her door and watched her leave before pulling out his phone to make a call.

“Yeah she just left..keep close to the plan and do exactly what I told y’all to do. I find out you niggas did anything other than what I asked…yall are finished.” He hung up the phone and hopped into his car heading to his house. He knew what he was doing was fucked up, but rarely did Terry ever not get what he wanted. Only this time he wanted Marina Evans and he was willing to stage whatever freak incident he could think of to appear as the white shining knight in her story.

The contemporary home was a perfect mix of neutral earth times and dark greys. Features within the home had donned it with eco friendly and smart house features putting it at a price point of a whopping 1.2 million dollars. A price point Terry would pay and then some for a house that was exclusive to him. The story he told the public about his upbringing was slightly altered and fabricated. The money was only halfway clean, but his appearance needed to be crystal. No past offenses or charges, no run-ins with the police, and no witnesses.

He put people in the dirt for a living and that was just the true facts. The true underground king with an empire spanning throughout the states.A dr. Jekyll and Hyde if you will. The boogeyman. An assassin with the precision to kil. Right now his cousins were ransacking the cute little craftsman style house that belonged to Marina Evans. A sick way of pushing her into his arms he knew but having her would make it all worth the risk.

A new obsession had squirmed its way into Terrys head one night during a masturbation session. The video practically screamed out at him and he had nutted enough that night to fill the Mississippi River; twice,his eyes were glued to the computer screen as he watched the younger woman be pumped full of grown mature dick. The idea had crossed his mind plenty of times, something young and hot to trick on and fuck whenever he wanted to. It seemed maybe he’d be getting his wish sooner or later.

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Paranoia and fear gripped Marina in the coming days after the charity ball. When she had made it home and into her driveway that night she knew something was off. The linen curtains that lined her French doors to her kitchen blew in the night winds, signaling the doors had been smashed. Eyes wide with fear and shock she held her hand over her mouth in disbelief. She frantically dialed 911 to report a burglary. Her house was a mess, picture frames broken and everything rummaged through. The following nights she spent in the guest room at her moms house, too afraid to sleep in her own house.

She had called into the local newspaper that she worked for letting them know of her unfortunate situation. Work would have to be put on the back burner for a few days right along with her podcast episode. She was still practically new to this neighborhood having only just closed on her home two months prior. It was a quiet safe neighborhood, and all her neighbors had kindly welcomed her into it. But now she wasn’t so sure about it being safe. What if she had been home When this happened, would she have lived to tell the tale?

She felt hopeless and the police had no leads yet. What was life without a curveball? She was currently wrapped up in her mothers guest room

sick with the flu. Coughs and sniffles were the soundtrack of life right now and the pungent smell of Lysol was in the air. She had no appetite and a slight migraine sat at her temples, and yet her phone began to ring excessively loud into her ear.

|“Hello?” She was sure she sounded as stuffy as she looked.

|”Marina..hey sweetheart it’s Terry. I called as soon as I heard the bad news, I’m so sorry.” His deep voice sounded apologetic over the phone and she had almost forgotten the exchanging of numbers almost a week ago at the charity event.

[-My uncle works at the police department..he mentioned your name and burglary in the same sentence and I just had to call and check in on you. I hope I’m not overstepping.

[-No not at all I appreciate you calling me..um yeah it hasn't been the best week for me so far it’d be better if I could find out who did this to my house…and now I’m sick with the flu.She heard shuffling and muffled talking on his end and she sat up further on the headboard of the bed.

[-Let me send you something Marina, a little get well soon basket…if that’s okay with you I can have my assistant drop it to you. Marina pondered a bit, and honestly what was the harm in accepting it?

[-I don’t know Terry, I couldn’t ask you to do that. One day you'll have to let me repay you back for your kindness.

[-I insist, and pay me back in good health.. and let me take you out some time when you’re feeling better. Some time had lapsed and he had seriously caught her off guard with the question.

[-Marina? You don’t have to give me an answer right now… my ego can handle it, trust me.

[-Sometime when I’m better definitely, I’m completely in the dumps right now..but I could definitely use that basket if it’s still on the table.

[-It is..I’ll get my assistant to contact you and get everything delivered to you. Get well Marina I’ll talk to you soon.

The call ended and she finally felt some strength in her to get up and tend to herself. Her braids had been in her bonnet for the last 48 hours and her face looked drained of all her color. She definitely wasn’t in any shape to look Terry’s handsome ass in his face. Her moms house was quiet, and she knew her mother wouldn’t be home from the hospital until 7 that evening so trying to get better was definitely the plan for the next few hours.

As he said, Terry had his assistant message her about her location to send the basket. It arrived well packaged with an aroma that was clearing her nasal passage. Two dozen crimson red roses and a large woven basket was on the front porch waiting for her in less than an hour. She hurriedly sat it on her mothers dining table and pulled the contents from the basket. Each item she was excited to use. Multiple face masks to bring back the color to her face, an expensive looking full body massager, a cozy pajama set, and a container of chicken noodle soup that was still piping hot from the deli uptown.

“How freaking sweet, now these are gifts worth having for sure.”

She sent a picture over to Terry letting him know that everything was revived with the highest appreciation. He hearted her message but didn’t send back a written reply.

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“Didn’t I tell you to stay out my fucking city?!” Terry let his bloodied fist fly into the man’s face for a third time, he winced and shook his hand quickly before his phone vibrated in his pocket. A picture from Marina showing him the basket had made it to her and would be used gratefully. But she'd have to wait. Terry was in his mode. The kill a nigga and ask questions later mode, he had two run ins prior to this one with the same pesky ass excuse for a human being.

“Pass me my shit, I’m ending this. Motherfuckers need to know that I don’t speak twice.” The heavy gun was laid in his hand and he screwed on the silencer. The man in front of him cried and begged for his life, but time was out for him.

“Mario Brown…I’m sentencing you to death for not obeying the nigga that owns you.” A quick pull of the trigger put a silver bullet right through his head. His crew needed no words as they immediately rolled the body into a tarp to be burned.

Terry shrugged off his suit using it to wipe the blood from his face and neck. He had a warehouse stacked to the brim with cocaine that needed to make it to El Paso, Texas. Terry wasn’t a cliche in the world of drugs, he chose the mafia life willingly; it didn’t choose him. It was all he knew and it was all he’s ever done outside of his coverups, that consisted of real estate and stocks. All three things he needed to know the ins and outs of to keep up the facade. He was no good person and he was no angel. He maneuvered through this life cunning and forcefully, and yet he did so with grace.

Drugs had afforded him the type of access he wanted in life. A payroll full of law enforcement, cars and houses, and the baddest bitches on the continent. But he was getting older and more irritable with it all, and that was bad for business. A man that stayed irritated was a man bad for business, he had stacked and put so much money away his grandchildren’s grandchildren would be rich. And yet having all he had he still longed for a woman to call his, someone to marry and give his last name and kids too. Marina Evans was what he wanted-no needed, and he would pull out any stop to have her.

His clothes would be a pile of ash by the time he finished using the warehouse shower, black and purple bruises littering his back and side from a recent brawl with a new business partner who would ultimately be his way out. He didn’t believe the old heads that told him he only had one way out of this kinda life, he refused to put that shit on himself. Death was not the only way out, past men just didn’t have his sharp mindset and it showed because they all rested eternally in cemeteries.

His matte black Range Rover practically drove itself home. He was worn out and needed food and sleep. Public speakings to keep the wool over the public’s eye and the night time escapades that always ended in a dead body or two lying around, were getting the best of him. For the next month he planned to pull back from the public slowly but surely, only popping out to speak when absolutely necessary. The only person he cared to be around was her. What a fucking joke. Terry knew better about this situation and still refused to do better, he wanted what he wanted. Marina… Just the sound of her name rolling off his tongue enticed him and his dick had jumped multiple times in his pants when she complimented him at the ball.

A pretty lil thing with a good head on her shoulders and outside of wanting to put her through his mattress he was actually genuinely intrigued by her. And when he finally laid down it was her pictures and voice that invaded his privacy so badly he stalked all her socials. Her vibrant colorful pictures on her Instagram page pulled a smile from him, such an interesting girl.

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The next morning came to Terry in peace. No nightmares and no tossing and turning, he felt well rested above all else and the pain he felt from his bruised body had subsided and drowned out without painkillers. His morning routine came effortlessly and he ended it all with a 30 minute meditation to thoroughly decompress his body to prepare for his day.

He scarfed down a savory bagel sandwich and washed it down with his herbal tea. His agenda for the day was light as planned, he was to be kept updated on the whereabouts of his drugs every hour on the hour and not a second late. A large sum of money was headed his way if shit went smoothly.

His fingers itched to message Marina; so he did. He wanted another try at seeing her. To his surprise she had responded quickly and said she was feeling well enough to meet at her house. She spoke of wanting to replace the broken glass on her French doors so he dressed casually and responded letting her know he’d see her shortly.

His Ford Raptor rounded the block into a cute quaint neighborhood. Children rode their bikes and sprayed each other with water hoses as their parents watched, and the background noise of barking dogs made it all full circle. He spotted Marina’s suv quickly and pulled in alongside it in her driveway. Getting out he noticed her still sitting inside and tapped on her window lightly.

“Hi Terry… I know I look weird still sitting in here. I’m just scared to go alone.” She gave him a bashful smile and opened her driver side door. Black biker shorts showing off her thick thighs and plush lower half, had him shaking his head. A Tupac graphic tee shirt and white sneakers completed her looks and her neat braids rested atop her head in a tight bun.

“Come on I’ll go with you, nobody will mess with you while I’m here I promise.” She obliged and walked side by side with him to the side of her house where the doors were. Terry measured where the glass was supposed to be and got the measurements for replacements and let the tape measure shoot back into itself before turning to Marina.

“I have a guy that does this kind of work. I'll get in contact with him for you. No cost to you, but for now I’d say invest in security cameras…they’ll bring you a good peace of mind.”

“Will do, that’s not even out of the question anymore… thank you for extending this kind of generosity to me.”

A smirk graced his face as he stared down at her, hands itching to touch her. “Let’s get lunch and you can thank me all you want afterwards.” He helped her up into his truck with a hand on her waist, green eyes going wide at her ass in his face, and on his way around the truck he was silently praying to god.

She was definitely chatty when she got comfortable, but he didn’t mind listening. They filled their bellies with Korean bbq and sushi and Terry was still ordering appetizers.

“Please no more, are you trying to stuff me?” In more ways than one he thought to himself, he just loved watching her eat. When she tried something new amongst the appetizers she hit a little happy dance if she liked it. They had ate their fill in food with plenty to bring home, Terry paid the bill and carried their Togo bags and she kept up beside him sipping quietly on her lychee tea. His phone buzzed in the console a few times and he ignored it knowing it was about his shipment, he would get to it when she was no longer around.

“Do you need to get that… am I intruding or something? You can let me know, I’m sure you’re practically booked and busy. Please don’t let me hold you up.”

“They can wait, you’re more important right now.” She turned slightly in her seat and her cognac eyes held his for what felt like hours. And she leaned closer into his space, holding that eye contact.

“You have the most beautiful eyes… they just seem never ending.” His stare intensified and he watched her smile dreamily at him, whatever effect he thought he had on her had been confirmed.

“You keep complimenting me like that and I’ll start to think you got a little crush on me Ms.Evans.”

“Would that be so bad…me liking you?” He shook his head and tucked a braid back into her bun fingers slowly grazing her neck. How bold of her,

“Only if I didn’t like you back.” He smirked and rubbed his fingers against her open palm watching her fingers twitch slightly. “You’re an amazing woman Marina… I’ve been interested in you for a while, but things just didn’t make sense then.” He thought back to a few months ago when he had initially intended on meeting her but he was busy trying to wipe a whole bloodline out at the time and that was time consuming.

Her eyes danced around his face as she listened to him intently, and his right hand rose to her chin to focus them, letting her lean into him to initiate a kiss. But she put her hands up pulled back slowly.

“But Terry what if-“

“Shh.. put your hands down and let it happen, let me in.”

His hands found her face and he pressed his lips to hers in a rush. Her tongue tasted sweet from her drink and the strawberry flavored lip gloss had him sucking her lips into his mouth like a savage. She gripped his shirt and he pulled her into him with a hand on her waist hand rubbing along her back soothingly, chest to chest heads turning left to right to increase the experience. He pulled away from her reluctantly and brought a hand to his lips to kiss.

“Give me a chance to court you and prove myself…if you don’t like what I offer you, then that’ll be it and I won’t bother you again, but if you do..I have so much to show you.”

“A deal is a deal Mr.Richmond..let the games begin.”

__

A/N: The girls called for Mafia!Terry??? HERE HE GO😗. Like and reblog if you enjoyed this🫶🏾

@venusincleo @grlsbstshot @yassbishimvintage @avoidthings @pocketsizedpanther @writingsbytee @melodichaeuxx-lacritquexx @simplyzeeka @zillasvilla @blowmymbackout @kimuzostar @playgurlxoxo @kumkaniudaku @megamindsecretlair @theereina @keyaho @brattyfics @hotgrlcece @henneseyhoe @starcrossedxwriter @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @uzumaki-rebellion @blackmoonchilee @invisiblegiurl @blackerthings @19jammmy @ovohanna24 @talkswithdesi @notc0rtez @becauseimswagman1 @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @mysteryuz

#terry richmond #aaron pierre #terry richmond x blackoc #rebrl ridge

[hwaslayer]

the space between us three (jyh) | three.

⇢series masterlist | series playlist

⇢summary: while juggling the demands of life, yunho continues to do his best to raise his independent 11 yr old daughter, seora. throughout the years, they've built a strong foundation, an unbreakable bond— one that consists of late night talks and food runs, father/daughter dates, and sideline cheerleading at her basketball games. so when you unexpectedly come into their world, things shift. despite the uncertainty and the fear of stepping outside of their comfort zone, yunho and seora eventually learn how to open their hearts and learn how to rebuild a home where three can thrive together.

⇢pairing: single dad!yunho x f. reader

⇢genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, single dad au | fluff, angst, eventual smut

⇢word count: 7.4k

⇢chapter content/warnings: cussing, mature language, seora's a smart lil gal who luvs her uncles v much, she does open up a lil bit about her mom, mentions of death, yunho goes out for dinner, making out, one-sided [rushed] feelings tho oof - one of those things where you think it'd play out fine then it doesn't 🤐, a lil glimpse into yunho and his thoughts/how he feels about things, some seora x uncle hwa content, a bit of oc x parents too!

"Hey." Yunho slips on his seatbelt as the call pulls up through the car's bluetooth, on his way out of the staff garage. "Were you able to leave a bit early to get to Seora?"

"Yes, I already told you I'd find a way. I'm pulling up to the lot right now." Yunho lets out a breath of relief, heading over to Ara's loft since she had the day off today. Tonight was the night they'd go out for dinner, something Yunho thought would be fun and harmless. He went into this thinking he'd put himself out there and give it a chance, even though deep down, he's not entirely sure where he lies about this— about her. 

Maybe tonight would help him decide, but he wasn't gonna force it and just let things go with the flow. 

"Looks like I made it just in time. Practice just got out."

"Good." 

"So, what exactly did you tell Seora?"

"That I was heading out to a team dinner."

"Atta boy."

"Shut up."

"Uncle Hwa!" Yunho hears Seora's voice in the background, causing him to smile to himself. "Sup!"

"What's up, little one?" Seonghwa playfully ruffles her hair before pulling her into a hug. "Ready to go? Anything you want before we head home?"

"Hm, that's a good question." She points to the phone. "Wait, are you on the phone with my dad?"

"Sure am." He faces the phone towards her before she grabs it.

"Dad."

"Hey babygirl. I'll be home later, okay? Have fun with Uncle Hwa. Run his wallet dry, he won't mind." She laughs.

"Okay, I will. But, what time will you be home?"

"I don't know, not too late. It could run a little long, though."

"Hm." She hums. "Are you really going to a team dinner?" Seonghwa purses his lips together to prevent himself from laughing out loud.

"Yes." Yunho says, feeling a bit bad to lie to his own daughter. "I'll get home as soon as I can."

"Okay." 

"I love you, ace. Make your uncle useful."

"Okay, okay." She chuckles. "I love you, too." She passes the phone back to Seonghwa before sliding her things into the backseat and settling into the passenger's side.

"Have fun at your team dinner." Seonghwa teases, making Yunho rolls his eyes.

"Not one word, Park Seonghwa."

"Uh huh." He hangs up the phone and slips into the driver's seat, settling in just before turning on the car and looking over at Seora. "So, did you figure out what you want, ace?" She tugs on her hoodie strings as she scrolls through her phone. 

"I kinda want a good ol' burger."

"Burgers and fries sound good right now, actually. Any place in particular?"

"Burger Almighty?" Seonghwa smiles. 

"Nice choice. Do you wanna eat there, or take it back home?"

"Take it back home, please. I need to get out of my practice clothes." Seonghwa nods, pulling up the website in order to place an order for pickup. "Ou, actually, wait. Uncle Hwa?"

"Yup?"

"Can we also stop by for ice cream?"

"Of course." He hands her the phone. "Here, pick whatever you want." She smiles and slouches in the front seat, going through the menu options. She goes back and forth for awhile, but Seonghwa patiently waits. He hears his phone ding and doesn't think much about it until Seora pops in once more, finally selecting her options and adding it to the cart. "Someone named Yoori texted you."

"Oh." Seonghwa looks at her. "I'll get to it later."

"She's asking if you wanna come over tonight." Seora smirks before letting out a small laugh. "Dad mentioned you were kinda seeing someone. Is that her?"

"Dad just airing out my business, huh?" Seonghwa laughs before grabbing his phone. "Is that all?"

"Mhm. Besides the ice cream. Thank you, Uncle Hwa." 

"Course." Hwa quickly texts back that he might stop by before he gets home tonight, but he'll let her know. 

"So, are you seeing her? Kinda seeing her, whatever that means? What does it mean to be kinda seeing someone?" Her questions are coming back to back and Seonghwa can't help but chuckle dryly as he drives out of the lot and towards their first destination.

"We're.. figuring things out."

"What's there to figure out, Uncle Hwa? You either like each other or you don't, right?"

"Things can get complicated, ace. Especially when you get older and your wants and needs in a partner become more solidified. Specific."

"Like..?"

"We're both just not sure if we're ready to take that next step. Or, I guess, it's mainly me."

"Then, do you really like her if you question it?"

"I do. I just haven't been in a relationship in awhile, and I was kinda enjoying my freedom." Seora nods, still unsure about this whole idea of relationship complexities and what not. "You get older and you realize you don't wanna waste anyone's time and effort and vice versa."

"I see." Seora looks at him. "If she likes you a lot too, I don't see what the harm is."

"I don't wanna hurt anyone on accident."

"You wouldn't hurt anyone, Uncle Hwa." He smiles.

"Thanks, ace. But your uncle makes mistakes cause I'm human. As with anyone."

"Dad hasn't really dated anyone, either." Seonghwa shrugs, knowing Yunho has tried and has dabbled in it, but it always never went far. Not far enough that Yunho felt comfortable enough introducing them to Seora and opening that door.

"Mmyeah, cause he doesn't feel the need to when he has you." Seora giggles.

"I like it, though. Just us two."

"Would you be mad if your dad started dating again?" 

"Um, I'm not sure."

"What do you mean?"

"I guess it depends? If I like the person or not."

"Of course he'd make sure you're happy and that you'd get along well with the person."

"Mmyeah. It'd be an adjustment, though. I'm used to it being just us two."

"I know, and your dad is, too. But, he does deserve to be happy, right?"

"What else can make him happier than me, Uncle Hwa?" He laughs and shakes his head. 

"You're right. He is happy." Seonghwa pauses. "Seora, promise me one thing?"

"I can try?"

"You'll keep your mind open to it? You know.. your dad dating and possibly opening the door for another person to step in."

"Mm, sure." She says before there's a brief pause in the conversation. "Sometimes, I wonder what it'd be like to have a mom. I barely got time with mine." She says softly, her voice tapering off at the end of the statement.

"And it was unfair to you." Seonghwa lets out a breath as he navigates the tricky streets of the city, almost nearing their endpoint. 

"Right? Like.. I wonder how it feels to hang out with your mom, or to go on dates with her. Talk to her about girly stuff. Do our hair and makeup together. Nails. Go shopping." Seonghwa turns to her as he stops at a red light, watching as her eyes continue to focus on the surroundings outside. "Dad tries his best. He always tries to do things with me so I don't have to wonder too much, but sometimes I can't help it."

"That's okay, Seora. He knows. He does try his best always, but he knows that question will always be there." She's silent again for a moment, and Seonghwa isn't sure if she's missing her mom or trying to replay the memories that she has left of her. It breaks his heart because he knows Seora is missing a part of her— she just manages to mask it well. 

"Yeah." Is all she responds with me. "I dunno, maybe one day I'll remember what it's like." She says softly. "I have dad for now though, and he's enough."

"One day." Seonghwa repeats after her, not wanting to plunge deeper into the conversation and turn Seora's mood inside out tonight. "Well." He pulls into a spot across the street from the burger place. "There's a convenience store I can run into for your ice cream. What are you craving for?"

"Strawberry, please!"

"That's a good one." He unbuckles his seatbelt before turning to her. "I'll grab our stuff and be back." She gives him a toothless smile and nods, eyes glued onto him as he slams the door shut and locks the car; leaving Seora to her own while she waits patiently in her seat.

Yunho pulls up to Ara's building, parking in the lot after getting through security at the gate. He unbuckles his seat belt and lets out a sigh, dusting himself down before slipping out and heading inside. He presses the front code at the lobby door before stepping inside and heading up to the 3rd floor. When he finally gets to her door, he knocks a few times before stepping back and digging his hands into his pockets.

"Yunho." She says, a smile on her face. She's in a cute baby blue sweater and jeans, white chucks on her feet. It's more of a casual thing, nothing too serious or too fancy. It makes Yunho a little more comfortable that way. Less pressure. "Hey."

"Hey. You look nice." Yunho smiles at her. "Ready?" She nods. "Hope you're down for some ramen?"

"I can always go for some good ramen." She smiles and makes sure her door is shut and locked before following him back down.

"How was your day off?"

"It was good! I spent the day grabbing groceries and deep cleaning my space. But otherwise, it was nice and relaxing. Just what I needed." Yunho looks at her with a small smile.

"That's good. I'm glad you got to relax for the most part. You definitely need it with how hard you work."

"Thanks." She giggles. "How was work today?" He shrugs, her eyes ogling his figure as they step into the elevator. He's in a white longsleeve and a puffer vest, dark denim and chucks.

"Kinda busy. Things are really ramping up with that new department. I feel like our team is constantly getting pulled into things left and right now."

"Aren't you guys hiring another person?" He nods.

"Hopefully, yeah. I have a few more interviews this upcoming week, but should be wrapping up after that. There's two people that the team and I like so far."

"That's good. More help is on the way. A step closer to shedding off some of your workload." Yunho chuckles a bit.

"Yeah, that's the hope. Taehyun has been a lot of help, though. It hasn't been entirely bad."

"That's good to hear." Yunho swings the door open to the passenger's seat, giving Ara the opportunity to slip in and get herself comfortable before he shuts the door and hops in. 

"Heat okay? Too hot?" He asks as he starts up the car and pulls up the directions to a popular ramen shop that just opened last month. The wait is outrageous, but luckily, Yunho threw them onto the waitlist as soon as they opened for dinner. They'll get there just in time for their table to be ready. 

"No, it's perfect."

"Cool." He says, pulling off to begin their journey deep into the city. Ara watches as he drives off flawlessly with one hand, leaning onto the middle console. It's no lie that Ara has always had a crush on Yunho, and she's always thought he was incredibly attractive. She kept her distance though, supporting him as a friend and being careful not to be in too, too deep with her feelings because she didn't wanna scare him off or make him uncomfortable. When he finally asked her out to a casual dinner , she was excited. Butterflies swarming her tummy at full speed— she feels like her patience is paying off.

Maybe this will blossom into something; the one thing she had hoped for with him.

"How's Miss Seora doing?" 

"She's good. Still getting good grades and playing basketball. She's hanging out with her Uncle Seonghwa right now." Ara smiles.

"That's cute. It's really sweet how you guys are close."

"Yeah, he's helped me alot with Seora. She loves having her uncles around. Gives her something new to deal with besides her own father." She laughs.

"I'm sure that girl loves and appreciates you more than anything, Yunho. You're a great dad."

"I try to be." He shrugs. "Although, she used to hate when I tried to do her hair and dress her up. She said I mixed and matched clothes way too much and her ponytails were always lopsided."

"You did your best." Ara laughs a little louder. "Doing hair and dressing up a baby girl is not for the faint of heart."

"Truly isn't." He laughs, while Ara points at his pinky nail. 

"I see she painted your nails?" Yunho briefly looks down at his two pinkies, painted with black nail polish. 

"Sure did. She kept it minimal, though. For work, she says. Just a lil touch." Ara giggles.

"You two are cute."

"Mm, we try to be." Yunho jokes. The conversation continues on as Yunho drives the last 10 minutes to the ramen shop, finding parking right around the corner despite the busy streets and the long line that's forming right outside of the restaurant. He helps Ara out of the car before locking it up, walking alongside of her until it gets too tight to do so. He guides her by the small of her back, pushing her towards the front of the restaurant where the host is. As guessed, they arrive right when their table is ready, the host immediately showing them to their table in the back corner.

She settles into the chair across from him before thanking the host and taking the menu from her hands. They instantly skim their options, with Yunho already deciding on what he wants. He marks it off on the sheet, along with any modifications he wants [extra spicy, extra green onions], while Ara does the same. When they're ready to submit their orders, Yunho calls over the server, handing them their order papers before clasping his hands together—elbow resting on the table as he looks over at her. She's trying her hardest not to blush while sipping on her water, eyes avoiding eye contact cause Yunho makes her feel a certain way.

He just doesn't know if he can reciprocate the feeling. 

Truthfully, if he's being all the way honest— he went into this thinking it'd be chill. Harmless in a sense. Putting himself out there since he didn't have much to lose. He knew Ara's had feelings; even if she never said it out loud, it's pretty obvious. And not to say she isn't a great girl, no. She's great. She's been a good friend to Yunho, and she's incredibly sweet. He couldn't really tell you why he didn't see her in that light, though. Perhaps, he still wasn't ready for a relationship. Or, maybe he was and he already had a feeling that she wouldn't be the right one.

Maybe he's being too critical.

But all he knows, is that in this moment, Ara is giving him heart eyes and she's blushing over everything he does. It makes him feel good, but the other half of him feels bad because when he looks at her, he just sees a friend. Good company.

The night is still early.

Yunho is trying to remind himself.

When the food arrives, they get to eating right away. In between, Yunho dives a little deeper into his dynamic with Seora, touching up on the fact that he doesn't really get a long with his parents but will bear with them solely because of her. Even though they don't do much for their granddaughter, she still wonders about them and how they're doing. She always talks about seeing them soon even though Yunho can never promise that she will. He doesn't talk about Eunha, though. Kinda leaves the conversation at that. He feels like he needs to build a better connection with someone in order to open up about that part of his past. Not only is it too painful, but it's a subject that makes Yunho incredibly vulnerable.

The good thing with Ara is that she doesn't budge nor does she push. She ends up talking a lot about her childhood and growing up with her parents in exchange. She has lived a pretty good life; her parents supporting both her and her sister throughout all their endeavors. Her sister works abroad in the fashion industry, while Ara decided to take the healthcare route. Her parents were supportive nonetheless, pushing them to strive for their dreams and supporting them through every opportunity that came their way. Yunho thinks it's nice that they have that sort of relationship— it speaks volumes to the way Ara carries herself and how sweet she is. She makes a great nurse, a great daughter and sister; and it almost makes her a little too perfect.

Which, isn't bad.

But, also isn't great for Yunho. Because all he is made of is flaws and all; he's got a lot of things he lacks in, he feels. He hasn't been in a serious relationship since Eunha passed and he isn't even sure he knows what the word love is anymore. What it's like to love and be loved. He doesn't focus on himself a majority of the time because that time and attention goes to this daughter. He wouldn't have it any other way, let's get that straight.

However, it's clear Ara has this 'perfect' image of him in her head when he is far from that. He is merely getting by; things hurt the fuck outta him and he stresses over every little thing. He gets overwhelmed easily, anxious, can barely let go of the past trauma.

He doesn't wanna disappoint her. Anyone, as a matter of fact.

The conversation continues until they've both slurped up the last bits of their ramen, and Yunho genuinely enjoyed it once they've stopped talking so deeply. Conversations come easy with Ara and he does like that. He doesn't have to try too hard to think about what to talk about next or how to carry the conversation. Brief pauses in between don't feel awkward.

It's nice.

After dinner, he pays for their meal and turns down Ara's efforts to pay for her half. They joke and tease on the way back to the car, with Yunho turning up the music a tad bit louder this time around so it helps fill the empty space in the car. He feels himself getting a little exhausted, but when Ara looks at him with those eyes and asks if he wants to come up for a bit, he finds himself confused; he should be saying no, but he ends up with:

"Sure." Yunho gives her a tiny, toothless smile as she leads the way back up to her loft. Yunho feels bad for even thinking about going back on his decision because it feels pretty intimate to be coming into someone's space after dinner. He doesn't wanna be rude, though. And, he did enjoy their talk over dinner.

So, he continues despite the inner turmoil that's starting to form.

Back upstairs, Ara kicks off her shoes first before Yunho does. He stands awkwardly near the door while she sets her things down, following her into the living room area once she starts padding over. He plops onto the couch and settles into it; leaning back to rest, arm positioned on the back edge of the couch. Ara gives him a glass of water before sitting down next to him, and Yunho feels himself tense up a bit when he feels her leg brush against his. She's got some kind of psychological thriller show on, and Yunho's trying his best to get invested as it continues to play. Ara gives him a little bit more context to the show, describing it with such big eyes and an excited tone that Yunho finds it pretty cute. 

Then, at some point, she has somehow shifted in her position and is now sitting right against him. He still has his arm on the back of the couch, and she has slotted herself in that opening— sitting criss-crossed as she continues to watch her show. He feels her warmth against his, and he's not sure how to act.

She probably feels how stiff and rigid he is.

"You okay?" She asks and he gives her a smile.

"Yeah, why?"

"I dunno. You got quiet."

"I'm trying to keep up with your show." She laughs.

"It's a lot." 

"All good. It's interesting." He looks down at her. She doesn't say anything, but her eyes are glazing over his features. He watches as she scans his face, down to his lips, and he feels himself swallow thickly because he knows where this is going. She's the first to pull up— suddenly pressing her lips against his in that brief moment they shared and Yunho indulges in it. They hold the kiss there for a second longer before Yunho [mistakenly] deepens the kiss and pulls her onto his lap. The kiss heightens quickly, the show in the background long forgotten. He lets out a shaky exhale in between kisses, with Ara gently pressing herself down against him. She takes Yunho's hand and guides it up her stomach, to her chest— landing on her breast. His eyes widen a bit, the shock causing him to slightly pull back from the kiss to try and read her. She nods though, subtly biting her lip as she leans forward to kiss him again; a soft moan releasing from her lips when he squeezes the flesh in the palm of his hand while she starts to pepper kisses along his jaw, neck.

And as much as he can easily fall into this, say fuck it and just go with it— that's not who he is.

"Wait." Yunho pries his lips off of hers, his hand retracting from her body. "Wait." He repeats.

"What's wrong?" She asks, eyes still full of desire, lust. He can see the way she looks at him and it's even more of a reason to push off. Reality hits tough, and Yunho thinks this is a prime example of when it's both a blessing and a curse.

"Ara, I'm sorry. I'm—" He looks at her with his big, brown, sad eyes. Because it's not her at all, it's him. He's just not into this and he doesn't really know how else to tell her. "I can't." She sinks into her seat and Yunho feels so, so bad. "I don't wanna do that to you." He sighs and scoots back a bit. "You're great, you really are. But, you deserve someone who is sure of you. I'm sorry I can't be that person. I just— I just think we're good as friends." He sighs. "I'm sorry if I had lead you on or gave you any mixed signals, that wasn't my intention." He says softly, and Ara can't even be livid at him because of how genuinely sweet and apologetic he's being. "I shouldn't have come up here—"

"Yunho, it's okay." She says with a forced, reassuring smile, hopping off his lap because damn, this is awkward. Not only does the rejection hit her hard, but she must look desperate and way too needy for him now. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to move so quickly, I thought—"

"You don't have to apologize." Yunho stands and gathers himself. "You didn't do anything wrong. It's just.."

"We're better off as friends." She finishes the statement and he can't help but shrug. He doesn't know how to explain it, but he doesn't want her to think she did anything wrong.

She didn't.

"I hope you believe me when I say it isn't you. You are amazing and anyone would be lucky to have you. I—I haven't done this in a long time and quite frankly, I don't think I'm ready."

"Or maybe, it's just not me you want. And that's okay, Yunho. You're probably right— maybe we are just better off as friends."

"I'm sorry." He says weakly. "I really hope I didn't mess this up because I'd still like for us to be the same as we were before."

"No, of course not." She says even though it's obvious she's got tears welling in her eyes and she's hurt. Yunho feels his heart drop, but at the same time, he knew he had to stop it before it could get too deep—

Before he could make a terrible mistake; do the unthinkable to someone he cared about as a friend first and foremost.

"Ara."

"I promise it's all okay." She nods. "I agree with you, and we shouldn't force this if it's not meant to happen." She gives him another forced smile.

"I'll head out and give you some space. I'm sorry." Is all he can respond with. He walks over to her door and slips back into his shoes before looking back at her. She purses her lips and doesn't say much, and it makes Yunho feel like he's already ruined this.

Damn, Yunho.

"I'll see you on Monday, yeah?" She nods quietly again while opening the door for him.

"Thanks again for dinner. It was great. I can send you my half—"

"No, no need. Dinner was on me, remember? It's totally fine." He gives her a tiny, toothless smile. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight." She answers, allowing him to walk further down the hall before shutting the door and getting back to her own peace. She's hurt, not gonna lie. She truly felt like there was hope, especially with the texts exchanged and the way he was good to her tonight. But, looking back at it, it could have been her fault for completely assuming and jumping the gun— it was Yunho just being Yunho.

Oh well.

Maybe things will be better in the future, and the timing would align. She understands he has different priorities right now, and that's okay. Who is she to determine that for him?

Yunho gets back into his car and lets out a hefty sigh, sitting there for a second before grumbling a low 'fuck' to himself. He feels really bad and he knew he should've dropped her off and left it at that.

But, no. 

He had to go and be stupid about it.

At least he can say he tried, right? That should count for something.

"Wanna put up another movie? Your dad's date—" Seonghwa pauses and looks at Seora as she furrows her brows at him. They had put on a movie after Seora freshened up for the evening. She didn't have too much homework, so she finished up the last bits with the first movie on before they had indulged in dinner. Now, her and her Uncle Hwa were eating ice cream, looking at more movie options to throw on until her father would get home. "Your dad's team dinner should be done by now."

"Date?"

"I didn't say that."

"Uncle Hwa." 

"What?" Seora gives him one last look before pinching him on the bicep, causing him to let out a yelp. "Swear! I don't know where you heard that from." He cocks a brow up playfully. "It's a team dinner."

"Oooookay." She playfully cuts her eyes at him before going through the movie options. "You can just say so."

"Ou, look." Seonghwa diverts her attention to the TV and points at a movie to put on. "Let's watch Rogue One, I haven't seen that one in a minute."

"Or, we can watch Degrassi or—"

"You definitely don't need to poison your brain watching that mess."

"You sound more like my dad than my dad." Seonghwa scoffs as he takes the remote and puts on Rogue One.

"You need to watch more educational things. Like Rogue One. Stepping into your powers and using them for good."

"They're a group of rebels, Uncle Hwa."

"A group of rebels preventing mass destruction!" Seora sighs as she sits back and finishes the rest of her ice cream, knowing her uncle is very much into Star Wars and lets him have it. It's quiet for a moment before she pops in again, asking about his plans for tonight.

"Have you decided?"

"On what? How I'd use my powers for good?" His eyes are trained on the tv.

"No, silly. If you're meeting Yoori." He looks at her before returning his attention back to the TV.

"Why does it matter if I do or not?"

"Uncle Hwa, you can do whatever you want. Just don't mess up because you're too afraid to admit your feelings."

"Hey!" He looks at her with a brow cocked up. "How do you even know about things like that?"

"I'm about to be 12."

"Yeah, you were born yesterday." She playfully rolls her eyes and scoffs. "You shouldn't be knowing things like that."

"Please. I am right, aren't I?"

"I don't know if I'm going to go yet because I have work tomorrow."

"I hear excuses." He gasps.

"Jeong Seora—"

"Yo!" Yunho walks in right at that moment, causing Seora to shift her attention to the door; tormenting her uncle now a long lost thought in her head.

 "Dad!" Seora squeals and runs over to her dad, koala'ing him and causing him to laugh when she hangs onto him like tomorrow will never come. "You're home!"

"I am." 

"How was your team dinner?" Seonghwa looks at him, wiggling his eyebrows while Seora is still preoccupied with grabbing her dad's attention.

"Date, you mean."

"What?" Yunho looks down at her.

"Uh, Uncle Hwa said you went out on a date." Yunho knits his brows at Seonghwa and all he can do is shrug.

"No, I never said that." Hwa cuts in to lie again. "I said team dinner. Anything else you heard was created by your own mind." Yunho glares at him.

"Did you?" Seora looks up at her dad, chin pressed against his chest while she keeps her arms around him.

"It was just a team dinner, is all."

"Sure." Seora sarcastically says before unwrapping herself from him and walking off to the bathroom. "It's fine or whatever, you know!" She shuts the bathroom door.

"See you've managed to talk to Seora about a lot."

"Sorry, it kinda slipped out." Seonghwa chuckles and Yunho mocks him. "Besides, she was just grilling me about Yoori."

"How did that happen?"

"Yoori texted me earlier asking if I wanted to come over while ace was putting in her order. She was scolding me right before you walked in. That girl is way ahead of her time."

"Been knew that." Yunho chuckles.

"How'd it go? Did you and Ara do anything?"

"Anything as in dinner, yes?" Yunho is confused, even though he knows exactly what Seonghwa is picking at.

"Okay.. and?" Yunho sighs and shakes his head.

"Kissed her but didn't go very far." He mumbles lowly.

"Why not?"

"I just wasn't feeling it, honest to god. I didn't wanna do that to her." At this point, Seora swings the door back open, causing both Seonghwa and Yunho to turn their attention down the hall before looking at each other. 

"We'll talk about this later." Hwa chuckles a bit. "Should've gone all the way." He says barely above a whisper.

"No." Yunho almost scoffs while he grabs his things and prepares to head out. "Get out." Unbelievable.

"On my way, boss." Seonghwa laughs. "Let me go say bye to ace." He walks down the hallway, giving Seora another big, tight hug before heading out. Yunho gives him one last final goodbye before shutting the door and locking up for the night, heading in to catch up with Seora and hang out with her before the night ends.

"So, really dad. How did your team dinner go?" She smirks as she comes back outside and plops on the couch. Yunho chuckles a bit before shrugging.

"The usual. It was.. good bonding time."

"Hm." She hums. "That's good. What did you guys get to eat?"

"Ramen."

"A fine choice for this cold evening." He laughs.

"Wanna continue a few episodes before we call it a night? I'm just gonna change."

"Sure. Do you want me to grab you a bowl of ice cream? I made Uncle Hwa buy me some strawberry ice cream after picking up our burgers. Ice cream is the best when it's cold out."

"That sounds good, ace. Thank you." She smiles while getting up to grab a bowl of ice cream for her dad, excited to finally spend the rest of the evening with him all to herself.

"Dad! My friends are waiting." She pouts a bit, staring at her father as she stands near the passenger door, watching as he slips into his shoes.

"Seora, I promise you I'm coming." Yunho pats his jeans down before doing one final check around the house to make sure everything has been shut off post-breakfast. Meanwhile, you've parked your car near your parents' front gate, grabbing your bag from the front seat before looking at the house and letting out a sigh. You'd give your parents some time today, accompanying them to buy groceries and while running other errands. You knew it'd be a long day, but you did owe it to them.

You needed to do better, you reminded yourself.

Just as you're about to make your way towards the gate, a familiar face comes popping out of the next door house— causing you to pause in your motions and furrow your brows in pure, utter confusion.

Yunho?

"Hi?" You look at Yunho [clearly confused] as he hurries along to the driver's seat. He does a quick double take before pausing briefly, also giving you the same look you gave him a few seconds ago.

"Hey?" He says. "You're—"

"Yeah. My parents."

"Dad, please—" Seora swings the door open. "Oh my god— we're gonna be so late." He lets out a small sigh as he checks the time and realizes they won't be late— his daughter is just eager to get to her friends per usual.

"Seora." He calls her name once more. "You're not gonna be late, okay? Relax." He turns to you with a small smile. "Sorry. Gotta run. I'll talk to you later? Say hi to your parents for me." You give him a small nod before he slips in. You watch him talk to his daughter while slipping on his seatbelt, wasting no time to pull away and drive off shortly afterwards.

"Hey you!" Your mom says, coming down to unlatch the gate.

"Hey. Yunho is your neighbor?" Your eyes are still on the road.

"Yeah, you've met him before at work? I didn't think you two ever crossed paths at the hospitals."

"We don't, but we're working on a big project together now." Your mom smiles from ear to ear.

"He's a good man. Seora, she's growing up to be such a lovely young lady. They're sweet. Such peaceful neighbors. Cutest duo I know." She drags you inside. "Go say hi to your dad, he's in the sunroom watering his plants. Tell him we should eat so we can go." She starts prepping the servings. "Where's Wonwoo?"

"Busy." Your mom gives you a look. "But, we're coming back next weekend. He just made plans already and can't flake."

"I'm sure his friends would've understood if he told them he was visiting his parents."

"Mom. We're coming back next weekend, okay? Please let him be" Your mom gives you a look before setting the food down for a late breakfast while you greet your dad and give him a big hug. 

"So, sounds like you met Yunho?" Your dad asks as you both walk back inside to finally before heading out to run errands.

"I did. Well, during a work meeting. Then, I just ran into him not too long ago. Looks like him and his daughter were in a rush to leave somewhere."

"He's taking her and her friends out shopping." 

"And how do you know that, Miss Ma'am?" You look at your mom while she places a bowl of rice down in front of you.

"I pop in to check on them from time to time. I dropped off some of this food earlier so they could eat it later."

"Do you always bring them food?"

"Most of the time."

"Your mom cooks with them in mind." Your dad adds.

"Oh, hush. I feel bad for the two sometimes. Yunho's been doing it all by himself." Your mom clicks her teeth, mainly out of guilt and worry. The three of you continue to eat away at the food your mom prepared, getting some fuel in to save money on food. "His wife passed away when Seora was just 4 years old."

"Honey." Your dad says. "Can you not tell his whole life story?"

"Why not? I wanna know."

"Then ask him." Your dad says, suddenly getting protective of Yunho. "I know you feel bad, but you should let him tell his story if he wants to."

"Your dad is such a grump."

"Okay, no. He's kinda right." You agree before getting way too ahead of yourself. It is a sensitive subject, and it shouldn't be told by anyone else other than Yunho himself.

"He's a really good guy, though. You should get to know him. Wonwoo, too. Maybe you two will learn a bit more about discipline and spending time with your loved ones before it's too late." You roll your eyes even though there is truth to the statement. 

"Anyway, enough about that. Where are we going today?"

"Well, we have a bunch of groceries to grab. I also need to stop by the pharmacy to pick up my medicine."

"We need to stop by the furniture store too. We've been planning to replace the couch in the living room because of the wear and tear. I think it's time." Your dad reminds your mom.

"Do you guys know what couch you want already or are we gonna shop there?"

"Gonna shop there."

"I do need to find a new shelf for my room."

"See, spending time with your parents can be beneficial."

"Dad, can you please tell her to stop?"

"Honey. She's here, okay? Your son is coming next weekend. All is well."

you: she's doing it again

wonwoo: sorry dude 😖  i'll be there next weekend to take it all

wonwoo: where are you guys going?

you: groceries, pharmacy, furniture shopping

wonwoo: actually sounds kinda fun

you: yeah? then why aren't you here, dumbo

wonwoo: i'm currently in a cabin near the south end 😎 living in peace

you: bye

While you've managed to peacefully eat the rest of your meal with your parents before heading out, Yunho and Mingi are walking around the department store while the girls go from floor to floor, section to section. They managed to snag some coffee before heading in, Yunho already exhausted from picking up Seora's friends to fighting over parking in the already-full mall garage. He's glad he finally gets a moment to chill out for a second, despite the girls squealing and being loud about how cute certain clothes or items are. He's already bought some of her stationary needs, along with a new color-way of Nike dunks she had been eyeing since release.

His wallet will be crying even more in due time, but it's all worth it if Seora goes home happy and content.

"Seora." She turns to look at her dad. "Not too far, okay?"

"Okay, we're just going over there to the juniors section!" Yunho and Mingi watch them speed off to the other corner before browsing the mens section nearby, Mingi already eyeing a jacket near the front racks.

"So."

"Just ask, Mingi." Yunho spits, making Mingi laugh.

"I see your date with Ara didn't go too well?"

"It wasn't even a date. I just went out to dinner with her and it was fine. We had a good time then, it was what happened after that didn't go well."

"Okay, so? What happened after?" Mingi sips his iced americano while the two of them continue to walk around the store, keeping the girls in eye view ahead. 

"We went back to her place, she invited me in." Yunho shrugs. "We were watching stuff on her TV and things kinda escalated. Started kissing her then she tried pushing it further."

"And you said no?"

"Mingi." Yunho looks at him. "You know I'm not like that. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't do it to her. I just can't if I'm not emotionally tied to someone." Mingi nods.

"Nah, that's fair. And probably the right thing to do."

"Probably? It is the right thing to do."

"Right." Mingi responds, a bit distracted by the fine women passing by as they continue to walk around the store. "No, you're right. Sorry." He brings his attention back to his bestfriend. "Assuming Seora didn't know you went out with a lady friend?"

"I don't know, Hwa might've let it slip and I think she believed it but doesn't wanna ask. Or maybe, she doesn't even care." Yunho chuckles.

"I think she'd be fine with you going out on dates, you know? Maybe you don't have to lie to her about it. At some point, she'll need to know especially if you get serious with someone again."

"I'll open up to her about it when I get there. I'm in no rush, though."

"Fair."

"Randomly speaking, I finally saw one of Auntie Love and Uncle Po's kids today."

"Oh, really?"

"She works with me at the hospital. She's at the pediatric unit, though."

"Is she hot?" Yunho clicks his teeth and looks at him.

"Do you ever think about anything else?"

"I'm genuinely asking." Mingi smiles.

"She's pretty."

"What's her name?"

"No."

"Why won't you tell me?"

"Because you don't even know her."

"You want her for yourself, huh?" Yunho just pauses to look at his bestfriend, causing Mingi to smirk while continuing to project. "Selfish son of a bitch."

"I'll deck you—"

"Dad." Yunho and Mingi turn their attention to Seora and her friends, who each have a few clothing items hanging on their arms. "We're gonna go try these on." She points to the dressing room in the far corner behind the juniors section.

"Okay. Uncle Mingi and I will head over in a bit." He subtly elbows Mingi near the rib, causing him to let out a small 'ow.'

"Good, cause I wanna show you how it looks so hurry." She says, turning on her heel to rush over to the dressing room with her friends without batting an eye at her dad and uncle's antics. 

"The fuck was that for? Seriously, do you have your eyes on Auntie Love and Uncle Po's daughter?" Yunho glares at Mingi again as they slowly head over to the dressing room.

"I don't know, okay? I barely know her." Yunho sips on his coffee. "We're gonna be working together quite a bit from now on though because of that new department."

"Interesting."

"Interesting?" Mingi gives him a look. "Why are you giving me that look? It was both you and Hwa who told me to put myself out there."

"Yeah, I'm very aware. And that's great! I just wanted to know if she was cute or not." Mingi laughs. "So, what's her name?" He asks again, making Yunho rolls his eyes and let out a sigh.

"Y/N."

"Pretty."

"That's all I'm telling you."

"Mhhhm." Mingi hums and laughs. "Hope it works out."

"Whatever happens, happens."

"Speaking of things happening— are you and Ara still friends?"

"I think so. We didn't end the night entirely on a bad note. At least, I don't think so. I felt bad and kept apologizing, but she said she understood and it was fine."

"You know it's never just that."

"Well, I'm aware I hurt her to an extent. I'm not gonna lie and try to brush that off."

"You think she'll talk to you if you run into her on Monday?"

"Maybe. I hope so. I really do want us to keep being friends."

"Of course." 

"And who knows, maybe now just isn't the right time. It could work out later."

"Yeah, maybe. But also, if I can be frank, you really don't seem all that into her. I feel like that dinner would've gone way differently if you were set on her." Yunho shrugs.

"It's not her fault. She didn't do anything wrong."

"I mean, it's fine. You probably can already tell you aren't compatible, plus I know you're thinking about how Seora would get along with her, too."

"Mmyeah. I think she woud've liked Ara, but I think you're right. I don't think we'd be compatible."

"Isn't it kinda early to say that, though?"

"Dunno. You tell me. I'm just going off of my gut feeling. I can't force myself to feel a certain way."

"Touché." Mingi sighs. "It's alright, my guy. We still have time. You'll find someone. Maybe it's Y/N."

"Shut up." Mingi laughs before sipping on his coffee, distractedly heading back to the menswear to grab the jacket he had been eyeing this entire time. While he tries it on and pays for his item, Yunho sits near the dressing room while scrolling through his phone. He finds your Instagram page being recommended to him, which he finds to be somewhat uncanny now that he's been talking about you and running into you [despite being assigned to the same project at work]. He can't help but be nosey, clicking onto your page to scroll through your pictures. 

You are pretty.

"Dad." Yunho shifts his attention from his phone to Seora, who is standing in front of him in beige cargo pants and an oversized baseball jacket that looks just like the one he's wearing at the moment. "What do you think about the jacket and pants?" Yunho smiles and nods.

"That looks good, ace."

"I really like that jacket of yours." She points and he nods.

"Why didn't you tell me? I would've bought one for you at the time." She shrugs.

"I didn't think too much about it before. Now I want it." He laughs.

"It looks good."

"Okay, I'm gonna try on this one other shirt and sweater and I think I'll be good. Can I buy them?" 

"If you promise me you'll wear it more than once." 

"I promise!"

"Swear? I better not find it in your donation pile in the next few weeks."

"Dad, I pinky promise. For real."

"Okay then." 

"Yay!" She turns her attention to her friends who are also coming out to show each other what they've been trying on. "Oh my god, that's so cute—" She says, heading back into the fitting room and leaving Yunho alone to your instagram page. He continues scrolling through slowly, peeking at your pics from your travels.

You and your friends that he recognizes from the hospital.

Your selfies where the natural light hits you perfectly.

Your candid photos where your smile is genuine and contagious.

You and your brother, your parents that he and Seora adore.

You really are pretty, and there's something about you that is enticing. Intriguing. A 'lil magnetic and alluring. 

Maybe it wouldn't be a bad thing to work alongside of you on this project.

⇢taglist: @asjkdk @interweab @woojirang @svintsandghosts @cheolliehugs @persphonesorchid @mxnsxngie @jycas @cowboydk @nopension @curse-of-art @thechaotictheoryy @likexaxdaydream @dalsuwaha @enha-stars @yasuraokaa @professormingisglasses @yunyunrin @pommelex @astral-trashcan @laura1399 @domfikeluva @tournesol155 @hwaskookies @yusalterego @hwa-stars @hyukssunflower @chngbnwf @jaytheatiny @lucid-galaxys-world @chaotic-floral @sofkloster

[lovieku]

DECEMBER ⋆ 정국

being with jeongguk is a gift in itself. this christmas, you’ll show him your gratitude. do whatever is on his list.

⋆⁺₊❅. 3/6 from christmas & chill

pairing dilf!jk x gf!reader

genre smut, fluff, established relationship

warnings jk 31 | oc 22, exhibitionism, public sex kinda, breeding kink, mirror sex, oral (f receiving), condomless p in v sex, oc is on birth control but she won’t be anymore after this, these tags back to back are making me lose it, yeah they’re pretty horny if you couldn’t tell

word count 5.7k

author's note oki this is literally porn with plot but what do you expect me to do with dilf jk in my hands

banner by the perfect @awrkive ⊹₊⟡⋆

“What’s on your Christmas wishlist, doll?”

“I want… I think I want a baby. And then—”

Jeongguk snorts in that way he does when he wants you to think he’s unimpressed, but really he’s just trying to think of something to shut you up, wheels turning in his head, scrambling before your teasing has an unwanted effect that might undo him.

On his couch, he pulls you closer to him as you giggle in his neck, your figure curled up in his embrace, and he caresses the side of your thigh in an impossibly gentle pattern. He’s heat incarnate, a living furnace outdoing even the fireplace softly cracking and reflecting its warmth on your faces in the dimly lit room.

His hand squeezes once, twice, then he finds you ear with his mouth, “Don’t say that.”

You pull back just enough to look at him with the biggest grin, “What’s on your list then, huh?”

Your boyfriend pretends to think it over with unusual indecision, tilting his head up to the ceiling dramatically and leaving his collar bones exposed, giving you the opportunity to further bury yourself in his warmth. Peppering small pecks onto his neck, you sigh into the comfort.

“Since we’re going in that direction,” his low tone scratches his throat and vibrates against your lips, pooling like heat where it always does when he’s this close. He pulls you impossibly tighter to his chest, mouth back to your ear just to whisper with that teasing lilt of his, “I’ve always wanted to fuck you in a public space. With people outside, you know.”

Even with your heart skipping and rolling down the tallest hill, landing right in your lower belly, you hum, feigning nonchalance, though your sarcastic nod doesn’t fool either of you. He looks down at you with a wicked smirk, one point ahead after rendering you speechless. You still try, “Yeah?”

Jeongguk doesn’t miss the chance and strikes gold, “Mhm. And I also want to give you my babies.”

“Shut the fuck up, Jeon. I’m serious.”

The older man’s laughter rings out, light and boyish in a way that doesn’t match the words he let out, nor the feel of his rough hands roaming your body. Even more when his unrelenting fingers find their way to your sides. They press in gently at first, testing. But then he really starts to tickle.

You flinch, stubbornly clamping your lips into a tight line, muscles tensing as you fight the inevitable. You think you’re determined enough not to give him the satisfaction of hearing you break, but when he moves toward your armpits, it’s over.

Your eyes squeeze shut, shoulders twitching, but it’s your mouth that betrays you first. A sharp snort escapes you and is only joined by more and more breathy giggles, air knocked out of you, “Jeongguk, no!”

His grin widens at your plea, voice mockingly stern but tone playful and sweet, “Why are you being such a brat to your old man, huh? So disrespectful.”

You shriek, squeal, the sound dissolving into waves of laughter that shake your entire body, now sprawled on the sofa and desperately trying to run away from his touch. You almost make it. Almost. But Jeongguk is faster, pinning you on the couch and tightening his hold, knees digging on either side of your hips.

The air wheezes out of you when his lips join the tickling on your neck, nipping and kissing between your gasping laughter, his own still lingering like it’s contagious. Your body twists instinctively, “Stop!”

He moves up, nose brushing against yours as he lets his voice drop even lower in a warning, “You know what to say.”

It wasn’t fair. You know what he wants to hear, but your pride digs its heels in, even as you pant for room to breathe. You struggle under him, half-heartedly trying to push his hands away, but when his hands find the sensitive spot behind your knees you just can’t help the way it spills out of you in a panicked laugh, “Sorry, sorry, sorry!”

Jeongguk finally relents, hands falling away as he collapses beside you, joining your breathless amusement. That little chant is the unspoken rule between you two, the one surefire way to end his tickle wars.

The room is silent for the small moment it takes you to even your pumping heart and slowly level your panting. Jeongguk cuddles to your side, body molding effortlessly against yours, and as his arm tightens around your waist, you speak against the space of his chest he’s pressing you into, “I could make both happen for you.”

There’s no drop of subject on your part, your words resounding in the quiet made of your moderating breaths.

Jeongguk snorts again, shuffling down and muffling his low hum in your neck. It’s his way of playing coy and pretending not to take you seriously, but you can feel his grip getting rougher.

Only when you swat him does he shift to look up at you, chin resting lazily between your breasts and lashes fluttering in exaggerated innocence, just like his words, “And how would you do that?”

“Yoongi’s Christmas party next week.”

Jeongguk’s brow quirks upward, “You want me to fuck you with all my friends outside? Didn’t you say you were scared of meeting them?”

It’s your turn to stifle a laugh, lips twitching as you turn your head away in sudden embarrassment. He leaves featherlight pecks along your jaw to quieten his own chuckles, but it only coaxes a smile out of you. You return to him with a soft expression playing on your flushed face, long dimples carving your cheeks, “I did, yes. But it’s only because I want their approval.”

Jeongguk stills for just a second as he studies you. The moment he spots the faintest flicker of genuine worry in the subtle twitch of your brows, his teasing front is thrown completely out of the window.

“Oh, my baby,” he cups your face with both hands, cradling you like his most precious possession, meeting your widening eyes when he tilts your chin. “They’ll love you, okay? It’s about time they meet the reason I’ve been the happiest I’ve ever felt in years.”

The blush creeping up your neck is inevitable, especially when his hand drifts downward, fingers resting lightly on your stomach and moving in soothing circles. A gesture so small yet telling, of how attuned he is to your every shift and need, even the ones you don’t voice.

It’s been almost a year since you and Jeongguk made things official, and the journey has been marked by slow, steady steps. No rush, no racing. Time has felt pliant, stretching out to meet you both at a pace that felt unforced. It gives you room to grow and deepen the bond that only the two of you share, unburdened by the weight of outside pressure.

Both of you have been careful, almost cautious about walking longer distances. Not out of doubt, but out of respect for what you’re building together. It’s not hesitation, it’s intention.

You fucking love this man, more fully than you even thought possible. And you’re more than sure that he’s the one, making all the waiting and searching worth it.

You’ve grown just enough to understand not everyone will accept your dynamic as easily as you’ve come to. You wanted it to feel true — to be true — between the two of you before inviting the outside world into it.

Jeongguk is 31. Successful, experienced, and carrying the scars of a rough divorce. You’re 22, still a student, scraping together what you can to get through each month, too focused on textbooks and exams to know anything about adulthood yet.

By all accounts, your paths should never have crossed in any meaningful way. Yet, they did. You found each other, and you blossomed to love one another. What seemed complicated came down to a feeling so intricate and achingly simple.

There’s no denying love. There’s no grand, pragmatic solution for it. You can’t push it aside just because it doesn’t fit into neat societal boxes. And you can’t push him away.

Still, you’re not blind to how others might see it. Outsiders, with judgments and assumptions, could scoff and accuse you of chasing wealth, or sneer at him and reduce his intentions to shallow desires for a younger distraction.

Those tired, clichéd narratives miss the way your brain quietens when he’s near, his laughter filling gaps in your life you didn’t know were empty. They couldn’t be further from the truth, from what truly binds you together. Love.

And, well, sex. The sex is fucking great. Makes you wonder how you ever lived without it before him.

“The horniest, too,” you quip, deflecting from the fleeting vulnerability with a playful smirk that has Jeongguk groaning, rolling his eyes the same way he’s shifting beneath you to effortlessly maneuver you until you’re lying on top of him.

Jeongguk tilts his head back, dark eyes narrowing in mock challenge as he jumps between your face and the smirk that refuses to fade. His own grin is barely concealed, and his voice drops to a familiar low timbre, “Don’t try anything funny, doll.”

“I’m just saying… I’ll do whatever is on your list.”

────⋆｡˚❆˚ ｡⋆────

Spending your first Christmas wrapped in the warmth of your boyfriend’s presence leaves no room for anything but a jaw-breaking smile that swells your heart. The kind that doesn’t fade, no matter how much your cheeks ache, and twingles with the soft glow of the lights strung around the room. Especially when you get to discover a new side of Jeongguk, one that blooms brighter the more he’s surrounded by his closest friends.

You can see the love in the crinkle of his eyes when he laughs and lets it resound freely, how he eats comfortably without any of the reserved mannerism he sometimes carries in public, the way he tosses out teasing remarks and takes them just as easily. It all makes you feel less nervous, and it soothes the anxiety you’d been carrying.

Still, you stick to his side, either with your leg brushing against his under the table or your fingers intertwining in a touch that seeks for comfort. Though with the hours stretching, you find there’s no real reason to feel intimidated.

Everyone welcomes you like you’ve always been part of Jeongguk, and they were just waiting for you to step into the missing space beside him. It’s in the easy smiles they offer, the warmth in their laughter as they include you in their conversations without hesitation. You settle in that place with sheepish smiles, a soft voice chiming in here and there, and the quiet admiration that fills you each time your gaze follows Jeongguk’s every movement is enough for his friends to see he’s in good hands.

But you can’t ignore the thought that keeps making your head spin every time Jeongguk casually rests a hand on your exposed thigh, fingers digging into the skin like a slow burn.

You might blame it on the baby fever that’s been clinging to you since earlier, making you warm and sugary with emotions, when you witnessed him distracting Yoongi’s daughter from a tantrum while having her sit on his lap, a gentle hand on her back. Which has to be chalked up to your ovulation phase.

Or maybe you can just blame it entirely on him and the sultry voice he used to confess the dirtiest wish on his list nights ago.

After he did, you’ve hinted at it an unhealthy amount of times, more than you’d care to admit, and it always ended the same way. You, folded in half on his bed, strong arms gripping your hips as he rutted into you with an urgency that bordered on desperation and that had you both unraveling with pleasured wails.

It’s become your own desire more than his at this point. An all-consuming thought that refuses to be brushed aside, especially today, on this occasion. The perfect occasion to make it happen. Fuck, get a grip.

The command feels laughably weak in the face of temptation. How could you resist when Jeongguk looks like he does? He’s draped in a warm, Christmas-red sweater that’s practically begging you to be peeled off, its sleeves rolled just enough to reveal glimpses of the tattoos that snake up his forearm, and enough for your thighs to press together. His hair is freshly cut and styled. And on top of everything, he smells deliciously. His scent is just the perfect, intoxicating, masculine mix of aftershave and cologne.

But you think your breaking point is feeling him sneakily leaning closer when he thinks no one is looking, the brush of his breath near your neck, his nose ghosting over your skin as though probing your resolve. And you’re definitely failing the test.

The scrape of your chair against the floor as you stand abruptly startles not only Jeongguk but everyone at the table. Gulping, you stumble on your speech as you ask for directions to the bathroom and the words coming from Yoongi’s mouth barely register in your mind, body moving on autopilot, turning sharply toward the hallway in hopes that your subconscious will guide you the rest of the way.

You miss Jeongguk’s head tilting in adorable confusion, that signature gesture of concern pairing with knitted brows as he watches you disappear. When he glances back at his friends, they just shrug and resume their conversation.

The moment you lock the door behind you with the sound of the latch clicking into place, your back meets the wood with a forceful push, a little too rough, but entirely necessary. You’re desperately trying to knock some needed sense into yourself, and you follow with deep, measured breaths.

To no avail. The persistent buzz low in your belly hums louder, the embarrassingly quick slick heat pooling between your thighs becoming almost unbearable, especially with the thin lace of your panties doing little to ease your discomfort. You had put them on at the prospect of what would follow the dinner. What you’d hoped to save for the privacy of your home, not here.

Not here.

Stepping toward the sink, you grip its cool porcelain edges as though it could pull your composure together. Lifting your eyes to the mirror, you’re met with your own reflection. Wide-eyed, cheeks flushed, lips parted. A look you know all too well.

You reach up to fix your perfectly styled hair, smoothing it down in a feigned attempt to focus on something else that is not this. But the more you try, the more you stare back at your delirious state, the more you question if feeling such an attraction is even sane, healthy.

You can perfectly picture Jeongguk standing behind you, body pressing against yours, hands gliding over your hips, lips finding that sensitive spot just below your ear. Jeongguk would take care of what he’s unconsciously caused, wouldn’t he? He’d work to tick that one wish off his list.

The thought alone has your nails scraping against the cold surface of the counter, and your eyes squeezing shut. It frustrates you to inhumane levels, how easily he reduces you to this pubescent state, as if you’ve never known control.

What makes you release a breathy scoff in the small space is the knowledge that he hasn’t even touched you tonight.

When you feel your phone ping in your purse, you‘re startled out of the dangerous spiral that had nearly pulled your hand beneath the hem of your dress. Your gaze flickers to the mirror, where the vivid reflection of Jeongguk had started to feel too real.

Your fingers clumsily dig past lipstick tubes and stray receipts until they close around the device. The screen lights up with his name, paired with that little bear emoji he insisted on adding beside it.

JJ🧸🎀: Everything ok?

You only hesitate for a moment, fingers hovering over the keyboard. But your thumbs move before your brain can stop them.

You: can u come help me plz

The knock at the door comes almost instantly, unexpected enough to make you stumble before you reach out to twist the handle, pulling the door only as to reveal your figure in the narrow frame.

He nods your chin at you with curious concern, “Let me in?”

Looking up at him with wide, uncertain eyes through long lashes and under drawn up eyebrows, you swear you catch the faintest flicker of something primal in his own.

You step back to let him enter, the small space feeling even smaller with his gaze never once leaving you, tracking your every movement like you’re the only thing in the world worth looking at.

The soft click of the door locking behind him is all it takes for his warm palms to cradle your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks, “Sweetheart, what happened?”

You only shake your head, and his hands slip from their hold on you as your back meets the cool edge of the sink counter behind you. The plush curve of your ass squishes with the pressure, and he briefly darts downward to take in the soft fabric of your dress clinging to your frame before snapping up to meet you again.

“Talk to me,” he urges, almost pleading.

Looking down, you just now notice how your shoe has loosened around your calf, and alternating between his brows dipping low over widened pupils and your heels, you seem to not even be able to control the way your foot trails up your leg in a feigned sheepish demeanor, your cheek resting on your shoulder.

You try to fight the smile by biting on your lower lip, and in the softest voice you surrender to your stubborn, persistent need with a flimsy excuse, “Clasp on this heel is so thin… I can’t close it.”

Jeongguk’s every sense is alert. His eyes follow your line of sight with urgence, ready to cater to your every request, do all it takes to make sure you’re safe, hands twitching at his sides the more his protective instinct kicks in.

But it doesn’t take much longer to detect the real intentions behind your creased forehead in pretend worry, breath catching in your throat the moment you spot the shift in his eyes. Now hooded, heavy.

He looks back up at you just to seek confirmation of your plan all along, and lets an exasperated chuckle escape him when you can only pout enough to make your impatience clear.

Jeongguk hums, taking one step closer until the counter edge digs behind your thighs, your figure almost sitting up on the surface, “Does my girl need help, hm? Is that so?”

It’s useless wasting more time. It’s useless trying to avoid it and pretend this exact moment isn’t what has been dominating your mind the whole day, both too proud to voice it but too naughty to actually suppress it.

So Jeongguk slowly gets down, never once looking away from your expectant eyes, not missing the way your chest gasps. You nod just as sluggish, mouth left slightly agape, too entranced by the look on your boyfriend’s face and his hand settling on your ankle to gently lift your foot and rest it on his propped-up knee.

When he patiently works on the struggle ahead with the tips of his careful fingers delicately brushing against your skin, it’s nearly torture trying to remain composed.

Now done with the pathetic excuse, your shoe properly set in place, Jeongguk is only getting started with the real reason he’s kneeling before you.

Jeongguk doesn’t rise right away. Instead, taking his pointer finger, he traces a teasing line up your calf that causes immediate goosebumps to prickle your skin, betraying just how deeply his actions affect you. He follows the trail up, and up, until reaching the side of your thigh. That’s when he stutters.

With your leg up, the skirt of your mini dress has ridden dangerously high and as a result it does very little to hide what’s underneath it, especially when the lacy panties you chose to wear are barely even doing their original job at covering you.

Chuckling lowly, his jaw clenches, “Baby.”

His vibrating tone runs as a pleasing buzz along your spine, and it has you straightening your posture the more you feel yourself slip under his control. You tilt your head, suddenly not so confident anymore in the game you started.

He slowly blinks up at you, sliced eyes matching perfectly with the wicked smirk on his lips, and the look he reserves you with is intense with something that doesn’t allow to go back, “What is this, huh? Did you plan it?”

You can only shake your head, afraid that if you speak you’re going to give you two away without even starting anything.

And he’s making it extra hard, especially when his digit travels up to your inner thigh, gaze never leaving yours, “Do you always go around with these kinds of panties on, doll?”

Guilty. Of course you don’t. Whole night has been sticky and uncomfortable. So yeah, this was indeed a plan. But now that it succeeded, you’re suddenly not sure how to act upon your own needs, intimidated by the man at your feet. You move your face side to side, faster this time.

Jeongguk gently lets his head fall to the right, his curls jumping with the movement, and he sounds softer than the way his hand is already pushing your leg to the side, “What do you want me to do, hm?”

It’s impossible to keep the moan you were forcing down your throat with his firm touch on your burning skin. It gets a chuckle out of him, and the subtle tinge of degradation has you pushing yourself further into his face, mere centimetres apart from your embarrassingly wet core.

He seems totally unfazed by your desperation, keeping his eyes trained on your face no matter how great the temptation to just dive into you already is. Jeongguk can smell you, and he could just lean forward a bit more to have the tip of his nose brush against your clit. But he resists.

He nods his chin up to you, his breath fanning over your clothed pussy, and he keeps the challenge up, ignoring the way your eyebrows draw up and paint you in deliriousness, “Use your words. Tell me what you need.”

Even in your haze, you’re mindful to keep your tone down, and the otherwise loud whine escapes you in the form of a whimper, your tummy going up and down with your panting and your thighs unconsciously parting in an attempt to have him pay attention to what clearly doesn’t need to be explained.

Jeongguk doesn’t want to act upon clues, though. You put both of you in this situation, and now he simply wants to know why.

Gulping at his intense gaze not once leaving your shaking and blown out pupils, you whisper a strained plea, “I want you to touch me. Been thinking about this all night.”

His condescending smile is accompanied by a long, belittling hum, his eyes finally dropping low to inspect the wet patch expanding from your clenching hole. From where it had flattened around your knee, Jeongguk lets his palm travel under your dress and across your lower tummy, caressing it while subtly letting his thumb brush past the hem of your panties.

You jut your hips forward, feverish with the minimum stimulation of his breath against your sex, but you’ll learn the hard way to not be so impatient, your boyfriend’s hand pressing against your stomach to push you back down on the counter.

The pressure feels nice, and he knows it. There’s no uncalculated action in the way he touches you; he’s memorised what your every sound of pleasure corresponds to. Nonetheless, he keeps taunting you.

Keeping his hand cupping the skin around your navel, he uses his other calloused one to spread your legs open and allow himself to have you. Or at least you think so, before he uses his lips to further tease you, his tongue skimming the wet spots on the inside of your thighs without never even brushing the pulse and center of all your needs.

Before you can protest and fully push yourself on him, he looks up at you with a warning ready on his lips, “Be fucking quiet, doll, I swear.”

And it’s like he does it on purpose, because he willingly doesn’t give you any time to prepare and just latches at your wetness through the slicked material, making it hard to stifle the first moan threatening to topple out of you.

The pace he picks up is torturous, and his saliva blending with your own wetness causes your panties to stick uncomfortably in between your puffy lips. You huff, protest ready on your tongue, but Jeongguk precedes you and pulls the piece to the side, not once detaching from your weeping cunt, the sudden coldness of the room that hits your exposed folds immediately being replaced with his warm desire.

He doesn’t have time to scold you for your behaviour, but oh, he will. The way you’re clutching tightly on his hair and rutting into his lapping tongue, struggling to keep your noises down; how you impatiently rush him to get you to that high you desperately seek. You were never granted permission.

So, he allows himself to be just a bit mean to you, his licking along your slit slow and fleeting, almost imperceptible, his grip poking harsh cavities in your skin that will leave marks. Not that you mind.

When he growls lowly against you with his nose brushing your most sensitive spot, it’s your clue to push the testing-his-patience to the side and maybe act less like a brat. There’s no time, and you really want — need — whatever he’s willing to give you.

With a hand curling around the edge of the counter, you use the other to stifle your moans, and his approving nod vibrates with a hum and pulses with your clenching hole. He starts to lap at your core now, engulfing your lips and nuzzling himself closer to your entrance.

“You’re so bad,” it comes out slurred and muffled, but the humiliation settles in you with a pleasing buzz that has your hips stuttering when he nudges your center with the tip of his tongue. The sound you let out in response is close to a cry that you quickly swallow, fighting hard to be obedient and keep down, even more when he continues with his belittling comments against your throbbing walls, “First on the naughty list this year, huh.”

As much as the both of you love the chase, Jeongguk knows he has to get you close to a breaking point if he doesn’t want the others to suspect your absence. That’s why he moves his warm muscles up to your clit and lets his two digits join the stimulation, only causing more slickness to smear a mess between your legs.

Your body involuntarily runs after the cruel curling of his fingers, forcing their space inside your mushy walls, warm and clutching around him the more his tongue picks up its pace. You can feel him panting against you, and his laboured breaths only work to bring you to the ecstasy you’ve been daydreaming about for days now.

He does exactly what it takes last to undo you, speaking between trails of your stickiness and efforts to slurp every single drop of it you offer him, “C’mon, pretty. Cum before the others find you like this.”

You choke on a gasped moan, your body convulsing with the incessant provocation and the attempt at keeping louder sounds stifled behind strained whines. Jeongguk gulps down your essence, lapping at every corner of your core to make sure he doesn’t miss none of the reason you’re shaking for.

Only when you unconsciously try to avoid his grip on you does he detach from you, letting his devilish gaze drag up, slowly along with his body. Before he gives the two of you any possibility of speaking, he crashes onto you, mouth chasing yours in a kiss that has you tasting your own self mixed with him.

He pants, moving with a smirk on his glossy, puffy lips, “Satisfied?”

The breathy giggle fanning against him lets him know that you are far from that, “Didn’t you say something about fucking me? You seem hard.”

“God, I can never make that pretty mouth of yours shut up, huh. You want my cock? That what you badly want?”

It was never this easy to get Jeongguk to give in so quickly to your bed requests. Usually, it was a game of hunting, of resistance, of testing the other’s resolve to see who would break first. But now, it’s different, and there’s no hesitation in the way he tugs at his pants, breath ragged and his focus entirely on you.

The moment his length is freed, already hard from eating you out and throbbing with need, he doesn’t wait for permission—he never has to with you. You realize how completely your moans and whimpers have filled the air and how incapable you are at quietness.

How can you be when the sound of him slapping his thick shaft against your lower stomach sends a new jolt of arousal coursing through your body?

“Lay back,” Jeongguk rasps, nudging you with his hips, and you obey without question, your palms supporting your weight on the counter.

He lets his tip drag over your slick folds before pushing his whole cock in, the suddenty of the action meeting your anticipation with a gasp leaving both your mouths.

Jeongguk only forces himself deeper, quickly adjusting to a preferred pace once he checks that you’re okay with a small nod. Because he knows it’ll be hard to slow down once you give him the go ahead.

He’s never been this embarrassingly close from simple teasing and foreplay, but his thrusts become stammered almost too early, and he thinks it has everything to do with you granting his only wish on his Christmas list and being so eager to tick it off for him.

He wants to do it for you, too, “Fuck, baby. I’ll cum inside you, hm? Keep all my mess stuffed in your tight hole. Make your wish come true.”

The implications behind his slurred speech have your eyes rolling to the back of your head, mouth hanging open to release your every breathy whimper. Jeongguk knows you’re on the pill, and for this exact reason it’s not the first time he finishes in you.

Yet, the shift in his tone and the reasons he decided to speak that last sentence cause you to throb uncontrollably in overstimulation around his thick length, making it a struggle for him to slide easily into you.

Making your wish come true, the one you jokingly whispered to him on your couch a week ago, means one thing. The knowledge of Jeongguk wanting to fill you with his babies moves something so deeply instilled within you that you can’t help the wail escaping you, immediately burying your face in the curve of his broad shoulder and biting at the skin.

He has to fight just as hard when he feels your pussy contract, knows you’re getting closer again, feels himself dangerously near to breaking as well, mouth parted and brows knitted, delirium washing over his face.

Lifting his gaze up from your enthralling orbs, he catches sight of your tangled bodies in the mirror behind you and groans, clutching your hips tighter to angle himself just enough to perfectly witness himself sinking in you at a relentless speed in the reflection.

“Oh doll, fuck,” his expression is hard and focused, the way his jaw ticks only adding to the feverish look, and his voice is rough from the whispering, “Look behind. Look at us in the mirror, how well you’re taking me.”

You manage to weakly turn your head enough to witness your naked bodies blending together at your centers, his muscled hands tightly clutching at you and digging marks that will leave their signs for a while.

Weakly, your head falls back and you let a particularly loud whimper flow freely out of you. Jeongguk would be a hypocrite if he were to shut you up, because his own grunts resonate against the empty walls the more he buries his greedy length in you.

He hopes the music he convinced the others to put on before leaving the room to check on you in the bathroom is enough to pad the inglorious sounds of skin meeting and breaths shortening.

The noises seem to suddenly alarm you to the point of cradling the side of his face with your soft palm and moving him to you, just to catch his mouth with yours in a kiss that’s all teeth and spit, that vibrates with the moans you struggle to swallow.

His pounding stutters the more he fucks into you, and he manages a few flicks at your clit before thrusting hard and steady, once, twice, three times, emptying himself in you. The warm feeling of his white semen filling you to the brim comes with a new emotion tonight, and you pulse around him in your second climax.

There’s no time to recover from the high when his whispered plea meets your ear, “Baby. Need to fuck you again.”

You pant, thoughts confused, speech slurred, “What?”

“Let me take you home, c’mon. I wanna pump you full of me again, and again, and again. Until you can feel it, can’t escape it.”

The intensity in his eyes conveys a love that contrasts deliciously with the lust still clouding the stuffy bathroom, his lips closing around pecks down your jaw, then under it, then along your neck.

You’re hoping that what he’s saying is exactly what you want it to be, “Jeongguk…”

Cradling your face, he speaks against your mouth, “I love you so much, doll. We’re making it happen. Let me practice for now, hm?”

A smile parts its way across your face, soft and full, and you can’t suppress it even if you tried, even when you try, “But the others—”

“Need you. Now.”

[lemoncrushh]

Kinda Perfect

Summary: It's a girls' night out and Harry shows up, but you decide not to let your new friend Tiffany know that Harry is your boyfriend.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1230

A/N: Real Harry x y/n, written in 2017. Originally an oc, edited to be a reader fic. Thanks for voting for me to repost all these silly little fics lol. I used to refer to these as blurbs or drabbles, but I think the definitions have changed over the years. They will still be listed under one shots on my masterlist, but they are shorter than most of my other one shots, around 1200-1600 words.

"Oh my God!" Tiffany shouted before immediately covering her mouth with her hand.

"What is it?" you asked, swirling your straw around your glass.

"Is that..." she leaned closer to you in the booth and whispered loudly, "Harry Styles?"

Your eyes followed her gaze across the room where indeed you spotted the tall, handsome man.

"Oh. Yeah," you smirked.

"Wow. Have you seen him here before?"

You nodded. "A few times."

Tiffany sighed, sitting back. "He's so..."

You raised a brow. "So what?"

"Gorgeous."

You jutted out your bottom lip as you pretended to consider her comment. "You think?"

"God, yes. Don't you?"

You chuckled lightly. "I suppose so."

Just then, your best friend Linda returned from the restroom with Jan. Scooting into the booth across from you, Linda grinned at you.

"He's here, did you see?" she cocked her head toward the front of the room where Harry stood.

"Yes," you eyed her.

She bit her lip as she acknowledged your intent.

"Are you talking about Harry?" asked Tiffany, your new oblivious friend.

"Yeah," Linda said quickly before lifting her beer.

"Do you guys know him or something?"

"Oh, yeah, he's Y/N's-" Jan began before you kicked her under the table. "Ouch!"

You watched Tiffany's eyes widen as she gasped. "He's your what?"

"Friend," Linda finished.

"Yeah, friend," Jan grimaced as she rubbed her shin.

"Oh! How lucky. Does that mean...I get to meet him?"

Your gaze shifted between your two other friends who just looked at you dumbfounded. Then you addressed Tiffany nonchalantly.

"Probably."

"Oh gosh! Um...maybe I should go to-"

Tiffany's words stopped abruptly when she saw the tall figure walking toward you. You bit your tongue and held my breath as Harry stepped up to your table, an easy grin on his face.

"Hello, ladies," he greeted.

"Hi, Harry," Jan and Linda said in unison.

He raised his brows at you, noticing my silence. You lifted your hand and wiggled your fingers in a poor attempt of a wave. You could practically feel the nerves emitting from Tiffany as she stared up at him.

"Harry, this is our friend, Tiffany," you said.

With typical Harry Styles charm, his smile widened to reveal his perfect teeth as he held out his hand.

"Hello, Tiffany."

"Lovely to meet you," she replied in a slightly shaky voice.

You giggled to yourself as Harry's eyes locked on Tiffany's, and you saw her blush. You could feel Linda and Jan looking at you, but you knew if you turned my head you'd lose your cool.

"Are we having drinks?" asked Harry when he let go of Tiffany's hand.

"Yep," answered Jan, lifting her nearly empty glass.

"Need another one, I see. I'll be right back."

Harry patted his hand against the table, his rings clicking, before turning in the direction of the bar. However, he was stopped mid-way by a couple other people that he knew, and because he was always so polite, he engaged them in conversation.

"I should probably just get my own drink," remarked Jan with a smirk.

"He's kind of a dork," scoffed Linda.

"Are you kidding me?" asked Tiffany incredulously. "He's kinda perfect."

You dropped your head to keep from laughing as you heard Linda snicker.

"What? What did I say?"

"No guy is perfect," Linda answered. "Even Harry Styles."

"Well, I beg to differ." Tiffany sat back and crossed her arms. "Of course I could never be so lucky to get a guy like that."

"Oh c'mon, Tiff, yes you could," said Jan.

"No way," Tiffany shook her blonde curls. "He's way out of my league."

"Eh, he's not so great," you commented. "He's just like any other guy. He curses and smells sometimes."

Tiffany's jaw dropped as she glared at you. "But you're friends with him. Surely you know how amazing he is."

You shrugged. "I mean, he's cute, I'll admit. And he's funny. But he's...kind of overrated. He's annoying as fuck."

"I have a hard time believing that," Tiffany laughed.

"It's true," you rolled your eyes. "And he's not even a good kisser."

The collective gasp at the table was audible as you realized what you'd just said.

"You've kissed him?" Tiffany whined.

"Um...whoops," you mumbled.

Your eyes met Linda's as she shook her head, silently telling you you'd gone too far. You sucked in your lips and looked up, hoping to God Harry hadn't decided on that moment to stroll back to your table. You were relieved when you saw he was still chatting with a small group of people.

"Did...did you guys date?"

"Um..." you grabbed you cocktail and took a hesitant sip, prolonging your reply. Fortunately Jan took the liberty of replying for you.

"You could say that."

"Oh," Tiffany sighed. "What hap- I mean...why aren't you...um...never mind. It's none of my business."

Before you could say anything else and let her know it was okay, Harry returned to your booth with a glass in each hand. He set them in front of Jan and Tiffany who both smiled and said thank you. Then with a smirk, he beckoned you. Sliding out of the booth, you followed him to the bar where he handed you a drink. As you took a sip, he slipped his hands around your waist.

"I missed you," he whispered in your ear.

"Me too," you said softly before planting a soft kiss on his jaw.

"Mmm," he sounded at the touch. "What time can we leave?"

You chuckled, looking down at your cocktail. "I told you it's a girls' night tonight."

"All night?"

"Mmhmm," you nodded.

"So when do we get a Harry and Y/N night?"

"Maybe when you stop following me everywhere," you teased.

"'m not following you," he laughed with a hint of a pout.

Blinking slowly, you looked up at him. "Do you wanna be with me, H?"

Lifting his brows, he nodded. "Yeah."

Tilting your head slightly, you raised your hand to brush his cheek before kissing his lips. "Then be with me."

Turning for the booth, you made your way to the other side and sat down next to Tiffany. You saw that she was fiddling with a napkin, folding the corners until they met in the middle, then opening it up only to do it over again. Your heart sank in your chest. You felt horrible.

"I'm sorry," you murmured.

"It's okay," she blinked, not taking her focus from the napkin.

"No, that was cruel of me. I thought I'd have a little laugh, playing a little trick to see if you'd catch on. But it backfired. I'm really sorry."

You felt Harry sit down on the other side of you as he reached across the table to give Linda her glass. You heard her say thanks as Tiffany shrugged and looked at you.

"It really is okay," she smiled. "So you are together?"

A hand touched your back then, and you felt a warmth surge through your body. Swallowing hard, you nodded. "It's still really new...but yeah."

"I'm happy for you," Tiffany said. "I just hope you know how lucky you are."

You sighed as Harry's fingers traveled up your back and then down your arm until his hand found yours.

"I think I do," you grinned as you squeezed his hand. "And you're right. He is kinda perfect."

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[sparklingchim]

you're losing me 03 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 5k

genre: angst, married couple, age gap, ceo jk, nepo baby oc, second chance romance

rating: 18+

warnings: oral (f receiving), nipple play, fingering, spit kink 👉🏼👈🏼, oc is horny for her man 😋☝️, dirty talk, implied shower sex!! teasing, her dad is a meanie </3, but jk lowkey too :') ... but he's saur sweet as well 🥺 ugh!!, jk's niece yumi is the cutest ever <3, oc feeling sad/lonely/neglected/not loved enough, u know just the usual :')

summary: probing questions and rising tensions cloud the family dinner.

a/n: she posted !!!! 🫢 are u proud of me !! 🫂

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Something tickles your back.

You roll over on your side, mumbling incoherent words.

“Hey,” Jungkook whispers. “You’re having a bad dream?”

You nod against the pillow. You don’t remember much now that you’re awake, but the dream left you feeling upset.

He pulls your body to his, keeping a safe arm around you.

“You’re okay now?” His knuckles trace softly over your cheek.

Fluttering your eyes open, you turn your head to him. “What time is it?”

“Just past six.” Jungkook pulls up the strap of your lacy nightgown. “Gotta get up for work soon.”

“No.” You hug his chest. “They won’t care if you go in a little later.”

A faint smile curves his mouth. “But I care,” he says. “The company doesn’t work without me.”

You frown and dig your pointer finger to your chest. “Me too.”

Jungkook catches your finger and intertwines his hand with yours. “I’ll be back early today,” he promises.

And while you’d usually be excited about it, you’re a bit frustrated that he’s only promising it because you’re having a family dinner at your place this evening.

“Dad would be upset if you show up late.”

“I know. He’s been watching my every step these days.”

Your dad once trusted Jungkook without question, but now he seems to be keeping a closer eye on him. You remember the day you told your dad about dating Jungkook. His expression had softened, a rare sign of pride. Though you knew it wasn’t because he was happy his daughter found a loving partner. Still, you tried to absorb any positive attention from him, recognizing that his approval was more about how the relationship could benefit him.

Your father has always been more interested in what you create or gain and how it can serve his interests.

“Is he upset with you?” you ask. Brows furrowing as you think about your own question.

“Not yet. But he’s still eager for a partnership between our companies and wants to launch a joint venture.”

You pull a face, groan a little. “Don’t tell me more. I don’t want any knowledge of this, so my father can use me to get what he wants from you.”

“He shouldn’t dare.” A stern look crosses his face. “I won’t let him drag you into it.”

But just because you’re curious and way too nosy, you ask one more question. “What do you have that he does not?”

“I have more connections than he does,” Jungkook says. One corner of his mouth slightly pulling upward. “Your father can be ruthless, but people like working with me. I’m way nicer than he is.”

“You are?” you question with a teasing lilt to your voice. You drag your finger across his chest. “Then be nice and spend some time with me before you go to work.” Your finger travels down his abs, stops at his boxer briefs. An amused smile blooms on his face as he watches you innocently bat your eyelashes at him.

With a playful grin, unable to resist you, he leans in closer. His hands find your waist. As your back sinks into the plush mattress underneath, you feel his weight pressing against you. His lips capture yours in a deep, lingering kiss, and you can feel the heat between you both rising.

He pushes your silky nightgown up your tummy, continuing his kisses on your neck to your chest and then your ribs and your belly button. Little, satisfied moans leave your mouth.

“Spread your legs for me,” he whispers against your skin. With his hands on your thighs, he gets comfortable on his tummy.

“I didn’t even get to tell you about the exciting new offer I got yesterday.”

“Tell me, love,” he says softly, continuing to peck your exposed skin. His breath tickles your thigh.

“Dasom called and told me Calvin Klein wants me as an ambassador,” you explain. The same joy floods your tummy as when your manager told you about the news, but maybe it’s Jungkook’s mouth teasing you on your inner thighs.

“That’s exciting.” His thumb rubs over your ribs in appreciation. “You’ve been wanting to work with them for so long.”

“I know! But you know what’s even more fun?” Your voice drowns in excitement, eyes sparking with enthusiasm as you look down at Jungkook between your legs.

He licks a stripe up your clothed pussy. Your inhale shakily.

“Jungkook.” You tug at his hair to make him look at you. “Are you listening?”

“I am listening.” He keeps looking at you while he tugs your panties to the side. “Go on,” he tells you, sucking on your clit right after.

Your back arches. A surprised moan bubbles from your throat.

“They- they want us two to do a shoot together,” you utter between heavy breaths. “Said it would be great for their new campaign. They love our chemistry."

“Yeah?” Jungkook’s eyes lock onto yours, and you suddenly find it hard to hold his gaze, your fingers fidgeting with the sheets between you.

“They thought about an underwear shoot, but we could do whatever we’re comfortable with.” Your tummy clenches when Jungkook adds two fingers. “They just- Jungkook, fuck.” He curls his fingers and grazes your sweet spot, pleasure jolting throughout your entire body. “They just really want us both for their campaign.”

Your fingers tug at his messy hair, hips moving against his face.

“What do – what do you think?” You bite your lip. Just a little bit more and you’re cumming.

His mouth leaves your clit. You whine at the loss. “Whatever you’re comfortable with, love.”

“You’d be okay with it?”

“Yeah.” He gives your pussy little kisses, trailing upwards to give your tummy a few too.

You impatiently push his head back between your legs. “Please, finish what you started.”

Jungkook hums in satisfaction. “So well behaved. That’s my good girl.” His tongue glides over your clit while his fingers move at a languid pace.

“Remember the perfume ad?” you ask, eyes slowly closing as he continues to torture your swollen nub with his tongue. “They only saw your back in the video and loved it so much. They’ll... they’ll die seeing this campaign.”

His left hand travels up your body, vanishing underneath the soft fabric that just barely covers your chest. “Do you have a date?” he asks, mouth full. He makes you feel dizzy.

“No-uh – oh.” You gasp when he pinches your pebbled nipple. “Not soon, though. Sometime next year, I think.”

“Sounds good.” His fingers are deep inside you. Wet noises fill the room and you want to cum so badly.

“Faster, please.” Your pussy clenches around his fingers, heat spreading over your entire body.

Jungkook looks so hot between your thighs. Eating you out with his skilled mouth, his cheeks flush a dusty pink as he watches your gentle reactions through his still sleep-laden eyes

“Jungkook.” The creases around his eyes soften when he hears you moan his name in a meek, lewd way. He can feel you being so close to coming undone, and he’s eager to see you writhe for him, make a little mess.

“Gonna cum for me, love?” The way he asks is so sweet that you nod eagerly You don’t ever deny him anything, wanting nothing more than to be good for him.

“Uh-huh,” you manage to slip between breathy moans. “Wanna cum for you.”

When the pleasure finally hits its peak and you’re so full with it, your thighs begin to tremble around his face and your head sinks into the pillow. Jungkook’s tongue continues to swipe over your sensitive clit and you whimper, pushing him away.

“Felt so good, didn’t it?” He withdraws his fingers from your clenching walls and runs his thumb over your wet, creamy pussy. He licks them clean and you swallow. He’s so irresistibly attractive it leaves you feeling light-headed.

Rising from his spot between your legs, he holds your face. His fingers dig into your cheeks. “Open your mouth.” When you do, he spits in your mouth and you swallow the mixture of your arousal combined with his spit.

“So good,” he murmurs, patting your head. “I’ll go take a shower.”

You throw your arms around his little waist. “No, stay a little more.”

“I have to leave soon, love.”

His semi is poking your tummy through his briefs and you wriggle around a little just to show him what he’s missing out on.

He buries his head in the crook of your neck, sighing deeply. “Join me in the shower?”

You giggle, tugging at his hair to kiss him on the lips. “Fine.”

As he walks towards the bathroom, you take a moment to sit on the edge of the bed, your nightgown falling back over your body, feeling the lingering warmth of his body. You hear the sound of the shower turning on, and the steam starts to drift out into the bedroom.

Before joining him, you decide to select today’s perfumes for the both of you. You pause in front of the vanity, eyeing your collection with a silly excitement.

Chanel Chance Eau Tendre? Delightful and light, but not today. Marc Jacobs Daisy? Sweet and floral. Maison Francis Kurkdijan Baccarat Rouge 540? A favourite, but it doesn’t feel right for the moment. Gucci Bloom? Tempting with its fresh notes.

Finally, you settle on Dior J’adore – you’re just obsessed with Dior scents.

Moving along the row of Jungkook’s fragrances, your finger dances over each bottle, contemplating.

Creed Aventus? A bit too fruity. Tom Ford Oud Wood? Very exotic. Dior Sauvage? Immediate skip. Bleu de Chanel? Elegant but maybe another day.

You pause at Tom Ford Amber Absolute. That exotic scent – ugh, you’ve never liked it at all. Jungkook used to wear it occasionally until he noticed your distaste and stopped.

At last, your finger lands on Yves Saint Laurent La Nuit de l’Homme. You love the cedarwood and vetiver smell in this one. Perfect.

With a satisfied smile, you set the chosen bottles on the counter.

“Love?” Jungkook calls from the bathroom.

“’m coming!”

~

You’ve successfully avoided your father all evening, managing to stay out of his way whenever possible.

You know he’s itching to discuss the incident from a few weeks ago when you were seen at your gynaecologist. He loves prying into your life and demanding answers, a way of “checking up” on his youngest daughter that feels more intrusive than caring.

So, as he’s deep in conversation with Jungkook’s brother and dad, you seize the opportunity to slip out of the living room. You're in search of Jungkook, who left a few minutes ago, and you could really use his comforting presence.

As you move quietly through the house, you hear voices coming from the dining room. You pause at the doorway and catch Jungkook’s mum ask in a hushed tone, “Is the same happening as with Eunji?”

“No. Everything is fine,” Jungkook reassures her.

“I don’t want to witness something similar again,” she expresses, clearly distressed.

Jungkook’s soothing voice replies, “There is nothing for you to worry. I promise.”

Your tummy knots with unease.

You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but the mention of Jungkook’s ex-wife only heightens your discomfort.

You’re desperate to know why his mother is mentioned Eunji and what the conversation is about, but you decide to ask Jungkook later, in a subtle manner.

With your eyes fixated to the floor and thoughts muddled, you enter the kitchen. Sunhee, the chef who has been part of your family since you were little, is preparing dinner for you tonight.

“Who was the cause of that sad face, my dear?” Sunhee asks, worry crinkling her forehead while she puts the food on the plates.

“I’m not sad,” you deny, leaning against the counter. “Not yet, at least.”

“Why are you anticipating becoming sad? That’s not a good thing to do,” Sunhee says, shaking her head in disapproval. “Who are you hiding from?”

She knows you so well. Ever since Sunhee became your family’s chef, it’s been your habit to hide in the kitchen when the atmosphere at home became too overwhelming for you. When your father was angry or your parents argued, you’d slip into the kitchen, and Sunhee would lift you onto the counter to watch her cook.

You used to just hide in your room, but you found that life was easier to bear when you didn’t have to carry all the sadness alone. When you were ready to face the world again, Sunhee would slip sweets into your hands. You mum hated treats before dinner and never allowed them, so this became your little secret with Sunhee.

It might seem trivial, but those moments meant the world to you when you were a little girl.

“My dad,” you huff. “He’s been unbearable since...the pictures.”

Sunhee gives you a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry to hear that, dear. I know how tiring his behaviour can be.”

“He’s like someone straight out of the gossip rags.”

Sunhee chuckles softly. “He does have a flair for drama, doesn’t he? But you shouldn’t let it get to you. You’ve always been good at handling him.”

“It’s just exhausting.”

She pats your hand gently. “Don’t let him bring you down. Remember, this kitchen is your sanctuary.” The little anxious ball in your tummy fades with each comforting word Sunhee speaks. “Dinner will be ready shortly. You can sit down in the dining room. I’ll let everyone know.”

“I’ll do that for you,” you offer, and leave the kitchen.

Heading to the living room, you announce, “Dinner’s ready.”

“Have you seen Yumi?” Jungkook’s brother asks, referring to his four-year-old daughter.

“It’s been a while since I’ve last seen her,” you answer and he immediately gets up. She must be up to no good if she’s been unsupervised for longer than ten minutes.

“Yumi! Where are you?” Jungkook’s brother calls in the hallway. “Dinner’s ready!”

Loud, hectic thumps erupt from upstairs.

“When did she get up there?” you ask puzzled.

Jungkook and his mother emerge from the dining room.

“What happened?” he asks.

Before anyone can respond, Yumi’s usual small pitter-patter of footsteps becomes a series of high-pitched clatters. She appears at the top of the stairs, dressed up in your clothes.

“Oh, God,” her dad utters.

“She found ___ closet.” An endeared smile crinkles Jungkook’s eyes.

Yumi proudly walks down the stairs in your Louboutins, a hand on the rail to keep her from tumbling. Jungkook rushes towards her, keeping a safe hand on her shoulder.

“___!” she exclaims, her wide smile puffing her cheeks. She’s wearing your soft pink corset from Dior and your mini skirt from Giambattista Valli’s vintage collection over her own dress.

“Had fun in my wardrobe?” You laugh as she nods vigorously.

“You have soo many clothes!” she says, eyes turning big. “And everything is sparkly!” She turns to her dad. “Daddy, I want a sparkly bag like dis too!” Yumi shoves your Prada clutch up in the air.

Jungkook’s brother emits a strained sigh, although a tiny smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t you have a sparkly bag?”

Yumi frowns. “Not dis sparkly.” She points her hand at the bag for emphasis.

You giggle. Yumi was raised right. The sparklier the better.

“I hope you didn’t leave a mess in there,” he warns her.

“Daddy, the bag!” she yells, ignoring his words to avoid trouble, dangling it in the air.

Her dad ushers her into the dining room.

“Who made the bag? I’ll just buy her the same one,” he whispers in your ear.

“It’s a vintage Prada clutch from the fall/winter 2015 collection,” you answer, a confused pout gracing your face. “It’s no longer available for purchase.”

His eyes widen. He watches his daughter climb onto the chair with Jungkook’s assistance, the crystal embellished clutch sitting on the decked table near drinks and food that could spill onto it.

“Then we better take care of it.” He rushes to the table and places it somewhere safer.

As everyone settles into their seats for dinner, Jungkook’s brother breaks the silence, “Hyein was so upset she would miss out on Sunhee’s food.” His wife is pregnant and felt sick today, so she couldn’t come.

“How far along is she?” your mother asks.

“Just entered the third trimester.”

“I’m getting a baby brother!” Yumi exclaims, eyes wide with anticipation.

Jungkook pats her hair and falls into a quiet conversation with her.

“We’re very excited, but she’s been having a rough time lately.”

“Well, I hope she feels better soon,” your father says, his tone temporarily softening. “Take good care of her.”

As the conversation continues with lighter topics, you feel a momentary relief. But soon enough, you feel your father’s gaze shift back to you, a familiar sense of scrutiny returning.

“I wonder when it’ll be time for my daughters,” he says pointedly.

It’s funny he is using the plural form, given that, as far as you know, he never brings up this topic with your older sister, Jinah.

“I think we’ve talked about this last week,” you answer monotonous, eyes set on the plate before you.

“With you I’m just wondering whether I would receive the news from you personally or wake up to headlines telling me,” he says.

Your father called you as soon as the pictures were released, as hungry for answers as the press. Even accused you of hiring the paparazzi yourself when you told him you had merely gone to a check-up and assured him you weren’t pregnant; Jungkook was just comforting you after a rough day.

You used to pull a lot of silly stunts as a teenager to get your father’s attention. But staging a scene for the paparazzi, crying in your husband’s arms over a pregnancy scare, would be the last thing you’d do to get him to check up on you.

You did have your share of attention-seeking antics, like being spotted leaving the club with the son of your father’s rival company, stealing his jet or throwing lavish parties and inviting a mix of celebrities and socialites when your father was away on a trip.

“Didn’t Jinah talk about wanting babies in an interview? Ask her for grandchildren.”

Tilting his head, your father gives you a disapproving glance. “She’s busy with her law firm, don’t you think?”

The table falls silent, with only the faint sound of your breath as you open your lips to speak. Before you can respond, Jungkook steps in to answer for you.

“___ is quite busy herself – launching her clothing brand soon, starting the filming of her first drama, handling the countless photoshoots she has weekly.” Jungkook subtly places his hand on your bare thigh, the comforting press of his wedding band against your skin.

Your father’s features soften as he shifts his gaze to Jungkook. It still saddens you a bit that he seems to approve of everyone but you – it haunts you in the middle of the night, knowing that all you ever wanted as a child was to feel deserving of one of his approving smiles.

“I know she’s busy. It irks me what she keeps herself busy with.”

Jungkook is about to respond, but his mother steps in. “Your acting debut? Oh, I’m so excited.”

Jungkook’s hand slides to your knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Don’t take it to heart.

You remind yourself that you’ve long since stopped letting these comments get under your skin. Yet, a part of you – the little girl still longing for approval – feels a pang of sadness that won’t quiet fade.

As the conversation shifts, you find yourself staring at your plate, pushing the food around with your fork. The weight of your father’s disapproval feels heavier than ever. The rest of the meal passes in a blur of small talk and clinking utensils. You laugh at the right moments, nod when expected, but your mind drifts elsewhere. Eventually, the plates are cleared, and everyone begins to disperse.

“We should get going. It’s been a long day, and Hyein is alone at home.”

Yumi tugs at her dad’s sleeve, her eyes wide and hopeful. She glances over at you and Jungkook, then looks down shyly.

“What is it, Yumi?” her dad asks, crouching down to her level.

She whispers something in his ear, and he chuckles. “She wants to ask you guys something.”

You smile, kneeling down.

“Can we have a sleepover?” Yumi asks, her voice small and tentative. “Please?”

Jungkook grins and looks at you for confirmation. You nod saying, “Of course, you can. We’d love to have you.”

“Yay!” Yumi exclaims, jumping up and down excitedly. She rushes over to hug both you and Jungkook tightly.

As everyone gathers their things, your father watches you intently. His expression is hard to read, and for a moment, it seems like he might say something. But he quickly looks away, the familiar disapproval etched into his features.

You expected nothing less from him.

~

“Is Uncle Jungkook not playing dress up with us?” Yumi asks as she looks through the dress section of your closet.

“I’ll look for him, yeah?”

Stepping out of your walk-in closet and your bedroom, you walk down the hallway.

“Jungkook?” You hear his voice coming closer, and soon spot him walking briskly in your direction.

“Jungkook,” you call, trying to grab his bicep but he continues walking, and your fingers merely graze his arm. “Yumi wants to play before going to bed.”

Only when he turns around do you see him pressing his phone against his ear. Jungkook puts his pointer finger against his mouth and shushes you before he walks off in the direction of his office.

A startled laugh escapes your mouth.

As soon as your family left, his focus shifted back to his work. His excuse about being on the phone felt like a dagger, leaving you feeling disregarded and lonely – emotions you have been feeling too much lately, it’s starting to become a familiar ache in your chest, a constant reminder of the growing distance between you.

Watching Jungkook retreat to his office, you couldn’t help but wonder when it became so easy for him to prioritise work over your presence.

You turn back towards the bedroom and find Yumi standing by your open jewellery drawer, probably drawn by the bright, sparkly gems.

“Uncle Jungkook has some work to do,” you tell her.

Yumi just nods, staring at all the shimmery things in front of her. When she hears you sigh, she looks up at you, her little heart immediately sensing your change in mood.

“Are you sad?” Yumi asks, dragging her little finger over all your accessories, searching for the ones that shine the most.

“I think so,” you admit.

“Was someone mean to you?” She grabs a diamond necklace.

“A little, yeah.” You cross your arms, holding back the annoyed sigh.

Jungkook didn’t mean to make you feel upset. That would never be his intention. But you’re a sensitive person. And you’re his wife, so he should know better.

“My mommy always says when someone is mean to me to never be mean back to them, because – because that shows you are an ugly person.” She fiddles with your necklace.

“And we don’t want to be an ugly person, right?”

“No-uh.” She shakes her head, her little pigtails bouncing. “I wanna be pretty,” she says and holds the shiny necklace against her neck while looking at herself in the full-length mirror. “Where did you get this one from?”

Yumi’s second favourite game, after dress-up, is asking about the designers of your clothes and jewellery.

“It’s a Harry Winston piece. Uncle Jungkook gifted it to me,” you tell her.

“Really?” Her eyes widen. “He buys you so many sparkly things! Like that!” She points to your wedding ring. “Uncle Jungkook must love you so much. But – but he married you. So he has to.”

You help her put on the necklace. “What, you can’t love someone when you’re not married?”

Yumi shakes her head and giggles. “Noo, of course you can, silly. But you only get married when you know you will love them forever and ever.”

“You think Uncle Jungkook will love me forever?” You just feel slightly foolish for asking a child for reassurance.

She turns to you. A confused pout adorns her little face. It reminds you a bit of yourself.

“You don’t buy someone sparkly things when you don’t love them forever.”

You laugh. “Oh, is that so?” You grab her hand. “Come on, little girl. I got a few unopened gifts from designers I know you will love.”

Yumi squeals excitedly and follows you.

~

Sometime past midnight, Jungkook steps into the bedroom.

You lie in bed with your back to him. You were scrolling mindlessly on your phone – online shopping a little until Jungkook would come to bed, using his card just because. You put Yumi to bed in your guest bedroom hours ago.

“Jaehyun’s gala is in Italy next week,” he says, putting his phone on his bedside table. “You’re coming with me, right?”

You glance over your shoulder and glare at him a little. “No. Don’t wanna go all the way there just for a gala.” You hate flying. And flying to Italy to just stay there for a couple hours does not sound like something you want to do.

“We could have a little vacation for a few days.”

You tilt your head, watching him intently as if he’s setting you a trap. “How many days are we talking?” You sit up.

He ponders, probably going through his schedule in his mind. “Three days. At least.”

You sigh dramatically, though your chest feels giddy. “Fine. I’ll come. But I decide what we’re going to do every day.”

“Sure,” he agrees. “But I already know what you want to do anyway.” A little smirk dances on his lips.

“Oh, do you now?” you challenge, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course,” he replies, eyes shining. “You’ll want to visit the Uffizi Gallery first, lose yourself in all that Renaissance art. Then, there’s the Pinacoteca di Brera because you’re in love with those masterpieces. Shopping at Via Montenapoleone is a given, of course.”

You try to hide your smile but fail miserably.

“You probably want to go to the Amalfi Coast too. You love the view and the town. And then dinner at La Pergola – you've been craving their dishes ever since the last time we went.” He sits down the edge of the bed, watching you with expectant eyes.

You shake your head at him. “You really do know me too well.”

His dimples appear. “Told you.” He looks so pleased with himself. “See? I like you way better like this.” Jungkook gently traces the curve of your smile with the pad of his finger. “And not when you’re glaring at me.”

“Then be nicer to me,” you huff.

His fingers hold your chin and his mouth meets yours. He kisses you so softly and you melt against him.

“I’m not doing it on purpose, love,” he whispers in between kisses. His hand is warm on your waist and he squeezes you slightly.

“Come to bed.” You plant a smooch on his jawline. “I can’t sleep without you.”

While Jungkook takes off his clothes, you lie down again, your mind racing with thoughts of what happened today.

“Why did you and Eunji separate?” you inquire, voice laced with curiosity.

You catch the exact moment Jungkook registers your question; one eyebrow lifts for a heartbeat before his lips pucker into a wistful pout, deep in thought.

He isn’t surprised by your random question. Jungkook is used to you asking things at unexpected moments. You always speak your mind when you’re with him. You’ve asked him this before, but you want to hear his answer again, especially after his mother mentioned her.

“It just didn’t work out anymore,” he says finally. He wears a pensive expression and you’d give everything to know which moments with Eunji are flashing before his eyes.

You wonder if he often reminisces about specific times with her, and your curiosity deepens. He still works with her, sees her quite often, so does he ever think about past times with her? When they were married? And a happy couple?

The thought makes your face twist into a little frown. Jungkook has you. There’s no reason for him to dwell on past relationships when he is married to you.

What kind of thoughts are these? You’ve never had them before.

“We had other plans on how our future would look like,” he tells you as he’s getting under the covers. “What’s wrong?” he asks once he looks over at you and sees your brows pulled together.

“Nothing,” you murmur, smoothing the blanket around you.

“Everything is strictly professional between us.” He’s watching you with attentive eyes. “We care more about our work than the personal stuff.”

You doubt you could say the same if you were in their shoes. But then again, dramatic as you are, you’ve never really gotten over anything in your life.

You still wonder why his mother mentioned his ex, but it doesn’t matter – she doesn’t. Jungkook loves you, and that’s all you care about.

“I know. I trust you.” With a knowing glint in your eyes, you nod once in agreement. “Have never trusted anyone as much, actually.” You turn on your side, resting your hand on his chest. He’s warm, and you feel a gentle calm settle over you.

Soft knocks interrupt you.

“Uncle Jungkook?” Yumi’s meek voice comes through from the other side. She slowly opens the door. “Can I sleep with you, please?”

Jungkook sits up. “Is something wrong?” he asks worriedly.

“Can’t sleep,” she mumbles and crawls up into your bed. Her curious eyes rake over the shiny, lacy nightgown you’re wearing as Jungkook helps her getting tucked in between the two of you. “That’s a beautiful colour,” she says sleepily, feeling the glossy material with the pads of her fingers.

“Thank you.” You smile down at her but she’s intensely staring at your nightgown with fascinated eyes.

“Such a sleepy girl and yet still wants to steal ___ clothes.” Jungkook boops her nose, and she giggles mischievously. “At this point, you just want everything that Aunt ___ wears.”

Yumi turns her head to him. “You have a very pretty girlfri – wife, Uncle Jungkook.”

Jungkook hums in agreement. “I know. She is insanely pretty.”

Your cheeks feel hot. And you feel silly, but so in love.

“Is that why you married her?”

Jungkook chuckles. “It’s one of the reasons, yeah.”

“When I grow up, I want to be as pretty as Aunt ___” Her little eyes sparkle when they shift back to you. She scootches closer to you, cuddling your side.

“Oh,” you coo at her sweetness. “But you’re so pretty already.” You hesitantly brush her hair, taming the crazy bed hair. Jungkook watches you two with fondness softening his features.

“I know,” she yawns and ever so slowly her eyes fall closed.

“How did she fall asleep this quick?” You stare at the way her body falls and rises in rhythmic motions.

“I ask myself that every time when we go to sleep together.”

You sniff a laugh. You tend to fall asleep extremely fast when Jungkook is next to you.

“You’re just very comfortable.” You yearningly stare at his chest and his arm. You won’t be able to fall asleep on him, because miss Yumi is clinging to your side.

“Apparently you are too,” he muses.

You smile softly, looking down at Yumi’s peaceful face. The warmth of her small body pressed against yours fills you with a comforting sense of contentment. It’s a simple, unconditional love that you’ve always yearned for.

The room is quiet, save for the soft sounds of sleep. You close your eyes, feeling the weight of the day and the ache in your heart. As much as you cherish these moments, they also remind you of what’s missing.

But for now, you hold onto Yumi a little tighter, letting her innocent love soothe your restless mind, even as the doubts and fears linger in the corners of your heart.

[joonberriess]

⋆ TAGS — really soft and domestic, TW: this deals with postpartum depression, baby daddy!jk, soft lil kisses, insecure!oc, angsty as hell, this is more of a comfort fic, mentioned baby, oc rlly struggles but jk is super supportive, mentioned past pregnancy, this made me cry, soft hours, jk pampers his lovely gf, CANON AUUUU JK’S JUST JK HERE LMAO

⋆ WORD COUNT — 2.4 k

“vámonos a comer un heladito, tu princesita, cómprame cositas. en mis tacones casi todo el día, dame un foot-rub and ice out mi tobillo,”

Your eyes fluttered under the feeling of lips sliding across your forehead, eyelid, and nose. You hear Jungkook laughing quietly as he envelops you in his strong arms and tugs you close. His murmurs and pestering have you pulling a face in your sleep, nose scrunched cutely given the way he coos teasingly.

“What time is it?” You mumble softly and blankly stare back at him, eyes heavy from sleep.

“Noon.” This has you going stiff, “Relax baby, he’s okay your mom came early to pick him up.” He comfortingly strokes over your side and backside.

You sink back into the sheets and nod, “Why didn’t you wake me?” You mumble under your breath as your eyes flutter shut.

Jungkook pressed more gentle kisses to your forehead with a low rumble, “You need a break, figured maybe we could go out–do some shopping, go to that sushi place you’ve been dying to try.. That sounds good, yeah?” He murmurs.

You hum, “It does, feels like I haven’t been out in forever.”

He waits with a bated breath and smiles softly when you open your eyes and stare back with more clarity, all traces of sleep etched away. “You’re so pretty, y’know that?” He brushes a strand of hair out of your face.

A subtle heat rises in your cheeks as you smile back, “Even with baby barf and spit all over my shirt?”

“The prettiest.” He leans over to kiss your nose, looking into your eyes with a twinkle in his own. He looks at you like you’ve just hung the stars for him.

Shyly, you press a soft smooch to his lips before flopping flat on your back with a sigh, “The fridge’s nearly empty isn’t it?��� You mumble, “I’m sorry, I meant to go the other day but I ended up—”

“You’re fine, it’s okay. You know I’m here too right?” Jungkook reaches over to hold your hand, “Don’t worry about it baby, you’ve got your hands full right now and I get it. ‘s okay to ask for help too.”

You look at him with a soft smile, “I love you.” You lay a quick kiss on his cheek and roll out of bed to head to the bathroom.

Jungkook huffs, “Only one? On the cheek too..” He grumbles like a petulant child, sitting up in the messy sheets tangled around his hips and his bare chest out for your viewing.

“Get ready, it was YOUR idea to go out too so don’t make us late.” You fondly roll your eyes, you can hear him whine about something else behind you as the door shuts.

“…..” You pass in front of the body length mirror, pausing for a moment to observe your appearance. Your hands come up to rest over your tummy as you stare long and hard. “…”

You better get ready.

.

“y/n.”

“y/n?”

You snap out of your daydream and look over at Jungkook curiously, “Yeah?”

“I asked if you wanted to check out the fruits, it’s strawberry season and I’m sure they brought out all the fresh stuff.” Jungkook doesn’t seem at all bothered by the fact that you’ve spaced out for a second time since entering the store.

You shake your head, “I don’t like strawberries.” You say disinterestedly.

‘But you ate them your whole pregnancy, what’s wrong now?’ Your brain is screaming at you to just say yes and deal with it but you can’t.

He gives a soft hum, “That’s fine. Is there anything you wanted to get?” He steers the shopping cart away from the fruits, leading you down an aisle filled with spices and other cooking ingredients.

“Um, what was that thing you bought last time? When you made that white stew.” You scrunch your nose, “Ugh I forgot.”

“Ohh, you mean the cream stew mix? Uhh I think it’s down this aisle lemme check.” Jungkook leaves the cart with you as he trails down the aisle looking up, down, and around.

You pick out a few things to try out later on and happily make your way over. “Did you find it?” You curiously peek over his shoulder, damn near yelling because he shoots back up with a ‘ah-ha!’.

“What?” He innocently says after noticing the scowl on your face.

“You scared me.” You huff and punch his arm gently, “C’mon, I wanna get some chips and the aisle is back that way.” Jungkook happily trails after you, telling you all about his upcoming Calvin Klein campaign.

.

“Look,” Jungkook snorts as he holds up a pair of lace g-strings, “you mean to tell me this tiny triangle covers your entire pus–”

“Jungkook!” You hiss quietly after noticing a few older women turn their heads, “Put those down.” You snatch the panties away and toss them back into their respective drawers.

He cheekily grins and picks up another pair of underwear, “What? I didn’t do anything, I was just asking.” He chuckles.

“You are so dumb.” You giggle quietly, “Stop!! You’re going to get us kicked out, I thought I had one baby not two.”

“But babyy this is so boring, jus’ a bunch of girlie stuff and these women keep lookin’ at me like I’m a creep but I swear I’m just trying to help you.” He pouts.

You shake your head fondly, “Here, go find something to buy or do while I finish up here.” His eyes light up and he presses a messy smooch to your cheek before practically sprinting out.

Your eyes slowly turn over to the mannequin sitting tall on the platform donned in a new lingerie set. You stare at it for what seems like eternity while the world goes on about their day around you. Eventually a staff comes to break you out of your bubble.

“Is everything okay miss? Were you interested in our new spring collection?”

“Oh, um yeah, well I’m trying to surprise my boyfriend you know? I don’t know if he’ll like it ‘n stuff.” You murmur softly, eyes lowered and averted from the mannequin.

“Mmm.. what do you like?”

“Silk, maybe a babydoll or teddy..? I think.” You can’t stomach the idea of wearing a two piece, because then that means your….

“We have just the set then, we got a ton of new items for this spring. ” She grins while leading you away.

When you come out of the store, Jungkook’s barely walking back. He has this goofy little smile on his face as he stops in front of you, barely containing his excitement. “Guess what.”

“What did you do?” You giggle softly and eye the bag in his hand.

“I got this for you.” He brings out a large shirt and holds it up proudly, “It says: Best Milf Ever.”

You stare at the words with disbelief and then you’re breaking out into uncontrollable laughter. People around you look in curiosity but you can’t stop, you feel like you’re about to pee from how hard you’re laughing.

And Jungkook?

He stands there with a fond smile, gazing at you lovingly as he puts the shirt back, “You like it?”

You haven’t laughed nor felt this much joy in a while. “I love it.”

.

After having dinner Jungkook takes you out for ice cream. You were a bit burnt out from being out all day so you waited in the car while he went inside to buy the ice cream.

You think back to everything that happened today, it feels nice. You make a mental note to ask Jungkook to take you to a cat cafe sometime later on in the week. “Oh my god.” You mutter in embarrassment.

Jungkook’s walking back with a monstrosity of a ice cream sundae and then your perfectly NORMAL scoop of sherbet with gummies on top. “Jungkook what is all that mess?” You whine.

“What? I wanted triple chocolate with sprinkles and fudge.” He slips into the car and hands the small bowls over, “C’mon you gotta try it.”

“Hell no! This looks like it can either send me to do number three or I’m gonna puke my guts out.” You hiss.

“Number three doesn’t exist, nice try.” Jungkook scoffs softly while pulling out of the parking lot.

“It does now.” You mumble, ignoring his loud laughter.

You can’t hide the face you make while Jungkook eats that horrendous dessert. He doesn’t even care that you’re judging him as he happily watches his little Netflix show he’s been yapping about as of lately.

“I knew it, it was her all along..” He mutters to himself as he eats a large spoonful of ice cream.

“I’m going to the kitchen, you want anything?” You can’t take it anymore as you stand abruptly and pass by.

“No.”

You put your ice cream away and drink a glass of water in the kitchen. You enjoy the peace and quiet, it’s been a cool minute since you’ve had some time to yourself. Between caring for a newborn and balancing your everyday life, shit’s been hard.

Not that Jungkook doesn’t help, but sometimes you feel like you put too much on him. He says he doesn’t care but.. you do.

With a heavy sigh you leave the cup in the sink and trail over to your bedroom. The dainty lingerie bag sits on the corner of the bed, you have yet to try it on but you don’t know..

“Fuck it.” You mutter while stripping down and slipping on the pretty babydoll top and matching thong to go with it.

The soft pink and silky smooth feeling of it has you smiling to yourself over how pretty it is on you. The set even came with a robe so you slipped that on too and tied it securely around your waist before heading back out to show your lover.

“Jungkook.” You call out, “What do you think?”

He pauses his show and looks over, his eyes visibly glaze over as he takes you in from head to toe. “Pretty, I like it—pink suits you.” He beckons you over.

Right, he thinks it’s just a robe.

You walk over with a soft hum and stand between his legs, “I got something else, it’s under.”

His eyes darken and he licks his lips, “Can I?” His hands hover over the sash. You can’t help but shiver with the way he looks at you like he wants to eat you alive. Makes you feel hot.

“Yeah..” Your voice comes out breathier than usual, a hint of excitement underlying your tone.

Jungkook unties the knot and slowly pulls your robe off. “Fuck.” He whispers when he sees the pretty babydoll underneath, he gets a peek at your thong too and he’s nearly drooling.

“Shit baby you look so fuckin’ pretty, look at you,” he gently twirls you around with a low whistle.

His hand hovers over your ass, not quite touching but there. You gently pull his hands closer with a soft, “You can touch.” You murmur.

Jungkook audibly gulps and grabs a fistful of your babydoll, he lifts it up enough to slip his hands around both cheeks. He gives both doughy cheeks a tight squeeze before he’s jiggling it in the palms of his hands.

“Can I baby?” He asks softly, “I wanna take you to bed.” To that you nod.

Before you can get another word out, he abruptly stands and hauls you up into his strong arms. You squeal in shock and hit his shoulders, “Jungkook..! Put me down!” You whine.

“No.” Jungkook smirks as he lands a sharp smack to your ass, “Let me take care of you yeah? Just sit ‘n look pretty for me.” He carries you down the hall and kicks the door open, gently tossing you onto the center of the bed.

You bounce back on the mattress with a soft ‘oof’, he doesn’t let up because he’s already crawling over you and landing a sweet yet heated kiss on your lips. You wrap your arms around him and hug him close, enjoying the soft touches.

Jungkook takes his sweet time kissing you, the kiss is slow and his touches are light and feathery. He holds you like you’re made of glass or something, gently cupping your hips and massaging them. It tugs on your poor heart strings and you find yourself tearing up for no reason..?

He pulls away with a soft pant, pressing his forehead to your own as he stares into your eyes with devotion. “Why are you crying baby? Hm? Why’s my pretty girl sad?” He wipes your tears with his thumbs.

“B-Because, you’re so good to me.” You softly hiccup, “Feel safe with you.”

He brushes your hair out of your face and smooches your nose, “Yeah, what else baby. Talk to me.” He murmurs patiently while cupping the side of your cheek.

“You don’t make me feel alone.” You whisper, and his heart breaks seeing you this vulnerable, “I-I know I haven’t been there for you b-but with the baby and–”

“And who said you needed to take care of me? You already have enough with the baby, you spent nine months carrying our baby and you worked hard to bring him into the world my love. Makes me proud of you baby, strongest girl I know.” He softly smiles.

Your heart races and you feel a knot in your throat as you continue listening to him, “You’re going to be okay—we’re okay. You know I’m always going to be right here for whatever you need, you’re doing so good my love.”

You let out a soft sob and bury your face in his shoulder. These past two months of silently struggling with coming to terms of your newfound motherhood and changes with your relationship finally come to a stop. You feel good knowing that Jungkook is so understanding and supportive.

For a while you thought you were going insane, that it was your fault and you were a horrible mother for feeling so…bad.

Even when you were bedridden for days, void of any life and emotion, Jungkook is still here.

“I love you.” Jungkook whispers.

“I love you too.” You sniffle.

Jungkook helps you slip into one of his shirts as the two of you cuddle for the rest of the night watching silly rom-coms. You know the future will be okay.

Everything is okay.

TAGLIST: @fragmentof-indifference @jungkooksseuphoria @kooliv @angelarin @jjeonjjk7 @lilliankoo @pb-n-juju @ellesalazar @saweetspoiled @laylasbunbunny @prettyprincejk @cherrysainttt @hyunjinswifeee @joongraduatewithonor @hellbornsworld @leire-mia @m1sss1mp @lissful @winkii @lifeless-firefly @exactlygreatcoffee @taestoess @ayalies @floweryjeons @softtcurse @lilspinachwrld @tearyjjeon @littleobsessedkitty @lovelovelovebts @angeljmnie @rerefundslocals @bangtans-mama @thvhoe @maddkitt @tvse @ohjeon @teteswtnr @jkslovey12 @kelsyx33 @milfpo1ice @sluttydidi @ztyur @beomgyuult @shescharlie @sweet-sourhotcoco @lalita-7 @hazzzelsdimension @p34rluv @kook-net @bonita0-0 @vmapy @dahliadaenerys @frieschan @lilyflowerguk @sayokodiary @babycandy111 @looneybleus @ash07128 @gyukookswhore @rrosiitas

[kingofbodyrolls]

Friendcation (m) | myg | pregnancy special

you and Yoongi try to get pregnant, but it doesn’t go as planned, as the road isn’t easy. But he’s your rock, and he’ll stand with you through thick and thin 💜

→ Pairing: mechanic!Yoongi x reader (female) → AUs: established relationship, mechanic!Yoongi, married!au, pregnancy!au → Genres: slice of life, humor/crack, smut and fluff → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 7.5k → Warnings (general) + triggers: mentions of blood because of SPOILER a miscarriage (there’s blood but know more detail than that), angst, anxiety/fear for the future and for a miscarriage again, pregnancy, raging hormones, drinking sorrows away, getting angry without course, yelling without course, OC is being rather destructive in this one but Yoongi is very sweet, understanding and supportive 👏 → Warnings (explicit): unprotected sex (is this really a surprise? But please don’t be stupid irl, though they aren’t stupid here ‘cuz they’re actively trying for a baby); oral (female and male receiving), doggystyle over a table 😝, spanks, creampie, cockwarming, kisses (yes that is a warning because it’s sugary sweet 😘), multiple orgasms → Author’s note: hiya all you lovely people! I’m back at it again with another extra for friendcation and let me tell you, even though this is very angsty, I loved writing it a lot. I drew from my own experience (miscarriages), but I didn’t want to go into too much detail, so it’s very light. But it does affect OC and her mood, like she almost gets depressed over it 😢 But Yoongi is there to pick her up and support her, so don’t worry! It’s a sweet one, and of course it has a happy ending, because you know what’s gonna happen in the winter special that I wrote a long time ago! I hope you love it as much as I did! This one was honestly so fast for me to write, like a few hours! It’s so much easier for me when I write from my own personal experience. And if you’ve ever had a miscarriage, I want to give you a hug, and please know that you’re not alone, okay? 🫂 (author’s note2: I wrote this story in the beginning of August 2024) → Read on AO3? [link] ✨

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“There are two lines!” you cry out, bursting into the living room with a pregnancy test clutched in your trembling hand. You twirl it in the air like a magic wand, watching the realization spread across your husband’s face, his eyes lighting up with a mixture of joy and wonder. He moves toward you, a smile breaking across his lips, and in one swift motion, he wraps you in his arms, pulling you close as he plants a tender kiss on your cheek.

“Are you really pregnant?” he murmurs, his voice soft yet trembling with excitement and a touch of fear. You hear the uncertainty beneath his joy, the way hope and anxiety dance together in his words. You’ve both dreamed of this moment, talked about it late into the night, imagining the tiny life you would create together. Ever since your honeymoon, where every whispered wish was laced with the hope of creating a new life, this has been your shared dream. And now, it’s real. The weight of it hits you all at once, and tears well up in your eyes, spilling over as the emotions of the moment overwhelm you.

He kisses you again, this time with more intensity. “I can’t wait to have a baby with you,” he whispers against your skin.

Neither can you. The joy is too immense to contain, so you schedule a doctor’s appointment, needing to hear it confirmed, to know for certain that your dream is taking root inside you. Yoongi is right there beside you, holding your hand as the doctor measures your HCG levels via a blood test and tells you the news you’ve been waiting for—you’re pregnant, and not just newly so. Eight weeks have already passed, and suddenly, the idea of this tiny life feels even more real.

Giddy with excitement, the two of you start to dream out loud, envisioning a life that needs more space to grow. The apartment where you built your love, small and cozy as it is, now feels too cramped for the family you want to become. You’ve always talked about raising your children just outside the city, where the air is cleaner, and the pace of life slower, where a bigger house awaits with room enough for your growing dreams. Yoongi smiles at the thought of a garage, where he can create and tinker, a space of his own.

You start house hunting in the suburbs surrounding Seoul, imagining nurseries painted in soft pastels, browsing baby clothes with tiny sleeves, and laughing over the choices. Each step feels like a dream in the making, a life slowly unfolding before you, full of promise and possibility.

But today has been long, and your body is weary. The excitement has worn you down, and as you return home, you kick off your shoes with a sigh, feeling the ache in your swollen feet. You glance around, hoping to hear the familiar sounds of your husband’s return, but the apartment is quiet. You open the fridge and pull out a cold bottle of water, hoping it will soothe your frayed nerves. The stress of your marketing job clings to you like a shadow, and all you want is a moment to unwind, to let go of the day’s tension.

As you set the bottle down on the counter, a sudden, sharp pain radiates through your stomach. Your hand instinctively flies to your belly, and you double over, gasping as the pain intensifies. It’s not normal, you think, panic rising in your chest. Something is wrong.

When you look down at the floor, a wave of horror crashes over you. 

Blood. 

Dark, vivid, and far too much of it. It’s pooling beneath you, seeping through your clothes, and it’s only then that you fully realize how soaked you are. 

Terror grips you, squeezing your chest, making it hard to breathe. Tears well up in your eyes, your breath comes in ragged gasps as panic begins to set in. This can’t be happening—this much blood, it’s not normal, not now, not when you’re carrying life inside you. A flood of thoughts races through your mind: is the baby inside you still safe? Or is this the cruel end to a dream that had only just begun? 

You need Yoongi—his steady presence, his strong arms, his comforting words—but he’s not here.

With trembling hands, you fumble for your phone, digging it out of your skirt pocket, and desperately pull up your husband’s contact. The phone barely rings before the door to your apartment creaks open, and there he is, stepping inside. Relief mixes with fear as he rushes to you, his eyes widening in shock as he takes in the scene—the blood, your trembling form, the tears streaming down your face.

Without a word, he’s at your side, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you close. His fingers, rough from years of work, trace gentle, soothing circles on your back, trying to calm the storm inside you.

“What happened?” he asks, trying to keep his voice steady, but you can hear the tremor beneath his words, the fear that he’s trying so hard to mask. His breath comes quicker, and though he tries to be strong for you, you can see the terror in his eyes, mirroring your own.

“Out of nowhere, the pain started,” you sob, clutching at your stomach, “and then the bleeding... so much blood.” Your voice breaks as the pain flares again, sharp and unforgiving.

Yoongi pulls you to your feet, his grip firm but tender, “We need to get you to the doctor’s. Now.” His words are clipped, urgent, but his touch is all comfort as he guides you out of the apartment, into the elevator, and finally into the car. The drive is shrouded in a thick, suffocating silence, broken only by your muffled sobs. The fear that’s lodged in your throat is too heavy to put into words, and deep down, you’re terrified of what you might say if you tried.

At the doctor’s office, the cold gel on your stomach is a jarring contrast to the heat of your fear. The ultrasound screen flickers to life, and there it is—a heartbeat, strong and steady. Relief washes over you like a cool breeze, but it’s tinged with uncertainty. You dare not hope too much, not yet.

Yoongi’s voice cuts through the silence, steady but laced with anxiety, “Why is she bleeding so much?” His eyes search the doctor’s face for reassurance, for something solid to hold onto.

The doctor hesitates, their gaze softening as they meet your wide, tear-streaked eyes. “It’s not uncommon to bleed in the early stages of pregnancy,” they explain gently. “Everything could be okay, but…” they pause, and the weight of that single word hangs heavy in the air, “it might be a miscarriage in progress. I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do except wait and see what happens.” The apology in their voice is almost unbearable, as if they’re sorry for delivering such uncertain news.

And so you wait, the days stretching out like an endless horizon. The bleeding continues, each drop a reminder of the life that hangs in the balance. Yoongi never leaves your side, holding you close through the long, silent nights. You curl into a ball on the bed, grief pulling you into its dark embrace, and you weep for what you fear you’ve lost, though no one has told you for certain. You cry yourself to sleep most nights, haunted by the thought that the heartbeat you saw was the last flicker of hope, slowly fading away.

You feel like a hollow shell, a prisoner within your own skin, drifting through the motions of life, performing tasks you know you should care about but no longer do. The days blur together in a monotony of routines—going to work, waking up, all the things that once held meaning now feel like burdens. The joy that once colored your world has faded to gray. Yet, Yoongi remains by your side, unwavering in his support, whispering words of comfort, promising that everything will be okay. But when the doctor confirms your worst fears, telling you that the life you carried is no longer, you don’t even cry.

It’s as if your tears have run dry, drained by days of sorrow, leaving you numb and empty. Yoongi pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly, trying to shield you from the storm that rages inside. You feel his heartbeat, strong and steady, and you cling to it like a lifeline.

Back home, you slip off your shoes and head straight for the alcohol cabinet. The house is quiet, the air heavy with the weight of your grief. You reach for a bottle of red wine, the one you’ve been saving for a special occasion. With a shaky hand, you uncork it and pour the crimson liquid into a glass, filling it almost to the brim. You glance at your husband, managing a weak smile. “Do you want one?”

“It’s the middle of the day on a Saturday,” he says softly, concern lacing his voice. But you just shrug, raising the glass to your lips as if it could wash away the pain. “But I don’t mind drinking with you,” he adds, grabbing a glass for himself and pouring some wine. After all, it’s five o’clock somewhere, right?

He settles beside you on the couch, wrapping an arm around you, and you lean into him, seeking the comfort of his warmth. The past few days have been a blur of tears and aching silence, and as you take a sip of the wine, the familiar burn in your throat offers a momentary escape. You know it’s not a solution, but today, you allow yourself this indulgence. Tomorrow will be different, you tell yourself. Tomorrow is a new day.

Yoongi doesn’t say much; he simply kisses the top of your head, holding you close as you both drink in the quiet of the day. There’s a solace in his presence, in the way his arms encircle you, making you feel safe even as the world crumbles around you. The wine, the warmth of his body, the soft hum of his voice as he sings you a lullaby—it’s all a balm to your wounded soul.

Before long, sleep overtakes you, and you drift off with your head resting on his lap, his fingers gently combing through your hair. When you wake, your head throbs with a dull ache, and your eyes feel dry and gritty. You rub them, groaning softly as you stretch. Yoongi isn’t beside you, but on the table, you find a glass of water and a couple of painkillers waiting for you. The small gesture makes your heart swell with love.

As you swallow the pills, Yoongi emerges from the bathroom, a towel slung low around his hips, droplets of water clinging to his skin. His voice, still thick with sleep, wraps around you like a warm blanket. “How are you feeling, babe?”

A small smile tugs at your lips. “I have a slight headache, but I’m okay,” you reply, pouting playfully as you try to tame your unruly hair. “Thank you for indulging me,” you add, feeling a surge of gratitude for the way he understands you, even in your darkest moments.

He crosses the room, sitting beside you on the couch, his presence a steady anchor in the turbulent sea of your emotions. “I’ll always be by your side, babe, you know that,” he says, his voice soft but filled with unwavering conviction.

You nod, your heart swelling with a love so deep it almost hurts. Because you do know. And you love him all the more for it.

He disappears into the bedroom to get dressed, and when he returns, he sits beside you again, his hand finding yours, his touch grounding you. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You hesitate, fidgeting with your fingers, feeling the weight of the words that hover on your lips. But you know that talking might help, that sharing the burden might make it easier to bear. So you take a deep breath and let the words spill out.

“I want to try to get pregnant again,” you confess, the hurt still fresh, but beneath it, a flicker of hope. Despite the pain, despite everything, you still want that baby. You still believe in the dream that once filled you with so much joy.

Yoongi looks at you, his eyes soft with understanding. He nods, his grip on your hand tightening just a little. “Okay,” he says, his voice steady and sure. “Let’s try again then.”

And in that moment, you know that no matter what comes next, you won’t be facing it alone.

And so you try, again and again, in every possible way, in so many positions that it borders on the absurd. The weeks blur into months, yet each time you face the stark emptiness of a negative pregnancy test, hope crumbles a little more. You feel bombed, discouraged, like a balloon slowly deflating, the air of optimism leaking out with each failed attempt. You never imagined it would be this hard to conceive, and the disappointment weighs heavy on your heart.

Doubt creeps in like a shadow, wrapping its cold fingers around your thoughts. You begin to wonder if there’s something wrong with your body, some hidden flaw that’s keeping you from the one thing you want most. Why isn’t it happening? And yet, beneath the yearning, there’s a trembling fear—fear of what will happen when you finally see those two lines again. Fear of reliving the pain of another loss.

“Maybe we should see a doctor,” Yoongi suggests one quiet afternoon as you both pick at your food, the silence between you thick with unspoken worries. “Maybe I should get my sperm checked,” he muses, his voice tinged with a mix of concern and determination.

You nod, though deep down you doubt that he’s the problem. It feels like the fault lies with you, that your body is betraying you. Isn’t there something about a woman’s fertility dipping after thirty? You vaguely recall reading that somewhere, and it haunts you now. But Yoongi’s right—there’s no harm in getting checked. Perhaps it will give you some answers, or at least a direction.

A few days later, you walk into your doctor’s office with leaden feet and little hope, convinced that age has already set its limits on your dreams. The tests are done, the waiting begins, and you brace yourself for the worst. But when the results come back, they reveal that everything is fine—your fertility is normal, Yoongi’s sperm is in excellent shape. So why isn’t it happening? The question echoes in your mind, relentless and cruel.

Frustration gnaws at you, its claws sinking deeper with each passing day. You find yourself snapping at your colleagues, the tension spilling over in ways you can’t control. Apologies tumble from your lips almost as often as the sharp words that precede them. At home, you manage to hold your temper, but you fear it’s only a matter of time before even Yoongi becomes a target, despite his unwavering support.

Making love, once a source of joy and connection, now feels hollow, reduced to a mechanical routine. The passion that once ignited between you has dimmed, replaced by a clinical determination to conceive. You know Yoongi feels it too; he’s always been attuned to your moods.

“I’m not fucking you when you’re not in the mood,” he says one night, his voice low but firm.

You scoff, anger flaring as you rise from the bed. “Just fuck me so I can get pregnant.”

“No,” he replies, his tone unyielding. “Not when your heart’s not in it.”

With that, he stands up, naked and resolute, pulling his clothes back on as you lie there, seething and tearful, frustration coursing through you like a fever. The anger isn’t just at him; it’s at yourself, at your body, at the unfairness of it all. You hear him in the kitchen, the clatter of dishes a stark contrast to the silence that fills the bedroom. You pull yourself together, dressing slowly, avoiding the mirror because you know you won’t like what you see—a woman who feels trapped in a body that won’t cooperate, stuck between desire and despair.

But Yoongi isn’t wrong. Pushing yourself when your heart isn’t in it won’t help, you know that. You just can’t help the desperation that drives you to this point. Taking a deep breath, you step out of the bedroom and find him in the kitchen. Without a word, you wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his chest. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice thick with regret. “I’ll do better.”

He hugs you back, strong and warm, and in that embrace, you find a flicker of comfort. You kiss, a promise unspoken between you, and you feel a surge of gratitude for the man who stands beside you through all the heartbreak and frustration. Whatever comes next, you know you’re in this together.

You immerse yourself in research, scouring every corner of the internet for vitamins, supplements, and rituals that might tip the odds in your favor. Each new discovery feels like a lifeline, something to cling to in the relentless tide of hope and disappointment. But one day, after yet another fruitless search, you feel a wave of exhaustion wash over you—a weariness that reaches deep into your bones. You close your laptop with a heavy sigh and turn to Yoongi, the words slipping from your lips before you can second-guess them. 

“I don’t think I want to have kids anymore,” you say, your voice eerily calm, as if stating a simple fact. But inside, you feel as cold and distant as the words sound. Yoongi’s head snaps toward you so quickly that you can almost hear the air shift. His eyes search your face, trying to comprehend the sudden shift in your resolve.

“We can just keep trying,” he replies, his voice gentle but with an undercurrent of desperation, as though he’s pleading with you—because he is. You know how deeply he longs for babies, for a family built on the love you share.

But the weight of it all crushes you, and the tears you’ve held back for so long finally threaten to spill over. “I don’t think I can,” you whisper, your voice breaking as a sob catches in your throat. The exhaustion, the fear, the endless cycle of hope and heartbreak—it’s too much.

Yoongi pulls you into his arms, his embrace warm and reassuring. He pats your back, murmuring that it’s okay, that everything will be fine, even as he holds you a little tighter, as if trying to shield you from the pain. He pulls back slightly, his eyes locking with yours, and you see the sincerity in them—the way he’s willing to let go of his own dreams for your sake. 

“We don’t have to have kids if you don’t want to anymore,” he says, his voice steady, his gaze unwavering, making sure you know he means it. It’s not just a comfort; it’s a promise.

You swallow hard, the enormity of the decision weighing on you. Could you keep trying? Maybe. But fear coils around your heart, tightening with each passing thought. The future feels uncertain, and that terrifies you.

“Maybe,” you begin, searching for the right words, “we could still try, but not focus on it so much. I don’t think it’s healthy for me to be this obsessed.”

He nods, a small smile playing on his lips as relief softens his features. “Maybe we should rekindle our love,” he suggests gently. “Sex shouldn’t feel like a chore, and I hate that it does for you,” he adds, a pout forming on his lips as he looks at you with concern. “How can I make it better for you?”

You take a moment to ponder his question, reflecting on the love you share, the bond that has always been strong, even in the face of adversity. You realize that it’s not about what’s missing, but about what’s been neglected—the time, the attention, the simple joys of being together. Your hectic schedules have stolen moments that should have been yours, and now you feel the distance.

“Do you want to go on a date with me?” you ask, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

His chuckle is like music, sweet and comforting, warming you from the inside out. “Always,” he replies, intertwining his fingers with yours, his touch a silent vow of affection.

In the weeks that follow, you carve out more time for each other, stepping back from the rush of work to simply be together. You surprise him at his garage, sharing takeout in his cluttered office, laughing over greasy fries and soda. You catch late-night movies, stroll through the mall hand-in-hand, visit little cafes tucked away in the corners of the city. You do all the things you’ve missed, the simple, everyday joys that once made your love effortless, and already you feel lighter, happier.

Amidst this rekindling of your love, you stumble upon the perfect house just outside of Seoul. It’s spacious, with a large living room that echoes with the laughter of future children you haven’t given up on just yet. The garden sprawls wide, with enough space for dreams to grow, and the garage—oh, the garage is exactly what Yoongi has always wanted, a place to tinker and create. When you step inside for the first time, you feel it in your bones—this is home. It speaks to you, calls to something deep within you, and you see the same recognition in Yoongi’s eyes. 

The decision to buy the house is easy, almost instinctual, as if you’ve always known this was where you were meant to be. You celebrate with friends, toasting to the new chapter that’s about to begin, and their joy mirrors your own. The move won’t happen until summer, giving you a few precious months to pack up your life and prepare for the future. And for the first time in a long while, that future doesn’t feel so daunting—it feels full of possibilities.

It’s March, and winter still clings to the world with frosty fingers, the cold seeping through the cracks of the early morning. Yoongi holds you extra close as you stroll along the river, the chill in the air making you grateful for the wool scarf he wrapped around your neck with such tender care. Your hand finds refuge in the deep pocket of his coat, where your fingers intertwine, sharing warmth with each squeeze and caress. 

As you walk, you take in the quiet beauty of the morning. Couples sit huddled on benches, whispering secrets, some stealing kisses as if the cold gives them courage. Children chase each other across the dewy grass, their laughter like wind chimes in the crisp air. You savor these moments, these tranquil walks before the world wakes up fully and the weather softens into spring.

Yoongi tugs you toward a small coffee shop nestled by the river, and soon you’re cradling steaming cups of hot cocoa. The rich scent of chocolate wraps around you like a comforting blanket as you settle into a cozy corner. Across the table, Yoongi’s fingers dance playfully over yours, each brush sending electric jolts through your body. His touch warms you from the inside out, and you feel the heat rise to your cheeks, though you try to hide it.

Suddenly, he chuckles, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “You’ve got something on your face,” he teases, pointing at your mouth.

You fumble to wipe it away, but before you can, Yoongi leans over the table, closing the distance between you. His lips capture yours in a soft kiss, his tongue slipping out to clean the smudge of cocoa from your mouth. The simple act is intimate, thrilling, and utterly unexpected.

“Yoongi, we’re in public,” you stammer, your voice a mix of scolding and breathless surprise. The audacity of his gesture stirs a warmth between your legs, a desire that flickers to life like a spark catching flame.

“When has that ever bothered me?” he retorts with a mischievous grin, his boldness both shocking and endearing.

You stare at him, baffled by his audacity, but also deeply drawn to it. With a playful smile, you grab his hand, pulling him up from his chair. “Let’s get home before you get us kicked out.”

Laughter bubbles between you as you walk hand in hand, the cold forgotten in the heat of the moment. By the time you step into the elevator, the tension has built to a fever pitch, and you find yourself unable to wait any longer. You pounce on him, surprising Yoongi with the fiery need in your kiss, your lips capturing his in a fierce embrace.

“I want you, Yoon,” you whisper breathlessly, your lips brushing against his ear as you tighten your arms around his neck. “I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t walk tomorrow.”

His giggle is low and throaty, the sound reverberating through you as his back meets the steel of the elevator wall. “Hmmm, you’d like that, huh?”

“Yes,” you pant, your breath hot against his skin. You lick your lips, eyes dark with desire. “You can decide how you want it. My birthday present to you.”

He chuckles, kissing you softly, tenderly, as he murmurs, “But you already gave me a scotch, a new toolbox, and a house,” a kiss for each gift, each one lingering longer than the last. “You don’t need to give me more.”

“And sex shouldn’t really be a gift,” he adds, his lips quirking into a smile, but you nod, already knowing this. 

“Doesn’t change the fact that I want you inside me,” you counter with a wink, giving your own ass a playful slap. 

A low grunt escapes him, arousal thickening his voice as he grabs you, pinning you against the wall, his lips tracing a searing path down your neck. You moan softly, your body arching toward him, your pussy throbbing with need.

When the elevator doors slide open, he pulls you out, his grip firm as he leads you to your apartment door. He fumbles briefly with the key, urgency in every motion, and the moment the door clicks shut behind you, the world outside ceases to exist.

Shoes are discarded in a hurry, and in the blink of an eye, Yoongi has you in the kitchen, lifting you effortlessly onto the counter. He spreads your legs, his eyes dark and hungry as he takes in the sight of you. Already, you’re so wet, aching for him, and you can see the primal desire mirrored in his gaze. 

He kneels before you, lifting the hem of your dress with a mischievous glint in his eye. “There’s a wet patch on your panties, babe,” he murmurs, a chuckle rumbling from his chest as his gaze darkens with desire.

“Well, I want you badly,” you breathe, your legs parting in invitation, your body aching for his touch.

Without hesitation, he hooks his fingers into the delicate fabric of your panties and slides them down your legs, letting them pool on the floor. His lips find your slick pussy, his tongue a sinful instrument of pleasure as it dances over your folds. He laps at you with fervor, his nose grazing your sensitive clit as his tongue delves deeper, exploring every inch of you. You moan, the sound almost foreign to your own ears, lost as you are in the ecstasy he’s drawing from you. It doesn’t take long before you’re unraveling, your release shuddering through you as you come apart on his tongue.

He pulls back, his lips glistening with your essence, and he licks them slowly, savoring the taste of you. “You’re so hot,” he breathes, his voice thick with need.

You hum in response, wanting to tell him how irresistible he is, but before you can, he’s grabbing your hips, pulling you down from the counter and capturing your lips in a searing kiss. “I want to fuck you so bad,” he growls against your mouth, his fingers digging into your flesh possessively. “I want to fill you up, to lose myself in your pussy.”

When you pull away, his eyes are wild, pupils blown wide with lust. “I want to take care of you first,” you whisper, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “I want to suck you off.”

“You don’t have to. I just need to be inside you,” he argues, his hands already unzipping his pants, freeing his hard, aching cock.

“No,” you insist, your voice soft but firm. “It’s your birthday, and I want to give you everything you desire.” You help him discard his pants and boxers, and as soon as he’s free of the fabric, you wrap your hand around his dick, feeling him twitch in your grasp. He groans, a needy sound that makes your own desire flare even hotter.

“I want you to fuck my mouth,” you say, your voice sultry and full of intent. You drop to your knees before him, looking up with wide, pleading eyes. “Please.”

He hesitates, but only for a moment. You always have this power over him, making him bend to your will with just a word, a look. So when you take him into your warm, wet mouth, he sees stars. You hold his gaze, your eyes locked on his as you slowly, sensually, begin to pleasure him. He thinks you look like a vixen, so full of confidence and allure, and sometimes he can’t quite believe that you’re his, that you belong to him in every way.

For a while, he lets you lead, your lips and tongue working him over with skillful precision. But soon, his need for control takes over, his hands tangling in your hair as he starts to guide your movements, thrusting gently at first, then deeper, harder. He knows you can take it, even when your eyes flutter closed and your breath hitches. He knows you love it as much as he does. The sounds you make, the soft, wet noises of your mouth on him, fill the kitchen, and he moans your name, the pleasure almost overwhelming.

He can feel himself getting close, that familiar tightening in his core, and it takes everything in him to pull back, to stop before he loses himself entirely. When he does, a string of saliva still connects you, a testament to the raw, unfiltered passion between you.

“Was it too much?” he asks, his voice rough with desire, his thumb brushing against your flushed cheek.

You shake your head, wiping the drool from your lips. “No,” you assure him, your voice breathless but steady. “If it was, I would have said something.”

“Good,” he rasps, pulling you to your feet, his lips finding yours in a heated kiss. “Because now I need to fuck you. On the table.”

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes, a playful glint in your gaze. “The dining table?”

He grins, wicked and full of promise. “Yes, the dining table.”

He nods, and you do as he says, feeling his presence close behind you, a silent promise of what’s to come. The air thickens with anticipation as you remain in your dress, a symbol of your desire lingering between the layers of fabric. When he turns you around to face the table and gently presses you down onto its cool surface, you know exactly what he wants, and the thought alone sends a shiver down your spine. God, you love it when he takes you from behind.

He hikes up your dress, exposing you to the cool air, and his hands find your ass, groping and squeezing with a possessive reverence. “So pretty,” he murmurs, voice low and rough with need.

You feel the heat of his cock teasing against your entrance, the anticipation almost unbearable. His hands spread your cheeks, and then you feel the head of his cock pressing into your slick pussy. Slowly, he pushes in, the stretch more intense in this position, but you welcome it, your body humming with pleasure as he fills you completely.

He grunts, a deep, primal sound that reverberates through you as he bottoms out, his cock buried to the hilt inside you. “Yoongi—please, move,” you pant, your hands gripping the edge of the table, seeking leverage as he begins to thrust into you.

“Fuck,” you moan, your voice breaking as he picks up the pace, his hips slamming into yours with a rhythm that feels both punishing and divine.

His hands roam over your backside, caressing, gripping, pulling you closer with every thrust. “Ah, fuck. You always feel so fucking good around me,” he groans, his voice dripping with raw desire as he speaks your name.

“I love having your cock in me. Fuck me faster, please,” you plead, your voice breathless, every nerve in your body alight with want.

The table shifts beneath you, scraping against the floor with each thrust, but the sound is lost in the symphony of your pleasure. Soon, this place won’t be yours to worry about, but right now, it’s all that grounds you as he drives into you, hitting that perfect spot inside that makes your vision blur with bliss.

“Fuck! Right there!” you scream, your mind emptying of everything but him, your husband, the man you love so fiercely.

“So fucking tight,” he moans, his fingers digging into your hips with a grip that promises to leave marks, tangible reminders of this moment.

“Yoon—, I’m gonna come,” you gasp, your breath ragged, sweat beading on your forehead as the heat between you builds to a crescendo.

He rams into you harder, just like you wanted, and you shatter around him, your orgasm ripping through you with a force that leaves you trembling, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. Your vision goes white, stars bursting behind your eyelids as your body sags against the table, barely able to support itself.

“Fuck,” he curses, and then his hand comes down on your ass, the sharp sound of the slap echoing in the room. You clench around him reflexively, another wave of pleasure crashing over you.

“Fuck,” he curses again, another slap, another burst of sensation, and you cry out, your body quivering under his relentless assault.

“Yoongi!” you scream, teetering on the edge of another climax, “I think—”

But the words are stolen from you as he continues to pound into you, the force of his thrusts driving the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping, lost in a sea of sensation.

“Fucking shit. I’m so close,” he pants, his hand soothing over your ass before delivering another stinging slap, and your second orgasm melds into a third, your body convulsing with the intensity of it. You cry out in pleasure, your voice raw as your world narrows to the feel of him inside you, the only anchor in the storm of your release.

His thrusts grow erratic, less controlled, until finally, he stills, his cock buried deep as he spills into you, the warmth of his release filling you up. A sigh escapes your lips, your body utterly spent, your mind adrift in the aftermath.

He collapses over you, his weight a comforting pressure as he keeps himself inside you, his hands caressing your body with gentle affection. “You’re so pretty,” he whispers against your ear, pressing soft kisses to your skin. “I love you so much.”

You chuckle softly, the warmth of your love for him blooming in your chest. “You aren’t too bad yourself,” you tease, feeling his softened cock slide out of you as you turn to face him. “And I love you so much too.”

He smiles, tender and full of adoration, before capturing your lips in a kiss that speaks of gratitude and deep, unwavering love. “Thank you for this lovely birthday,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your lips.

You smile back, letting him take your hand and lead you to the bathroom, where he gently cleans you up, his touch as tender as his heart. Later, you fall asleep nestled in his arms, the world outside forgotten, lost in the cocoon of your shared warmth.

You stare at the test in your trembling hands, the seconds ticking away with agonizing slowness. Three minutes—those eternal, cursed minutes—dragging you back to that moment in the forest when the thought of pregnancy filled you with dread. But now, everything is different. Now you want it, crave it with every fiber of your being, yet fear still lingers like a shadow in your heart, whispering what-ifs.

Your phone vibrates, breaking the silence, signaling that the time is up. You take a deep breath, steel yourself, and then you look. 

Two lines. 

Your heart skips a beat, and you blink, hardly believing it. 

Two lines.

You rush to show Yoongi, his eyes lighting up with pure joy as he sees the result. He’s elated, grinning like a child, and his happiness is contagious. You’re happy too, truly, but beneath the surface, that familiar fear curls, a silent specter reminding you of the past, of the heartbreak you’ve been through before. What if it happens again?

But the weeks pass, and you pack your life into boxes, preparing for the move as summer blooms. Now, four months pregnant, you find yourself with Yoongi wrapped around your little finger. He’s doting, tender, doing everything for you as if you were made of glass—cooking your meals, helping you dress, even braiding your hair with surprising care. He indulges your every craving, runs to the store for cake and candy at odd hours, holds your hair when the nausea takes over. His protectiveness borders on overbearing, but you can’t bring yourself to mind. It’s endearing, really, and you feel a warmth in your chest that’s as sweet as the candy he brings you.

On moving day, Yoongi insists you don’t lift a finger, so you supervise, directing your friends on where to place each box in your new home. It still feels surreal—this beautiful house is yours, truly yours. You rest your hand on your growing belly, not yet feeling the strong kicks you’re longing for, though you’ve sensed some faint fluttering. Perhaps it’s just gas, but still, the anticipation is almost unbearable.

After a day of grocery shopping, stocking the fridge and freezer with essentials, you find yourself craving ice cream late at night—the one with Oreo bits swirled through it. The craving grips you suddenly, fiercely, and you know there’s no ignoring it. You need that ice cream.

“Yoongi?” you call out, drawing his name in that sweet, almost sing-song voice he knows all too well.

He chuckles, already predicting your request from the way you’ve drawn out his name. Your cravings have become a nightly ritual, but he doesn’t mind. In fact, he loves it—loves you more than words can express.

“Yeah?” he answers, laughter in his voice, as you hesitate, almost shy to ask for something else after all the shopping you did today.

“I’m craving ice cream…” you murmur, unsure how he’ll react, knowing full well you’d already stocked the freezer just hours ago.

He sighs, but it’s a soft, amused sound. “The one with Oreo bits, right?”

Your eyes fill with love and gratitude, tears pricking at the corners. “Thank you!” you whisper, your heart swelling as he’s already up, grabbing his keys without a second thought.

You watch him go, overwhelmed with love for this man who would move mountains just to see you smile. When he returns, ice cream in hand, you greet him with a kiss, diving into the tub with abandon. Fifteen minutes later, the tub is empty, and you glance at him with a sheepish smile, wondering if he’ll have to make another trip. That’s when he decides to always buy extra, stashing it away in the freezer, ready for your next craving.

He’s your snack patrol, your guardian of midnight desires, and he’ll do whatever it takes to keep you happy, to keep that radiant smile on your face. After all, you’re carrying his tiny miracle inside you, and for him, indulging your every whim is the least he can do.

One evening, you stumble through the door after a long, grueling day at work, exhaustion clinging to you like a heavy shroud. All you want is to collapse into the soft embrace of your bed, to let the day melt away into dreams. But hunger gnaws at you, demanding attention, so you drag yourself to the kitchen, hoping to find Yoongi bustling around, preparing dinner as usual. Yet, the air is absent of the familiar, comforting aromas that typically greet you, and instead, you find Yoongi lounging on the couch, engrossed in a book.

“Didn’t you make dinner?” you snap, frustration bubbling up before you can contain it, the weariness in your bones making your temper short.

He glances up, confused, his lips parting to speak, but you cut him off, the anger spilling over. 

“You dick! You know I expect you to make dinner when I get home late,” you huff, the irritation morphing into something sharper, more biting. But before the anger can fully take root, it unravels into sobs, the tears pouring out uncontrollably, as if your exhaustion has found a new outlet. You’re crying so hard that you scare yourself, and Yoongi, too, who tosses his book aside and rushes to your side, wrapping you in his arms, his touch gentle and soothing.

“There’s leftovers, remember?” he whispers softly, his hand rubbing comforting circles on your back, his voice steady and calm, grounding you in the moment. 

And just like that, clarity washes over you. He’s right. Of course, he’s right. The realization of your misplaced anger makes you feel foolish, small. Lately, you’ve been snapping at him over the smallest things, calling him names in moments of frustration, but he always meets your outbursts with a patient smile, never holding your forgetfulness or emotional swings against you. He’s a gem, a steady rock in the midst of your storm.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his lips, and he returns it with such tenderness that you know, deep down, everything is going to be okay.

The months in your new home pass like pages turning in a cherished book, each one filled with milestones and memories. You’ve hosted a housewarming, celebrated your baby shower, and now, winter has settled in once more, December’s chill creeping through the air. Maternity leave is just around the corner, and you can’t wait to have the time to focus entirely on Yoongi and the tiny miracle growing inside you.

“I’m so fucking tired, Yoon,” you sigh, sinking into a chair, every breath feeling like an effort, exhaustion etched into every part of you.

“It’s okay, take a break. I’ll finish up the painting. Why don’t you go change clothes?” he suggests with a reassuring smile, but the frustration within you bubbles up again, spilling over before you can stop it.

“I look so ugly,” you cry, tears welling up as you take in your reflection, emotions surging in a wave. “I’m so fat, and my stomach feels like it’s dragging me down. I’m swollen everywhere, and I just look so ugly.” Your voice breaks, the tears falling freely, and Yoongi drops his paintbrush immediately, rushing to comfort you.

“You’re not ugly, babe,” he says softly, wiping away your tears with his paint-stained fingers, his eyes full of love and sincerity. “Those extra pounds just make you even sexier,” he adds with a playful smile, kissing the tip of your nose. “Please don’t speak ill of your body. I love you, and I love everything about your body.”

You sniffle, his words washing over you like a balm, soothing the insecurities that have taken root in your mind. You know he’s right, and you decide to believe him, because why else would he stick around through all your emotional ups and downs? “Thank you, Yoon. I love everything about you too.”

The nursery is ready, painted in a soft shade of lilac, filled with carefully chosen furniture. You’ve both decided that your baby girl will sleep in your room at first, so the nursery remains more symbolic than functional for now. But it’s been a labor of love, preparing for this new chapter in your lives.

As you gaze out the window, watching the snow pile up on the street, a sense of quiet anticipation fills you. Soon, so very soon, you’ll meet your miracle baby, and the thought sends a warmth spreading through you, cutting through the cold of the winter night.

Taglist: @idkjustlovingbts @constancelayon @wobblewobble822 @ktownshizzle @moonchild1 @ultimatefangirl0 @baechugff @jimintaemin @parapiop7 @fckkntired @iluvfndms @citypop-princess @tarahardcore @bergandysam @massivelyfullenthusiast @tatyhend @gimeow

*if this fucking taglist doesn't work... I don't know what to do with myself. Hopefully you'll find it even though tumblr will probably be a bitch and not let it work...

Author’s note(2): I really hope you liked it! I hope it wasn’t too angsty 🥹 This was largely inspired by the song ‘Pregnant’ by Phlake. You should really give it a listen, it’s very explicit and cute, lol 😝 Please let me know what you think in a reblog, comment or ask. And if you’ve ever had a miscarriage— here’s an extra hug for you 🫂